Cowboy: The Mathesons - Book 2

by Rhodes, Declan

  Thirty minutes after I hung up the phone I climbed into bed, and I slept for sixteen hours. For the first time in my life, the world didn’t look better in the morning. It felt like the earth was spinning at a cockeyed angle. Simon’s side of the bed was still empty, and the closet door stood ajar with his shirts missing.

  1

  Tate

  The utter chaos of my younger brother Guy’s June wedding buried my months of New York misery like a blanket of fresh snow hiding city grit and grunge. While weddings weren’t my favorite events, I was happy to push thoughts about Simon to the side for at least a couple of weeks.

  Guy’s bride was Lily Greene, daughter of my father’s lifetime business partner, Bentley, and a friend to my siblings and me since childhood. Lily headed up the Los Angeles office of the two family advertising company, and I was her New York counterpart.

  Both Lily and Guy were radiant and so very much in love. Their baby, Tilda, was popular among the guests. They passed her from arm to arm accompanied by exaggerated smiles and plenty of babbling and cooing.

  In the weeks leading up to my trip west to California for the ceremony, I had struggled in my efforts to find a gift that made sense for the couple. My tendency to second-guess my decisions made the process much more difficult than necessary.

  I considered something personal as a family member, but in the end, I merely checked off another item on the wedding registry. While my New York secretary made the travel arrangements, I cleared my calendar for a short three-day trip. Even though the trip was a brief one, it meant doubling up on the workload before skipping town. In other words, I had less time to moan about my solitary life.

  I’d not yet breathed a word about my breakup with my boyfriend Simon to my family despite the fact we’d been apart for eighteen months. I made up stories about why he couldn’t appear at family gatherings. First, I said we were having a speed bump in our relationship. Then, I said he was simply too busy finishing up a design project.

  I didn’t want to lie to my family, but it turned out to be too easy. I couldn’t figure out how to tell the truth, so I continued the line of excuses. I covered for his absence from the wedding with a false story about illness striking one of Simon’s parents.

  I knew that I couldn’t get away with it for much longer, but deep in the back of my mind, I hoped for a miraculous reconciliation. The truth would still come out eventually, but at least Simon would be there to help try to laugh it off. I’d seen it happen that way in romantic movies. They had to base it on something real.

  Guy and Lily chose to marry each other in a cozy church in the little town of Shady Valley in the Sierra Nevada mountains. The town was a small cluster of buildings spreading out in a valley floor south of the Hideaway Ski Resort owned and operated by Lily’s brother, Kyle. The resort hosted the reception.

  Kyle closed The Hideaway to the general public for an entire week to host wedding guests and celebrate the occasion by throwing an exceptional party for the newlywed couple. His father, Bentley, ordered him to avoid doing anything on the cheap. He wanted a lush celebration for his only daughter, particularly since the wedding itself was small.

  After my older brother, Mason, fell in love with Kyle, he opened a new office in Shady Valley for Matheson and Greene, the two family advertising firm. The change defused the unspoken competition between Lily and Mason over who should ultimately direct the Los Angeles office. When I first left for New York, I was getting out of town to avoid intra-family competition.

  Promising Lily a small church ceremony lacking in undue pomp and circumstance, Guy chose only two attendants, his documentary filmmaking partner Elliot and his oldest brother, Mason. That left me free to sit in the audience and arrive in a rental car only five minutes before the ceremony began.

  I slipped into the third pew next to my youngest brothers, the twins, Benji and Jamie. In a low voice, Benji whispered, “Oh, my God, Tate, we all worried that you wouldn’t make it. Mom was wringing her hands over you.”

  I started to respond in my usual resonant voice, “Why…,” and then I lowered it to a whisper matching Benji. “Why didn’t she call me? Nobody called me.”

  “And you didn’t call us,” reminded Jamie.

  My little sister, Di, seated on the opposite side of the twins, leaned forward, held a finger against her lips and hissed, “Shh, it’s starting.”

