“Sorry. But you weren’t. I always wanted you, Tyler.”
“Yeah, well, you could’ve fooled me, Mitch, when you didn’t call on my birthday or come for me like you promised.” He spits the words with venom, but his eyes project sadness. So much sadness.
“I’m sorry about that, Tyler. I truly am. It was never my intention to disappear like that. I’m just so grateful—”
“Yeah, well, it’s all water under the bridge now anyway, right Mitch? Looks like you got yourself a sweet little life now, hubby, puppy, and all.”
“There’s always room for you too, Tyler,” I rasp, forcing all my hurt back. This is not about me right now. This is about Tyler. “Whenever you need it, there’s a home for you here. With Cal and me. Nothing more, nothing less.”
He looks at me like I just spat in his face. Then he shakes his head, licking his chapped lips.
“So, what time do I need to be at your little bakery?” he throws at Cal.
“4 am,” Cal says. Then he walks toward Tyler, his eyes not leaving his. “Gimme your phone,” he says when he comes to a stop in front of Tyler.
“I ain’t giving you m—”
“Give it to me,” Cal demands, gesturing his fingers between them. “I’ll put in my number and the address.” Tyler seems to deflate, then pulls out his phone from his back pocket. The screen looks battered, like it’s taken every hit and fall its owner has. There’s a worn sticker on the back of a bearded lumberjack-looking guy. You can just make out the caption behind Tyler’s hand. I LOVE BEAR DICK. Shit, is this kid for real?
Cal pretends to ignore the sticker, but the telltale way he grabs the back of his neck, twisting his outgrown hair, doesn’t elude me. He’s seen it too. While he adds his number and address to Tyler’s phone, I turn toward the island, picking up the pot, and carrying it to the stove.
“Don’t be late,” Cal says.
“Sure thing,Cal,” Tyler quips. “I’ll just time it with a late-night tumble, if you know what I mean. Always hungry for some sweet treats after—”
“Right,” Cal interrupts him, and I notice a slight tremble in his voice. I turn from the stove, taking the two of them in. Tyler looks tiny next to Cal. So small and lost… and angry. Yeah, he’s back to being hostile again, a petulant pout curling on his lips.
“You sure you won’t stay for dinner?” I manage to say, although I already know the answer.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll grab a snack later,Mitch.” He walks a few steps backward, his eyes not leaving Cal. “Good meeting ya, Cal,” the little fucker winks, then turns around. A few seconds later, I hear the door and then his bike roaring angrily outside. I exhale.
“Let’s eat, babe,” Cal says, walking toward the island. I nod, strangely aware that everything I know to be my life has just changed. Tyler’s back. He’s back. Cal comes up next to me,pouring the now-cold soup from the bowls back into the pot. “It’s okay, M. Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll get him straightened out. He’s just hurtin’, that’s all.” I nod, stirring the soup.
“You promise?” I croak, all needy.
“I promise, M.”
“He hates me,” I say.
“That’s not hate, babe. That’s hurt,” Cal leans in, kissing my chin. I lean into him, feeling his familiar solid presence, chasing his kiss.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I do.”
Chapter Six
Callum
This is the fourth year I’m doing this. Working with the Los Angeles County Parole and Probation Office. It was through Mitch, obviously, that I got involved, but it was my idea to include the homeless shelter down the block in the program. I’d already been donating bread and birthday cakes to the shelter for three years when I met Mitch. I suggested cooperating with the shelter one day when he was moaning about how hard it was to get the kids to feel a sense of community. They’d been on the outside for so long that most of them felt disconnected from the world around them. If there was only a way that we could give the kids who came through my bakery a sense of the community they should actually be serving; the community they’re a partof themselves. The people who have nothing and have been left behind.
Solidarity.That’s what I was taught from an early age by Father Reynolds. I was a choirboy, believe it or not. It could have easily gone the other way, though. I was a little out of control back in the day, to say the least. Growing up in a rough neighborhood with my grandmother and younger sister, it was a daily battle to stay on the straight and narrow. So, as a last resort, Gran sent me to church. Father Reynolds took one look at a scrawny, eleven-year-old me and said,‘Sing.’And I started singing. And made both Gran and Father Reynolds cry. So yeah. I dodged a bullet and now I try to give back by helping where I can.
When I told Tyler not to be late, I had zero expectations he would be punctual. I always say it for good measure because teaching these kids about accountability is key. Not only to others, but also to themselves. So, when I pull up in front ofBake My Day—yeah, I know, my sister Theresa’s idea—at exactly 3:48 am and Tyler is waiting for me, leaning against the front of the shop, I’m surprised, to say the least. And I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said that he’d be coming straight from a club. Because he does look like someone who’s been partying all night. Well, just another thing we need to work on. Little boys belong in their bed at night and not God knows where with God knows whom.
“You’re late,” he throws at me, as soon as I exit my van. Snarky. Well, I wasn’t expecting anything less.
“Check your watch, kid,” I say, nodding at his neon-orange wristwatch. At first, he frowns, a puzzled pout shaping his lips, then he looks at the clock.
