Betty arrives with our food, and we go quiet while she sets down the plates. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast. She refills our coffee and disappears back toward the kitchen.
"Where are you going with this?" I ask, picking up my fork. "What are you trying to say?"
"I've been thinking a lot about the future. About our future together." Ivan cuts into his eggs. "I live on the northern outskirts of Atlanta. Twenty minutes from the city if traffic cooperates." He takes a bite, his eyes never leaving mine. "There's a lot of opportunity in Atlanta. For both of us."
"What kind of opportunity?" My stomach is already tightening with tension.
"For me, tons of construction work. The city's always building something. For you..." He sets down his fork. "There would be plenty of work. There are motorcycle shops all over Atlanta. Dealerships, custom builders, restoration specialists, racing shops. Someone with your skills could find real work there. Legitimate work. With an actual paycheck and benefits and a real future."
"I'd need certifications though. Proper training. Credentials." I shake my head. "I don't have any of that. I'm just a guy who's good with his hands."
"You could get certified. You're only twenty-one, not sixty-one. There are programs, trade schools, community college courses. Hell, some shops will train you on the job if you can prove you know what you're doing, and you absolutely can prove that." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "You could build something real and steady. Not just surviving day to day, but actually building a life. A career. Something that's stable."
"I'm scared," I admit. "Actually, I'm terrified."
"Of what? Talk to me."
"Of everything." I force myself to look at him. "What I have here isn't much. I know that. But it's mine and it's predictable. I know what to expect every day. I know Mick's shop, I know Betty's diner, I know my shitty motel room. It's familiar. It's safe in its own way."
"It's also keeping you stuck. Keeping you from growing."
"Sometimes stuck feels better than falling." I pull my hand back, run it through my hair. "What if I move to Atlanta and I can't find work? What if no one wants to hire a guy with an arrest record and no formal certifications? What if I end up worse off than I am now?"
"You won't be alone. We'll be there together."
"That's what scares me too." I meet his eyes directly. "I don't want to be dependent on you. I don't want to show up in your city with nothing and expect you to carry me financially. I don't want to be your burden."
"That's not what I'm suggesting at all."
"But that's how it would feel. To me, at least." I push my eggs around. "I told you before, that I need to get my shit together before I can really be part of your life. I can't think seriously about moving to Atlanta until I know what's happening with the court case. Until I've proven I can stay sober for more than a few weeks. Until I have something real to offer besides my damage."
Ivan goes quiet. I can tell he's choosing his words carefully.
"I hear you," he says finally. "And I'm not trying to rush you. I just want you to know that there's a path forward. That you don't have to stay stuck here forever. That there are plenty of other options. I want you to keep an open mind about things."
"I know. And I appreciate that you think about these things."
"I understand that you need time to plan and prepare. It would be a big adjustment."
"Yeah, I need more time."
"Okay. That's fair." He picks up his fork. "Then we take our time. The court date is in ten days. Let's get through that first. See what happens. And then we'll talk about next steps. Together. As partners." He smiles at me, soft and patient. "I'm not going anywhere. No matter how long it takes, whatever you need. I'll wait."
I want to believe him. I desperately want to believe that there's a future waiting for me in Atlanta, with a real job and a real life with Ivan. But the fear is still there, coiled tight in my chest.
"If I do move to Atlanta eventually. If I get my act together and find a decent job. Would you want to live together? Like, actually live together in the same place?"
Ivan's whole face softens. "Absolutely I would. That's the whole point of all of this. That's what I'm working toward. A life with us being together."
"But not at Rosalyn's house. Not with the foster kids."
He shakes his head. "No, not at Rosalyn's. Our own place. An apartment, maybe until one day we could afford a small house. Something small to start. Just a one-bedroom, with a little kitchen and living room. A safe place that's ours." He glances over at me. "Would you want that? Living together? Or is that too much too fast? I'm pushing things too fast, aren't I?"
"No, it's not that. I've never lived with anyone before. Not since the group homes and the foster houses. And that doesn't count because it wasn't a choice."
"Living together would be just us. Making our own rules. Building our own life."
"What if we drive each other crazy? What if we can't stand living together?"