  While Guy appeared at the altar in a black tux with tails, and the entire audience turned to witness the arrival of Lily resplendent in white with a train that spread at least ten feet behind, I couldn’t stop thinking about Simon. So many times, I dreamed about marrying him. In my fantasy, we’d stand at the altar in matched black tuxes, and when the minister pronounced us husband and husband, we’d kiss to seal the deal.

  One evening as Simon sniffled in my arms at the end of a bittersweet romantic movie, he said, “When you propose to me, I only want a simple band for a ring, and our wedding shouldn’t be terribly elaborate either. I’m marrying you not half the population of each of our hometowns.”

  For a brief moment, I thought about half of New York City and Los Angeles getting together for one wedding, but I understood the point he was trying to make.

  I hugged him tightly. “Oh, of course, we can downplay it. Our two families and a few select friends are all we need.”

  Simon then threw his hands up in the air and said, “Oh, fuck, who am I kidding? I want a bash! Tuxes, tails, and maybe even top hats. I want the best live band we can possibly hire for the reception and a wedding cake at least six tiers high.”

  With the guests sitting in hushed silence, it was easy for my thoughts to drift away, but a sharp elbow from Benji brought me back to the present. He hissed in my ear, “Wake up, Tate.”

  I wasn’t asleep, but I’d lost concentration. I lowered my head while the bride and groom recited their vows. I heard Guy say, “I do,” in his low, throaty voice. Lily’s “I do” came in a sweet, higher tone. I looked up as they kissed and the chapel erupted in applause.

  The most difficult moments were over. I couldn’t wait to get to the reception at the Hideaway. Food would quiet the rumbling in my stomach, and I needed a drink. Unfortunately, I had to live through one more delay.

  I stood in the family’s receiving line next to Mason and Kyle. The way they held each other’s hands until guests began to file past—and the quick kisses they sneaked in during gaps in the handshakes and hugs—made my gut ache. I was happy for them, but four years ago, I believed that I was the first Matheson brother to find my forever partner. Now, I was going to be third in line, and it was possible I would fall even farther behind if either of the twins fell in love.

  At last, we had a couple of hours of mingling time before dinner and dancing. As I loaded up a small plate with hors d’oeuvres from the buffet table, Kyle tapped me on the shoulder. He offered a glass of red wine. “You look like you could use this. I’m so sorry that Simon couldn’t make it. We all worry about our parents getting sick as they grow older. I don’t know when that reversal of child caring for the parent instead of the other way around starts, but it does.”

  With a grateful smile, I said, “The place looks amazing. I think every rafter in the lodge is full of balloons and flowered garlands. You did great work.”

  “Well, I did bang-up work at picking up the phone and calling for help. The local florist had to send off to L.A. for a whole additional truckload of blooms. Take a sniff.”

  I held my nose in the air and inhaled. It was a combination of sweet and spicy. I remembered how much Simon loved the smell of flowers.

  Mason appeared at Kyle’s side. “Hey, Tate! Can you believe that Guy made it to the altar before the rest of us? I always thought you and Simon would beat all of us there. Four years is a long time. At some point, common law steps in.”

  I chuckled softly. “Yeah, we’ll get around to it.”

  Fortunately, he quickly changed the subject. “Lily was gorgeous. Did you know her mom, Tilda, wore
that gown when she married Bentley? I know you missed the rehearsal, but they had the final fitting for the dress that night, and Lily nearly dissolved in a huge puddle of tears.”

  “Oh, wow, that sounds rough.” Tilda’s unexpected early passing cast a dark cloud over both families for several months. She didn’t live to see either of her children fall madly in love. We all cheered Lily’s efforts to keep her mother’s memory in the minds of all of us by naming her baby Tilda.

  I downed the last of my glass of wine and flagged down a young server for a second round. I was a big man, and I knew that I could handle at least four glasses without any fear of stumbling.

