by Talya Andor
Claire flinched, then put a hand to the kitchen counter. "You're not fine."
"I am, and I'm going back to school today. I only have one class so there's no reason to skip that."
"No, you're not!"
"I am, though." Soren was firm on that point.
"I'm your mother, and—"
"And what?" Soren scraped his chair back from the table and stood. He was already dressed, hair tied back neatly, wallet chained to his belt loop and stuck in his back pocket. Ready to flee, in short. "That qualifies you to make medical judgments? Moral judgments? No, wait, I've got it: lifestyle judgments."
"Soren, no. That's not what I'm doing."
"But you are." Soren took a few steps forward. "You are, Mom. What do you see when you look at me? Do you see Soren? Or do you just see your unexpectedly gay son?"
Claire rallied, pushing away from the counter with an angry look. "How can you ask me that? I don't want you getting hurt, and you call that a judgment?"
Soren bit down on a laugh, shaking his head. "You can't stop me from getting hurt, don't you realize? It's called life, Mom, and I'm living it. I never really did that before." He drew in a breath. "You really think you can stop everything?"
"Soren, that's not what I'm trying to do."
He shrugged, lifting one hand self-consciously to the base of his heavy tail of hair. He'd been growing it for so long, yet all he ever wanted to do was pull it back. Silly thing to think of at a time like that. "I'm going to work, Mom. I need to talk to my boss and see what's been going on at the store."
Claire was shaking her head slowly back and forth. "You're staying here. You can call the store from home; you're not working today."
"Not that old argument. I have to see my manager in person. It's important after everything that's happened."
"If it's the money, I can—"
"It's not about the money! It's about doing for myself. It's about being an adult. I'm not a little boy. I'm not Ricky. Okay?"
Claire looked at him, hand going to her mouth.
"I'm twenty, and I'm not going to be here forever." Soren looked around the kitchen. He lifted a hand, let it drop. "You've been so concerned with ushering me into an appropriate future, a suitable life. Why not trust the job you did raising me and let me make my own choice?"
"You're taller than I am," Claire said in a small, strained voice. "When did you get so tall?"
"Bit by bit, I guess." He rested his thumbs on his belt loops and smiled across the kitchen at her, then dropped the expression.
She turned away. "I guess I can't stop you. I might as well drive you to the store, then." She cast about the kitchen looking for a single dish left to wipe and put away, but her earlier rounds had been utterly thorough. She laughed. "If I'd gone to work you would have had to stay home."
"Naw, Angie is on my side this time. We would've worked something out."
Claire found a towel anyway, though the kitchen was spotless. She flicked it over the cutting board and rubbed absently over clean tile. "I always had trouble letting you go, Soren."
"I know, Mom."
Together, they left the house, locked up, and got into Claire's Prius. Soren grabbed his school bag from the breakfast nook on the way out, already mentally plotting how to get to campus, though walking was always an option. He checked through his messages and texts on the way over, and was happy to find one from Lucas expressing regret he'd missed Soren's call, though it was short and terse enough that it gave him a pang of worry.
He went over it again, wondering if he was reading his own insecurities into the brief message. He had about half a dozen missed calls from Lucas, but no voicemails.
At last, Claire pulled into an empty spot outside of Soren's store, and he looked up, shoving his phone into his pocket.
"Well, I'm glad you stopped seeing Lucas."
Soren, hand halfway to the door handle, froze. "I what?"
Claire gazed through the windshield with a fixed expression.
"Mom, what are you talking about? What do you mean, I've stopped seeing Lucas?"
"He'd call you if he wanted to see you, so I figured…"
"How do you know he hasn't called?"
Claire was silent.
"Mom? What did you say to him?"
"Nothing. Why should I say anything to him?" Claire squeezed the steering wheel in both hands and cut him a furious look. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear the night you were hurt."
"And you had no right—"
"You were hurt because of him!"
