He stalks across the lawn, and I fight myself not to step back. He’s pissed at himself, at his shitty decision making, but I’m not about to be his punching bag. I ready myself because I’ve never seen him so angry.
“You satisfied?”
“What?”
“Are you fucking satisfied? You got enough ammo this morning to last you some time, sweetheart. You wanted it? There you go. You were waiting for something to hold against me, to prove you’re right about what a piece of shit I am. Happy?”
“Stop it. I saw what went down. You didn’t mean to hurt him. I’m not going to condemn you for a mistake.”
“Are you serious right now? You’ve been holding the same mistake over my head for six fucking years. The next time you get pissed off, I’m sure this will come up.”
“I’m pissed off now.”
“Nothing new.”
“Hey, you know what, you ass? I was young once too. I’ve been there, I’ve dealt with drama. I’m glad those days are over for me, but don’t piss on me because you made a mistake.”
“Goddamn right I did,” he grumbles, turning his back on me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Carry on. Nothing more to see here.”
“Hey, Troy, why don’t you try the adult version of dating? It’s a lot easier, fewer casualties.”
He turns back to me, clenching his fists.
“Yeah? Is that where your boy toy comes over at the end of the night and pretends what you have is real?”
“What?”
“I saw you bring him in last night. It was nearly eleven. Tell me, did he tell you where he was before he decided to come over and get some?”
“That’s none of your—”
“My son is in there!”
“Keep your voice down,” I choke out. “And don’t make your drama mine.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he left before Dante woke up. He’s not in it for him.”
“Stop it. He stopped by for an hour or so and has a meeting with a client this morning. And no, I don’t want Dante meeting him yet. You see, in a mature relationship, we take all feelings into consideration on all sides.”
He shakes his head as if I’m clueless. “You’re fooling yourself with this guy.”
“Hey,” I snap, all patience evaporated as I take angry steps toward him. “In an adult relationship, it’s a one at a time process, you know, easy to remember the name of the person you’re dating. Sex is gradual. There’s no one and done, Troy. In the adult version, you take the time to get to know the person, make sure your goals match because you’re well versed on what you do, and do not want. And me? Well, over the years, I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t want to date an adolescent who’s got an agenda just to fuck me. I’ll never be any man’s breadcrumbs! I want to date a man worthy of my time, attention, and my son, who means more to me than any piece of ass! I put Dante first and make sure I don’t put him in the position to question the exit of a different stranger every morning. That’s the difference! The men I date don’t use women and toss them away the next day.”
“At least they’re aware of it, not playing stupid.”
My eyes water with that blow. “You bastard.”
He shrugs. “Just being real, honest. That’s what you want, right?”
“You want real and honest, how about this? This little spectacle is why I could never take you seriously! You’re a child, Troy, playing a man, and I see right through it because I was raised by one!”
Troy visibly flinches as Dante sounds up from behind the screen door.
“Mommy?”
Our son looks fearfully between the two of us, confusion covering his features. “Why are you yelling at Troy?”
“I was bad,” Troy speaks up immediately before closing his eyes and exhaling a breath. “I was really bad.” Snapping my eyes to his, I see the regret cloaking him as he addresses Dante. “I let my temper get the best of me and said some things that weren’t nice. Things that I shouldn’t have said. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’m going to put myself in a timeout. I’m sorry,” he says to me pointedly, and all I can do is nod.
And with that, he stalks toward his house and slams the door behind him.
Troy
It’s been a shit long week. I’m embarrassed I showed my ass that way to Clarissa. She’s barely met my eyes over my morning breakfast with Dante. Twice I’ve tried to apologize and twice she’s made an excuse to leave the room. I’m a pariah in my own house as well, the tension between the walls thick. Theo’s not speaking to me, which is understandable. My apologies mean shit to everyone around me. And Theo and I aren’t the only brooding sacks to occupy the house.
Lance is more isolated than ever, constantly trapped in his room, waiting for the bomb to drop. Though my current situation is shit, I can’t help but be grateful that I’m not in his shoes.
His expression is grim this morning as we pass each other on the stairs. “Hey man, what’s good?”
“Not a fucking thing. You?”
“Same.”
Last night we suffered a debilitating loss, and I feel like my future is slipping through my fingers. It’s easy to see Lance feels the same.
“Fuck that asshole,” Lance says, reading my mind.
“What coach in the history of fucking ever lets his personal life interfere with his career?”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he runs a hand down his jaw, “but there’s got to be more to it.”
“I can’t believe he’s willing to throw a season over this. We need to win.”
“You and me both.”
Lance is my opposite, the dark to my light, tattoo clad, more menacing in appearance. Inside he’s mostly heart, and this conclusion I’ve come to with just the short interactions between us. I’d fumbled into discovering what makes him tick, and we aren’t so different. Lance doesn’t judge, and if there’s one thing I know, he would keep my secrets just as safe as I have his.
He seems to weigh my expression and my stinking desperation, and I can feel the tension rolling off of him.
For the first time in six years, I’m ready to confess, in need of an outsider’s perspective.
