by Olivia Reid
He took the glass and leaned on the door frame. "It's that obvious, isn't it?"
"Spill it."
"Gerald cornered me in the break room today—"
"Oh no."
"—and he mentioned several times in a matter of ten minutes how his family lived in Orlando and he wasn't driving down there this year—"
"No, please no."
"—and after the third mention I kinda sorta…" He shrugged as he talked.
"You invited him."
"Yeah."
I hung my head and braced my hands on the edge of the island, the steaming pasta giving me a facial. Pasta! I grabbed the butter and spooned some into the pot and stirred it. Some people put oil in it to stop it from sticking together, but I preferred buttah. The oven dinged and Kyle put his wine down, grabbed a potholder and pulled the garlic bread out and set it on an open space.
He didn't say anything for a few minutes, then, "Michael wasn't at work today."
That was surprising. But come to think of it, he hadn't come by the coffee shop either. I'd been too engrossed in the holiday work schedule and the impending doom of my family on my house. "Did Gerald mention why he wasn't there?"
"He told Gerald he wasn't feeling well." Kyle rubbed at his chin. "About Gerald…I'm sorry. I just…he's my boss and I hate thinking of anyone being alone on Thanksgiving."
"Wait…Michael didn't feel good?"
"That's what Gerald said Michael said. But let's stay on topic."
I turned the sauce off and removed the lid to stir it. "It's like…this holiday that's supposed to be all about giving thanks is turning into something that's going to give me a severe case of agita." That reminded me—had I taken my blood pressure medication?
"I owe you on this one."
"No. I think we're just a couple of softies." The clock over the oven read 6:32. "Hand me the phone. I'm going to call Michael and see if he's okay."
The phone rang just as Kyle picked it up. He looked at the screen and smiled. "Speak of the sexy devil."
I smiled. "Michael are you okay? Why are you calling the house phone? You could call my cell."
Michael's light voice answered me with a chuckle, and then a cough. "You're not answering your cell. Do you know where it is?"
Oh. Right. I patted my back pocket. Not there. Maybe my purse. "Uh…next question."
He laughed again. He sounded sort of scratchy. "I had trouble sleeping last night so I stayed home to catch up. When I woke up at noon I felt even worse."
"Worse how?"
"Achy. I'm mostly cranky. I know you wanted to get together as much as possible before Thanksgiving but right now, I might give you something."
Damn. "You're at your house?"
"Yeah but—"
"Is that whole chicken still in the fridge from Sunday?"
Michael laughed. "Grace, I'm fine. You don't need to come over here and cook."
"Bullshit. I know men. Just tell me if you like noodles or dumplings."
"Ooooh dumplings."
"Uh huh. Get back in bed and I'll be over in an hour or so." I hung up and looked at Kyle, who was giving me a stern face. "Well?"
"He's a big boy. He can take care of himself."
"I have to make sure he does that. Even you don't always take care of yourself when you're sick. And you like my chicken soup."
"I'd like dumplings better."
I pointed to the stove. "Dinner's ready and hot. I don't plan on spending the night because I have to open up in the morning. Can you clean this?"
My room mate gave me a withering look. He was good at that. "Fine. Maybe I'll invite Stephen over for supper."
"Yes!" I pointed at him as I dumped my coffee in the sink and headed out of the kitchen. "You do that!" I changed into some jeans, a light shirt and grabbed a sweater on my way out.
It took most of the hour to get to Michael's house, given it was right in the middle of six o'clock traffic and it was starting to sprinkle. The weather had been threatening all day and it decided to dump on me the moment I got out of the car and ran to Michael's door. I banged on it and he answered it in a pair of sweats and a blue plaid bathrobe. He grabbed me and pulled me out of the deluge of rain and shut the door.
He looked adorable. His hair was all over the place and he looked sleepy. When he took me into his arms I felt the heat and pulled back to look into his eyes. His skin was hot when I touched it and he frowned at me. "I'm fine."
