Summer of the Boy Page 2

  Staying around this guy can only mean trouble for me. I mean, swooning? I’ve never even thought of the word in conjunction with me and a hot guy before. Even as that realization sets in, my feet refuse to move. My feet, for their part, know I don’t want to be the first to walk away.

  I watch him walk away, amazed at how cruel the universe could be giving that backside—which I know I shouldn’t be looking at, but a backside like his surely inspired the renaissance movement. Pair that with his face, that body—with the mind and soul of an autistic boy, well, man now.

  There’s no denying that I’ve missed the company of a man, or the touch of a man, the scrape of morning stubble against my cheek when we’re lip locked before either of us leaves the bed to start our day. And maybe that’s the reason behind my reaction to Ridley. I have to shake that image out of my head, crossing and uncrossing my arms over my chest because I seriously don’t know what to do with them.

  The douche canoe Trucker and I watch mom and son leave us behind, his glare fixed uncomfortably on Mrs. McAllister’s ass. When they’ve cleared our sight he turns to me. “If there’s nothing else, you should be going.”

  It’s as clear as I’m standing here that he doesn’t give two shits about Ridley. Trucker has the hots for Mama McAllister.

  Not cool man. Not cool.

  Trucker certainly knows how to ruin a moment. And I was definitely having a moment.

  And dammit if Gabe Cera isn’t staring right at me when I break away from Ridley’s boss. Standing alone, with people moving around him. If this were a movie, they’d be fuzzy white noise while he stayed in crisp focus shooting me one of those dissecting, you shouldn’t have come back to town and I’m going to figure out how to take you down, stares. He’d aimed such a look on many a poor sucker in high school.

  No responsibilities for a couple of months, the sun sits high and warm in the clear, blue sky making this a beautiful day, and I just met a seriously hot guy. Whatever, Gabe Cera can suck my dick…again.

  I refuse to be the first one to turn away, and then out for nothing, I take it one step further and blow him a kiss with a wink. He turns away from me fuming. Three months Leif. Three months and you’re back at school. On that thought, I slip out the exit and walk the boardwalk—the breeze picks up from the ocean only a hundred feet away to stay just short of annoying the way it blows my bangs in my face—until I reach where my car sits parked between the beach and street. Two minutes left on the meter. Tomorrow I’ll find free parking.

  ***

  “Hey, Sweetheart.” My mom catches me bent head-first in the refrigerator searching for I don’t know what, just searching for something to take my mind off Ridley and our encounter yesterday. That and I’ve mostly been avoiding my family since getting home.

  My parents have been so cool about everything. My sisters too. But they knew me as the jock who loved baseball and dated girls. I’d sat them down, spilled my guts and left the next day for college. Made excuse after excuse not to come home. Even over Christmas, I told them I was going skiing with friends because my friends only knew me as Leif, the guy who happens to date other guys. Not a disappointment or an embarrassment or any of the other things they’ve probably been thinking, but in the end, love me too much to say it out loud.

  “I’ve missed you,” she says. Great. Mom guilt. There’s no way to counteract the effects of mom guilt, especially on a guy who spent the better part of a year avoiding her. I straighten, tagging the jug of orange juice as I do, taking a huge swig, leaning with my back to the cool refrigerated air, arm resting on the open door. “We haven’t talked, kiddo. And by the way you’re avoiding me, I think we have a lot to talk about.”

  Anybody up for waterboarding? Maybe pulling teeth sans anesthesia? I thought if I waited her out by not leaving the safety of the refrigerator, she’d turn to walk into the dining room allowing me to slip away uncomfortable-conversation free. Yeah, I should have known that wouldn’t work. Not with my mom. She stays planted in front of me, eyebrow cocked, until I relent.

  And I sigh, slumping my shoulders. “Fine. Okay, let’s talk.”

