“Thank you for this,” I tell them as the end credits roll. “Tonight was amazing.”
Susa sits in my lap to hug me, lingering with her head against my shoulder. “You’re worth it, Owen. You’re family.” She smiles at me and I know I’m lost to her. Whatever she wants from me, I’ll always give it to her.
Even if it means I’m settling for doing her dishes and helping her with IKEA runs and watching while she’s probably imagining if she should hyphenate her last name to Carter’s or not. Not that Carter’s showing that kind of interest in or attention to her, but I know it’s not me she really wants.
I don’t care. Susa’s emotional scraps are a hell of a lot more than my mother ever gives me. I’ll accept them gracefully and without hesitation, and give thanks for them.
Carter had carried my plate and his to the kitchen. He returns, leaning over the back of the couch and throwing his arms around both of us from behind.
“Group hug!” He kisses me on the cheek, then Susa, and makes both of us laugh in the process.
“You guys are my family,” I softly admit, hoping they don’t think I’m dopey.
“Of course we are,” Susa says. “We are a family. We take care of each other and look out for each other.”
“And we love each other,” Carter says. He’s still holding both of us, and I’m in no hurry for the hug to end because it’s keeping Susa right there, snuggled tightly against me. “Because I do love you guys.”
“I love you guys, too,” I say.
“Me, three,” Susa adds.
This feels like perfection. I wonder what’s going to slam into us in the future to destroy this fragile bubble. It can’t last forever, can it? I’ll treasure it for as long as it endures and worry what to do about my shattered heart in the aftermath when that dreaded day eventually arrives.
Now, on Friday night, I’m putting myself in Carter’s capable hands and letting him show me a good time. I’ve never done anything like this before. I never tried to sneak alcohol when I was in my teens, because there was no way I could do something like that without my mother figuring it out.
Ahead of her wrath, I always feel like the terrified ten-year-old. Anything I did that she didn’t approve of always ended the same way, with her comparing me to my father and asking me if I want to be “useless” like him.
Friday afternoon after our classes, we pack bags for the weekend—and since we need to do laundry anyway, we grab that—and head over to Susa’s in the Snot Box. She’d packed a bag so she could leave from campus as soon as classes ended, meaning, unfortunately, we won’t run into her.
Susa still hasn’t invested in a guest bed. I’m happy giving Carter the bedroom and taking the couch for myself. Susa told us to feel free to use her bed, and Carter’s said he doesn’t mind sharing her king-sized bed with me if I don’t.
Then again, if he gets me drunk enough, I might not even care. Besides, how would it be any different than me sitting up with him in his bed when he’s had nightmares, or the three times I’ve actually fallen asleep there next to him?
Actually, maybe it would be better if we shared the bed, because I won’t hear him if he has a nightmare and I’m in another room.
Honestly, I’m looking forward to this experience. I trust Carter and know he won’t let anything bad happen to me. This is a rite of passage I desperately want. I spent so many years under Mom’s thumb and never doing anything that I can’t wait to see what happens.
I never got to be normal.
Once we moved, I never had “close” friends. Even the guy I could call my best friend in high school, the one I helped win the student council election, we really didn’t do anything together like kids usually do.
I wasn’t allowed to.
I learned not to ask. If someone asked my mom for me, especially in front of witnesses, of course she’d usually agree to it.
I’d also pay like hell for it later.
But if I asked her?
Even in front of people the answer was nearly always a no. Unless it had something to do with academics that would help me earn a scholarship so she didn’t have to pay for my college tuition.
There was more than a small measure of fear running through me, the hell she’d drag me through and the repayment she’d extract, if she had to shell out a penny of her own money because I wasn’t “smart” enough or didn’t work hard enough to earn a scholarship.
We both grab showers at Susa’s and change there. Carter tells me to dress in khakis or jeans and a casual button-up. He’s wearing khakis, so I match him. I don’t know where we’re going tonight and, honestly, I don’t care. He’s in charge, and I’m happy to follow along like a good pet.
“I’m pleasantly surprised,” he says as he drives us in the Snot Box.
“About what?”
His sunglasses hide his eyes, but the smirk is there. “I figured you’d be asking me a million questions about our plans.”
“Hey, I’m the birthday boy, and you said tonight is all on you. I’m not going to question you.”
“Good boy.”
He’s smirking, but something about the tone of voice he says it in plucks a few hidden strings deep inside me.
I suppress a shiver.
A good shiver.
I know he’s kidding around, because he’s Carter. Ever since the pet joke became a thing with the three of us, he’s said stuff like that.
I can’t help that every time he does it hits home inside me, hard, and I’m damn sure not asking him to stop.
Especially because I like it.
Chapter Eighteen
Our first stop is a nice steakhouse in the Hyde Park neighborhood, west of downtown Tampa. Valet parking, the whole nine yards.
Granted, I’ve eaten in plenty of fine establishments in my life with my mother and Austin. Places where you can’t even walk in the door without a tie. I know which fork to use, how to keep my elbows off the table, all of that. But as Carter hands his keys to the valet and joins me, then places a hand in the small of my back to guide me forward…
Something about this feels…different.
