Bowl Full of Cherries (26 page)

There was another e-mail from Sondra as well, this one addressed to him alone. The title said
Share When It’s Time
.

He opened it.

There was one last picture of him and Crowley sitting together on the bed. Crowley was leaning his head back into Rell’s shoulder, and Rell was kissing his neck. Crowley was hard, exposed, and Rell’s hand was creeping down his thigh. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.

Suddenly the room was too hot. He wished Crowley was with him to help him take care of the ache in his groin.

“W
HAT
DO
you think I should be when I grow up?” Rell asked his mother later that night at dinner. Aunt Megs and CeCe were gone, his grandparents were gone, Sondra had headed off to parts unknown, Jes’s family had loaded up the minivan that morning, and Katie’s husband, needing to get back to work, had gone on ahead, so now it was just him, his mom, Katie, and the baby.

His sister raised hazel eyes and looked at him.

“What do you
want
to be when you grow up?” Katie asked.

His mother nodded in agreement, “That’s really all that matters, Rell.”

“You don’t think that,” Rell said with a raised eyebrow, and his mother startled a little, which surprised him. His kind, quilting, baking, knife-wielding, demon mother, ever a dichotomy.

“Why wouldn’t I think that?” she challenged.

“Well, you told us all to go to college, to get jobs that paid, to—”

“Sign pre-nups,” Katie chimed in, bouncing her son lightly in her arms.

Their mother rolled her eyes as if she couldn’t understand how she’d raised children that just didn’t
get it
. “You do what you have to do to survive,” she said. “But you don’t ignore what you
need
. Katie, I didn’t say don’t get married, I just said sign a pre-nup, in case. Rell, have I ever said anything bad about any of your ideas for start-ups? I simply asked you get a degree to fall back on. And, I’ll remind you both, neither of you listened to me.”

Rell and Katie exchanged a knowing look.

“The problem is, I don’t
know
what I want to do. I mean, Macaroni, Macaroni, Macaroni sounded like a good idea at the time—”

“Except you can’t cook,” Katie said with a sigh. It had been a great idea for a restaurant. All types of macaroni with fantastic toppings. But yeah, maybe he hadn’t thought it all the way through.

“And teaching swimming lessons? I love swimming. That should have been successful.”

“Except you hate kids,” Katie said.

“I don’t
hate
them,” Rell argued. “I’m just scared of their tiny hands.”

“What about the duct-tape wallets you were going to make and sell in high school?” Katie asked, and Rell laughed. Oh, Lord, he’d forgotten about those.

“Or that time you started a band with James,” his mother chimed in. “What was it called? All Acapella?”

“All right, so I make bad decisions….”

“You make
misguided
decisions,” his mother corrected. “You base these businesses on what you think will sell. You don’t put yourself in it at all.”

“Plus, you’re lazy,” Katie said helpfully.

“And terribly unfocused,” his mom said.

“So, if you’re not
in love
with what you’re doing, of course you’re going to give up on it.”

“You’ve always been like that, Averell.”

“Thank you so much, ladies,” Rell said dryly. “Your help has been tremendous. Could ya just assist me now in sweeping my self-esteem up off the floor?”

“Rell,
you asked
.”

“And now I’m no closer to figuring out what it is that I want to do, but I sure do feel like shit about myself.”

“Would it help if I made you a pie?”

Rell considered it for a moment before his lips quirked. If he couldn’t figure out his life, at least he could have pie.

“Lemon meringue?”

His mother was silent, never before having made the lemon meringue for anything other than the reserve pie.

“’Cause I’m such a screwup but you love me anyway?” He batted his eyelashes playfully at her. “And because Katie wants lemon meringue too?”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Katie sniffed, but then said, “Though, pie does sound kind of great.”

“Fine, lemon meringue.”

R
ELL
CLEARED
the driveway that afternoon without being asked.

He put his headphones in and listened to the Kirkpatrick Connection, thought about singing with Crowley, and shoveled. He was halfway down the drive, throwing snow to either side, making mountains of white powder, framing the slick driveway, when he stopped, leaning on the shovel. Despite the freezing temperatures, sweat ran down his face.

What the hell was he doing? Earning temporary room and board at his mother’s house by shoveling the driveway. Unasked.

Throwing himself back into the work, he shoveled up the other side of the drive, muscles burning, back straining, as he pushed himself to his physical limits to get the job done quicker. When the last bit of snow was cleared away, Rell dropped the shovel against one of the mountains he’d raised and went into the house.

Even if Crowley hadn’t been a factor (Ha! Imagine a world…) Rell couldn’t keep doing this. He was twenty-four years old, and he’d been relegated to errand boy, maid, and all around butt-monkey. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but still. Rell Lang wanted more for himself.

Going up to his room, he thought about what his mom and sister had told him. He’d failed in his start-ups because he’d always tried to make money. That was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. If you weren’t trying to make money, what was the point of running the business?

What do you
want
to do, Rell?

He sighed, long and low, and walked around the room, which seemed cavernous now that Crowley wasn’t in it. He’d almost pulled out the bottom trundle and lain on it, just to be closer to him.
Almost
. Maybe closer to New Year’s, when everyone was grabbing their loved ones and making out after the ball dropped, then he’d give in and lie on the bottom trundle like a total broken heart.

Rell picked up some of the clothes he’d thrown on the floor and tossed them in the hamper in his closet. Jesus. What was he even going to do for New Year’s? Last year, he’d gone to the park and watched the fireworks. The year before that, he’d been challenging himself to finish ten books before the end of the year. He’d procrastinated, of course, so all the way to midnight he sat on the floor in his room, racing the clock, flipping pages without reading and updating his page count tracker.