  She pulls me over into her thin arms, shutting the refrigerator door and hugs me good and hard. “You gave up baseball, died your hair purple and pierced your face,” She starts on me through the hug. I tense, ready to pull back, to bolt. But mom leans her forehead against my ear. “I think the purple and piercings look great. Not so glad you gave up ball. You loved ball. But you’re an adult, it’s your decision.”

  Shocked, I ask, “You like the purple?”

  “Come on.” Mom brakes from the hug to tug me to the kitchen table. “Sit.” I sit, sliding the juice jug far enough up the table to keep from spilling with flailing arms, in case the rest of this talk doesn’t go my way. She sits down right next to me and turns her whole body in the chair, taking my slightly trembling hand in her warm ones. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

  My mouth gapes.

  “What? Did you think I didn’t know?” She asks, with a soft chuckle to her voice. Something I hadn’t realized until right now, how much I’d missed. “You thought I didn’t know,” she murmurs to herself. “Just like you thought I didn’t know about you being gay.”

  Now my mouth doesn’t just gape, because I’m too busy choking and coughing on my saliva. “What?”

  “Honey. I saw how you acted around Amanda.”

  “Yeah, normal.”

  “I could see it in your eyes. Your heart just wasn’t in it. I also saw how you looked at that douche Gabe Cera when you thought no one was looking.”

  My choking cough turns to an out and out laugh. “Mom, you called him a douche.”

  “He is a douche.”

  “Well yeah, he is. I’ve just never heard you call anyone that before.”

  “Thing is, I saw how he looked at you when he thought no one was looking. Something happened between the two of you, you don’t have to tell me about it if you’re uncomfortable. But I know it did. I also know he is not remotely ready to face who he is yet.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?”

  “Your dad and I just want you to know we are incredibly proud of you. For your achievements but also because you’ve been a blessing to have as a son. I know all this has to be hard for you, but that’s why you need to lean on your family. It’s what we’re here for. To lean on. I want you to live your life how it makes you happy. I want you to bring a boyfriend around the same as you brought Amanda. We love you, you lunk-head.”

  “I missed you too, Mom.”

  So far my mother called me a lunk-head and used the word douche. I don’t know this woman. It’s becoming clear she’s definitely one I want to.

  “So did you meet anyone special? You’ve been gone almost a year.”

  “Do you really want to hear this?”

  “Yes. I want to be in my son’s life. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. So spill.”

  Okay. Here goes nothing. “I dated a guy at school for about five months. We broke up because I figured out he was kind of a jerk. Been single since then.”

  “You being safe?”

  “Mom.” This, right here, is the kind of stuff my mother should not be asking about. I tell her yes and I’ll have to sit through watching the wheels in her head moving behind her eyes, as she tries to discern without asking, whether her son was topping or bottoming, or maybe a little of both. Jokes on her, neither so far. But that still doesn’t mean she needs to know.

  “Nothing I wouldn’t ask any of my children no matter who they’d been dating.” She defends herself.

  Fair enough.

  “Yes, Mom. Not that you need to know, but I haven’t taken it…there yet.”

  I thought she’d squirm. Look uncomfortable. I think I was trying for it, to shock her. To prove she doesn’t really want to know this stuff about her gay son. Nope. My mom continues to sit smiling at me. Excited I’m finally opening up to her.

  Settling back, and finally feeling as if
the woman sitting next to me really does understand, the words sort of spill. As more of my past year tumbles from my mouth, I have to admit it feels good to get it all off my chest. I tell her about Ridley. Not who he is. At first, I tell her I’m not ready to tell her until I know where it’s leading. But then I spill about the carnival, about him being bullied. About it being Gabe who bullied. And I tell her about him being autistic.

  “It won’t be easy. Dating someone with a disability.”

  “He’s sweet and there’s just something about him. But who said anything about dating?” I counter. She, of course, pins me with her, please, stare. “His mom is awful, though. Even if we decided to, I’m not sure she’d let him. It’s confusing.”

  “Sometimes parents have a hard time letting go. Especially when the child has special needs.”

