Sleep in a place that feels more like home in just a few weeks than any house I’ve ever lived in.
Sleeping under the same roof as a man who’s quickly come to feel more like family than anyone I’m actually related to.
Chapter Seventeen
Carter exchanges texts with my mother the next day. She responds with an eloquent, warm-sounding series of messages that would normally indicate someone was perfectly fine with what happened and not to worry about it. She also repeats her statement that he’s welcome back any time.
It means, to me, that Mom wants to get her hooks into Carter in some fashion because her guests must have said a lot of positive things about him after we left.
Part of me simmers in anger that she can text with him like that and pretty much ignore me.
Not anger at Carter—anger ather.
Meanwhile, Mom returns to not replying to my daily texts.
Status quo—resumed. I guess I shouldn’t complain, because at this point her “attention” to me would probably all be negative, or at the very least unpleasant. I also know I shouldn’t let it get to me because it’s all part and parcel of her being a narcissist, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting.
Carter starts to bring up my birthday again. The question of whether or not to include Susa in my birthday celebration is rendered moot when she opts to head to Tallahassee that weekend to attend a weekend conference with her father. Some sort of political thing. It’s a valuable opportunity for her to network and make connections of her own. It’s the kind of event she lives for and thrives on. While she asked if I minded if she went and missed the actual celebration, I would never ask her to miss something like that just for my birthday. Plus, she’ll actually be with us on my birthday, which is fine.
Besides, it’ll give Carter and I time alone together to just be guys, and I know that’s healthy, even if I have no clue what it entails. While I’ll miss Susa’s presence, I’m also eager to do this, to have this rite of passage.
Susa gives us free range of her house for the weekend. She’s promised to return early enough Sunday for us all to cook dinner together, and for her to teach me how to makespanakopita, a Greek spinach and cheese pie dish that I love.
This birthday is, no shit, the best oneever. What they’ve done for me is damn sure better than what my own mother did, which is to not even bother to text or call me, or send me a card on my actual birthday. Although an extra twenty-five dollars appears in my weekly allowance—and I make sure to thank her for that as soon as I see the deposit alert on my phone.
As opposed to when I emerge from my shower on Thursday morning after our run, I find Carter has left a birthday card on my pillow with a fifty-dollar Panera gift card inside.
He knows I love the place but I won’t eat there very often because of my finances.
He’s already left for his morning classes, which means I can sit there on my bed and not worry about feeling embarrassed as I sniffle back tears over the sentiment he wrote in the otherwise funny card.
Thank you for your friendship, and for putting up with me, little bro. This has been an amazing year so far, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for both of us. Looking forward to helping you celebrate many more orbits around the sun. — Love, C.
Susa gives me her card that evening when we go over for dinner. There’s a fifty-dollar VISA gift card tucked inside a cute card with several dogs on the front making a joke about bones and overindulgence.
She also wrote a note inside.
To my sweet “pet,” thank you for your laughter and your friendship. Thank you for everything you do for me, and if I fail to say it enough, I’m sorry, because I do appreciate everything you do. Thank you for being you, and thank you for being in my life.
Luv, Susa
XOXOXO
Again, I feel myself blinking back tears even as I laugh. Then she hugs me from behind and Carter hugs me from the front, enveloping me in their affection. She picked up the “pet” joke after I first made it and runs with it.
Maybe another guy might be offended, but I relish it. I like doing things for her, things that don’t cost me money but pay me back a thousandfold just from her dimple smiles, her hugs.
Her laughter.
Her friendship.
A guy could get used to having family like this. Obviously, I’ve been starved for simple affection, and any inanimate tool could figure that out.
It’s that the “joke” hits pretty damn close to home to my secret fantasies, so I cherish and revel in every bit of it. This is one case where the joke is on meandis more than welcome. Because I can hide the truth within it.
She’s also bought me a Publix cake, marbled with buttercream frosting, my favorite. Together with Carter, we cook what’s become one of my favorite meals, her homemade lasagna.
We eat dinner on the couch, watching my favorite movie,Batman, the 1989 version with Michael Keaton.
