by Jayce Ellis
She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Yes, of course. Everyone begs for your time and attention. That boy can suggest the most ridiculous thing and you’ll jump, do a triple flip, and land flat on your back. He’ll laugh and tell you to do it again, and you will.”
It might be an understatement to say Ma wasn’t Carlton’s biggest fan. It probably had something to do with Deion’s nineteen-year crush on his best friend, one that started almost from the moment they were paired together as sophomores, but that was just an educated guess. It was also why, especially in the past few years, he’d learned to mention Carlton less and less. The miles separating them made it easier to avoid bringing him up. One-word answers came in handy, and at some point, Ma probably assumed Deion had finally gotten over it. Shit, he wished he had. That he couldn’t fix his face quick enough to avoid her questions was something he’d likely spend the rest of the day berating himself for. Time to change the subject.
“Did you have a time frame for when you wanted me to come out?” he asked. It wasn’t like he couldn’t do both. Hell, all. He could date, see Carlton for homecoming, and visit his parents. This could end up being more excitement than he’d had in decades.
Ma paused for a moment before arching one perfectly shaped brow. He wasn’t fooling her a bit, but she went along with it, her face brightening. “Not really, no. I figured you could fly out whenever the mood struck and we’d go from there. You know there’s no rush for you to come. Or go.”
Deion knew that. Ma had been clear she wanted him to relocate permanently. No visits for him. She was sure he’d find a position at one of the universities there, something he’d eventually make tenure on. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that the UK system was as bad about tenuring Black professors as the US one. Sometimes ignorance truly was bliss.
Still, it wasn’t a bad idea, and lord knew he could do with a break. “Let me think about it, okay? I really do need to do some ground-floor soul-searching before I start making permanent plans.”
“And you need to go spend time with that boy.” She smiled, both knowingly and with the faintest hint of long-suffering maternal irritation.
“Ma, please, no more.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said after a pause. “You know I just want to see you settled. You’re my only baby and I gave up on grandchildren a long time ago. I just want someone to take care of you.”
Her voice was sad, almost too sad, and something in him crumbled. His parents hadn’t been thrilled by the news he was gay, and it had nothing to do with sexuality and everything to do with babies. Adoption, surrogacy, none of that persuaded them that he could still give them the grandchildren they longed for.
“Ma, I promise you things will be okay. Don’t you think I want that too?” He swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “You’ll get everything you want, one way or the other.” Why he was lying to her, he didn’t know, but that tiniest whimper she sometimes gave was enough for him to promise the world if only she wouldn’t be so damn disappointed. Rationally, he knew it was manipulative. Emotionally, he didn’t care.
His words seemed to pacify her, and she nodded, her smile wan. “Okay, baby. We’ll talk soon?”
“Of course.” They said their goodbyes and he clicked off the phone. Holy hell, how were these conversations getting more difficult the more often they had them? Maybe it was talking to Ma, hearing her plea for grandchildren so soon after wishing for the same while he watched Bev. He’d made Ma a nearly impossible promise, unless he was ready to be a single father and adopt, but it was one he wanted with his whole heart and would never have if he didn’t put himself out there.
He’d let his infatuation with Carlton blind him to his own needs, but no more. Yes, he’d date, and hopefully he’d find someone to make a life with. And if that didn’t work, he’d consider his next steps.
With a groan, Deion flopped to his back on the ancient couch Carlton had picked out their senior year, and opened his messages. The conversation with Ma, especially about Carlton, always reminded him of his own weaknesses. It didn’t help that talking to his best friend never failed to make him long for something he should have given up on nineteen years ago.
Still, he nestled in to chat with Carlton via text the same way he talked to Ma on video. It was sure to be the highlight of his week, heart be damned. He’d smile, and laugh, and yearn, and then he’d move on. Eventually.
