by Nell Iris
We spend the rest of the evening on the couch, cuddled together under the blanket, watching broody teenage vampires, and ordering pizza for dinner. When he falls asleep with his head on my shoulder, I turn down the volume and watch another movie before I wiggle free and lay him down so he can sleep.
I resist the urge to kiss his forehead. Then I go to bed, warm all the way into my soul.
Chapter 5
Pippin’s been borrowing my couch every night for four weeks straight when I’m woken up from my sleep by someone trying to pound down the door.
A glimpse with one eye on my phone tells me it’s just after twelve and I’ve been sleeping for only about four hours.
“What the heck?” I stumble out of the bed. I pull a sweatshirt over my head to go with my pajama pants and run my fingers through my hair a couple times, hoping I don’t look too troll-like. At the door, I yank it open with a growl. “Yes?”
…And almost faint of shock when I’m met by Crystal Olander’s sweetly smiling face. She’s a tiny woman with curves in all the right places and platinum-blond, perfect hair. Her makeup is tasteful, her clothes sexy but not too revealing, and she has a fun and flirty demeanor. I guess I understand why every straight man north of the equator likes her.
Pippin looks nothing like her; he must take after his dad.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Her hand flies to her throat and she flutters her eyelashes. I want to laugh at her and tell her she’s barking up the wrong tree, but she already knows about my preferences. Maybe she can’t turn it off.
“Crystal?” I can’t seem to form a coherent thought. During all the years I’ve lived in Ma’s house, she’s visited once, ages ago.
“Aren’t you gonna let me in?” More eyelash-fluttering.
“Uh, sure.” I step to the side and open the door so she can enter.
She saunters into my house, hips swinging from side to side with one hand on her waist as though she wants to accentuate her curves. “Are you fixing up the place?” she asks, standing in the middle of the living room—that’s now empty, except for the couch covered in a tarp—looking at the stripped walls.
Pippin and I finished fixing up the second bedroom I use as my gym, and after we were done, he convinced me to start with the living room. We crammed all the furniture into the tiny gym the other day, except the couch that won’t fit.
“Yeah.”
“Any particular reason?” She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow and smiles at me in a way I’m sure is meant to be seductive.
I grab a strand of my beard and give it a sharp tug, hoping the pain will wake up my fuzzy mind.
What’s she doing here? What does she want? If I’m gonna survive her visit and form real sentences with actual words, I need something to fortify me. “Coffee?” I ask.
“Why not.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other and scratch my neck. Do I just leave her here or do I try to herd her to the kitchen? A quick glance at her tells me she’s trying to sneak a peek down the hallway and into my bedroom, but I can’t bring myself to care. It’s not like I have anything to hide, not even if she would go all out snooping. No hidden stash with dildos or porn DVDs or…whatever. It’s too early for me to try to figure out what she might be looking for.
So I turn on my heel and shuffle to the kitchen, where I prepare an extra-large batch of coffee, with an extra scoop of beans for good measure. As I wait for it to finish brewing, I force myself to stay put and not rush into the living room and catch her in the act of snooping. I’m sure the reason for her visit will come out sooner or later.
I’m right. As the machine sputters out the last of the life-giving beverage, I pour myself a cup and gulp half of it immediately, grimacing and swearing as I burn my tongue.
And maybe it’s the scent that finally draws her to the kitchen, or she’s done poking around my stuff, but after I’ve taken a second, more careful, sip, she joins me.
I hold up my coffee and nod in its direction.
“Please. Milk and sugar.”
I fix her a cup and place it on the breakfast bar with the milk and sugar she asked for so she can doctor her own drink, then I climb onto a stool.
She joins me and pours spoon after spoon of sugar in her cup. I’m thinking of telling her it’d be easier to pour the coffee into the sugar bowl, considering the amount she adds. Then she stirs and stirs, making the spoon clink against the cup until I’m about to go crazy, but she doesn’t say anything.
