I enjoyed the convenience of flying, I loved taxiing down the runway and lifting off, but I didn’t like air turbulence or landing. The flight was quick and devoid of much air turbulence, which made me happy because I was already anxious about meeting Gabe’s mom and dad. I didn’t want anything to amplify my tension and turn me into some spastic version of me for when the big moment came.
My spirits soared the minute we grabbed our luggage from the little spinning thing–I could never remember the correct name–and headed toward the airport exit because I could see through the windows that the weather was glorious. Gabe promised me that both the air and water temperatures in Miami in February would be in the ’70s. I expected Gabe to veer over to the rental car agencies, but he kept walking toward the exit.
“There they are!” His exuberant announcement had me looking around for a celebrity or something. Who was it? Britney? Cher? Beyoncé? My heart rate was already accelerated from anxiety and I worried that I’d have a heart attack or stroke out before I got to meet Mom and Pop Wyatt. Next thing I knew, Gabe powerwalked his sexy ass over to an African American man and a Hispanic woman with their arms open wide to embrace him.
“My baby,” the woman said when she wrapped her arms about Gabe.
“Welcome home, son.” The declaration was followed up with a hearty back slap.
I had followed behind Gabe at a more leisurely pace wondering once again if I looked presentable enough to meet Al and Martina Wyatt. To Gabe this might’ve been a simple introduction, but to me it was everything. Gabe had gone from being my something to my everything. The swift changes to my life were both terrifying and exhilarating, and depending on the day, I either embraced or denied it. That day I chose to embrace it because his parents looked at me with huge, welcoming smiles on their faces when I approached the trio and I forgot to be afraid.
“Mom and Dad,” Gabe said reverently, “this is Josh.”
The Wyatts didn’t bother with formal things like handshakes, they were huggers. Martina snatched me up first and smelled like cinnamon, sugar, and love; her hug was as equally as warm. Al smelled like sunshine and strength when he pulled me in against him; his hug was equally as firm. I was happy that the slap on my back wasn’t as sharp as the one Gabe received.
“We are so excited to meet you,” Martina said. Her smiling lips trembled for a second before she bit them.
“He looks surprised to meet us,” Al said. “I bet Gabe neglected to mention he was adopted again.”
“It shouldn’t matter what race my parents are,” Gabe told his father.
“It’s his way of testing people.” Martina looped her arm through mine and the four of us made our way to the exit. “Let me tell you that plenty of people have failed him.”
“We don’t give a lot of thought to our family dynamics,” Al said. “Miami is such a melting pot of diversity and our situation isn’t unique, but we’ve learned that others aren’t quite as open-minded.”
“Their loss is my gain,” I said, earning a huge smile from Martina.
I learned fast where Gabe got his love of classic cars from when Martina and I followed Al and Gabe to a gleaming, cherry red Cadillac convertible that had to be from the ’60s. The white top was down and the white leather seats were as clean as if the car had just rolled off the assembly line in Michigan. I worried that I had packed too much for a week–okay, Gabe said I did– but I got over it the minute Al opened the trunk of that monster. Hell, I could’ve fit Princess inside the trunk.
“Sweet ride, Mr. Wyatt,” I said.
“None of that mister stuff. Just call me Al,” he said. “Nice to see that you found one that can appreciate classic cars when he sees one.” My appreciation of classic cars came more from envisioning my sexy boyfriend driving them, or better yet rimming and fucking me over the hood, but I didn’t think that Al wanted to hear that.
“He loves Charlotte,” Gabe said. At least I was the only one who picked up on the slight fluctuation in his tone or saw his wicked smile in the wide back seat of the car.
“I bet,” Al said. The humor in his voice said I wasn’t the only one to pick up on that after all.
“You must be hungry,” Martina said once Al had maneuvered out of the parking lot and onto a street. “I thought we’d go back to our house for a while and visit before we drop you off at the rental car agency.”