Chapter Two
Carlton tilted his head back and stretched it to one side, then the other. Four fifty-seven on the Friday after Labor Day. Classes were in full swing, and his job as senior financial aid advisor meant he’d stayed late every day this week working out tuition issues. But now he had three minutes to go, and at five o’clock sharp, he was gone.
“Excuse me, Mr. Monroe?” a timid voice behind him called out.
Mother. Fucker. The first week of a new school year was always the worst, but he was at the end of his rope and needed to get, if not home, then at least the hell out of here.
Carlton closed his eyes and dug his nails into the palm of his hand before opening them and looking up. He couldn’t even try to put on the façade of professionalism. “Yes? How can I help you?”
The poor kid standing in front of him looked terrified, like he was about to burst into tears. Fuck. That was par for the course the first few weeks, until all the aid packages arrived—some companies truly didn’t care that the school demanded its money before classes started, and wouldn’t hesitate to dismiss a student for nonpayment, even if it wasn’t their fault. He hated the heartbroken, crestfallen looks on students’ faces when he couldn’t do more for them and they had to withdraw until money came in. From the look on this kid’s face, they were in that exact boat.
The next words confirmed it. “I got a dismissal letter that said I hadn’t paid my tuition, but I swear I got a scholarship, and no one can find it. I...” His voice shook and he swallowed a sob. “I came down here a couple of days ago and the woman wouldn’t help me.”
Carlton frowned and pointed to the chair in front of him. “Have a seat. Tell me your name, and what’s going on.”
Bryan—that was his name—laid out the story: his mom worked for a company that offered tuition assistance for kids whose parents had worked for them for twenty years or longer. He’d qualified, and for the first two years had received his scholarship with no issue. This year, he’d gotten the same scholarship, but it wasn’t on his ledger. The kid had done all the legwork, calling to find out where it was, and showed him an email from the company saying the check had been sent three weeks ago. Carlton stared at that email, then cursed under his breath.
“Mr. Monroe?” Bryan asked, and god, Carlton hated the way his voice wobbled. It reminded him way too much of how his nephew Trey had been when he’d first shown up on Carlton’s doorstep a year ago.
“I’m sorry,” Carlton said after a moment of silence. “Stay here, give me a minute.”
He walked to one of the back cubicles, where LeeAnn sat. She’d been there almost as long as Carlton himself, over fifteen years. But she had a tendency to be—what’s the word?—messy. And more than once a student’s ability to continue classes had been based on whether or not LeeAnn had actually put the check into the system. Carlton’d never had any suspicion of foul play, of LeeAnn keeping the checks. He might’ve accepted that more than the reality. LeeAnn was lazy and needed to go, and the students suffered as a result.
He slid into her desk and rifled through it. He felt bad, but nothing personal should be here, and he’d ignore it anyway. There was nothing in the first stack of papers he flipped through, and nothing in the second. But on the third, he found a sticky note with the student’s name and the amount outstanding. That just verified what Bryan had already told him—he’d come by and spoken to her.
Still, nothing indicated she’d actually received anything. Not there or anywhere else he check
ed, until he opened a drawer. There, sitting on top of her pins and highlighters, was a note. To be inputted. A thick, industrial-strength rubber band of checks that presumably hadn’t been entered into the system, for various students, and today was the last day to finalize this semester’s tuition. If he was being exact, four minutes ago was the deadline, since it was now past five. Easily three to four hours of work just chilling in the drawer, and Carlton was the only one at the office. Holy mother of god.
He fished out the stack and sank deeper into the seat. Sure enough, Bryan’s was there, near the end of the bundle. Carlton wanted to take care of Bryan’s issue and leave the rest till Monday. But those letters of dismissal were automatically generated, and those kids would show up for class on Monday, find themselves no longer on the rolls, and Carlton couldn’t handle knowing his laziness had caused it. The only thing to do was stay late and make sure he wasn’t missing anything else. He grabbed the envelope, pulling Bryan’s out to show him, and walked back up front.