“Hey man, you want to get out of here and grab a beer?”
Lance nods. “You read my mind.”
Loretta’s Dump Cake
Police Officer, Army Brat, US
Makes 12 servings
1 hour
1 Large Can Crushed Pineapple – Well drained
2 Cans Cherry Pie Filling
1 Yellow Cake Mix
1/2 Cup Chopped Nuts
2 Sticks Margarine
Grease 9x13 baking dish. Add cherry pie filling and spread evenly in pan. Top with pineapple. DO NOT MIX. Sprinkle dry cake mix over fruit and top with nuts. Melt margarine and pour on top of cake mix.
Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes to 1 hour.
Variation:
2 cans Comstock More Fruit Apple Pie Filling may be used in place of the pineapple, cherry pie filling & nuts. Good served hot with vanilla ice cream.
Clarissa
“Uh, Mommy?” Dante says through a giggle.
“Yes?” I ask, pulling into our driveway.
“Why is Troy asleep on our steps?”
“What?” I turn to see Troy passed out halfway to our porch, catching flies, his hand tucked in the waistband of his sweatpants.
I look back at Dante. “Uhhhh, maybe he’s sick?”
“Sick?”
“Why don’t you go inside and pick out some soup while I check on him.”
“Okay.” He darts over to where Troy lays passed out.
“YOU SICK, TROY?” Troy jumps up from where he lays, cradling his head while Dante yells at him from where he hovers inches away. “MOMMY AND I ARE GOING TO MAKE YOU SOME SOUP!”
Troy winces with every word, cowering from the sun by placing one of his paws up to block it. It’s hysterical, and I can
’t help my laugh as Dante puts his hand on Troy’s forehead. “Mommy, he don’t have a fever!”
“Doesn’t have. He doesn’t have a fever. Inside.” I round the SUV, and Troy glances up at me from where he sits, his expression sheepish.
“I’ll find you soup to make you better, Troy!” Dante bounds inside and slams the screen behind him.
When he’s at a safe distance, I lift an inquisitive brow to Troy, who’s now holding up both hands. “Before you decide to rip into me, I had a speech. A speech I carefully prepared and was waiting for you to come home to deliver. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“A text would’ve done just fine. Come on, it’s cold.” I hold out my hand, and Troy takes it, staggering to his feet. I catch him, barely, before we both misstep and topple into the yard with a thud. Laughing, he rolls us to where I’m trapped beneath him. I push at his chest to no avail.
“Oh, Cherie,” he murmurs down to me in a French accent. “I thought I would never get you alone.”
He bats long lashes down at me.
“Get off of me, Jenner,” I sputter breathlessly as his eyes rake over my face, stopping on my lips.
“You are a girrrl, and I am a boy, you see. Everyone has a hobby,” he slides his freezing hands up my sides, and I squeal as he leans in close. “Mine is making love.”
“Someone has been watching way too much Looney Tunes.”
“You may call me Street Car…because of my desire,” he leans in and places wet kisses on my neck as I struggle beneath him. “Muah, Muah, Muah.”
“Definitely drunk as a skunk. Alright, Mr. Le Pew, you’ve had your fun.”
“Not even close, Cherie.” He stares down at me, his eyes glazed, as my heart begins to pound.
“Get off of me, fool.”
“A fool for you, darling, may I call you darling? And finally, now that I have you right where I want you, the greedy little monster we created can step aside and let me have my own way with these love tassels.” He lowers his head as my eyes widen and begins blowing raspberries on my chest.
He’s motorboating me in the middle of my yard in broad daylight.
“Troy!” I gasp as he continues to murmur his devotion to my tits. “Dear God, would you stop! I’m going to pee my pants. Though I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t smell half as putrid as you do.”
“It is the smell of love,” he nuzzles my chest, and his lips drift up.
“Troy, it’s the middle of the day, why have you been drinking?”
He frowns, pulling away. “Oh, it’s been a horrible year for me, Cherie, but you knowww,” he drawls in suggestive French. “You could cheer me right up if you wanted to.”
“Troy, do you want chunky soup or stars?” Dante calls from the kitchen.
“Stars,” Troy answers without taking his gaze away. “So they match those in my eyes.”
“What?” Dante asks through a giggle.
“Stars, my good boy! All the stars!” He leans in again and smacks kisses down my chest. “Muah, muah, muah.”
Aside from the liquor seeping out of his pores, he smells fantastic, his rusty platinum hair tucked under a beanie as he suggestively gazes down at me with surreal blue and glossy eyes.
“Will you be my girlfriend, darling?”
“Absolutely not,” I snort.
“It’s a little too soon for marriage, but hey, if that’s what it takes. You set the date. I look fantastic in a tux.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy about you,” he says before placing another full-lipped kiss to my cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes soften. “I get so jealous,” he says softly. “I don’t want him kissing you. I don’t want him touching you. These lips,” he runs a finger over my mouth. “I want them for me.”
“Troy,” I shake my head, still trapped beneath him. “We’re a train wreck.”
“So what? Our story is messy, unconventional. We can be messy together, that makes us perfect.”
