by Mary Calmes
He was quiet, and I reached out and took his hand, lacing my fingers into his.
“You know what I’d like?” he said.
“What’s that?”
“I’d like you to pull over so I can give you a blow job.”
I rolled my eyes. “Or, you can think about what you’re gonna say in the next half an hour.”
He sighed deeply and looked away from me.
I so wanted to ask him about what Chris had told me, but I really didn’t want to sound like I doubted his word. We would go with his recollection of the events until it was proven that he was wrong. If he was.
It took a lot longer than half an hour to get to Landry’s childhood home. We passed the strip and just kept going. I had never seen so many mansions, golf courses, and long private drives. The one that led to the Carter home was a mile in and tree lined, so it was like driving under an arbor the whole way. The grounds looked like a botanical garden. There was a man-made lake, and when we were almost to the house, we were suddenly driving over cobblestones. The house was huge—I couldn’t see anything else—and it looked like a giant white Spanish-tiled movie set.
“Holy fuck” was all I could think of to say as I leaned forward over the steering wheel and laughed. “Are you shitting me?”
“What?”
I turned and looked at him, chuckling.
“What?” He was starting to smile.
“Oh, c’mon,” I teased him, waggling my eyebrows at him. “Hey mister, can you keep me? Can I have a diamond car?”
“Ass,” he groused at me, smacking my shoulder.
I turned off the car and got out, closing the door gently, turning around, absolutely blown away by the display of wealth and privilege just from the damn driveway and what else I could see. The front door was under an archway, and the ground was covered in what looked like hand-painted tile. There were walls of water on both sides of the entranceway, all blue with mosaic tiles. I had never seen such opulence in my life. To say I was overwhelmed was an understatement.
“Fuck.” I shook my head, turning to look at my boyfriend over the roof of the car. “What are you doing hanging out with me?”
His eyes were locked on mine. “The only thing I see that’s real here is you.”
“That’s a good fuckin’ answer.” I smiled, waving him over.
He was pretty happy with himself and strutted around the car for good measure, diving at me when he was close, arms around my neck, kissing me happily, hungrily. I grabbed him tight, kissed him back, and when we parted he looked good, solid, content.
“Come on, you guys,” Chris called over to us, gesturing at his driver. “Juan will bring in the luggage, don’t worry.”
“Juan,” I called over to the driver, “we’ll get our own stuff, man, no worries.”
He nodded as I walked around to the trunk of the car.
Landry got his garment bag and his rolling suitcase—the man had brought enough clothes to stay for a week—and I grabbed my bag, whipped it over my back, and followed after him.
Once we went through the outer door, we entered a courtyard with a tile sort of path and a garden on each side, patio furniture, an outdoor fireplace, and what could only be called a grotto, complete with frescoes. Following Chris, we walked over a stone footbridge that crossed over water, and on the other side, there were wide steps covered in grass and wildflowers, and then it looked like you entered a cabana. The porch was huge, all wooden planked and carved and solid. There were chairs every five feet or so, and tables. You could have a party just on the front deck.
It was all windows, floor to ceiling, like the house was just made of them, and we walked into a huge space that was a living room, I guessed, but the doors were open on the other side, and there was the biggest pool I had ever seen in my life, a back deck, and stairs.
I trailed after Landry and Chris. Outside, the stairs descended to a bigger deck where there was a Jacuzzi and a covered area. Down those stairs was another pool, long and skinny, that emptied into a backyard that was lush green grass and tennis courts—two of them—and buildings that were probably for the servants. All I noticed, everywhere I looked, were huge trees. It was like a movie set; I expected dinosaurs at any second.
I did not belong there. I was uncomfortable, so far out of my comfort zone that I was seriously ready to bolt, and every drop of confidence I had just shriveled up and died. It was like a siren blaring in my brain. I was in way over my head.
“Landry!”
I looked, and there was an older woman, and you knew as soon as you looked at her that this was Landry’s mother.
Cece, short for Cecilia, Carter. Landry looked just like her. They had the same delicate, fragile features, same short little upturned nose, and the same dimples when they smiled. They also shared wide, symmetrical almond-shaped eyes that were almost but not quite the same color. Her hair was blonde; he had inherited the color from her, but the thickness and the waviness, he got from his father. Neil Carter had also gifted him with the breadth and strength of his shoulders, long legs, and a square jaw. His parents were both gorgeous, but that followed, since their son could stop traffic. Landry was like a perfect melding of both of them.
Other people hovered around, a couple and two men. As I followed after Landry, I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands. I really wished I was still carrying my duffel, but Chris had had us leave the luggage beside the couch in the big room that we had walked through.
“Landry!” She bolted for him, the mother flying to her son, and he let out a breath and opened his arms to receive her.
I thought she was going to knock him down with how hard she hit him, but he absorbed it, holding her tight as her arms wrapped around his neck and she hugged the life out of him.
“My baby,” she chanted, kissing his cheek, hugging him, so happy, whimpering and whining, more kissing, squeezing him as tight as she could.