Bryan was tapping his foot furiously against the tile floor, the sound reverberating through the otherwise quiet space. He looked up, his eyes wide and jaw set in a hard line. Like he was expecting the worst of the worst.
Carlton sat down and grinned, and at least it was genuine. “We found it.”
Air whooshed out of the kid and he slunk down in the seat, covering his eyes with one hand. He didn’t even try to hide the wetness when he let his arm fall. “Really, Mr. Monroe? You really found it? I don’t have to leave?”
As many students as he couldn’t help, Carlton lived for the ones he could. “No, you’re fine.” He opened Bryan’s envelope and checked the amount against his outstanding balance. Perfect, down to the penny.
Carlton wondered how many students had come in this week and been given the same runaround, when their checks had been sitting in a damn to-do stack the whole time. Students who’d already missed classes where attendance was mandatory. Students who’d already given up and left for the semester. Holy hell, he was in for a long weekend, because he needed to double-and triple-check all the desks, not just the one.
No sense worrying about it now. He focused his attention on Bryan. “I am so sorry for the delay in getting this resolved. I apologize to you, and to your mom, and to your mother’s company. I’ll make sure this is processed today, and you’ll be all set to go.”
“Are you sure? It’s after five. I know I came at the last minute, but I just really didn’t know what else to do.”
Carlton chuckled. This guy reminded him so much of Trey, who even in the midst of his own despair always put everyone else’s feelings first. “I appreciate that, but this is my job. Yours is to get these grades on, so why don’t you worry about that, and I’ll take care of this?”
Bryan nodded and stood, thrusting his hand out to shake. “Thank you, Mr. Monroe. Thank you so much.”
Carlton shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “It was my pleasure. You can thank me by getting As this semester now that you don’t have to worry about the money. And if you have a problem in the future, you come to me first. Don’t wait till it’s too late.”
The kid nodded again, then broke out into a smile that stretched clear across his face. “I will, sir. Thank you, sir.” He took off down the hall and Carlton heard a loud whoop as the door slammed open.
Alone again, Carlton ran a hand over his hair. Trey always teased him about his intentionally messy fro, but it made things like his tendency to habitually pull on it when he was frustrated invaluable. No worries about keeping it neat. He groaned and checked the time. It was only five fifteen, but the stack in front of him would kill his evening, and that’s assuming the checks he’d found were all there were. He needed a break.
Carlton pulled out his phone from his top drawer and fired it up. He was routinely teased about the fact that he cut it off entirely while at work, but he didn’t need the distractions. He waited for it to go through his notifications—one day he really needed to get rid of those as well—then shot a text to his best friend.
Me: your sabbatical officially started? You coming out for homecoming?
Deion should’ve been off starting last week, and Carlton had bugged him about coming out for homecoming then. Deion had been strangely noncommittal, even though Carlton knew he didn’t have anything planned.
Carlton stared at the phone, waiting for an answer, and groaned when none was forthcoming. Of course. Even after twenty years and doing his undergrad in Chicago, Carlton occasionally forgot Deion was an hour behind, which meant he was on the phone with his mother for their weekly chat. Normally Carlton’d be off work in time to talk before the call came through, especially since Deion’s mom never had anything good to say about him. That was his fault, he knew, and he didn’t blame her for being protective of her only child. Shit, he was protective too. His protectiveness just came in the form of strict boundaries on their relationship which, if he was honest, might have been more to protect himself than Deion, but it worked just the same.
He picked up a few envelopes while he waited for Deion to finish and entered the information, zeroing out balances left and right. By the time his phone chimed, an hour had passed. He looked at the screen.
Deion: yeah, last department meeting today. Sabbatical is officially on. What are homecoming dates?
Yes! This was what Carlton needed. Homecoming wasn’t for another six weeks, but knowing Deion would be there was enough for him. They texted while Carlton put through check after check. Hours passed, but when he was talking to D, time ceased to matter.