Their home was an upscale, two-story Spanish style home in a subdivision built around a golf course. As beautiful as it was, I couldn’t help but remember a conversation that Gabe and I once had.
“I’m not so scary, you know,” Gabe had said.
“Said the alligator to the little yappy dog that was standing along the side of the lake before he ate him.”
“There aren’t gators in those ponds, are there?” I whispered to Gabe as we walked to the front of his parents’ home.
“This is Florida and they can be found everywhere, babe.” I could tell by the look on his face that he was remembering the conversation too. Then he leaned over and loudly nibbled my neck, making me laugh and twist to get away from him.
His parents went inside rather than wait on us to stop fooling around. Gabe pulled me to him for a long, lingering kiss before he linked our fingers and led me inside. The ambience of Al and Martina’s home was the exact opposite of Gabe’s in Ohio. His parents’ home was filled with warm colors, inviting furniture, and family pictures were on every surface. Gabe’s home was sterile in comparison and didn’t have a single family photo sitting around.
“You didn’t get any of your mother’s decorating skills, did you?”
“Nope, not even one. I admire a home that’s put together well, but don’t have the first clue how to make it happen. You remind me a lot of my mom,” Gabe said.
I could tell by the reverent tone of voice that he meant that as a compliment, but comparing anyone to your mother is a recipe for disaster. “Babe, that’s just wrong on so many levels.”
“I wasn’t saying that because…”
“I know,” I said, cutting him off. I knew he wasn’t saying that I was feminine in any way. “I meant that our relationship shouldn’t resemble anything you have with a parent. That’s just gross.”
“I was only referring to your effortless cooking and decorating. You make having a warm and inviting home seem so easy.”
“You’re forgiven.” I stood up on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss before we continued to the kitchen.
“Jesus, you two,” Gabe said when we found his mom and dad kissing in the kitchen. “See, what did I tell you?” he asked me.
On our very first date, although I didn’t call it that at the time, Gabe told me that his parents still acted like newlyweds between bites of country fried steak–that I later put to shame. His revelation was the first thing, other than sex, that we had in common. What he thought was gross about his parents, I found completely charming. Of course, I suspected we’d have the exact reverse situation when he met my parents in the middle of the week.
“It’s our house,” Al told him, “and we’ll neck if we want to.” Al gave Martina one last peck on the lips and then waved for his son to follow him out to the garage. “I want to show you the next purchase I’m planning on making.”
I learned from Gabe that Al not only had a successful auto repair shop, he restored and rebuilt classic cars that had been abandoned. Some he kept for himself and others he sold for a considerable profit. I too was curious about the next project, but I could see that Martina wanted some alone time to talk to me one-on-one.
“Do you want to help me fix brunch?” she asked. “Gabe told me what a marvelous cook you are so try not to show me up in my own kitchen.” She winked playfully at me then walked to her refrigerator.
It would give me something to do with my nervous hands, besides look like I had a medical condition, so I jumped on it. Martina pulled a casserole dish out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. It appeared to be some type of French toast that you make th
e day before and let sit overnight. It looked scrumptious and I made a mental note to get the recipe from her later, especially if Gabe liked it, because I suspected that swapping recipes wasn’t on her mind right then.
“Do you have any food allergies?” she asked as she pulled fresh produce from her crisper drawer of her refrigerator. “I put a lot of veggies in Gabe’s scrambled eggs and I don’t want to add an ingredient that offends or attempts to kill you.”
“I don’t have any allergies and I like just about everything except liver and onions.” I began washing the vegetables in the sink as she pulled them out. I chuckled as I washed the button mushrooms because I thought of the faces Gabe made every time someone tried to slip one into a recipe. He thought cream of mushroom soup was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.
“What’s got you so tickled?” Martina asked.
“Oh, I was just laughing about Gabe’s hatred of mushrooms.” I was still recalling funny memories so it took me longer than normal to realize that Martina was standing as still as a statue. I turned and found her studying me with her head tilted to the side.