"No you're not!" He had a temperature and it was a high one. I put my hands over his chest and stomach. His skin felt like a heating blanket. "Get back in the bed. I'm going to start some soup and then come see you."
He put his warm hand on my cheek and smiled. "Yes ma'am."
I made sure he shuffled back to bed before I went to the kitchen. There I put on a pot of water, grabbed whatever vegetable was in the fridge and then cleaned the chicken. Within a half hour I had the chicken boiling, the vegetables cut up and ready and tea steeping in a large blue glass pitcher.
I brought Tylenol, but I also found a few other fever reducers. The owners of the house had a separate shelf in the kitchen with organized boxes of medical supplies. I cracked open a thermometer, poured a glass of Gatorade and set them on a tray which I carried down the hall to the master bedroom.
Michael had gotten back in bed just like I'd asked, and he was sound asleep. The only part of him I could see was his hair sticking out from under the covers. The TV was on to a classic episode of Law & Order. I set the tray on the nightstand and sat on the bed next to him before I started digging him out.
My cooler hands on his skin roused him and he peeked a dulled, fevered blue eye at me. He pulled the cover down and smiled. "Hey."
"Hey yourself. I need you to sit up for me and hold this under your tongue." I picked up the thermometer.
He did as he was told. He'd also put on a tee-shirt. "You cold?"
"Mmhmm," he said as he let me slip the little device under his tongue. Then I opened the small bottle of Tylenol and dumped two out after reading the directions. He put a hand on my arm and held it there, his gaze focused on me. When the thermometer beeped I took it out and whistled.
"How bad?"
"Michael, you're running a fever over a hundred and one point three."
"Oh that's not so bad."
"For an adult it can be. If that gets to a hundred and two you'll really start to feel bad." I held out the Tylenol and the glass of water. "Take these and rest some more. I want to get that fever down before I feed you."
"But I'm starving." He whined but he swallowed the pills and drank all of the water.
"That's good. I'm going to put dumplings in it."
"So you're making Chicken 'n Dumplings."
"Yes."
Michael moved forward and wrapped his arms around me. I held him close and kissed his warm neck as he buried his face in mine. After a few minutes his shoulders shook and I pushed him away far enough so I could see his face. "Michael?"
"I'm sorry. I get emotional when I'm sick." He wiped at his eyes and wouldn't look at me. "It's just…my dad used to take care of me when I was sick because mom worked."
And his dad had recently died. I put my hand to his cheek and directed that intense gaze of his back to me. "I'm not your dad. I'm your lover. And I want to take care of you…for your dad."
A tear had caught along his nose and now dangled off the end. He wiped at it and grinned, but his eyes were red rimmed and I could see just how bad he felt. "Lover. I like the sound of that."
"I do too. Michael, did you go to work sick yesterday?"
"Yeah. I felt weird Sunday night after I dropped you off, and it just kept getting worse at work yesterday." He raked his fingers through his hair and pulled it back away from his face. He was just so…gorgeous. "What about you? Are you feeling bad? That was really why I called because I thought if I was feeling bad you might be feeling bad. I can take care of you."
"I'm fine. I'm usually as healthy as a horse. So no
worries there." I stood and took the tray in hand. "Get more rest and once that fever breaks, we eat."
"Will you stay the night with me?"
"I have to open up…" I started to say, but the look of a little lost boy in his face won me over. "Okay. But I'll have to leave early to get back home and open up the shop. And while I'm at work, you have to rest."
"Yes ma'am." He beamed at me and I left the room.
His fever didn't break before midnight and when it did, he was sweating all over the sheets. I set the table as he took a cool shower and when he joined me, dressed in gray sweats and a black Nine Inch Nails tee-shirt and wet hair. He looked much better. The shower had added color to his cheeks.
He also devoured three bowls of dumplings because he hadn't eaten all day, or much of the day before. After his second glass of tea he got up and sort of staggered. I gestured for him to sit back down. "Don't do too much. You've been sick and the fever can come back. That's why you have to rest."