* * *
The pounding on the door was enough to rouse Carlton from his sleep. It was tempting to say the hell with it and let whoever it was keep going until they gave up and went away, but fuck it. He’d never mastered the art of going back to bed once he’d been woken, despite the less than five hours he’d gotten.
Carlton climbed out the bed and padded to the front, looked through the peephole, then yanked the door open.
“Trey! What are you doing here? Why didn’t you just come in?” he asked, pulling his nephew in for a strong hug.
“Hey, Unc,” Trey said, his voice bright. A little too bright, if Carlton was honest. “I know my key’s in there somewhere,” he pointed to his too-heavy-to-be-healthy book bag, “but I can’t find it.”
“Lucky I love you, kid,” Carlton grumbled, then shuffled into the kitchen. After the night he’d had, at the office until almost one in the morning after uncovering more unprocessed checks, and then having his usual decompression time when he did get home, he needed coffee more than just about anything else he could think of. The grinder pierced his ears, but the aroma from the beans filtered through him and provided more proof to Pavlov’s experiments.
Behind him, he heard the thunk of Trey’s bag on a chair, and was grateful his grumbly attitude didn’t faze Trey at all. “It’s Parents Weekend,” he said, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.
Oh hell. Carlton had completely forgotten that was this weekend. Though, after a moment of racking his brain, he was pretty sure Trey hadn’t said anything. But still. His boy Jaq had been talking about it for a week in the group text with him and another friend, Lawrence, so Carlton couldn’t feign ignorance. Besides, he worked at the damn school. Flyers had been up since before classes even started.
“You want to do something for it?” he asked Trey, then held his breath for the answer.
“Pretend it doesn’t exist?”
Carlton blew it out. He couldn’t imagine how it felt to lose a parent. But when Trey’s mom, Carlton’s sister, Carrie, had died in a car accident two years ago, he’d felt like the worst of big brothers. The one who hadn’t protected his baby sister. Even though nothing could’ve stopped the collision that killed her and her husband, that hadn’t kept the guilt from seeping in and settling into his bones. Hell, when Trey had shown up the year before, asking
to finish out his senior year with him instead of his and Carrie’s parents, it’d been the least he could do. Still, he wasn’t Trey’s dad, and he was a piss-poor substitute for his mom.
Carlton saw the worry in his nephew’s eyes, the way his brows drew together and he nibbled his lips, like he was afraid Carlton would be offended by his response. Carlton finished fixing his coffee—adding more sugar than any human being should be permitted to have, let alone his hyper ass—and sat at the dining room table. He laid a hand over Trey’s.
“I’m down for forgetting it exists.” Trey’s brows smoothed out, the relief evident, and he nodded. “But it has been a few weeks. What’s good with you? How’re classes going?”
Trey shrugged, but the side of his mouth tipped in a grin and he averted his gaze.
“Oh, what’s that look for?” Carlton asked.
“There’s this girl in my class. Pretty, funny, a real hoot to hang out with.”
“Hoot?”
“Her word, not mine.”
Carlton laughed. He wasn’t sure if eighteen was a bit old for puppy love, per se, but he could definitely tell his nephew was feeling some kind of way about this girl. “I take it you like her.”
Trey nodded, his face growing serious again. “I do. But I’m not sure if I should, you know?”
Carlton had a pretty good idea, but... “Spell it out for me.”
“It’s like this,” Trey started. “We’re freshmen. Out of the house for our first real time, exploring the world, all that jazz. I’m not sure I should even be thinking about a relationship when my focus should be on other things.”
Jesus Christ, he sounded just like Carrie. Bad enough she practically spat him out, he resembled her so strongly, but Carlton could close his eyes and see her saying the same thing, hands on her hips and her pursed lips showing a maturity beyond her years. No doubt she’d drilled that mantra into both kids’ heads. It was one Carlton had never fully gotten the hang of.