“So, Crystal. Whatcha doin’ here?” I don’t feel like being polite. In my defense, I’m still groggy from lack of sleep.
“Am I not allowed to visit my neighbor?” Her sugary smile rivals her coffee.
“Sure. If it was somethin’ you usually did. But considerin’ you haven’t set foot in this house for about ten years, you can’t blame a man for askin’.”
She forces out a strained giggle and stalls by drinking some coffee. Irritation simmers in my chest, but I keep my mouth shut. It pays off. “Soooo, what are you doing with my son?”
“What am I doin’ with your son?”
“That’s what I said.”
“What are you talkin’ about? I’m not doin’ anythin’.”
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “So how come he’s been sleeping with you for weeks now?”
I open my mouth and close it again. Blink. Draw a deep breath. “Sleepin’ with me? Are you drunk?”
She laughs. “No, I’m not. And are you calling Pippin a liar?”
I narrow my eyes and slam my cup on the breakfast bar. “No. Pippin is as honest as they come. I’d never say nothin’ bad about him.”
She huffs and opens her mouth, but before she can get in another word, I continue.
“Pippin can’t seem to get enough sleep at home because of…loud noises…and Lord knows he needs his rest. Him workin’ two jobs an’ all. ‘S why I let him sleep here whenever he needs it. On the couch.”
She cocks her head and trills out a forced laughter. “That’s what I said.”
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at her, refusing to take the bait.
“It’s not like Pippin would be interested in you like that anyway. You’re way too old for him. You’re my age, for God’s sake.”
She’s starting to grate on my last nerve. I wish she would just disappear. Or that I could pick her up and physically throw her out of the house and slam my door in her face. Instead, I just keep staring at her.
“I mean, what could he possibly see in someone like you?”
I stand so hastily, the stool scrapes the floor and almost topples. Sucking a lungful of air, I grab my cup and slosh more coffee into it. When I return to my seat, my heart is still slamming against my ribcage, trying to break free, but my face is arranged in a cold mask. I force myself to answer, even though my instinct is to slink away and avoid this discussion at all costs.
“Crystal,” I say, keeping my voice low and calm. “The only one who’s got the right to decide if I’m too old for Pippin, is Pippin. What you or I think ain’t important, he’s plenty old to decide for himself. Not that it matters, since nothin’s goin’ on between us. And it ain’t none of your business.”
Neither is me dreaming about it at night, wanting to feel his body against mine, his breath in my ear, and his mouth on my lips.
“Of course, it’s my business.” She raises her voice and her bright blue eyes shoot lightning bolts in my direction. “I’m his mother.”
“Are you now?” I grimace as the words slip out of my mouth, wishing I could take them back.
“What the fuck are you insinuating?”
“I’m sayin’ you haven’t been actin’ like his mother since you moved into the neighborhood, ‘s what I’m sayin’.”
Her cocky attitude vanishes in front of my eyes, like air leaking from a broken tire. “Don’t you think I know that?” she yells and hides her face in her palms.
I rub my eyes with my thumb and index finger. T
his is too surreal. Am I still sleeping? Is this a weird nightmare?
“I was fifteen when I got pregnant with Pippin. Fifteen! No one’s ready to be a parent at that age. My parents wanted me to give him up for adoption.” She straightens her back and grabs her cup, but doesn’t drink from it, nor does she look at me. “I refused.” She lets out a short, bitter laugh, like a smatter. “I already gave up Merry, I couldn’t give up this baby, too.”
I scratch my neck. “Uh. Merry?”
“I don’t know her real name. They never let me see her. But that’s what I call her in my mind. Pippin’s older sister. I was fourteen when I had her, and my parents made me give her away.”
All this is making me dizzy. I rub my forehead. Pippin’s got a sister?
