“Day…”
“No. It’s fine. We’ll go. As long as you know this is going to be a disaster, right?”
Day turned on his heel and marched up the stairs. As soon as he closed the door, he leaned against it and took a few deep breaths, grimacing as he noticed the remains of his bathroom door. Jackson had literally kicked down a door because he’d thought Day might be hurt. Who did that? Jackson. Only Jackson. He was a goddamned superhero. Too bad Day wasn’t leading lady material.
It was time Jackson saw who Day really was. He found his tightest pair of jeans, donned his bubblegum pink crop top and a full face of makeup, leaving his hair wild and just a little unkempt, like he’d spent a day at the beach…or rolling around in bed with Jackson.
Jackson met him downstairs, looking Day up and down. “You look beautiful, but you didn’t have to get dressed up for my family.”
Day looked at Jackson’s two hundred dollar jeans and his D&G white t-shirt and arched a brow. “You look pretty fancy to me.”
Jackson shook his head. “I’m not the one wearing enough holographic highlighter to be seen from space,” Jackson said with a chuckle. “But I see your point.”
The drive to Jackson’s mother’s house passed in silence, Jackson playing the audiobook they’d started the day he’d brought Day home. His mother didn’t live far, just outside the city in a quiet subdivision, but everything in LA took at least an hour to get to.
Jackson pulled up to a modest craftsman style home with a trellis over the walkway. The exterior was painted a buttery yellow with a pale blue door and white trim. Flowers bloomed all around the steps and the railing of the porch. Jackson’s mother clearly loved her home.
The overwhelming scent of night blooming jasmine hit Day like a fist, his stomach swooping like he was on a roller coaster and plunging to the bottom. He wasn’t sure he could go through with his plan. As much as he hated to admit it, he desperately wanted to be somebody Jackson’s mother would approve of, to be somebody who could be part of a real family. But that wasn’t ever going to happen. It was better Jackson saw that now. There was no world where Day would ever fit into his life or his family.
Jackson walked around and opened Day’s door. He couldn’t help but notice the two late model luxury SUVs and a four-door Mercedes crossover. Were all the Avery children successful, or was Jackson just generous with his money? Day suspected it was probably both.
Jackson didn’t knock, just opened the door and called out, “Hello.”
A series of high-pitched screams erupted in response to Jackson’s greeting, and then six children came running from the back room, surrounding Jackson and Day, all of them talking over themselves to get Jackson’s attention. All but Chloe. Chloe approached Day with her finger in her mouth. She beckoned him with a wave of her little arm, her big brown eyes wide, like she thought he might refuse. When Day leaned down, she whispered, “Do you like my dress?” She twirled, her fluffy skirt flying up around her.
“It’s beautiful. You look just like a princess.”
“Where’s my boy?” a voice boomed over the noise of the children. A heavyset woman with warm chestnut skin and long wavy black hair approached wearing a pair of perfectly tailored slacks and a butternut yellow sweater set. She used a cane when she walked, but she moved at a pretty good clip, cutting through the children like a knife through warm butter.
“Hey, Mama,” Jackson called, meeting her halfway to lean down and kiss her cheek. “You haven’t been standing up while you were cooking, have you? Dr. Schneider said you need to be careful until your surgery.”
She scoffed, waving a hand at him. “What am I supposed to do, wait for one of the girls to cook a meal? Those girls are smart but not one of them can so much as boil water.” She turned and narrowed her eyes at Day. The children abandoned Jackson, running back to the back room now that all the excitement was over. All except Chloe, who grabbed Day’s hand with her own, the fingers from her other hand still stuffed in her mouth. Jackson’s mother stepped closer. “You must be Day. My granddaughter had a lot to say about you. My daughter, Ruby, too. I tend to trust Chloe over Ruby, though. She gives people too much credit.”
Day had no idea what to say to that, but luckily—or not—two more people emerged from what appeared to be the kitchen. Ruby and another woman Day had never seen. She was clearly one of Jackson’s sisters. She looked almost identical to Ruby, though she had a more curvaceous figure and her mother’s shrewd look in her eye.
“Mama, leave that boy alone. Can’t you see he’s scared?” the woman said, holding out her hand to Day. “I’m Della. I’m the nice one.”
The other three adults scoffed at her statement, but then Jackson’s mother was waving them into the dining room. “Come in, come in. I’m Beverly, but everybody calls me Bev or Mama. I answer to both. Dinner’s ready. We just been waiting on you.”
Chloe let go of Day’s hand and ran off to join the other children. Day had to fight the urge to run after her. He didn’t want to be left alone with the grown ups. Apparently, the kids were eating chicken nuggets and mac and cheese in the back room by the television. That sounded alright to Day.
Day had hoped to shock Jackson’s family with his clothing or makeup, but he was disappointed to see none of them so much as gave it a second glance. Was everybody in Jackson’s family just that liberal? It seemed hard to believe, but then Day had spent his early childhood in Idaho. Maybe people who were born and raised in LA were used to people dressing more…flamboyantly.
“So, where are you from, Dayton?” Bev asked, placing her napkin in her lap.
“I was born in a small town in Idaho, but I moved to LA when I was fourteen.”
Everybody helped themselves to barbecued chicken, cornbread, and macaroni and cheese, but Day put just a little of each on his plate, far too nervous to eat. Bev smiled warmly at him. “That must have been a bit of a culture shock. Are your parents still here in the city?”
Day shook his head. “I moved here with a friend. I never knew my dad, and my mom took off when I was three or four. I can’t remember now. My grandmother raised me until she OD’d behind the tire shop. Then I came here.”
Day had imagined that his answer would infuriate Jackson, but he was looking at Day like he had earlier when he’d figured out that Day couldn’t read. It was a look Day couldn’t quite place. Pity? Sorrow? Confusion? Maybe he thought Day was making the whole thing up.
“How did you take care of yourself at fourteen? I’m thirty-six and my husband and I can barely afford to feed all my damn kids,” Della said.
“Della!” Jackson said, voice low.
Day shrugged, ignoring Jackson. “Let’s just say I found a landlord who was willing to let me work off the rent in trade.” He made the crude hand signal for a blowjob. Ruby gasped, Della stared, and Jackson looked like he was going to be sick. Bev, however, didn’t bat an eyelash.