"You keep blaming him, and I'm sick of it! That's what you tell yourself so that you won't have to blame me for being gay!" Soren fumbled with the door handle and got it open. "Well, I'm gay, Mom! Congratulations! Maybe I have a gay great-uncle somewhere in the family tree. I mean, they say it comes from the mother's side…"
Claire's head snapped around and she stared at him. That look was there—a ripple of revulsion, there and gone. "How can you say such horrible things? Soren, wait, Soren! We're not done—"
"Yes." Soren snagged his book bag and climbed out of the Prius. "We are."
*~*~*
In the furthest reaches of the St. Johns store, beyond the wall of silver-bagged beans that screened off the manager's space, Soren could barely hear the tick of the espresso machine though the faintest scream of the steam wand caught his ear. A pained look crossed his face. That bar wasn't the same without him—Jason was doing drinks on the bar and laying too heavily on the temperature. He could tell from the pitch of the hissing milk that it was near scalding.
"Pull up a chair," Michelle instructed brusquely. "Sit down. God, you look like hell."
"I do?" Soren asked, perched on the chair roughly opposite her cluttered shared desk. "I was hoping to come back to work tomorrow."
"Oh, you can work if you're able. I can't spare the help. You look tired, though, Soren. Lucas told me about what happened, and the police called. How are you doing?"
Soren shrugged. "I'm fine. Better. Short on sleep, and due for a follow-up with the doctor, but I'm fine." He straightened his shoulders, sitting up a bit, and looked her directly in the eyes.
Michelle raised a brow. "You know, I think you've changed over the past few months. For the better. You've been coming out of your shell." She pushed a small ring of keys across the desk, left her hand resting over them for a moment. "I'm glad you stopped by, Soren, because there's something I want to ask you. When your mother called in yesterday, I wasn't sure when I'd be seeing you again."
"I'm here sooner than she wanted," Soren admitted.
"Oh? Well, it's a mother's job to be protective. She sounded real upset when I spoke with her the other day." Michelle shrugged, looking down at the monthly planner spread out over her desk. "We've got gaps in the schedule I could throw my dog through. For now, I'm using the part-timers to fill in, but most of them can't pick up more hours on a permanent basis—almost all you kids are going to school except for Ray, Danice, Becky, and Teri. I need another shift supervisor and I want it to be you."
"I see." Soren sucked in a breath of air and thought about it, letting his eyes wander over the cluttered wall beyond her. It was covered with tacked-up papers, merchandising plans and schedules, briefs and memos from the regional office, old weekly schedules, the store roster—Aaron's name had a red line through it—and pamphlets about coffee tastings, promotionals, infobytes. Not too long ago, he would have agreed diffidently because it was the thing to do. Now, he had to weigh the added responsibilities against his schedule, his need for a frantic game of catch-up…and Lucas. If he still had Lucas. "I'm off the schedule next week. Midterms."
"I know," Michelle said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I think we'll be working some overtime next week any which way I can cut it."
Soren pulled out his phone and looked through his calendar. "You can put me on the schedule for next Friday morning or Saturday, if you need me."
She waved a hand. "Don't worry about it, you've
been through enough. It's good to take a break, you know? You'll need it when you're done with midterms, trust me."
Soren smiled faintly. Having the following Friday and Saturday off would do wonders, especially with his family leaving for Anaheim that weekend. It would be his own personal vacation, a dream come true, the whole house all to himself.
"Though…We do need you tomorrow. You think you'll be up to it?"
"Definitely," Soren said with a nod. He hoped he'd be able to get a better night's sleep tonight. There were a few things he had to resolve first, though.
"Great. So…what do you think?" She tapped the keyring on the desk.
He extended his hand. "All right," he said. "I'll do it. I'll be a shift super."
Michelle's mouth twitched in something passing for a smile and she gave him her right hand to clasp, shaking on it. "I can tell you thought about that," she said. "I like that. I want people who're looking out for more than just the pay differential."
Soren gave her a nod. "I had a lot to think about." She dropped the keys into his hand.
