“Has been unreal,” she agrees. “But what happened next? Did you guys talk? Hug? Did you ask him to go play catch in the park or take you to a baseball game?”
“Yes. And then I called him Dad, and he gave me my first beer and told me what a condom was for, and then we took a bunch of selfies and made a father-son scrapbook.”
Chloe laughs, and the sound is nice. Right. Of course she was the right person to tell. “Seriously, though. Where do you guys stand?”
I shrug. “We’re … he says it’s my call. He told Mariana. She was shocked, obviously, but then she hugged me. Hugged me, Chloe. Her husband had a kid with another woman, and she hugged me.”
“I told you they were good people.”
“Yeah. They are.”
“So then what?”
I shrug. “Then Devon came downstairs. We all had dinner, and it was awkward but nice, you know? They asked a million questions.”
“And I bet you were super forthcoming,” she says sarcastically.
I’m silent for a few minutes, and she props her elbow on the back of the couch, resting her head as she watches me. “What happens now?”
I sit up, leaning forward, holding my beer with both hands and staring at the ground. “I don’t know. In a way, it was anticlimactic, you know? Like this has been building up for nearly a year, and now it’s out there, and the ball’s in my court—”
“Says the tennis pro.”
I’m used to her interruptions, so I keep going. “I told them that I didn’t want to disrupt their family, and Mariana told me I was family now. Just like that. I’m part of their family. It’s not supposed to work that way.”
She puts a hand on my back. “Does it feel good?”
I roll my shoulders. “It’s weird. Like, I have two sets of parents now, and yet I also don’t really have any.”
“You haven’t talked to your mom? Your … Mike, Sr.?”
I grunt. “I’ll call them. Soon.”
She nods. Takes a sip of beer. Belatedly I remember that she doesn’t even like beer.
“You don’t have to drink that,” I say gruffly.
She shrugs. “It’s fine.”
And then we’re just … quiet.
“Thanks for telling me,” she says finally.
“Yeah, well. I figure I kind of owe you.”
She tilts her head in question.
“Devon told me. That it was you who told him to reconsider.”
She holds up a finger. “Actually, what I told him was to stop being a douche.”
“Well, whatever,” I mutter. “I just … thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
There’s no smugness in her tone, no condescension or agenda.
“It’s so easy with you,” I hear myself say.
She laughs. “You sound irritated.”
“I am irritated. You’re just good, Chloe. It’s annoying.”
She blows me a kiss, then her expression grows a little serious. “Hey, while I’m on your good side, there’s something I want to say, too.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m sorry about the other day. And about the Fourth of July.”
“Hey, don’t—”
“No, let me finish.” She holds up a hand.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and if roles were reversed, and it was a guy looking to use a girl for sex, it would be so gross.”
I laugh. “Trust me, Chloe. I can handle it.”
She kicks at me, not all that gently. “You shouldn’t have to. You’re not a piece of meat.”
“Says the girl who calls me Beefcake?”
Her eyes shadow. “I won’t anymore.”
“Hey!” I say, sitting up straight. “Would you stop? I take back what I said about things being easy with you; you’re acting weird and girly.”
She takes a sip of her beer and studies me. “Okay. Fine. Truce? We go back to the way we were before. I still call you Beefcake, but not one that I want a piece of.”
“Does this mean I’m your personal trainer again?”
“Hell, no. I’m paying a shitload of money for a fancy gym to have a bald guy with a Russian accent whip my butt.”
“I see. I’ve been replaced.”
“Totally. But look on the bright side: Our delightfully sweaty time together was going to come to an end anyway. I leave in a couple weeks for school.”
I nod. The thought of a Chloe-less life depresses me more than it should.
She sets her beer on the table and stands. “All right. Drive me home, Jeeves. I want to see if Kristin’s gone snooping through my latest wardrobe additions.”
I set my own beer aside and stand, reaching for my coat. “You know, I can’t say that Kristin and I are on the same page very often, but I’m with her in that you don’t exactly seem like a mall rat.”
“I’m not. At all. But I can’t keep wearing the same ugly shit from my senior year of high school that no longer fits.”
“Usually when girls say their high school stuff doesn’t fit, it’s a bad thing,” I say, grabbing both bottles by their necks and taking them into the kitchen—I’m not a total slob. “You sound happy about it.”