Not a bad different, either.
This kind of feels like a date.
We’re seated in a booth along the wall. Once the hostess leaves us with our menus, Carter smiles at me from across the table. “Trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
He holds out his hand, and I realize he wants my menu. I hand it to him and sit back, realizing the evening is truly out of my control.
I…really like that. Because unlike with my mother, where I rarely liked or agreed with what she wanted to do but was required to go along with it anyway, I know Carter won’t fuck with me. It’s a weird, strange, new thing for me to accept, that there are decent people out there, and one of them is now my best friend.
When our waitress arrives, she wears a chipper smile. “And how are we doing tonight, gentlemen?”
“We have a birthday boy,” Carter says, indicating me. “We’ll both have water. I’ll have sweet iced tea, and he’ll have a rum and Coke.”
Okay, we’re starting this right out of the gate, I guess. I’ve already got my ID out and ready to show her.
“Thank you.” She examines it, smiles as she returns it, and notes our drink orders. “I’ll be right back with those and to take your appetizer order.”
Carter has already closed his menu. “This is our first stop of the night. I have a little surprise after dinner.”
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”
He grins. “I hope so.”
She brings our drinks and Carter orders us stuffed mushrooms as a starter, and places our food orders, too. Apparently he’s either paid attention to me or is a really great guesser, because he orders exactly what I would have ordered anyway—filet mignon, rare, salad with Italian dressing, and a baked potato with butter and sour cream. Not that we’ve been out for steak like this at a restaurant before, but Susa did buy us some one day and we grilled them on her lanai o
n a brand-new grill she’d purchased just for the occasion.
One afternoon we’d been discussing food, and the best meals we’d ever eaten at restaurants. I’d mentioned filet was my favorite cut, and what I usually ordered when going out somewhere with my mom and Austin. Because a very strange quirk is that Mom and Austin didn’t mind spending money on food. It was one of the few things my mother would refrain from criticizing me about.
A little suspiciously—in a good way—Susa sprang the steaks and new grill on us two days later.
For once, it’s freeing to have good suspicions instead of bad ones, and it’s yet another way these two people make me feel like they care about me.
Once we’re alone again, Carter holds up his glass of tea in a toast, and I pick up my rum and Coke.
“To friendship, to brotherhood, and to forever,” he quietly says.
Another of those pleasant shivers rolls through me. “To friendship, to brotherhood, and to forever,” I echo before we gently clink glasses.
He’s watching me even as he takes a swallow of his tea. I literally have never had so much as a sip of wine, because it was never offered to me by Mom or Austin, and I never dared ask. I can smell the rum in the drink and take a tentative sip with the tiny straw in it.
It’s nearly eye-watering, but I like it.
Carter slyly smiles. “My pet’s growing up.”
That almost makes me laugh-snort Coke out my nose.
“Go easy on the alcohol here, or you’ll be too sloshed to enjoy part two. You can have one more of those here, if you want one. You will be getting more alcohol later.”
I’m wondering if he’s planning on taking me to a strip club or something, because he knows I’ve never been to one of those, either.
I don’t ask. Why ruin the surprise? Carter’s obviously taken great joy planning tonight for me.
That’s good enough for me.
When I was growing up, if I was lucky, I was asked where I wanted to go for dinner for my birthday. Other birthdays, Mom decided we were going out and where we were going out, and I acted happy for it regardless.
Because not acting appreciative, even if I’d hated the restaurant, would have definitely been extracted from me later in far less enjoyable ways.
I learned early on how to pick my battles and which ones weren’t worth fighting.
Most of them weren’t worth fighting.
Yet another reason I made damn sure I earned a scholarship, and why I plan on keeping my grades up so I don’t blow it.
Maybe it’s the fact that I ate a light lunch early in the afternoon to save plenty of room for dinner, or maybe it’s because I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking, but I feel the rum hitting me about twenty minutes later. We’ve already finished our appetizer and are working on our salads. I’m on my second rum and Coke, with a glass of sweet tea on standby for when I finish that.
It feels like my face is suddenly hot, flushed, and I guess I laugh or something because Carter smiles as he tips his head and studies me. “Someone’s got a buzz.”
Now I definitely laugh. “Yeah, guess I do.”
“Do me a favor, buddy, okay?”
“Sure.”
The humor disappears from his features. “Promise me you’ll never drink and drive. Not even a couple of beers. Not until you’re more experienced and know exactly how much you can handle. I know I can have one beer and I’ll be okay. But I never drive after more than that. If you ever get into a situation where you’ve had more than one, promise me you’ll call me, any time of the day or night. Understand?”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
His sober masks shatters into a playful grin. “How about we make it a rule you call me that, huh? I really like it.”
I hold up my drink in a salute. “Anything you say, sir.”
* * * *
Best.
Steak.
Ever.
I don’t know what the hell they did to it differently than any other filet I’ve ever eaten in my life, but that was one fucking great steak.
