My mother had stopped talking.
“You said Kyle was acting out lately?” I prompted.
“Boys are not like girls,” she said, and launched into a tirade about the weird things he’d been doing. When she got to the part about him not doing a great job wiping his bum and leaving streaks in his underwear, I had to stifle my laughter.
Describing the lengths she went to sanitizing the laundry did seem to give my mother satisfaction. I patiently listened without interrupting.
We moved out of the dining room and cleaned the kitchen. When it was bedtime for Kyle, we pulled out the trundle bed for his friend, and I helped her get both boys settled in.
I don’t know how much I feel differently toward Kyle than I would if he was actually my brother, and not the child I gave birth to at fifteen. I never had a brother, so how would I know to compare? I do love the little guy. I love every hair on his head, but he’s a sweetheart, and who wouldn’t?
He never nursed from me. Despite understanding the health benefits, and understanding that it would be the right thing to do, I hadn’t been emotionally able to do it. Honestly, that probably made it easier for my parents to bond with him as their own.
Still, there were times like that night, when I was around both him and another boy his age, and I would compare. Was the other boy taller and stronger? Did he seem smarter, having benefited from pre-natal care? Comparison is the thief of joy, but we all do it with our children, or our appearances.
After we closed the door to Kyle’s room, my mother began to cry, smiling through the tears. “I’m so blessed,” she whispered. “So what if I have some wrinkles? I have two beautiful children who make me happy.”
“And one of us knows how to wipe properly.”
She held onto my arm as we walked down the stairs. “He’ll figure it out. None of us is born knowing all the answers.”
“Except Dad.”
“Hah! Your father is exceptional, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed, both of us giggling.
~
Monday.
Contrary to what I expected, the bookstore was not a disaster on Monday morning. Adrian had been distracted by the negotiations with Black Sheep Books, and hadn’t moved any of the fixtures around.
Gordon Oliver came over from next door, and we had a heart-to-heart about the future of the store.
“Change is hard,” he said, his elbows on the counter.
Gordon has black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. One of his parents is Thai and the other is Eastern European. He’s a handsome man for a guy in his forties, but he’s never been married, as far as I know. He enjoys his fine wines and his trips around the world, and dating a new divorcee every year or so.
His latest girlfriend had allergies to a number of common wine additives, so he had thrown himself into sourcing organic wine they could enjoy together.
When he said that change was hard, I wasn’t sure if it was about the bookstore or avoiding allergens. The woman was vegan, too, which explained why he’d been coming over to the bookstore side to wolf down takeout from Burt’s Burger Barn. As we talked about plans for moving the store to the bigger location, the scent of his recently-devoured burger with feta-cheese dressing hung around us in the air.
“I’ll miss having you right next door,” he said.
“But you’ll be able to expand the wine store.”
He got a mischievous look. “Oh, right. I guess I will.”
“You love the wine more than the books.”
He poked around at the pens in the tin can pen-holder on the counter. Kyle had made the cup for the grand re-opening of Peachtree Books after the Big Split, when Gordon had divided the space to open the wine store.
“The lease negotiations are pretty much final. We’re moving. Do you think Dalton Deangelo will come to a grand opening party?” he asked.
“That won’t be for another month or two, will it?”
“I imagine he’ll be back and forth all the time,” Gordon said.
“We’re not actually a couple.”
“Sure, but he’ll have ties to the town. He bought the Veiner cottage.”
“He did what?” The Veiner cabin was a historical site at the edge of town, between Beaverdale and Dragonfly Lake. It had belonged to the town’s founding father, Leonodis Veiner. Our main street had been named after him until 1942, when my great-grandfather accidentally renamed it Leonardo Street. This all caused a bit of a scandal that resulted in several properties being zoned historical sites, including the cabin.
Gordon explained that his girlfriend was the real estate agent who’d brokered the deal with Dalton to buy the cabin.
I stammered, “But that cabin is falling apart. Does it even have running water?”
Gordon waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll see. I hear it’s very romantic.”
“We’re not together. We’re just friends.”
“Friends with benefits?”
“Gross, Gordon. You’re my boss. I’m not discussing it with you. We have a highly professional relationship.”
He laughed, because over the years, we’d enjoyed a number of lengthy chats about… well, everything. After a bottle of ice wine, I’d given him o**l s*x pointers, complete with a diagram drawn on a napkin. For years, the poor guy had been trying to use his tongue for penetration only. After that talk, he’d expanded the store’s selection of sexuality books. “See, books open new worlds, and knowledge is power,” I’d teased him when he’d reported back to me that his divorcee at the time was a satisfied customer.
But enough about Gordon’s sex life.
I had a date that night with Adrian.
The day passed quickly, and I locked up right on time. I was buzzing with excitement as I picked up groceries after work and hurried home to start cooking.
Shayla swung by the house on a break from her job to help me get everything ready.
“I’m ashamed of how much I’m enjoying this,” she admitted as she set the table. She knew all about Adrian dating both me and Golden, having heard from both girls. “This is like one of those dating shows, but in real life, and I have an all-access pass.”
“Remember the rules,” I said. “No telling the other contestant.”
When I’d informed her about Adrian’s plans to date both me and Golden, I thought she’d try to talk me out of it, but she was too fascinated. As friend to all three of us, she was in the unique position of getting to know everything. Like some omniscient being. She actually rubbed her hands together in excitement. I asked if she wanted to book herself into the rotation, but she declined. (Not that Shayla would go after a guy I was interested in, anyway. Her loyalty to me overrode any lust, which is one of the many reasons I love her and would give her a kidney without hesitation, whether she needed one or not.)