“Mrs. Solemar, it’s so very nice to finally meet you. Owen’s told me so much about you.”
Damn. He’s good. I can see her anger evaporate as she shifts into preening mode.
He’s held out his hand, and while I know she’s expecting him to shake with her, he actually kisses the back of hers while giving her a slight bow.
I can see it’s obviously derailed Mom’s usual comfortable responses. Hell, she even blushes a little. I stomp back my jealousy that Carter was able to make her smile like that when I would have killed for that kind of reaction from her about…
Well, anything.
“It’s very nice to meet you, too, Carter.” She notes our blazers. “If you want, you can leave your blazers in Owen’s room, on his bed. Owen, will you please show your friend around and introduce him?” She turns without waiting for a response.
I’m dismissed.
I turn to Carter and find him wearing a playful smile. Then he drops me a conspiratorial wink and I take a deep breath.
“First barrier—passed,” I mutter, earning me a chuckle from Carter as he falls into step behind me.
Chapter Sixteen
Apparently, Mom’s positive first impression of Carter means she won’t make me suffer much more than she normally does for bringing him. After I find Austin and introduce Carter, I find myself slipping into my usual patterns—checking to see if anything needs refilling, making sure the garbage cans aren’t over-full, and in general doing whatever I can to make myself invisible and of use so I don’t grab Mom’s attention.
Which only works for a few minutes. I suspect Austin is brown-nosing for a bump from junior to senior partner, hence this shindig. He drags me into a clutch of people to introduce me as his “son” and proudly boast how I’m going into law, just like him.
I don’t correct him on either point.
He’s not my father, and I’d rather be a panhandler than practice the kind of law he does.
When one of the women in that group eyes Carter, a weird frisson of jealousy unexpectedly rolls through me. She’s got to be at least my mother’s age, if not older.
“And you are?” she asks him with incredibly creepy interest.
He kisses her hand, too, which makes the old bat giggle like a schoolgirl. “Carter Wilson. I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Owen’s roommate, and, it so happens, we’re both in pre-law.”
“Really? You look like you’re older than Owen.”
“I am. I’m twenty-eight.”
I can see scorn building in her eyes. “Why did you start college so late?”
“I spent eight years in the Army, before my unexpected discharge.”
“Unexpected?” Austin asks.
I buckle up and hold on for the ride, barely suppressing the evil giggle threatening to burp free.
“Injured in the line of duty. Purple Heart.”
Which barely even scratches the surface of the story, but now the entire clutch’s collective attention is fixed on him.
I don’t understand how Carter manages to tell the story in such a way that he’s both self-effacing and makes himself look like the hero he truly is. I can’t even put my finger on how he manages it, but it leaves me listening to the retelling of events just as raptly as the rest of his audience, despite already knowing the story.
“What rank were you?” one man asks.
“Sergeant. E-5.” Which is more than even I knew, because somehow, I’d never thought to ask that.
Apparently, a couple of the men now want to relive their own glory days and start peppering Carter with questions about his service, where he’d been stationed, where he went through basic, and telling him stories of their time in the military, and asking about the kind of law he’s thinking about practicing.
I sort of…fade out.
Not that I’m complaining about that, because I’m not.
Unfortunately, it leaves me open to Mom catching my eye from across the room, and from the subtle tip of her head, I know I’m being summoned.
Ignoring her isn’t an option.
I ease myself out of the circle and make my way over to her, where she starts to introduce me to people whose names I’ll never remember and don’t even care to. I nod dutifully. Before my mother can truly get cranked up, Carter appears at my side, and I never even noticed him moving across the room.
The wounded combat vet steals my mother’s thunder yet again as the group’s interest lands on Carter and he entertains them. He’s charming, funny, engaging, self-effacing—he’s a natural.
I’m shocked the man doesn’t want to go into politics, because he’d be amazing at it.
Maybe Susa and I can change his mind.
* * * *
I try to hang in there, I really do. I make it through dessert, which in and of itself is a miracle. Mom’s taken some pretty hard jabs at me tonight.
Making up for lost time, I suppose.
I laugh them all off because she set up every barb to look like she’s “just kidding” and delivered them in front of witnesses. So despite how much I’m hurting inside, I have to smile and laugh them off like I don’t think she’s serious, like I think she’s just kidding.
Two words I fucking hate.
Inside, it feels like I’m going through one of those death by a thousand cuts kind of tortures.
Why can’t she just fucking love me?
I have to stand there like the dutiful son, pretending this isn’t ripping me apart even more because I know it’s just an act.
It’s not real.
Nothing about tonight with her has been real.
Reality is all the times I asked for some of her time, whether for homework or to go do something with me, and I was told how busy she was and how I didn’t appreciate how hard she worked. How I should be more grateful she spent so much time working, because it helped pay for all the nice things she gave me, and the nice house we lived in. Always emphasizing how my father never helped out at all.