“You’ve got to get up, Dante will see.”
“Just tell me you forgive me.”
“Fine, I forgive you.”
He leans down and gently takes my mouth in a soft kiss. It’s all too much, his warm lips coated in whiskey, his body covering mine.
“If only you meant it,” he whispers when he pulls away.
“I do. It was a nasty fight. You were upset. I know you didn’t mean to hurt Theo or take it out on me.”
“That’s not the only thing I want forgiveness for.”
“I know. I’m trying.”
“I missed you this week.” He’s so sincere that I melt in his arms while staring at his lips, and he takes notice even in his state. “When are you going to stop fighting this?”
“It’s not about me.”
“I don’t disagree. It’s about us.”
“Troy, there is no us.”
He drops his head to my chest. “There’s no story if you give up.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles.
“Mommy, can I try the can opener?”
“NO!” We both answer, and Troy stumbles to his feet before pulling me flush to him. He tips my chin with his finger.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. I just want…”
I search his eyes. “What?”
“Something I can’t have.”
“Are you okay?” I manage to say around the lump forming in my throat.
“Yeah. Fine. I’ll bounce back.”
“Are you…” I glance toward the house.
“Sober? Not quite, but I’m good. I’ll go swish with some of your mouthwash and play sick, if that’s okay? I’m sorry. He shouldn’t see me that way. It will never happen again.”
“It’s fine. I believe you.”
Relief covers his features.
“Things will get better.”
“Hope so.” He leans in one last time and presses a kiss to my forehead. I stare after him long after the door closes behind him.
Troy
“Dante, this is Harper. She’s going to teach us all how to dance today.” Harper smiles down at Dante from where he sits in his room, fiddling with the Rubik’s Cube that Parker got him for his birthday.
“I don’t need to learn how to dance.”
“Every guy needs a little dancing skill,” I tell him, taking the toy from his hand.
“Not me. I know how.”
“I’m learning too. So is Mommy.”
“Why?”
“Because I need help,” I lean down and whisper to him. “I’m really bad at it, and I want to dance with your Mommy one day, so will you pretend for me?”
“Okay,” he says quickly as we join Clarissa in the living room. Harper is Lance’s girlfriend and a dance major, not to mention the only person I know capable of teaching my kid modern dance. When I’d asked her to help me with Dante, she’d happily agreed.
Harper connects her phone to the TV, and Frank Ocean’s “Lost” fills the room. For a solid hour, Harper shows us all the ropes, and I can’t help but get lost in the way Clarissa moves her hips, the dip, the ease in which she manipulates her body. Twice we’ve caught each other’s gaze, our smiles syncing, the second time she mouths me a “thank you,” to which I reply with a wink. I feel like a fucking fool mimicking the movements, but for my son, for her, it’s worth it. The longer we practice, the more Dante gets into it, his dancing a lot less awkward than in the video. When the lesson is over, Harper bids us farewell promising Dante another hour next week as I walk her out.
“How are you doing?” I ask, knowing she and Lance are having a similar shittastic year.
“Good. Stressed but good.” She pauses at the foot of the steps. “Does Lance…do you think he regrets it?”
“You mean you?”
“I’m sorry, I know I’m putting you on the spot. He’s so quiet sometimes. I just worry.”
“No, hell no. Not at all. We had drinks last week, and he told me he was happy.”
H
er smile is blinding. “Really?”
“Yeah, I promise you, he’s good.”
She nods several times. “I mean, he seems to be okay. It’s just a lot. You know. I don’t want to cause him any more stress than he’s under already with his family.”
“I get it, but if anything, you’re making his life better, Harper. I assure you.”
“I hope so. I really…” she blushes.
“Really what?”
“Really love him. So much it’s scary.”
“I’m pretty sure he feels the same.”
“I just wish we weren’t under all this bullshit. It’s my fault. I hope you know this is all my fault. I’m so sorry. I lied to him.”
“Don’t be. And trust me, I can understand more than you ever know how a lie can cost you. And you damn sure can’t help who you fall in love with.” I give myself away, sparing a glance back at Clarissa’s door.
“Yeah, I noticed that,” she says, looking back in the direction of the house. “It’s not just you.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“Trust me, it’s not. Give her time to come around.”
“I wish it was that simple.”
She shrugs. “Could be. Just be patient.”
“I’m trying. Hey, thanks again, Harper.”
“No problem.”
“You think he has a shot at getting better?”
“Yeah. He’ll be fine. And I admire you both for investing the time to make sure he’s able to at least make it through a dance. A lot of parents don’t worry about things like dancing.”
“We just want him to be able to experience the best of everything.”
“You’re a good dad, Troy.”
She smiles as Dante speaks up behind me. “Troy’s not my Daddy, duh.”
“Oh,” Harper says, giving me wide eyes.
Clarissa walks outside. “Apologize right now, young man.”
“Why? He’s not!”
“Because duh is rude, and I never want to hear it come out of your mouth again.”
“I was just bringing her sweater,” Dante mumbles, holding it out to Harper.
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