He patted her back, stroked her hair, told her he’d missed her, offered condolences on her illness and hoped she was better. And all the time he did, none of the kindness of his words or the smiling he was doing touched his eyes. They didn’t change. They didn’t soften. They didn’t warm. So I knew—and maybe I was the only one—that he wasn’t feeling any part of what he was showing them.
That was not to say that he was not genuinely sorry that his mother was ill. He was, but sorry in the same way he would feel if a coworker was sick, or a neighbor—it wasn’t special because it was her. If my mother was sick, God forbid, he would have been devastated and been her new shadow. This was different, and I saw the distance on him, all over him, from his posture to the furrowing of his brows to the smile that did nothing for his face. He didn’t light up, he didn’t glow—there was nothing. I was stunned, and even more so that I was the only one who even noticed.
“Yes, I am better,” his mother breathed out finally, bringing my attention from my boy back to her. I saw her hands on his shoulders, her eyes everywhere, absorbing his face, his clothes, his shoes, his hands—she missed nothing. “I’m in remission right now, but we just don’t know how long it will last. That’s why I reached out to you. I won’t miss this, I won’t miss reconnecting with you… I won’t.”
He nodded, forced another smile before turning to look at me. “I’d like you to meet Trevan.”
She turned her deep blue eyes to me.
I took off my cap and smiled. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
Her breath caught as she let go of her son and walked over to me, her arms open as she moved. “Trevan,” she gasped. “Please, call me Cece.”
Whatever I had expected, the reception she gave me was not it. The woman was on me, arms around my neck, kissing my cheek, pressed tight to me, thanking me over and over for coming because she knew sure as she was standing there that without me there was no hope.
“He would have never come without you,” she told me, her breath shaky as I heard the tears. “Oh darling, thank you… thank you so much.”
>
My eyes flicked to Landry as he walked over to us, putting his hand on the back of my neck, squeezing, massaging.
She let me go, stepping back to look at us, taking us in. “Well, don’t you two make a beautiful pair.”
Landry’s smile was instantly brilliant, all there, animating his features. She gasped, the understanding hitting her. Compliment me, make her son deliciously happy. She was observant, and that lesson was an easy one to learn.
“Come see everybody,” she commanded, taking Landry’s hand, tugging him after her.
He let go of my neck and grabbed my hand, and I took hold of it and held on so his mother ended up pulling a chain, first him, then me.
“Landry.”
His father, Neil Carter, held out his arms, and it was obvious that Landry was supposed to go to him, not the other way around. He moved after a second and they did the guy clench, but that was it. I was surprised at his father’s lack of emotion and warmth, but at least it was real. The handshake the man gave me, with the added squeeze of my bicep, seemed friendlier. At least it wasn’t just pleasant. He was really very pleased to meet me.
Landry’s brother Scott stepped in beside his father and gave Landry the same greeting, but the handshake I got could barely be called one. He didn’t want to touch me at all.
Jocelyn, Landry’s sister, was next, a female version of him, but smaller boned, like a bird, with flawless skin and sharp-angled model features. Her husband, Hugh, looked like he belonged in a magazine with her with his perfect smile, perfect hair, and perfect suit. She hugged her brother tight, leaned on him, and told him how much he’d been missed. Hugh shook his hand and told him how pleased he was to finally meet him. It didn’t feel real to me, but I was used to my loud “grab you tight and steal your breath” family.
When my father passed away, at the funeral, his parents, my grandparents, walked right up to my mother and begged her not to disappear from their lives. They wanted to make sure, even though my father was the youngest of six and they had plenty of other grandkids, that my sister and I would still be around. They didn’t want to miss out on seeing us grow up. My mother started bawling, and my grandfather wrapped her up in his strong arms. I wasn’t sure, but I thought maybe some of my mother’s hesitancy about waiting so long to date stemmed from how close she still was to my father’s family. It had been a blessing for me and my sister having so much family, so many people who kept tabs on us and cared. And we knew we were loved.
Either side you chose, my mom’s Cuban contingent or my dad’s African American camp, everybody hugged and kissed and force-fed you and held your hand and got up in your face if they had a question. I was loved, I knew I was, and there was no way to miss it. Seeing how quiet everyone was at Landry’s home, how subdued, I didn’t wonder why he so adored my family. The level of “showing” that Landry required, the physical demonstration, the verbal assurances, the ordering for him to come and sit his ass down and eat and talk—he knew he was loved to pieces in my world; he had to have floundered in his.
“I’d like you to meet my boyfriend,” he told his sister.
I leaned forward and shook her hand, shook Hugh’s, and smiled.
“Will,” Landry said then, and I realized that he was talking to the guy standing behind his sister.
“Your folks thought it would be nice for you to see an old friend,” he told him, walking forward, arms out. “And I was thrilled to hear that you were finally coming home.”
Landry took a step back and offered Will his hand instead of the hug the other man had obviously been expecting. “Thank you.”
Will was hurt; it was in his eyes even as he tried to smile and shook the hand that had been thrust at him. “I can’t wait for you to meet my family; I’m bringing them with me tonight to your welcome home party.”
Landry withdrew his hand. “Your family?”
“Yes, my wife and children.”
“You’re married?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
Landry nodded and reached for me.
I took the questing hand in mine and squeezed tight.