“They got furious at me for getting pregnant again with Pippin. My father’s face was so red, I thought he’d have a heart attack.” Her gaze is far away and she’s talking as though she’s forgotten I’m in the room. “First they yelled at me. Demanded to know who the father was. When I refused to tell them, they pleaded. Said I wasn’t mature enough to be a mom, and the baby deserved better. They pleaded for his well-being. But I didn’t listen. I wanted my baby. Then they told me I had to move out if I refused to give him up, and I did.”
My head spins with every detail spilling out of her mouth. Why is she even telling me all this? People usually don’t reveal this kind of detailed information to someone who’s little more than a stranger, and it’s making me confused.
“I moved in with my boyfriend. And before you ask, not Pippin’s father. He was long gone. My boyfriend was older than me, had money, and liked them young. He didn’t wanna be a father, so after Pippin was born, he told me to get out. So I found someone else.” She shrugs as though what she’s telling me is nothing special, just normal life for a fifteen-year-old.
She continues her story and tells me how she always could find someone to support her and Pippin when she needed to. Then she met a married guy who installed her in her house as his side piece. They were together for a few years, but when she got pregnant, he insisted on her having an abortion and she went along with it to keep him. He left her anyway, but let her keep the house, so at least she had somewhere to stay.
She never finished high school and never worked a day in her life, and all she felt she could do was find men that would support her a while before moving on.
Her voice is devoid of all emotion through her entire speech. A little smirk plays in the corner of her mouth, and I want to rub it off her face.
“I should have listened to my parents. Pippin would have been better off without me. I know that now. But he’s my son and I love him, no matter what anyone believes.”
I don’t know what to say. What to do. Her story explains a lot. Thrown out of the house as a teenager. No education; no support system. My heart aches for Crystal the young girl.
“But you’re an adult now. You know better,” I say, the image of little six-year-old Pippin on the stairs to their house forever burned into my memory.
“What do I know?” The faraway look in her eyes disappears, and she glares at me. “I know nothing. I have no skills. I can’t even cook. All I know is how to use my body. I’m really fucking good at fucking, Buck.” Her voice turns into a growl and then a scream, and I rear back as though she slapped me.
Her eyes lock with mine. Her mouth is a slash across her face, her eyebrows fused together on her forehead, and her hands shaped into claws.
Then she shakes it off and plasters the smile back on her face. “I know I’m a sad excuse for a mother.” She forces a laugh. “But if you hurt my son, I will cut off your balls. He doesn’t need that shit from anyone else.” She jumps off the stool and empties her cup in a huge gulp. “I’ll see myself out.”
She leaves my house the way she entered it, hips swinging and a hand at her waist. The door slams behind her, but I’m frozen to the spot.
I feel as though I’ve been bulldozered to the ground. Mangled. I’m exhausted.
Confused.
I stare at the lipstick mark on her cup and try to process the information she crammed into my head.
Does Pippin know he has an older sister somewhere? Do I tell him his mother was here? What she said? What she thinks is going on between us?
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, but the world keeps spinning. Her story plays in my mind on repeat and I have no idea what to do with it.
I shuffle back to bed to try and get a few more hours sleep, but I can’t turn off my mind enough to even close my eyes. After thirty minutes or so, I give up, take a quick shower, and flee my house. I need to think.
Chapter 6
I drive around for hours with Crystal’s words ringing in my ears. I don’t know why her story hit me so hard, but it did. Anger over the way she’s treated Pippin through the years wars with compassion for the young, pregnant girl who was thrown out of her home.
Yes, she’s a grown-up now and should know better. But I can also imagine how difficult life must be without the support of family. Of anyone.
My sister and I were lucky; Ma was a terrific parent. She raised us herself after Dad died in a car accident two months before Aubrey was born and I don’t remember much about him. Ma never remarried or even dated again after she lost him.
“He was the love of my life,” she always said. “Why would I want someone else? Besides, I got you rascals.”
And no matter how busy she was working three jobs and putting food on our table, she was always there for us. Maybe she didn’t have all the time she would have wanted to help with our homework, but emotionally, we never lacked for anything. I haven’t felt neglected a single day of my life and we knew without a doubt she loved us.