This year…? Maybe Mom would want to watch the ball drop.

Because didn’t that sound like the single most depressing New Year’s Eve ever? Boyfriend six hours away, no parties, no hats, no noisemakers, just him and his mother sitting in the living room watching bands neither of them cared about, trying to keep their eyes open until midnight.

Rell walked over to his shelf.

Maybe he’d boycott New Year’s. Maybe he’d pretend this year was gone, trade it in for next year right then.

“Hey there, Sun Queen,” Rell murmured as he dusted around the figurines with his finger. Her tiny irises stared upward in fervent prayer. “You don’t care much about the ball dropping, do you?”

She cared about casting Heal on her party members and Blinding on the enemies, and if she had enough power charged up, striking them with Swift and Mighty Blow.

What do you want to do, Rell?

Camp, hike, wander, explore, play video games, paint figures, have sex with Crowley. Now if he could get paid for that!

He picked up his favorite, most valuable figurine. Crowley’s sparkling eyes danced in his mind. His flushed cheeks. His smile. He’d held the Sun Queen and gasped about how beautiful and intricate she was.

“I’m handy with an itty bitty paint brush and acrylics,”
Rell had said.

“Do you paint for other people? I mean, there are guys at the game store I go to in Avona that would pay you to do this for them.”

Rell blinked, his mind the calm waters of a lake in autumn. He
understood
.

“J
AMES
?” E
VEN
before his best friend since middle school had replied, Rell had clasped his hands together in a reverent plea. Of course, James couldn’t see this over the phone, but it didn’t matter. He was asking for the ultimate favor, and if standing on his head would help, he’d do it.

“Please do not tell me that you’re calling me to rescue you from the woods again, Rell.”

“Nope, been at home since you dropped me off, like a good boy. No rescuing. I’m actually calling you with a business proposition.”
Keep your voice level
, he told himself.

“Now, I
know
you’re kidding me.”

In the background, Rell could hear the squeals of James’s daughters and a cartoony, exaggerated voice from the television.

“You said you love my business ideas.”

“When we were teenagers and we were going to do a video game blog and get advertisers to pay us. Sure, I
loved
your business ideas.”

VidLife Crisis
had been one of Rell’s best ideas. Video game critiques, industry news, gamer humor, maybe a web comic? All from the perspective of two high school guys. Who better represented the gamer voice?

“I can’t help it that neither of us can write.”

“Yeah, except I paid for web hosting, didn’t I?”

“James—”

“Spent my birthday money on a designer to make us a logo.”

“Look, I’m not calling for money.”

There was a long pause as James waited. Waited for the insane idea. Waited for Rell to reach out to the teenager that was still somewhere inside of him. Rell knew it was there, knew underneath the wife and kids and responsibility, James still liked the idea of
VidLife Crisis.

“Okay, yes, I’m calling for money, but not how you think.”

James grunted in frustration. “Are you safe?”

“What do you—?”

“Right now, Rell. Are you safe? Warm? Clothed? Fed? Sheltered?”

“Uh….” Rell looked around the living room. Embers from the dying fire glowed brightly and the Christmas tree, strangely bare without its mountain of presents to stand sentry, towered over him. He was sitting in the comfy armchair. His belly was full of pie. He wiggled his toes in his warmest pair of socks. “Yes?”

“Then I’m hanging up.”

“Wait! James! It’s about the Sun Queen.”

I
PLAYED
my fiddle today.

We went down to Independent Books and Xondee sold vegan pies (yes, they were awful).

Some of Tyler’s friends painted.

I busked.

Made $13.82.

You would have loved (and hated) it.

Hope you’re proud of me.

I miss you.

Come up for New Year’s.

He paused, looking down at his extralong text message. Then he added:

When you’re ready, I’m ready.

Quietly, he leaned the phone to his forehead and closed his eyes. He’d hesitated to text Rell because Rell hadn’t texted him—but after how stiff Crowley had been on their last day together, it made sense. Maybe he was waiting for Crowley to initiate. Too much silliness. Not a day had gone by, maybe not even an hour, that he hadn’t thought about Rell Lang. He’d fallen for him,
hard
, and all Crowley wanted was to talk with him again.

After kissing the screen, Crowley drew in a deep breath and hit “Send.”

Half a second later, a muted cry of
Text Message!
came from somewhere nearby. Crowley looked down at his phone, even though he knew it wasn’t one of his alert tones. Another two seconds and there was a strong knock at the door that startled him.

He walked over and quietly pulled back the door, expecting one of their neighbors, drunk, looking to bum a cigarette. It didn’t matter how many times he and Tyler told them they didn’t smoke—

“Oh.” The word fell from his lips in a quiet little beat. He blinked. “That was quick.”

Crowley’s vision blurred with tears, obscuring the sight of tall, handsome Averell Lang, who stood, impossibly, in his doorway.

“Hi,” Rell said.

“You haven’t written!” Crowley accused.

“Neither have you.”

“Because
you
didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Rell whispered. “I had to take care of something. Didn’t take too long, did it?”

“It took forever.”

“Don’t cry, Owly. I’m here now.”

“Can I kiss you?” Crowley asked, his voice hitching.

“No.”

“N-no?”

“Let me show you something first and then we’ll kiss until we’re both idiots.”

Crowley’s lips twitched as he moved back, letting Rell inside.

“You really busked?” Rell asked with a smile. When he shrugged out of his jacket, Crowley saw that he was wearing a sharp black button-down shirt. Very interview-like, if not for the wrinkles from six hours’ travel time. Still, he looked smart. That’s when he noticed, too, that Rell’s hair wasn’t falling in his eyes and his beard had been recently trimmed.