Enjoy the Dance

by Heidi Cullinan

  It was so hard not to plow forward with all his questions, to decide which ones to dole out first. “Is he here for a while then, or is this temporary?”

  Spenser went back to fussing, and Tomás couldn’t help noticing Spenser was cute when he fussed. “There’s going to be a hearing in a few weeks and an investigation into his situation at home. If the grandmother truly does intend to surrender custody, it won’t be much of a hearing, more of a formality. We’ll see then if he stays here or not. That gives both of us time to make sure this works out.” He bit his lip, a brief worrying. “I keep forgetting to put a note on Craigslist for a bed.”

  “A bed for Duon? I can help you with that.” Tomás indicated his apartment with a nod. “My dad can find somebody who has an extra. Does it have to be new?”

  “Clean will do. I think I’m going to get him an air mattress in the meantime.”

  “I can get you one of those too. Do you need it tonight?” When Spenser raised his eyebrows at him, Tomás averted his gaze. “Sorry. I want to help is all.”

  The kettle whistled, and Spenser poured the water into their mugs. He passed the yellow one to Tomás. “He’ll be out of the shower soon. He’s been in there for fifteen minutes, but the hot water will run out any second.”

  This was Tomás’s cue to get out any questions he didn’t want Duon to hear. He rushed through the ones in his head, trying to triage. “Is he okay? Does he need anything?”

  “Clothes. He had a few with him, but they were mostly a random swipe of things from his bedroom floor, and half of it was dance attire, from what I can gather. He’s wearing sweats of mine for now, which fit, sort of, but aren’t appropriate for school. The social worker said she’d get me some funds to go shopping, but I know better than to count on that. I would have taken him today, but he wasn’t in a mental place where leaving the house was a good idea.”

  “My mom can help. She loves thrifting. She’ll bring him home a whole new wardrobe for twenty bucks.”

  Spenser gestured to the table, taking his tea to it as he sat. “You live with your parents, yes? But sometimes there are children there too?”

  Tomás tossed up a million filters as he formulated his reply. “Yes. My nieces and nephew. We babysit a lot while my sister is…at work.”

  Spenser cradled his mug in his hands. “Your mother was by earlier. Brought us all kinds of food. I told her thank you, but please thank her again for me. Duon ate everything she gave us like it was his last meal on Earth. I pretended I wasn’t hungry so he could eat as much as he wanted.”

  “I’ll tell her. She’ll bring more. She loves cooking for people. Loves taking care of people.”

  “It sounds as if she passed that trait on to her son.”

  The smile Spenser gave got Tomás in the gut. The whisper inside him wanting to ask the guy out was louder than ever, but it felt wrong to flirt when the focus was supposed to be on Duon. “Can you get me his sizes? I know what kinds of clothes he wears and can tell my mom.”

  “That would be great. I’ll give her some money.”

  “It’s our treat. Please.”

  Spenser clearly wanted to argue, but the bathroom door opened then, and Duon came into the kitchen. He wore a T-shirt and sweatpants that had to be Spenser’s—tight, neat, and pastel grey. He seemed thinner, more petite in his borrowed clothes. His face looked like meat still, his arms full of bruises. His cheek had stitches on it, and it was going to leave a scar.

  Duon lingered in the doorway to the kitchen, making himself smaller against the frame. “Yo, Jimenez. Whazzup?”

  Tomás fished a grin out of his gut. “I hear you put away my mom’s tortillas like a champ.”

  Duon’s face brightened. “Yeah, they were the bomb. Good thing you work so hard, man, or you’d be fat, eating her food every day.”

  Time to get to why he came, before he lost his nerve. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home when you got here. I’m glad Spenser was able to help.”

  Duon shrugged. “It don’t matter.”

  The response cut, though Tomás knew Duon didn’t mean it that way. The phrase was his standard comeback when he was disappointed, his way of erasing heartache. It don’t matter. Tomás hadn’t ever had it directed at him before, and he hated it. But he couldn’t explain himself further, so he was stuck with it. And anyway, Duon didn’t need his bullshit right now. “We miss you at class. I hope we see you there again soon.”