  “Yeah, I get that, but Mom, she told him when he came out to her that it was just his autism.” Mom, rightly so, looks outraged. “Told him flat out autistics couldn’t be gay.”

  “Do you want me to talk with her?”

  Not only is my mom a better mom than I ever gave her credit for, she’s also been a social worker for the past twenty years.

  “No. But thanks. We’re going to try being friends, get her used to me. See how it goes.”

  “Well, it’s always good to build the friendship. You’re dad and I hung out as friends for months before he asked me out on a date. We’re still happy, still in love, still best friends. And we met when we were nineteen. Just saying…”

  “I’m supposed to meet him this morning, keep him company and make sure no one says shit to him.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you to it. Bring him around any time. I promise we’ll all be cool. Bring him for dinner tonight, I’m making my homemade mac and cheese with bacon.”

  Then she stands, pulls my head to her and kisses my forehead, then she walks away. I leave the juice sitting on the table, and take the stairs up to my room two at a time. After a quick shower and shave, I opt for a pair of my skinny jeans which I’d cut off into shorts. The gray pair. And my soft Star Wars tee. Then I slide into my Vans. God, what a difference a year makes.

  As I pass through the kitchen on my way out back to my car, I notice the juice no longer sits on the table, in its place several pamphlets on autism and homosexuality.

  My mother.

  Only my mother would have these just laying around the house. More than likely she had them in a file in her office.

  I grab up the pamphlets so no one else sees them and dash out the backdoor to my car.

  Ten minutes later I parallel park along the boardwalk (free parking) and follow the trail of eager carnival goers to the front gate. Since I intend to be here as often as Rid will let me, I opt to buy a seasonal pass which comes in the form of a green wristband that I’m supposed to wear every time I come here.

  On my way back to his game, I bypass the saltwater taffy shop and choose the caramel corn stand to buy two bags instead. I have no idea if Rid even eats caramel corn, but it smells too good to pass up and I sure as hell wouldn’t show up without some for him too.

  When he comes into view, my heart speeds up. It doesn’t make any sense, my reaction to him. How could my heart get so spastic after only knowing him the equivalent of a couple of hours? I know what lust feels like. Lust you feel in your groin. Whatever this is starts in my heart region and shoots straight down to the pit of my belly. Being just friends with him is going to end up problematic if I can’t check this emotion. Though, when he sees me, his face shines with relief and happiness, like he’s been waiting for me.

  “Wasn’t sure you’d show up,” he speaks first, eyes darting away from me.

  “Rid. Look at me.” He does. Or he tries. “I promised I’d come. I wanted to.” Ridley bites his bottom lip which forces me to feel that sweet warmth of attraction once again. That one hits my groin. I close my eyes, drawing in a long breath and then hold the bag of corn out to him. “Here,” I say on the exhale.

  “Caramel corn? It’s my favorite. I love the salty sweet.”

  Oh god. “Rid, you’re killing me.”

  We have a good time talking, getting to know one another. He has a birthday coming in July. Turning twenty. He loves living by the beach. It’s just been him and his mom, like almost his whole life. He doesn’t even remember his dad. And this job at the carnival is his first job away from his mother, who had him working as a dishwasher in the restaurant she works for all last year. I tell him about my family some. About how I spent Christmas at Sugar Hill which is a ski resort.

  “I’ve never been skiing,” he tells me, his ears pinking a little.

  “You embarrassed by that?” I ask in return.

  He nods.

  “Why? Lots of people have never been skiing. It was my first time.” He seems content with that answer so I move on. “If you could do one activity, something fun and exciting, what would it be?”

  “Swim with the dolphins,” he replies right away. Definite. As if he’s given this a great deal of thought.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. When you’re ready to go swimming with those dolphins, tell me. I’ll go with you.” I want to kick myself. It’s a nice thing to say, but jeez, here I am inserting myself into his life and we only just met yesterday. It’s my turn for my ears to pink.

  “You embarrassed by your answer?” he asks.

  When our gazes meet, I can see he very much likes my response, even chuckling a bit under his breath. “Nope,” I tell him then, honestly. “Not anymore.”