"But I need to do the dishes."
"I'll do those. You either go back to bed or perch on the couch."
"Come be with me when you're done?"
I watched him as he watched me. Were relationships supposed to be this easy? Was this was it was supposed to be like between two people who cared for one another? One wanting to help the other? For those years married to Burt, it had always been about Burt. If Tanae or myself had been sick, then it was my job to take care of us. He was too busy.
But if he had been sick—well the world needed to stop. He had to have his meals served in bed, and they had be cooked just the right way. His medications had to be delivered promptly and his clothing and sheets soft. No wrinkles.
I hated to admit it, but the first time he called to tell me he was sick when he moved to Boston, I laughed. The asshole thought I was going to drop everything, drive to Boston, and take care of him.
I remember the freedom I'd felt when I knew I didn't have to cater to him.
But when I looked at Michael…I wanted to take care of him, and it was obvious he wanted to take care of me.
After I cleaned the kitchen I found Michael in the bed. I stripped down and set my phone alarm before I cuddled against him. He was nude as well and he turned to wrap his arm around me. His skin was cool and his mouth was parted in sleep.
I moved my fingers along his thin beard and kissed his lips.
I like you, I thought, but never dared say it aloud. Because like was found on the road to love, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that.
Ever.
I made it home and over to the store to open on time, but I wasn't much good during the whole shift. Michael's fever didn't return but he agreed to take the day off and I had more Thanksgiving plans to make.
The rest of the week moved at record speed. Kyle and I put a long checklist on the fridge, though it looked like Santa's naughty or nice list. I barely saw Michael until Friday afternoon when he came by the coffee shop. I had just finished making sure everyone had their schedules with no last minute changes so I looked…frazzled.
He slipped behind the counter and was helping Mary out when George came in. He stopped short, did a double take and then moved into the office. "What's Pretty Eyes doing behind the counter?"
"Oh, he's probably helping out. Don't worry. He just got here."
George set the other two schedules down on the desk. "Wait…I know you. You wouldn't let anyone behind the counter unless they worked for you or you—" He stopped talking in mid sentence, his jaw dropped open, his eyes widened and he slapped his hand over his mouth.
That's when I realized I hadn't shared my new boyfriend with George or Brandon.
Oops.
I looked up at him with a face I hoped conveyed confusion. "Wait…Kyle never told you?"
George lowered his hand and ducked out the door. Then he came back in again and whispered. Though George's whispers were more like…harsh yelling. "You're dating the hottie?"
"Well I'll be. He didn't tell you."
"No. That bitch is going to hear it from me!"
That's when I reached out and reeled him in. I really loved George, but he was such a drama queen. "No wait. There are things at work you apparently don't know and you need to. First up, Kyle works with Michael, and second, Kyle's and Michael's boss doesn't know Kyle's family."
"Well yeah I know that about Gerald," George said as he grabbed up a chair and sat next to me. "And he thinks you and Kyle are—" His face did that surprise thing again as he figured out it. "Oh. He thinks you and Kyle are together but you and Michael are together and if he finds out—"
"It could be bad. So you can't say anything about me and Michael, okay?"
He held out his hands and hunched his shoulders up. "Who am I going to tell? I don't know this person and I have no need to. Kyle's secret is safe with me, though I think he needs to remember he has balls and stand up to the blow hard." Then he punched me in the arm. "But look at you! Dating a baby hottie like that!"
I rubbed my injured arm. "Oh he's not that big a baby. He's over thirty."
"And you're over forty. Big deal. No wonder our profit's up. You've been getting your cream churned!"
Sometimes…no, George. No metaphors. So I changed the subject. "Everything looks good for Thanks giving?"
"Yes, but we're going to have to take a rain check ourselves, Grace."
"Going away?"
"Hawaii!" He beamed. "We're getting married, Grace."
My jaw dropped. "Brandon finally said yes?"
"No…he asked me!"
There was much rejoicing in the shop after that. George gave away the rest of the display goods to any customer that walked in hungry and he offered free small coffees till closing. He also enjoyed meeting Michael.