Which was why Aubrey called me an “effing idiot” when I was too scared to tell Ma I was gay. I was almost sure she’d understand, but I was terrified to lose her on the off chance I was wrong.
So Aubrey took things into her own hands and outed me to Ma. That earned her a stern lecture about how it’s never okay to reveal other people’s secrets, and that some things take longer to come to terms with than others and that’s all right. Then Ma apologized to me for not making absolutely sure I knew she loved me no matter what, lectured me on safe sex, and asked if I had a boyfriend I wanted to introduce to her.
What would have happened to me if Ma had reacted differently? If she had disowned me and thrown me out? I was a couple years older than Crystal was—seventeen instead of fifteen—had a part-time job, and helped take care of my baby sister and the house. I had my crap amazingly together for a guy at that tender age, and I like to believe I would have managed better than Crystal. But there’s no way of knowing. The trauma of being abandoned by the one I trusted the most could have badly screwed with my head.
So who am I to judge Crystal? I should blame her parents and all the men who have used her over the years. But on the other hand, it’s impossible to ignore fifteen years of being angry on Pippin’s behalf.
My ma didn’t have an education either, but she found a way. She worked off her behind to keep us clothed and fed, which is probably why I’m still angry at Crystal. Has she even tried getting a job? Ever?
I grunt and turn up the radio full blast, hoping the music will drown out my thoughts.
When my belly starts screaming at me for not feeding it, I turn back and stop at a diner at the edge of town where I haven’t been in years. It smells the same, though—grease and bitter coffee—and the classic red vinyl booths are even more worn than last time I was here. The waitress shows me to a table by the window, and I order a club sandwich and a Budweiser since it’s Friday and I’m not working tonight.
I inhale the food as though I haven’t eaten in weeks, ask for a second beer, then coffee and apple pie for dessert. When my hunger is sated, I lean back and stretch my legs and fold my hands on my stomach.
Food brought some clarity to my jumbled mind, and I know I have to tell Pippin about his mom’s vi
sit and what was said. I want him to know that no matter what, he can trust I’m telling the truth. Keeping things from him just because they make me uncomfortable or confused doesn’t promote trust, and I ache to be someone he can depend upon. He needs to know there’s always at least one person who’ll always be there for him, and that person is me.
After my decision, I feel lighter. And a little stupid for overreacting. In my defense, Crystal literally woke me up and my brain doesn’t function properly without coffee.
I catch the waitress’s attention and ask for the bill. As I fumble for my wallet in my jacket on the seat next to me, someone sits down across from me.
“Hiya, Buck.”
I furrow my eyebrows and do a double-take, making sure I heard correctly. Unfortunately, I did, and I suppress a groan. How could I have forgotten that this was Lyin’ Dave’s favorite place? “What do you want?”
The waitress brings the check and I hand over cash with a generous tip, earning myself a real smile and a “Thanks, honey” before she hurries away.
“You’re damned buff,” Dave drawls when we’re alone again. “Have you done nothing but working out since we split up? You look fantastic.”
So does he, but I wouldn’t tell him even if someone threatened to drown me in a blackwater tank. He was always good-looking. Hot. Tall. All lean ropey muscle and an ass that fits perfectly in my hands. And those darned dimples, slashing deep through his cheeks, upping his charm factor to two thousand. Dimples like that should be against the law, at least on a douchebag like him. He cajoled me with them more than once. Got me to do what he wanted; got me to trust him.
“Aw, don’t be like that, Buck,” he used to say. “Come here and give me a kiss. You know you wanna.”
I caved more often than not. Until the last time when he couldn’t be bothered to get out of my house before taking it up the ass by someone who wasn’t me.
“What do you want?” I scowl, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Aw, don’t be like that, Buck.” He flashes the dimples. “Can’t I just say ‘hi’? For old time’s sake?”