For dessert I get a heavenly and gigantic piece of chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream. The staff brings it out with a candle in it and singing their version of a birthday song.
I’m still slightly buzzed when we leave there and head to part two of the evening.
“Where to now?” I ask. “Strippers?”
He laughs. “You’ll see.”
I’m simultaneously disappointed and intrigued to discover our destination is a boutique craft beer tap room and brewery not far from the steakhouse. Carter gets us a table and goes up to the bar to place our orders, taking my ID with him. He returns with two glasses of ice water.
“I know I’m a little tipsy, but that’s the clearest looking beer I’ve ever seen.”
He grins as he returns my ID. “They’re coming. Hold your horses.”
A few minutes later, a waitress brings us our orders. Carter gets a smallish glass of something very pale and amber in color.
I get three planks set in front of me, each with four small glasses set in cutouts, arranged from darkest to lightest in color on each one. The waitress quickly explains what each one is, including leaving us with a small whiteboard with each choice listed.
“Holy crap,” I mutter as she leaves us. “That’s a lot.”
He grins. “Figured we might as well start testing and training your palate now.” He picks up his glass, sniffs it before sipping, and smiles. “Want a sip?”
“Sure.” It’s a little on the bitter side, but not like black-coffee bitter. “What is that?”
“It’s an IPA brewed over in Ybor.”
I stare at the twelve glasses before me. “How do I start doing this?”
“Well…” He picks up the little whiteboard and points at the first option, the darkest one on the first plank. “That’s a coffee and chocolate porter. It’ll taste a little heavy, probably a little bitter, but sip it slowly and see if you can taste the notes in it.”
I pick it up and do what he did, sniffing the contents first before hesitantly sipping. It is bitter, but not unpleasantly so. I can taste hints of a molasses kind of undertone, and coffee and chocolate. “That’s good.”
“Don’t drink it all at once. Try the others.”
We work down each flight, as he tells me they’re called, Carter explaining all the choices to me. What really hits me hard—and maybe I was feeling even more emotional than usual because of the alcohol—was that at no time did he come off as condescending, or make me feel stupid.
In fact, I note this. “Sorry I’m so stupid about—”
“Hey, no.” I look up at his firm tone. “I don’t ever want to hear you use that word about yourself.”
I blink back tears. I heard that word multiple times a week—if not a day—growing up. Usually with Mom chiding me, “Don’t be stupid.” Sometimes with her outright calling me stupid.
“You’re new to this,” he adds. “Don’t ever say that about yourself. You’re a smart guy.”
“I’ve never had alcohol before. I said that, right?”
He smiled. “Yeah, you did. But I didn’t mean alcohol. I meant you’re new to having people who love you.”
Okay, now I am crying. He hands me a napkin and sits back to let me pull myself together. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“Stop apologizing, buddy. We’re here to have fun tonight, okay? I want this to be a night you’ll remember forever.”
“It already is.”
And that’s the truth.
* * * *
Two of the choices are really damned good, and Carter even takes a little sip of each. Then he orders two sixty-four ounce growlers of those to take home with us later.
But we’re not done yet.
He orders me a glass of each, larger than the glass he’d had.
“Enjoy.”
I’m definitely drunk now, and giggle a little. “Wow. Planning on taking me home and having your way with me, sir?” I waggle my eyebro
ws at him. “Because you probably totally could at this point.”
He rests his elbow on the table, props his chin in his palm, and smiles. “Don’t give me ideas, buddy. Or are you offering me that blowjob instead of laundry option?”
I hold up the first glass, a dark amber barleywine. “Another couple of these, I might just bend over and let you fuck me, if you promise to give me a reacharound.”
“Oooh, baby.” He blows me a kiss. “Lucky for you I believe in informed consent, and a drunk can’t consent.”
I struggle not to blow beer out of my nose as I laugh. I love that we can joke around like this without it getting weird.
Then again, I am really fucking drunk now.
And I’m loving it.
This has truly been the most perfect birthday of my life, one where I don’t feel resentful or like I’m a disappointment.
I know I’ll cherish this night—as much as I can remember of it—for the rest of my life.
* * * *
I barely remember the drive back to Susa’s. I do remember I kind of lean on Carter to make my way outside the tap room, the world spinning a little. I squint as we approach the Snot Box.
“I love you, sir, but your car is butt-ugly.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, it is. But we’ll never lose where we parked it.”
“This is true.”
Fortunately, I don’t throw up in his car. I’m not that drunk, I guess. We make it to Susa’s and he makes me wait in the Snot Box while he goes inside first, turns off the alarm, and puts the two growler jugs in the fridge. Then he comes out for me and helps me out of the car. I don’t want to lean on him too much and hurt him, but I over compensate and almost fall over the other way.
“What are you doing?” he asks. “You’re going to fall.”
“You’re so nice to me, sir, and I don’t want to hurt you!”
He snorts. At least, I think it’s a snort. “You’re drunk, Owen. I’ve got you. Lean on me, buddy.” He gets me inside and heads straight for Susa’s room.
“Oooh! Looks like I’m going to bed with you after all!”
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