Michael and I spent the weekend at my house since Gerald was going to be out of town. We did laundry, experimented in the kitchen and took a long drive up north to look at the leaves. Sunday Michael got a call that kept him out on the deck for a while. Kyle and I had pulled the Thanksgiving decorations out of the basement and were going through them when Michael stepped back inside.
He needed to go and handle some things at work. Kyle offered to help but Michael said it was tech stuff and he needed to go. He gave me a cursory kiss, grabbed this things, and left.
That night while Kyle and I fixed ourselves an easy dinner Michael called. "That call I got today—it wasn't work. I've got some things I need to take care of and I need to fly back home tomorrow. I'll be back on Sunday. Or that's how I'm planning it. I could fly back on Friday but…not with Black Friday shoppers out. They remind me of the walking dead."
I laughed. Couldn't stop myself. "You may be right. I never have checked to see if they have heartbeats."
"Mmhmm. I'm gonna miss yours and Kyle's cooking."
"I'm sure he'd cook you anything you want as long as you walked around here nude."
Kyle nodded vigorously to that as he finished his wine.
Michael sighed. "I'm going to miss you. I didn't realize how much a part of my life you'd become until I thought of going somewhere or doing something without you."
"I feel the same, baby."
"When I get back, save time for me. I'll get off the plane and come straight to your place. Then after some serious reacquainting ourselves, you can drive me home."
"That's a deal. Be careful Michael. Call me when you get there, just so I know."
"You're such a mom." But he agreed and I hung up.
"I take it that was good news?" Kyle stood in the doorway chomping on garlic bread.
I relayed what Michael said.
Kyle frowned. "I wonder why he said it was work related? Surely he'd know I'd find out the truth tomorrow."
"Eh…who knows? Set the table and I put the food on it. It's dish your own noodles night."
"Sure." Kyle finished his bread and grabbed the every day plates as I stirred the sauce. It seemed everything would work out.
But if that was true, then wh
y did I feel like something bad was going to happen?
Monday and Tuesday came and went without much drama. Or so I thought until I decided to run by Redbox and grab a movie. I was thinking of the latest Johnny Depp flick—cause that was an actor Kyle and I could agree on.
Or Brad Pitt.
As I stood in front of the kiosk outside of Kroger, I did a mental checklist in my head. Turkey, stuffing, cornbread, white bread, bag of potatoes, green beans, can of fried onions…
Somewhere in there as my finger tapped on the advance button to move the movies forward because I just couldn't decide, I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"The new Brad Pitt zombie movie is good."
Burt.
I froze where I was and flattened my hand against the screen while I counted to five. I had to do this to stop from screaming. After I deleted my choices, I turned to face him.
He looked the same. Tall, intense brown eyes, almost black. Dark hair, sprinkled with more gray than ever. Not fat but not thin. He had a strange look on his face. An expression I wasn't familiar with there.
Burt was smiling.
"You have five seconds to get one hundred yards away from me before I start screaming rape."
That smile flattened. "Dammit Grace—I just want to talk. Like adults."
"You lost that privilege when you filed a restraining order against me for doing absolutely nothing." I took in a deep breath and slipped my hand into my pocket to grab my phone. "Four…three…two…"
"Okay fine!" He backed up to the first row of parking spaces beside a buggy return. "You want to talk from here?" He shouted at me.
I pressed Kevin's button on his profile in my phone. I didn't expect him to pick up, so when it went to voicemail I left a single message. "He's here." Then I thumbed up Kyle's name and pressed it.
He picked up on the second ring. "I see him."
"You do?" I didn't take my eyes off of Burt. I was too afraid too, and that frightened me. Why was it when we were married I never felt physically threatened? But now that's all I felt from Burt? Was I afraid he'd come back into my life and take all my freedoms from me again? That he would start his malicious campaign to distance me from all my friends, call me incessantly when I went out with them, or call out arguments over stupid Facebook Memes?