Reality is being one of the “orphaned” kids at school events where everyone else’s parents showed up, like science fairs and school plays.
But she was busy.
Every fucking year. Every fucking time. Because of her money, and later because of Austin’s money and the prestige of his law firm, and the fact that he made generous donations to the PTO, teachers would hold phone conferences instead of in-person parent-teacher meetings.
Reality is my mother couldn’t have recognized a single damn one of my teachers if they’d walked up and smacked her in the face.
Reality is I can’t count the number of times Mom had either one of her assistants or one of Austin’s take me to or pick me up from events. She was too busy.
Always too busy.
Reality was once I was older, she set me up with my own Uber account and had me use that, until I was old enough to drive myself.
And now she wants me to stand here with a smile on my face and pretend she’s Mother of the Year.
Worse?
I’ll let her.
Worse still?
I’ll enable her, agree with her, smiling and nodding my head like the good little puppet I’ve been all my life.
For a few minutes, between dinner and dessert, I escape to my old bathroom and lock myself in, struggling not to cry because she’ll recognize it, know that I’ve been crying.
Worse, so will Carter. I know he will. I don’t want to cry around my mother, but I refuse to cry in front of Carter. Not after everything he’s survived and endured.
Maybe he can kick my ass even after all he’s been through, but in this one way I want to try to measure up.
To endure.
But it’s so fucking hard.
The evening is more tolerable for Carter’s presence, and for the way he keeps running interference, but he can’t stop every instance. Then he’s across the room, engaged in conversation with one of the senior partners who could talk the paint off a wall, when Mom traps me by hooking her arm through
mine.
Old, ingrained reactions kick in, the familiar, sour taste in my mouth, the tense pain congealing in my stomach. All these are no strangers to me. My gaze drops to the floor and I struggle to remain in place as my body tenses.
If I pull away from her, the way every instinct I have is screaming for me to, I’ll pay later.
I’ll pay in ways I probably can’t imagine for daring to embarrass her by doing it.
Carter’s not here, and I can’t bring myself to look around for him, knowing Mom will somehow sense that. She doesn’t care if I’m paying attention to her, but she will definitely care if it’s obvious that I’m not.
Mom’s droning on about some fundraiser she’s leading, and I hope to god she’s not thinking about trying to enlist me to help her with it. The last thing I need is more stress on me. At least I have the excuse of my classwork I can use.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Solemar, but I think I left my meds out in Owen’s car, and I’m overdue to take them. Owen, if you’ll give me your keys, I’ll go get them.”
It takes me a second to realize Carter is standing right there beside me now.
Even better, my mother’s released my arm. I force myself to look at Carter as I fish my keys out of my pocket. The expression on his face is asking—no, telling me.
I slide my foot over and tap his before I hand my keys to him.
Every ounce of will I have goes to not bursting into relieved tears when he gives me the most sly and subtle of Carter smirks and a slight nod.
He understands. “Thanks,” he says to me, then focuses on Mom. “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”
“Oh, not at all, Carter.”
I shift to fill the space he just vacated and turn to one of the women Mom is talking to and ask her a question about her daughter. I remember the woman mentioning her over dinner. But even better, it takes me out of arm-holding range of my mom.
When Carter returns, I know we’re escaping even before he opens his mouth. I read the gleam in his eyes as he meets my gaze. “Man, I am really sorry. I think I left my meds sitting on the counter back in our room. I can’t find them. I could have sworn I’d put them in my pocket.”
“Oh, we really need to get you back, then,” I say. “How overdue are you?”
“An hour.”
“Yikes.”
Carter speaks to my mother. “Ma’am, I am so sorry about this. I feel like such an idiot.” He glances my way. “I mean, I could drive home and take them and come back to get you, if you’d rather? I’ll pay for the gas—”
“Don’t be silly,” Mom says. “It’s quite all right, Carter.” Of course she says that—she’s got several witnesses who would have thought she was a monster if she’d insisted that a disabled war vet drive all the way to Tampa and back just so I could stay behind.
“But I feel so bad about this.” I spot the gleam in Carter’s eyes. “I know Owen was looking forward to tonight. He was so excited when he received your text the other morning.”
“We’re just very glad you were able to come with him this evening, Carter,” Mom says.
Carter is pitch-perfect. “I truly appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Solemar. I had a wonderful evening. It was great to get out of the dorm tonight. We’re usually busy studying and don’t get out that often. Especially with as badly as I’m usually hurting. Owen’s so nice, he hangs out with me, brings me food from the dining hall, runs errands for me—he really takes care of me.”
I honestly can’t tell if Mom’s cheesed off or not, and I really don’t care. I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
“You’re welcome back any time, Carter,” she says. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
We make our good-byes and I grab our blazers from a room that is called mine but damn sure never felt like it. All night, Carter’s been acting progressively stiffer, pained. Now he’s holding my arm as I slowly walk us back to my car.
He keeps his voice low. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“It’s all right.”