  Kyle excused himself to attend to staff management issues. “I’ll catch you guys at dinner.”

  Mason wrapped an arm around my shoulders and walked me over to the side of the ballroom. “There’s some family stuff I want to talk about.”

  “I saw Di with a guy. Is that a boyfriend from college? He was on good behavior at the church.”

  “Yep, she’s head over heels for him,” said Mason. “Apparently, he’s a budding rocket scientist, for real. He wants to work for NASA.”

  “And she wants to go to India. It’ll be fun to see them work that one out.”

  Mason nodded. “I might be wrong, but I think Di’s a little persuadable. At least the weather’s similar if he goes to Houston. I’d fucking melt in that heat and humidity.”

  “So what family stuff?” It was hard to believe, but I was quickly making it to the bottom of the second glass of wine. I twirled the glass with my fingers wrapped around the stem.

  “The twins. Have you talked to them yet? Both are cranky, and you know me, I start to worry.”

  “Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you have to play nursemaid to the rest of us.” I raised my hand to signal one of Kyle’s wandering staff.

  “Is that number three?” asked Mason. “Not that I’m noticing or counting.”

  “It was a long flight in the wee hours this morning. My nerves got a little jittery when we had turbulence over the Rockies.”

  Mason raised an eyebrow. “Did you manage to leave the work behind? The numbers are fantastic coming out of your office, but I know the load’s been tough along with all the stresses of moving into the new building.”

  The wine was going down easy. I was feeling the buzz. Mason talked about the recent relocation of the Matheson and Greene offices in New York from the Upper East Side to Midtown. It meant a longer ride on the subway in the morning, but the new address was more prestigious.

  “Yep, it’s been a lot of work.”

  “I’ve been thinking about a trip out there to check out your new digs. It’s been almost two years since I last saw the two of you out there.”

  My brain stumbled slightly when a confused expression spread across my face. “The two?”

  “You and Simon. He’s like the imaginary boyfriend out there in New York. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him.”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  I thought I saw worry in Mason’s face. “Fuck? About what, Tate?”

  I sipped more of the wine. “Oh, nothing. Yeah, come see New York again.” I didn’t know how I’d explain Simon’s absence with my brother in the city and shook my head.

  Mason placed the hand on my shoulder again and squeezed. “Hey, go easy on the wine. You’re getting a little loud, too. Don’t worry. I’ll call ahead of time. I hate when someone stops by my place at the last minute, and it looks a little more like a college dorm room than an upscale apartment. Simon can get your place spruced up in no time. He’s talented that way.”

  I don’t know if it was the wine paving the way or the ache in my gut making me more vulnerable, but Mason found the nerve. In my loud, booming voice that I always had to fight back to keep in check, I bellowed, “Okay, fuck, we broke up! Is that what you wanted to know? He walked out on me. Damn!”

  At least fifty people suddenly turned their heads. Mason nearly dropped his cocktail. As the room fell into a shocked, stunned silence, I heard the ice tinkling in Mason’s glass.

  “You broke up? Since when?”

  I froze. My voice, usually brash and loud, was gone. I tried to answer, and nothing came out. My lips moved in silence.

  Mason waved a hand in the air, nodded at the twins, and led me out of the ballroom with an arm wrapped around my waist. After the door closed behind us, he said, “Damn, I’m sorry that was so…public. I didn’t mean to push, but you know how we all feel about you and Simon.”

  My voice returned, and I wasn’t in a mood to be charming and kind in a conversation. “How you feel? We broke up eighteen months ago. You all cared so much that you didn’t figure it out yet.”

  “But you didn’t tell us, and I thought you were going to tackle me that Christmas I fell for Kyle when I tried to find out more about you and Simon. You told me to lay off the topic.”

  “I couldn’t.” I pounded myself in the chest with a fist. “Fuck, Mason; it hurt too much.”

  I watched as Mason tried to roll all of the events of the past year and a half through his head. “How are you? I don’t really know where to start.”