“Gabe doesn’t hate mushrooms,” she replied softly.
I realized that I was standing on very shaky ground and worried that my next words could make or break my relationship with her. “Oh, of course he doesn’t. I was confusing him with my best friend Chaz.” I giggled a little bit. “I blame it on my lack of sleep from…um…” I turned back and picked up the paring knife to either cut the veggies, slit my own throat, or defend myself from a marauding mama bear.
Martina didn’t move so I began slicing and dicing peppers and onions. I felt her eyes on me the entire time and I was afraid to blink. “Don’t slice those,” she said softly when I reached for the mushrooms. “Gabe doesn’t like them.” Her voice had a sadness to it that made me look up at her. I felt so bad that I upset her, even if it was accidentally. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that all these years.” Martina shook her head.
“He probably didn’t want to upset you,” I replied. “He made me chicken Marsala for dinner once and put all of the mushrooms on my plate. He picks them off his pizza rather than complain about them if they end up on there by accident.”
“There’s more to it than him just being thoughtful,” Martina said, “but thank you for trying to make me feel better.” The oven beeped to let her know that it was preheated so she slid the French toast casserole into the oven then set about cooking various types of meats. “You care a great deal for my son, Josh. I can tell that so I’m going to let you in on a little secret the way that you did for me just now.”
“Okay,” I said, almost hesitantly.
“Gabe isn’t just a pleaser by nature; a lot of it’s from circumstance or his misguided notion that he needs to be a certain way to be loved. I think that possibly comes from being adopted. He’s told you about his older brother, Dylan, right?” I nodded my head. “Well, Dylan was mine and Al’s biological child. We tried for years to conceive again, but it just wasn’t in the cards. The daughter of a long-time family friend became pregnant when she was a senior in high school and decided to give her baby up for adoption. As difficult as that time was for her, it was the answer to our prayers. We brought little Gabe home from the hospital and our family was finally complete.” Martina smiled sweetly as she recalled the memory.
“Gabe has known since he was old enough to understand that he was adopted. It seemed like there was a part of him that felt he needed to work harder to earn or keep our love. He adored his older brother so he wasn’t really competing with Dylan, but there was definitely a force pushing him to be perfect. It got worse when Dylan was killed. Someone actually had the gall to say that we had lost our only son, as if Gabe didn’t count because he wasn’t ours biologically. Al and I never felt that way so we don’t know where the idiot got the notion, but it didn’t matter because Gabe heard what the fool said and took it to heart. It seemed like it validated feelings and fears he’d harbored for years.”
“Wow, some people don’t know when to shut the hell up,” I told Martina. It broke my heart to think of Gabe feeling unloved and unwanted.
Martina chuckled then said, “They sure don’t. Losing Dylan was a terrible heartbreak and I was so far gone in my own grief that I didn’t see how close I came to losing Gabe too.” She brought her hand up and rubbed her throat as she blinked away tears. “He became unruly and stopped caring about life. I don’t know what would’ve happened to him had his football coach not stepped in and helped us. Gabe channeled his emotions into the sport he loved so much and I swear to you it saved his life.”
I decided I’d never complain about watching games with him again. I knew he loved the sport, but I never realized the emotional importance it had in his life.
“Anyway,” Martina waved her hand as if she was pushing the sad memories aside, “his refusal to tell me he doesn’t like mushrooms is an example of Gabe being worried more about pleasing me than himself. I’m glad you told me.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek.
It wasn’t long before Gabe and Al returned from the garage chatting about cars. Martina and I finished getting brunch put together then we gathered around the table to enjoy the feast. I bit my lip to keep from laughing when Gabe took his fork and tried to secretly poke through his scrambled eggs looking for the offensive mushrooms. Even more funny was the look on Martina’s face as she watched her son.
“Gabriel Allen Wyatt,” Martina said loud enough to make us all jump. “I cannot believe you’ve been picking out the mushrooms all these years. Where the hell did you put them?”