“This is my boyfriend, Trevan Bean. Trev, this is my old friend Will.”
“Oh.” He was very surprised, downright stunned to be looking at me. “Your boyfriend?”
“Yes,” was all Landry said.
“But I thought you—”
“What did you think?” Landry asked quietly. “That I did what you did?”
He was staring at Landry, trying to understand something.
“We were never the same,” my boyfriend said icily.
“No,” Will agreed, and I saw all the pain and all the longing on his face.
It made me uncomfortable, seeing another man utterly grieving for a lost love who was standing right in front of him. I offered him my hand to break the spell.
He didn’t take it; he just looked at me. He didn’t even lift his hand. It was very obvious that he had no intention of touching me at all.
“You must be starved,” Cece announced into the awkward silence as she walked back over to us, taking Landry’s hand, patting it. “Come sit down and eat. I want you to tell me everything.”
The table was big and round, so nobody was stuck sitting at one end or the other. It was also lavishly set like nothing I had ever seen. There were water goblets already filled and an orchard of fruit on each place setting. My mother would have loved it. Our idea of Sunday morning breakfast was a serve-yourself line in the kitchen where everyone piled on their own food and you got utensils and a napkin at the end. At my apartment, there was a paper towel roll instead.
There was a choice: strawberry crepes, eggs Benedict, or something else I couldn’t pronounce. I went with the crepes, wishing we had stopped somewhere. What I really wanted was steak and eggs and lots of salsa and pancakes and… just more.
I had never seen a waiter in a house, but there were two, bringing us a hot washcloth to wipe our hands on and then juice and coffee.
“Landry, darling, what do you do?”
As I sat there and listened and ate and drank the coffee that I would have died without, I realized again how different it was from what I had imagined. There was no tearful emotional scene. Landry did not attack his parents; they didn’t tell him how sorry they were. It was all so civil, so “Are the crepes to your liking?” “Oh yes, they’re lovely, thank you.” My stomach started to flutter with how fake it all was.
Landry explained about his business, and his sister, who was in pharmaceutical sales but had just launched her own Christmas ornament line on Etsy, was very interested to hear how he was doing. He gave her the web address so she could look him up and then passed her his phone so she could see the pictures of his gallery.
“Ohmygod, Lan.” She beamed over at him. “It’s beautiful, and your pieces are just gorgeous. I, uhm—” She cleared her throat. “—couldn’t get you to—”
“I brought something for you and Mom,” he told her, turning to get into his messenger bag, which was hanging on the back of his chair.
“You did?” Cece lit up, excited.
“Yeah, Chris already got his.”
“Let me see,” Jocelyn demanded.
Chris rolled up the sleeve of his cardigan and showed them all the triple-wrap amber bracelet. Jocelyn leaned over to examine it.
“You sew each one of these beads in. That’s amazing,” she told him.
“And his has a piece of carnelian beside the toggle clasp to ward off the evil eye.”
“I love this; where’s mine?”
He chuckled, turned, and passed his mother her gift bag, and then he stood to lean across the table to offer another to Jocelyn. They were drawstring bags, lightly beaded, a navy one for his sister and a maroon one for his mother. The velvet bags he put his jewelry in all had his logo and “Asil” in Parchment font stamped into a leather piece on one side.
“I love this bag.” Jocelyn smiled at him as she touched it. “It reminds me of a Mi
ddle Eastern bazaar or something.”
“Exactly,” he agreed and grinned at her.
“What does ‘Asil’ mean?” she asked him.
“It means pure in Arabic.”
“Oh, I just love stuff like this.”
He seemed very pleased at the compliment, but again, as he would be from a stranger in his store. When my aunts complimented him, he puddled into goo.
She leaned forward, still not even opening it. “Lan, your packaging is stunning and your place is just… your sense of style…. I’m so impressed and so happy for you.”
“Thanks.” He sighed. “I wanted to go green, you know, but the recycled boxes and bags just didn’t go, and so the brilliant man sitting at my right suggested we have bags that people can bring back or trade up—we have lined and unlined—and keep forever and use as jewelry bags.”
Her eyes flicked to me. “Brilliant.”
“I have my moments,” I told her.
“We have small sandalwood satchels with the Asil logo on it that we sell too.”
“To go with the idea of jewelry bag, scent a drawer or a box.” She nodded. “Of course.”
He shrugged in agreement that it was a no-brainer.
“I love everything about this.”
His hand went to my thigh and squeezed. He was nervous, and I had no idea why.
“Look at this,” his mother gasped.
All eyes were on her as she held up the hammered gold chain with green jade accents. It looked like it was five necklaces because the beads were different sizes and the chain itself was thick and thin in places. It looked rustic, and I knew it was one of his biggest sellers. He’d made many, but each one was breathtaking.
His mother was overwhelmed. “Oh, Landry, I adore it.”
“Ohmygod!” Jocelyn almost shrieked.
Hers was blue quartz and Tahitian freshwater pearl, and because it was a long piece, it could be worn either draped to her stomach or double-wrapped around her neck. Again, it was one of his best. It had been thoughtful, and his mother and sister were gushing. I was reminded of Christmas every year.