“What does that have to do with anything? The little girl who does my hair has been showing me videos. Taken inmyinn. I can’t believe you tried to hide him from me. Go put him on so I can say hello,” Max insisted. “Go on, put him on. I promised to show him off for the girls here. They’re big fans.”
Laughing to herself at how the Tomboys wereeverywhere, Rose went looking for Tom. She found him in the bathroom of the room he’d been sleeping in, supervising Boyd as the other man cut broken tiles out of the shower wall with a grout saw. Tom’s face was concealed by clear plastic goggles and a dust mask, and his shaggy hair was pulled back by one of Rose’s elastics and covered with a bit of scrap fabric from the new throw cushions.
Rose had noticed his laundry piling up in his bedroom and, as an experiment, decided not to do it for him. Today he’d run out of clean T-shirts and simply borrowed one from Ximena, although it was striped in orange and pink and way too small for him. This was a singular look, but one that was really working for him, highlighting his narrow waist below the impressive expanse of his shoulders.
Here’s that handsome boy of mine, Rose thought, wondering if she might be developing a very specific sexual interest in construction workers who were very confident in their gender presentation. She’d ask Snowy if anyone had written that one yet.
“Can you say hi to Aunt Max?” she asked, passing the phone to Tom, who pulled off his dust mask to beam at her, then the phone screen.
“Hellooo,” he trilled. “Max, you’re looking radiant today.”
Max coughed again and waved her hand in front of the screen. “Not you,” she said irritably. The video screen zoomed out, revealing the two health aides who were crowded around Rose’s aunt in her bedroom. “I’ve seen you. I want the other one. The big gorgeous hunk from the movies where things blow up. Boyd! That one.”
Tom made a face when Rose snickered. She’d forgotten Tom wasn’t considered the handsomest boy in the room.
“Do you mind?” Rose asked Boyd, who put down his grout saw and delightedly took the phone from a scowling Tom.
“My niece’s husband got me tickets to your premiere,” Max announced to Boyd, and that was news to Rose, both that she had a husband and that he’d promised Max theater tickets. “Is the show any good?”
“My agent said the reviews were mixed in the Off Broadway run,” Boyd said modestly. “But it was very popular.”
“Because it’s racy?” Max said eagerly.
“Um,” Boyd said, looking at Tom for help. “I suppose there are suggestive themes? And I have my shirt off for most of the second act.”
“Wonderful,” Max sighed as the nursing aides around herburst into giggles. “It’s a good thing I’m so open-minded. I’ve always supported the theater. It’s just been a couple of years since I’ve been to New York.”
More like five since Max had traveled anywhere except the Vineyard. Max needed a lot of help getting ready in the morning, and that meant Rose always had a health aide or a family member scheduled to assist.
“Where’s she going to stay?” she whispered to Tom.
“With us?” Tom said innocently, unveiling a ton of assumptions about Rose’s apartment and their future living situation. Oh boy.
Rose made big eyes at him. “Us?”
“In our apartment?” Tom said, recognizing the challenge and not backing down from it.
“Myone-bedroom apartment in Yorkville?” she said, stressing the singular possessive adjective.
“Oh, is that where it is? You hadn’t mentioned,” Tom said, innocent tone not matching the devilish sparkle in his eyes. “That’ll be convenient. We can take the same train to Midtown.”
“It’s pretty small,” Rose said.
“I don’t mind getting rid of my furniture,” Tom said.
“Your aunt can stay with me,” Boyd said, briefly lifting his face from his conversation with Max. “I’m renting a four-bedroom townhouse in the Village.”
Max gave a happy gasp. “Oh, yes. That would be wonderful.”
“Well, there you go,” Tom said, waving one dusty hand, and Rose thought that meant he’d backed down on the question of their living arrangements, so she backed herself out of theroom to go have a long think about the implications of Tom having proprietary thoughts about her own apartment.
When her eyes landed on Tom’s dirty clothes, piled in the corner by the bed, she felt guilty about her experiment, since Tom was busy doing manual labor. Tomorrow he’d probably turn up in Ximena’s maternity pants. She filled one laundry bag to the brim and headed for the door before Tom came out and intercepted her.
“Don’t do that,” he said heatedly. They had a brief tug-of-war over the full sack before he won and pulled it out of her arms.
“I don’t mind,” she said.
“You’re not doing my fucking laundry, babe,” he said.