  Spenser had withdrawn, letting them chat, but he leaned forward now. “I think the plan is he’s going to relax for the rest of this week. We both return to school Monday. Can you get me his schedule for dance?”

  Tomás brightened. “Absolutely. I can give him rides home too. I teach every weeknight.”

  Duon rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Tomás thought maybe he was mad, but he didn’t know how to press the issue. When the silence went on a little too long, Duon pushed off from the frame and disappeared into the living room. A few seconds later, a door shut.

  Spenser put his hand on Tomás’s, closing his fingers gently. “Don’t take it personally. He needs a lot of space right now.”

  Tomás couldn’t help but take it personally. “I would have given him a home if I could have. But our family situation is…complicated.”

  “I don’t think he’s angry about that. I think he’s afraid, more than anything. I’m glad you mentioned dance class. I’m going to make sure he goes, even if he’s reluctant about it.”

  “Why?”

  Spenser went quiet. There were stories there, Tomás could tell. He’d assumed this was a quiet kid from the suburbs bent on saving the world, but he wasn’t so sure now. Something else was going on, something Spenser wasn’t ready to share and Tomás didn’t have a right to ask about.

  He saw, too, that Spenser had the same whisper of attraction he did. But he had a wall up as well, apparently deciding it was best to tuck his feelings quietly away. Probably because of Duon.

  The realization left Tomás sad. And tired. But he didn’t dwell on it, simply buried it as he did so many things he wanted in life, so he could focus on the things he had to do instead.

  Neither the social worker nor Vicky had much to offer Spenser in the way of news about what would happen to Duon the day after his placement. They both said the same thing, that they were exploring options, and in the meantime if Spenser was willing to continue to be an emergency placement, it would be wonderful and much appreciated. The next day, however, Vicky asked Spenser if they could meet at his place while Duon was at the studio.

  “I found a shelter with space for him,” she said as Spenser made coffee. “It’s in Rochester, which is the first downside, and it’s a temporary situation only. It’s run by Lutheran Social Services. He’d be in a room with four other youth.”

  Spenser could well imagine what such a room would be like. He masked his shudder with a shake of his head. “I don’t mind being a one-child shelter. I don’t think this place in Rochester would be good for Duon. He’d run away the second he could.”

  “They’d take his shoes to prevent him running, but knowing Duon, he’d be one of them it wouldn’t stop.”

  Spenser sipped his tea, but it did nothing to dull the bitterness of his thoughts. Oh, he remembered those shelters. Kids at risk for running away had their shoes removed to make it harder for them to achieve their goal. Spenser had endured such an indignity plenty. It had only made him that much more determined to leave. “I wouldn’t mind being his guardian until he came of age. There’s no need to consider a shelter, unless there’s pushback from DHS or the judge.”

  “The technical legal term would be suitable other. Guardianship is possible, but I’d advise you to give it a few months before you consider it. Basically, you’d be home base. A roof over his head, food in his belly. Because you’re not a licensed foster parent and he’s a minor, there are a few extra hoops to jump through before we can make a suitable other placement official, but I can’t imagine it being a problem. I d
id, though, get a hold of Avenues. They don’t have a host home opening, as I suspected, but they’re happy to talk to you about joining the program. I gave Ryan your number, which I hope was all right.”

  It was, of course, perfectly all right with Spenser.

  The social worker stopped by again not long after, calling on her way to make sure he’d be home. At first Spenser had thought the tactic was a means to give him a sort of spot test, not giving him time to DHS-approve his apartment, but when the woman arrived, harried and exhausted despite her smile, Spenser decided it was more that she was running around trying to fit too much work into a day already too long. Her name was Tracy, and she was about his age, though when she spoke, especially about what Spenser should expect from the state, she had the old eyes of someone who had seen too much.

