“It is a great album.”
“It really is.”
“My point is. None of us know what we are doing all the time. All of our kids, or siblings cope with stressors differently, and we do too.”
I squeeze my eyes closed to stop a fresh wave of tears. “I know, but it feels like I can’t cope.”
“Oh really.” Sue sits and points to Dyl who’s sitting on the swing next to Maria, not swinging as such, more rocking. “Did Dylan eat today?”
“Yeah, yeah he did. Mainly just toast and bananas but he ate.”
“And did he drink?”
“Yeah. Some water and juice.”
“Did you make sure he hadn’t hurt himself when he smashed the mirror or the headphones?”
“Of course, but?—”
“And did you try to distract him from picking his skin by dancing and singing to Hairspray even though you never want to hear Travolta say ‘stricken chicken’ again?”
Pinching the bridge of my noise, a huffed laugh escapes me. “I did. Yeah. Think I might have popped a hip I boogied so hard.”
“And is Dylan safe, and smiling at my daughter right now?”
Joining Sue, I push up onto my elbows, a small smile breaking through. “He is.”
“Well then, congratulations, Mr. Plum. You survived, and sometimes that’s the most we can ask for. Now, what are you guys doing Saturday? I have an idea.”
Weigheddown with Fifth Avenue shopping bags, and looking annoyingly refreshed, Faith walks through the door Friday evening and promptly kicks me out. “Pack your face masks, go to your apartment and get some sleep. You can come take Dyl to the program tomorrow but other than that, I don’t want to see you back here until Monday afternoon.”
I’d argued until I was blue in the face, but as I learned at a very early age, there is no winning against a determined Faith Plum. Taking her advice, I did as she said, I packed my masks, favorite bath oils, and some clothes, and headed to Chestnut Hill.
Driving well below the speed limit, I played no music, and despite the chill of the evening, had all the windows down, enjoying the cool night air on my face. I’d made Dyl and I some dinner, but had left before eating, so I ventured into enemy territory, passing Boston University to grab two Raising Canes’s chicken sandwiches, some crinkle-cut fries, and a whole jug of sweet tea.
Guilt gnaws at my stomach as much as hunger does. I shouldn’t feel so relieved to have a break, but I needed this. I’ve spent my first week at home alone with Dylan, and for the most part he’s been happy. Somewhat surprisingly, I have been too. We had fun painting, Dylan paced the backyard while I pulled weeds, and hoped for the best as I planted the beets, peas and spinach seedlings we picked up from a local garden center. The park was visited more than once each day, and hours were spent scouring through Dylan’s enormous DVD collection for some new musicals. A decision I slightly regretted after my fourthTrying toSolve aProblem like Maria.
So, while I wouldn’t say we thrived, we more than survived.
A block out from my apartment, I pull up to a red light, close my eyes, let my head fall against the seat and let the gentle hum of traffic wash over me.
“We keeping you up, Doc?”You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.“I suppose it is past seven. That must be like midnight once you’re over forty.”
Without looking, I reply to the one person who calls me ‘Doc’, my tone as civilized as I can manage with a mouth full of fried potato. “Firstly, not forty, I was born this millennium, and I know book smarts aren’t a traditional strength for your kind, but you do know I’m not a doctor, right?”
Cory’s laugh is disturbingly arousing. “My kind? I dunno. From what I hear, you were once one of us sport loving plebeians, and look at you now? All doctored up in your all wheel drive BMW eating fancy chicken us mere mortals could only dream of.”
Since the world’s longest red light refuses to switch, I roll my head to the side and see Cory on the sidewalk, looking straight into my window. Damn. Flush-cheeked Cory in a sweat-soaked sleeveless tee, is a sight. Doing my best not to drool, I give a snide, “Why are you here?”
Smirking, he looks down, pinches his tee between his fingers and raises it, exposing an inch or two of tight, toned, glistening abdominal. “Jogging. But I think I’ve gone far enough. Can I grab a ride?” It’s a rhetorical question. Before I can reply, he’s skipping around the hood of the car, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat, moist skin squelching against leather. “Light’s green, by the way.”
Doc Plum’s car is almost as nice as his ass.Andthat big, furry, manly chest. I know which one I’d rather take a ride on, though.
“You had practice tonight, didn’t you?” James asks, eyes on me as I steal a greasy fry from his take-out bag. “Why are you out jogging?”
I got home from practice, studied for an hour, went to Green Line Ice for my first shift, then came home exhausted to find Mom crying.I couldn’t handle it, so I ran.
“Not all of us are naturally hot like you. For me, it takes a lot of work.” A dozen shades of gold and amber flash in James’ eyes as he gives them an appropriate roll. “I’d ask what you’re doing out, but I guess that’s obvious.” Looking for further distraction, I fish around in the bag. “Ooh, two chicken sandwiches. Why Mr. Plum, I do believe this is fate. They’re my favorite.” With a grunt, James reaches across the center console and snatches his dinner from my hand.