"We'll make the change effective on the twenty-ninth, and have someone start training you. Your schedule is compatible with Lucas's, so I hope you don't mind him training you."
"I think—"
"What the hell is this? "
Aaron pushed his way into the back room, spilling half a dozen aprons off the hook in passing. He loomed close, his face dark with anger. "Are you giving him my job?"
"That's none of your business," Michelle said.
Aaron's eyes were hard. "I'm here for my last paycheck."
"I'm surprised you had the nerve to come back for it." Michelle turned back to Soren. "Soren, I think we're finished. Take care and I'll see you tomorrow."
Soren nodded. His eyes flickered as he stood to leave and Aaron brushed past him, avoiding body contact with precise care despite the close quarters.
Soren hauled himself up as someone banged through the door with a tub of dishes braced on her hip. Sloane's pixie-thin face turned up and her eyes went enormous, a smile brightening her face. The door whooshed past an inch from his nose.
"Soren!" she cried happily, shoving her armful on top of the ice machine and sizing him up. "Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't come over yesterday. I got called in…" Her hands hovered near his shoulders and she danced this way and that before he settled the issue for her and held his arms open. She hugged him gingerly nonetheless.
"I'm okay," he said, pressing a hand to the base of her neck and the short-cropped hair there. "Mostly, anyway."
"You got stitches?" She pulled back, eyes searching his anxiously, then darting for the far side of the back room.
"Yeah," he said quietly, and tipped his head back to indicate the office area. "I'm pretty sure the store is pressing charges." He thought he'd have felt something more when he saw Aaron, but he'd gone cold and tongue-tied. Not out of fear, but the fact that he had nothing to say to him.
He wasn't afraid of Aaron anymore—if he ever had been. Now Soren didn't even pity him.
"Ah." Her mouth twisted. "I'm surprised he dared come in."
"Michelle said pretty much the same thing."
Her eyes roamed over his face and he knew what she was going to say before she said it. "You look, well, awful."
"I didn't think I looked that bad, but now I'm starting to wonder," Soren said lightly. He gripped her arms, then released her. "I had to get out of the house before Mom and I hurled anything stronger than insults at each other."
"You're fighting with your mom?"
"Yeah, she—"
"How's Lucas taking it? I saw him this morning, but he rushed out before I could say boo. He looked awful too."
There was a small vindictive pleasure in that before Soren brushed aside the horrid feeling. "I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him since the other night."
"Sor-en!"
"There were…reasons. My mom, for one. I left the house because she refuses to focus on anything other than how she wants Lucas out of my life."
Sloane drew a breath, brows compressing.
Soren checked over his shoulder. Aaron hadn't emerged yet and he didn't want to push his luck. "Look, I have to go, okay? I have a class to get to, and errands to run."
"All right. Don't push yourself, okay?"
Soren patted her on the shoulder. "Everyone keeps saying that. I think the real problem was that I didn't push myself enough before."
She tilted her head at him, a curious birdlike gesture. "That's surprisingly mature of you," she said.
"What, you mean I wasn't until now?"
Now her full mouth curved in a wry smile. "Get out. You know what I mean." One hand reached up to pat his face. "You look different."
Soren figured he must not have spent much time looking in the mirror recently. He couldn't see the difference others were relating to him. "I guess? I don't feel that much different."
Sloane took up the tub of dishes once more, giving him appraisal up and down. "I think you're getting more confident. Looks good on you."
"Thanks." With a cautiously optimistic smile, Soren steered his way out of the busy store. There were things he had to take care of.
*~*~*
The slam of the door echoed over the parked cars in the lot as Lucas wrestled free of his Lexus, wishing he could leave his foul mood behind as easily. His attempt to see Soren had ended with being barred from the house, no sign of Soren at all, and threats of a restraining order.
He took the stairs fast, thoughts going ahead to the things that still had to be done in the afternoon before class. It was a no-brainer class, but there was homework piling up.
Fumbling for his keys, Lucas nearly missed the apparition heading away from his door.