  “My guess is the judge will approve you as a permanent suitable other at the hearing. It won’t happen right away because court is overbooked, and we also need to check in with the family to be sure they want to relinquish custody and to follow up on the assault. Duon says he doesn’t want to press charges against his cousins or his grandmother, but the guardian ad litem wants to crosscheck a few things, and we need to make sure the county attorney doesn’t want to press charges in his stead. I doubt she will, to be honest.” She sifted through her notes, occasionally passing papers to Spenser. “I have to be upfront and tell you there’d be no compensation of any real means for you as a nonrelative suitable other. Okay, to be honest, there’s none for you. After six months you can claim him on your taxes as a dependent. Halcyon will get him some help with books and clothes and so on, but that’s about it. As you said, Avenues would help him, but not you. If you were a foster parent, it’d be a different thing.”

  “What about health insurance?” Spenser couldn’t remember what he’d had, if any.

  “State of Minnesota will cover him through Medicaid. We can give you the legal ability to sign for him.”

  Spenser hadn’t considered he’d need such permission, but it made sense. The mention of the law, though, led to some darker questions. “If the amendment banning marriage equality passes, will it change anything?”

  Tracy paused. “I…don’t know. I don’t think so? Unless more legislation followed specifically making it not okay for LGBT people to adopt or care for children.”

  The thought made Spenser queasy. “Let’s hope it doesn’t pass then, I guess.”

  She left just before Duon came home.

  Tomás had given him a ride, and he came in with Duon, lingering to smile at Spenser and politely ask about his day. “How’s it going?”

  Spenser replied in kind. “Fine, thank you. And you?”

  “Good, good.”

  Spenser wished Tomás were asking after his life in earnest. Perhaps he was and Spenser was simply too poorly versed in flirting to recognize it. He didn’t think so, though. He’d done more hooking up than dating, but the moves of the dance had to be similar. Show interest, check for interest in the other party. If found, proceed to desired outcome.

  Sometimes Spenser thought Tomás was interested, but it was only ever a flicker, like now, as their gazes held too long. Just about when Spenser wanted to invent another question to ask, Tomás turned his focus to Duon, and the moment was over.

  Tomás hung out with Duon while Spenser finished putting dinner together. While they did the dishes, Spenser got a phone call from the representative from Avenues, and they set up a time to discuss the situation on Saturday.

  They met at a restaurant not far from Spenser’s apartment building, where the man—Ryan—had a table waiting. Spenser was fairly sure the man was gay. He had all the tells of a gentle otter—beard, glasses, nice, midsized body, kind smile, and a quick cruise as he shook Spenser’s hand.

  “It’s great to meet you. Thanks for your interest in the program and for taking a child into your home.”

  Though he’d played it coy with the other official representatives so far, with this man Spenser had the urge to come clean. “I’m a graduate, I suppose you could say, of the host home program. Clara Hanssen and Betsy Sanderson took me in when I was nineteen. I owe them everything.”

  Ryan beamed. “Oh, Clara and Betsy. I was so sad to hear Betsy passed last year. They’d been out of the program as hosts for a few years, but she was a great advocate for us right up until her death. Of course Clara is still involved in fundraising up to her eyeteeth. How wonderful to hear you were in the program and now want to be a host home family. I’m going to talk to you at some point about doing a testimonial for the website. For now, though, let’s discuss Duon.” He passed Spenser a folder. “You know how the program works from the inside, but I’m going to give you the full spiel about the history and how it works as a host, not a youth.”

  “Sure.” Spenser flipped through the file. “I never did hear the story, actually.”

  “Avenues for Homeless Youth has been around in one incarnation or another since 1994, and we’re growing all the time, both in scope of the program and in what we address. A number of the young adults we serve aren’t aware they’re homeless—they’re couch-hopping, turning tricks, basically doing any and everything they can to get their needs met. We have a shelter where youth can drop in or live until they’re twenty-one, and we’re opening a new facility soon in Brooklyn. Of course, with four thousand youth homeless on any given night and ten thousand homeless at some point in each calendar year, there are countless kids we can’t serve. The population most at risk and most difficult to safely house in a shelter are the LGBT kids.”

  Spenser knew that truth well. “Are you part of the foster care system?”