  Part of me wanted to scream, argue, or fight with someone. My brain told me he was my older brother, and he did care. I stood staring at him with my eyes blazing until I finally said, “You know I never ask for one, but a hug would help.”

  As he held me close, Mason said, “I’m bumping up the trip. I’ll be out there in a couple of weeks, and we’ll talk when I’m there. The offices are the technical reason for hopping on a plane, but I want to see my little brother. I’ve been so distracted since Kyle and I got together again. I’m sorry.” He paused for a moment. “Eighteen months—really?”

  “Yep, it happened just a few weeks before that big winter trip out here that Dad put together. That’s why I said speed bump. I honestly thought he might come back. I hoped that we could work it out. After eighteen months, I have serious doubts. I should let him go.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. You were so great together that year you brought Simon out here to California for the family Christmas. I took you at your word the reasons he couldn’t come to all the other events. Did you get the apartment?”

  “Yeah, and if I could afford it, I’d move. Every corner of the place reminds me of Simon.” I shook my head. “Every corner.”

  2

  Simon

  I always knew that my two moms were incredibly quirky. They lived in their own world of aesthetic appreciation and experimentation. One day they embraced the fashion sense of the 1960s, and the next week they dressed in only post-modern synthetic fabrics. Most of the world didn’t understand them. Fortunately, they always got each other. Sometimes they didn’t even need to talk to land on the same page. I adored them for that.

  After my disastrous breakup with Tate, I couldn’t afford a decent apartment in Manhattan or the better parts of Brooklyn, but I wanted to keep my city job. As frustrating as it could be, at the time it felt like the only thing I had of consequence that was still mine. I had few realistic options to choose from, and the best was moving back home into the care of my idiosyncratic parents.

  “Maybe all you need is a breather. It’s a tough world out there,” said Mom Tina, the artist, when I first showed up on their doorstep again. That rest that she recommended stretched into over a year hiding away in the evenings from the rest of the world. I helped care for the apartment, walk their little Peekapoo dog, Henry, and even served as a nude model for a series of six glass sculptures.

  Eighteen months after moving in, I was itching to make a change. I needed my own living space again, and I was ready to make a big move with my career.

  On the day of the first significant steps forward, Mom Missy, the professor of art history, sat across from me at the breakfast table. She asked, “Is today the day you go for your loan interview? I still don’t understand why you won’t let us float the funding. Tina’s last two sculptures alone ea
rned enough for a good jumpstart on your plans.”

  While Mom Tina scrambled a mysterious concoction on the stove, she added, “He wants independence. Our little bird wants to fly free even though the first kick out of the nest failed.” She turned her head toward me and blunted the impact of her words with a blown kiss.

  “Well, I think that perhaps since he was such a handsome model for your Tim West series, the least we can do is offer at least 50% of the proceeds.”

  I asked, “Tim West?”

  “Oh, that’s what she calls them. You know they have names. Tina creates character names for all of her sculptures. Did you want us to call them Simon LeWayne? Your real name? Then everyone would know that it’s you. Now, he’s just a legendary cowboy out of the Wild West.”

  “Do you think they’ll be confused?” Self-consciously touching my face, I said, “The nose and narrow chin probably give it away.” I had to live with the knowledge that anyone who figured out the identity of the model for Tim West would know the contours of the rest of my body without having to ask for me to take my clothes off.

  She was right about the amount of money available. My two moms were eccentric, but they knew how to generate financial prosperity. When they adopted me as a six-week-old baby, they lived in a converted tenement apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, a struggling artist and an art history professor at NYU with an office off Washington Square. Through the years, as Mom Tina’s reputation grew, they pooled their resources to move to the Upper East Side while maintaining a healthy disdain for outward expressions of wealth.

  Since I grew up with two mothers instead of a mother and a father, I learned to differentiate between the two by using the terms, “Mom Missy” and “Mom Tina.” Some visitors thought our terminology was clumsy. To me, it was second nature.