  A good day.

  None of the douche canoes from the day before show up.

  At the end of his shift, I help him close down his game and walk him to the trailer to clock out. I wait outside for him. When he walks back out and I see him with the setting sun for a backdrop, for the first time since I’d shown up that morning, my mouth goes dry. I find myself swallowing back the urge to kiss him. Kiss him. Friends. We’re trying out friends first.

  Friends invite friends home for dinner.

  “Um… my mom is making her mac and cheese with bacon for dinner. She said I should invite you. Would…um…would you like to come have dinner with my family? I have a PlayStation. We can play or whatever after we eat.”

  “Sure. Let me call my mom. She works late tonight. But she’d want to know.”

  I nod, waiting while he leaves his mother a voicemail.

  My mother is true to her word, only once breaking cool to shoot me a double thumbs up when Rid and I first arrived. She did it behind his back for him not to see. Ridley was kind of shy around my family, but I watched him try and make the effort to converse with them.

  Because he has to interact around strangers every day for his job, I have the feeling his shyness comes more from them being my family, though I guess I don’t know enough about autism to know for sure.

  The rest of the fam are great too. My dad and sisters ask him questions intermittently between discussing various topics including what has been going on in each of their lives. Not making him the center of attention for too long.

  Everyone works really hard at making Rid feel comfortable.

  After dinner, he insists on helping my mom clean up because she fed him, then we go up to my room where I introduce him to MLB: The Show. A baseball video game on the PlayStation.

  Playing against Ridley is more fun than I’ve had playing this stupid game in forever. No pressure to show off, probably because he deflates my ego pretty quickly.

  I go in preparing—baseball is my thang and Rid never plays—to stand atop the virtual pitcher’s mound, victorious. A nice thought in theory as his keen eyes pick up on the strategy nuances of hits and runs and strikeouts to knock me down game after game.

  A lesser man would cry. And I’d probably be that lesser man if not for Rid’s attempt at smack talk.

  “Who’s your daddy?” He chides, controller in hand clicking away at the buttons. Concentration visible as he mounts another attack on my player, and as it
turns out my ball-playing skills.

  The ump on the screen yells, “out.”

  I don’t ever remember laughing so hard. He jumps to his feet and dances an Irish jig after beating me for the fifth time in a row.

  “Come on, Leif.” He tugs me up by my T-shirt. Irish jig it is. While we jump from foot to foot, I throw my head back in a full-blown belly cramping laugh.

  After our initial meeting, I didn’t know what to expect. Falling into friendship with this guy is easy though. Only Amanda ever made it this easy. With her, I was all secrets and lies. To be fair, one secret and one lie, but their size and magnitude dwarfed every other truth in my life.

  There’s a knock on my door and mom pops her head in. “I heard a strange loud noise, a kind of mashup between a sputtering fart and a lion’s roar,” she teases.

  Which get her desired effect, I clutch my stomach, doubling over as I laugh harder.

  My mom looks to Ridley. “If this is your influence, come over anytime.”

  The tips of his ears pink adorably. I stand up to wipe the laugh-tears from my eyes. Mom winks at Rid and pops back out. Her job done.

  We play for several hours, talking more, some of it smack and some real, until his phone rings.

  His mom.

  She yells in his ear, yells so loud I can hear her through the receiver. “Where are you?”

  “Mom,” Rid says, his one word answer sounds placating. “I left you a voicemail.”

  “I’ve never met these people. Ridley James, you’re old enough to know better than to go off with strangers.”

  “Leif isn’t a stranger.”

  “What’s the address? I’ll come get you. They’ll be lucky if I don’t press charges for kidnapping.”

  “What? Mom, they didn’t kidnap me. I’ll come home.” Then he hangs up on her. “Sorry.” He looks away. Hands opening and closing at his sides. Open. Close. “My mom, she worries.” Open. Close.

  “You don’t have to leave just because she orders you to. You are an adult.”