  Ryan’s kind face faded, and his tone was briefly sharp. “We’re decidedly not part of it, no. Many of our youth have run away from foster care or have fled at the threat of being placed. There are good people in the system, but there’s also a great deal of prejudice. Liberal-minded people are more likely to give donations in the form of money, not time, and few are willing to go through the certification process to be a foster family. There’s a predominance of conservative religious families in the program, and as you can imagine, this doesn’t mesh well with the LGBT youth population. We select hosts differently, and while we provide support and some financial assistance, we give that directly to the youth, not to the host family. We operate outside the foster care system, though DHS has come to view us as an asset and often works with us as much as they can.”

  Spenser scanned the papers. “This all looks good to me. I know I’ll have a learning curve on parenting a teen, but I’m willing to try. I don’t want Duon in a shelter or on the streets.”

  Ryan nodded. “There are so many dangers for his population. It would shock most people to learn how quickly young adults on the street are trafficked. Especially in the winter when it’s cold, it doesn’t take much convincing to get a kid into a stranger’s apartment, but that warm cup of soup and a bed soon becomes something sinister and terrible. We don’t think about slavery being real in the modern age, but it’s here, and the youth we serve are the most at risk. It’s usually only a matter of hours before they’re picked up and disappeared from the face of the world.”

  Spenser rubbed his cheek, keeping his gaze on the paper to hide how much thinking about trafficked teens upset him. “What are the requirements to be a host in the program?”

  “There aren’t many. You need to have an open and accepting home, you need to pass a standard background check, and you need to come up with a few references.”

  “What about his room? He’s on my couch for now, but I’m going to turn my spare room into his bedroom, as soon as I get a bed.”

  “Either arrangement is fine. A number of our youth in the host home program sleep on couches. The truth of it is, we set the rules. We have a few more boxes to check because Duon is under eighteen, but I’ll be frank. DHS is happy to have their caseload lightened, and in my opinion, we do better by our populations than any other organization going. So if y
ou’re interested, we’re happy to have you.”

  Spenser didn’t hesitate. “I’m interested.”

  “Then welcome to Avenues, Spenser Harris.” Ryan smiled ruefully. “Again.”

  As Spenser arrived home, he met Tomás in the hallway. Spenser decided to take a small leap. “I was approved for the Avenues program today.”

  Tomás beamed. “That’s great news. Congrats.”

  Spenser’s heart tripped as he braved onward. “You should come over later. Celebrate with us.”

  Tomás’s face fell. “Ah. Sorry, I can’t. Work.”

  Cheeks heating, Spenser nodded. “Sure.” Fearing he’d exposed himself, he added, “I won’t keep you,” and continued on his way.

  Was that regret on Tomás’s face? Relief? Hesitation? Spenser wasn’t sure, and he didn’t linger long enough to find out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tomás might not have been able to give Duon a home, but he devoted as much time as he could to being present in his life. He got him clothes and a phone and a second pair of shoes, gave him rides home from dance classes, and had him over for dinner with his family every Sunday. Sometimes he invited Spenser, but Spenser always declined, and Tomás didn’t push the issue. He wondered often if he should, but by the time he got around the complicated moral wrestling of whether or not it was a good idea, what with his family and his too many jobs, and because he couldn’t decide if their mutual concern over Duon meant they shouldn’t get involved—well, truthfully, long before he laid out that calculus, Spenser tucked himself back into his cocoon, and the moment passed. Eventually Tomás stopped considering overtures toward Spenser at all and focused on Duon.

  It was probably good, Tomás decided as October wore on, that he hadn’t been able to take Duon in. His schedule had become so tight he basically came home to eat and sleep, which meant caring for Duon would have fallen to his parents, and they had enough on their plate. Alisa took the kids for a few days here and there, but by the end of the month they’d practically moved in again, and Alisa stopped coming by entirely. Tomás didn’t ask where she was because the answer would have unquestionably pissed him off. His sister’s thoughtlessness bugged him now more than ever. One slip would start the snowball forming that would take his whole family away from him.