"Hey. Snap out of it." Soren cocked his head at him, dark hair loose around his face.
"Fuck." Lucas dropped his keys and stared. "You're here…Soren, you're here. Aren't you?"
Soren laughed at him as he stooped, but his mouth was merely twitching as Lucas righted himself and slipped the keys in his pocket, moving in for a hug. Lucas took stock of Soren—standing, moving, breathing, all systems green—and drifted against him to gather him into a close embrace.
"Missed you," Soren said against his neck.
"It's been two days," Lucas said. Too long. He rubbed his fingers at Soren's nape, reveling in the feel of skin beneath his fingers, the warm breath against his neck.
"Actually it hasn't even been forty-eight hours, but who's counting?" Soren pulled back enough for Lucas to get a better look at him in the thin sunlight that streamed into the second-tier hallway. The angle was strange, backlighting him, making him a cutout of gold with dark detail.
"Me," they both said.
Soren looked better, giving Lucas a bare hint of a smile. His hair was loose—and shorter. "What did you do to your hair?" Lucas reached up and touched it, exploring the layering that caused it to frame Soren's face, and taper off at chin level. It was shorter in back, buzzed at the nape.
"Cut it, stupid. You don't approve?"
"It looks great." Lucas reached out again and stroked hair away from his face. "I still can't believe it happened. I can't…it doesn't even make sense, how could anyone do that to you?"
Soren ducked his head, an uncomfortable expression crossing his face.
"Hey," Lucas murmured, grasping his chin with gentle fingers. "You okay? I mean…"
"Getting there," Soren replied.
Lucas began to nod, and his voice was rough when he spoke. "I'm sorry I couldn't get hold of you. I called, probably more than I should have if you were trying to rest. And, after what your mom said, I kind of thought I would never get to see you again."
Lucas's breath caught in his throat and he searched Soren's face, intent for the slightest cue as he waited, more scared than he could remember in a long time.
Soren began to shake his head, newly cut hair wisping around his face. "What the hell did she tell you? I knew it had to be something
extreme, she's been trying to keep me off my phone ever since I got back from the hospital."
"She made it pretty clear I was responsible for the changes she was seeing in you, changes that were leading you into risky behaviors." Lucas stopped and took a breath. "And then, I called the next day to see how you were, and she wouldn't tell me how you were, wouldn't let me talk to you. I've been trying to call you, call your house, even stopped by today, but she's been blocking me every which way—"
"My mom has been an absolute bitch." Soren closed the distance between them and pulling Lucas into his arms again. He stroked over Lucas's hair and worked a hand through the fine locks, palming Lucas's nape as they settled together. "I'm surprised she didn't confiscate my phone. She told me you'd never called, at all."
"That's not true!" Lucas twitched in Soren's arms and Soren held him even more tightly. "I came back from your house, just now. She wouldn't let me see you—"
"Because I wasn't there." Soren pulled back far enough to look into Lucas's eyes. He petted Lucas's hair again, his touch soothing, but his eyes were still anxious. "Obviously. Because I'm here now, right?"
Lucas took a breath, beginning to nod. "Yeah. Yeah, you're here now."
Soren huffed, hugging him tight again. "My sisters have been trying to run interference, but my mom has been worse than I've ever seen her…"
Lucas sighed and crushed Soren close to him, inhaling the familiar scent that he'd been missing. "Are you okay to come in?"
Soren hesitated, burying his face against Lucas's neck.
"I'm glad you're here," Lucas whispered, stroking Soren's back through his jacket. "I'm so happy to see you. God, I've been doing nothing but thinking about you…we can go wherever you want to, okay? I just want to be with you for a little while."
"I'm good," Soren said, clinging to his jacket even as he extracted himself from Lucas's embrace.
Lucas pulled him into the crook of his arm, fumbling left-handed with his keys now as he attempted to open the door and keep a grip on Soren all at the same time. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? I just about forgot lunch, I've been running around all day—" He grunted as he managed to get the door open and nudged it with his foot, letting it swing wide.