“You told her?” Gabe asked me accusingly, like I told her that he liked to eat ass.
“Don’t you even think about blaming this on Josh,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “Where did you put the mushrooms all these years? They were never on the plate when you were finished.”
“He fed them to the dog when he thought we weren’t looking or hid them in his napkin,” Al said. “What?” he asked when his wife stared at him in shock.
“You knew?” Martina asked Al, who just shrugged.
While his parents exchanged looks, I received one of my own from Gabe. In the grand scheme of things, Gabe not liking mushrooms wasn’t a big deal. His willingness to keep it from his mom for thirty-six years because he wanted to please her was a big deal. I couldn’t allow Gabe to sacrifice his own happiness just to please me. There would always be a mutually pleasing compromise, such as getting mushrooms on only half of a pizza or getting separate pizzas like we often did. We could use the same logic for whatever difference we had. It wasn’t my way or his way; it was our way. I just needed to make sure he knew it too.
Other than the mushroom confession from Josh, our visit with my parents went even better than I expected. While Josh was giving away my secrets, I spent time with my dad in his garage. He showed me the car he was hoping to buy and the plans he had to restore it if everything fell into place.
“Josh is really different than the other guys you brought home,” Dad said once we finished with the car talk. Two things happened: I felt myself getting defensive over Josh and I regretted that I had ever brought anyone else home to meet them. Josh wasn’t just another guy; he was the guy. Dad must’ve sensed that what he said upset me because he was quick to set me straight. “I meant that in a very good way, son.”
My ire turned to curiosity in a flash. “Why?”
“Well, he’s mature in a way the others weren’t, even though I’m guessing he’s younger than you,” Dad said.
“By six-and-a-half years,” I told him.
“He’s one of those who are wise beyond their years, an old soul. I don’t know if it’s his personality or a side effect of life, but it’s there nonetheless.”
“I think it’s a little bit of both,” I told him honestly.
Heart-to-heart talks weren’t something we normally did, but I knew my dad was always there for me if I needed him. I was surpri
sed when my dad said, “He’s comfortable in his own skin and his place in your life. I like that about him the most.”
“Me too,” I agreed. When I first saw Josh, I got the same impression about him being comfortable in his own skin. I realized later, that while it was mostly true, he used that as a shield to hide his deepest, darkest vulnerabilities. I wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that my love for him was enough to excise those hurts completely, but I did see him blossom and grow more confident in other ways once he realized that I wanted him just the way he was.
Josh’s confidence could never be confused with arrogance. He had no idea how much he lit a room up when he entered it, the insane way people were drawn to him, or the tight hold he had on my heart. I wanted him to know that I was his, and his alone. I needed him to know that his happiness enhanced my own. I wanted him to know that I pinned my hopes and dreams on a smart-mouthed, sexy salon owner. I just needed to wait for the right moment to present itself.
“I sense that you’re holding something back,” Dad said. “You and I both know that we don’t always get another chance to tell people the way we feel about them. Sometimes,” my dad’s voice broke, “they walk out that door to get their dad a carton of his favorite ice cream because his throat was hurting and they don’t come back. Gabe, if you love that man half as much as I think you do then you tell him.”
My dad’s words brought back all the grief we felt when Dylan was killed and reminded me that someone made threats against Josh, maybe not so much with words, but the pictures said a lot. I knew that my dad was right and that I had to create the moment and not wait for it to happen on its own because I may never get the chance. I had already planned a nice dinner at the steak and seafood restaurant in the hotel where we were staying so I mentally added a romantic stroll on the beach. What was more perfect than that?
Things were going according to plan too. We got to our hotel room, put up our clothes, and went down to the restaurant where I’d made a reservation. Josh chose the wine, I chose the appetizer, and the evening was off to a great start. Then I looked over Josh’s shoulder and locked eyes with a man I had never hoped to see again.
Welcome to Blissville Page 38