She stops by my front door and turns to face me, her voice happy. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yes. And then I called him Dad, and he gave me my first beer and told me what a condom was for, and then we took a bunch of selfies and made a father-son scrapbook.”
Chloe laughs, and the sound is nice. Right. Of course she was the right person to tell. “Seriously, though. Where do you guys stand?”
I shrug. “We’re … he says it’s my call. He told Mariana. She was shocked, obviously, but then she hugged me. Hugged me, Chloe. Her husband had a kid with another woman, and she hugged me.”
“I told you they were good people.”
“Yeah. They are.”
“So then what?”
I shrug. “Then Devon came downstairs. We all had dinner, and it was awkward but nice, you know? They asked a million questions.”
“And I bet you were super forthcoming,” she says sarcastically.
I’m silent for a few minutes, and she props her elbow on the back of the couch, resting her head as she watches me. “What happens now?”
I sit up, leaning forward, holding my beer with both hands and staring at the ground. “I don’t know. In a way, it was anticlimactic, you know? Like this has been building up for nearly a year, and now it’s out there, and the ball’s in my court—”
“Says the tennis pro.”
I’m used to her interruptions, so I keep going. “I told them that I didn’t want to disrupt their family, and Mariana told me I was family now. Just like that. I’m part of their family. It’s not supposed to work that way.”
She puts a hand on my back. “Does it feel good?”
I roll my shoulders. “It’s weird. Like, I have two sets of parents now, and yet I also don’t really have any.”
“You haven’t talked to your mom? Your … Mike, Sr.?”
I grunt. “I’ll call them. Soon.”
She nods. Takes a sip of beer. Belatedly I remember that she doesn’t even like beer.
“You don’t have to drink that,” I say gruffly.
She shrugs. “It’s fine.”
And then we’re just … quiet.
“Thanks for telling me,” she says finally.
“Yeah, well. I figure I kind of owe you.”
She tilts her head in question.
“Devon told me. That it was you who told him to reconsider.”
She holds up a finger. “Actually, what I told him was to stop being a douche.”
“Well, whatever,” I mutter. “I just … thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
There’s no smugness in her tone, no condescension or agenda.
“It’s so easy with you,” I hear myself say.
She laughs. “You sound irritated.”
“I am irritated. You’re just good, Chloe. It’s annoying.”
She blows me a kiss, then her expression grows a little serious. “Hey, while I’m on your good side, there’s something I want to say, too.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m sorry about the other day. And about the Fourth of July.”
“Hey, don’t—”
“No, let me finish.” She holds up a hand.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and if roles were reversed, and it was a guy looking to use a girl for sex, it would be so gross.”
I laugh. “Trust me, Chloe. I can handle it.”
She kicks at me, not all that gently. “You shouldn’t have to. You’re not a piece of meat.”
“Says the girl who calls me Beefcake?”
Her eyes shadow. “I won’t anymore.”
“Hey!” I say, sitting up straight. “Would you stop? I take back what I said about things being easy with you; you’re acting weird and girly.”
She takes a sip of her beer and studies me. “Okay. Fine. Truce? We go back to the way we were before. I still call you Beefcake, but not one that I want a piece of.”
“Does this mean I’m your personal trainer again?”
“Hell, no. I’m paying a shitload of money for a fancy gym to have a bald guy with a Russian accent whip my butt.”
“I see. I’ve been replaced.”
“Totally. But look on the bright side: Our delightfully sweaty time together was going to come to an end anyway. I leave in a couple weeks for school.”
I nod. The thought of a Chloe-less life depresses me more than it should.
She sets her beer on the table and stands. “All right. Drive me home, Jeeves. I want to see if Kristin’s gone snooping through my latest wardrobe additions.”
I set my own beer aside and stand, reaching for my coat. “You know, I can’t say that Kristin and I are on the same page very often, but I’m with her in that you don’t exactly seem like a mall rat.”
“I’m not. At all. But I can’t keep wearing the same ugly shit from my senior year of high school that no longer fits.”
“Usually when girls say their high school stuff doesn’t fit, it’s a bad thing,” I say, grabbing both bottles by their necks and taking them into the kitchen—I’m not a total slob. “You sound happy about it.”
She stops by my front door and turns to face me, her voice happy. “Can I tell you something?”