I help him into the passenger seat. “Stop just outside the development.” His tone is firm, but kind.
My reply is automatic. “Yes, sir.”
I do manage to not cry until after we’ve switched places. Carter pats me on the thigh and lets me cry, pretends I’m not. He turns the music on and drives.
It’s relief and stress and…
And the realization that this man has done more for me in this short amount of time than my own mother has in years.
Has cared more about me.
By the time we return to the dorm and I collapse, I’m exhausted. I know that I’ll sleep well tonight, at least.
Not exactly an easy sleep, but sleep nonetheless.
Sleep in a place that feels more like home in just a few weeks than any house I’ve ever lived in.
Sleeping under the same roof as a man who’s quickly come to feel more like family than anyone I’m actually related to.
Chapter Seventeen
Carter exchanges texts with my mother the next day. She responds with an eloquent, warm-sounding series of messages that would normally indicate someone was perfectly fine with what happened and not to worry about it. She also repeats her statement that he’s welcome back any time.
It means, to me, that Mom wants to get her hooks into Carter in some fashion because her guests must have said a lot of positive things about him after we left.
Part of me simmers in anger that she can text with him like that and pretty much ignore me.
Not anger at Carter—anger at her.
Meanwhile, Mom returns to not replying to my daily texts.
Status quo—resumed. I guess I shouldn’t complain, because at this point her “attention” to me would probably all be negative, or at the very least unpleasant. I also know I shouldn’t let it get to me because it’s all part and parcel of her being a narcissist, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting.
Carter starts to bring up my birthday again. The question of whether or not to include Susa in my birthday celebration is rendered moot when she opts to head to Tallahassee that weekend to attend a weekend conference with her father. Some sort of political thing. It’s a valuable opportunity for her to network and make connections of her own. It’s the kind of event she lives for and thrives on. While she asked if I minded if she went and missed the actual celebration, I would never ask her to miss something like that just for my birthday. Plus, she’ll actually be with us on my birthday, which is fine.
Besides, it’ll give Carter and I time alone together to just be guys, and I know that’s healthy, even if I have no clue what it entails. While I’ll miss Susa’s presence, I’m also eager to do this, to have this rite of passage.
Susa gives us free range of her house for the weekend. She’s promised to return early enough Sunday for us all to cook dinner together, and for her to teach me how to make spanakopita, a Greek spinach and cheese pie dish that I love.
This birthday is, no shit, the best one ever. What they’ve done for me is damn sure better than what my own mother did, which is to not even bother to text or call me, or send me a card on my actual birthday. Although an extra twenty-five dollars appears in my weekly allowance—and I make sure to thank her for that as soon as I see the deposit alert on my phone.
As opposed to when I emerge from my shower on Thursday morning after our run, I find Carter has left a birthday card on my pillow with a fifty-dollar Panera gift card inside.
He knows I love the place but I won’t eat there very often because of my finances.
He’s already left for his morning classes, which means I can sit there on my bed and not worry about feeling embarrassed as I sniffle back tears over the sentiment he wrote in the otherwise funny card.
Thank you for your friendship, and for putting up with me, little bro. This has been an amazing year so far, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for both of us. Looking forward to helping you ce
lebrate many more orbits around the sun. — Love, C.
Susa gives me her card that evening when we go over for dinner. There’s a fifty-dollar VISA gift card tucked inside a cute card with several dogs on the front making a joke about bones and overindulgence.
She also wrote a note inside.
To my sweet “pet,” thank you for your laughter and your friendship. Thank you for everything you do for me, and if I fail to say it enough, I’m sorry, because I do appreciate everything you do. Thank you for being you, and thank you for being in my life.
Luv, Susa
XOXOXO
Again, I feel myself blinking back tears even as I laugh. Then she hugs me from behind and Carter hugs me from the front, enveloping me in their affection. She picked up the “pet” joke after I first made it and runs with it.
Maybe another guy might be offended, but I relish it. I like doing things for her, things that don’t cost me money but pay me back a thousandfold just from her dimple smiles, her hugs.
Her laughter.
Her friendship.
A guy could get used to having family like this. Obviously, I’ve been starved for simple affection, and any inanimate tool could figure that out.
It’s that the “joke” hits pretty damn close to home to my secret fantasies, so I cherish and revel in every bit of it. This is one case where the joke is on me and is more than welcome. Because I can hide the truth within it.
She’s also bought me a Publix cake, marbled with buttercream frosting, my favorite. Together with Carter, we cook what’s become one of my favorite meals, her homemade lasagna.
We eat dinner on the couch, watching my favorite movie, Batman, the 1989 version with Michael Keaton.
Best.
Birthday.
Ever.
I wish I was kidding, but I’m not. These two people have put together the most amazing evening I could have ever asked for.
“Thank you for this,” I tell them as the end credits roll. “Tonight was amazing.”
Governor (Governor Trilogy 1) Page 13