Grown-up (3 page)

The sound wasn’t the only sensation to assault him as he entered the club. The smell of sweaty bodies, cologne, and alcohol was just as overpowering. So were the flashing lights—some white, some colored—that bounced and skittered off the gyrating dancers.

Austin was barely inside before someone—Randy, maybe—shoved a drink into his hand. He drank it automatically. It was sweet and strong, and before he knew it, he’d emptied the glass. He worked his way to the bar, caught the eye of the hunky shirtless bartender with the jack of spades tat on his chest, and shouted for a beer. He finished that off right away too. “Okay,” he said out loud, although probably no one could hear him. “That’s your two drinks. That’s it.” He’d dance for a short time and then head home and hit the hay.

He looked around for his friends, but they’d disappeared into the crowd. That wasn’t unusual. He didn’t understand why Randy had been so insistent he come and why the gang had waited for him outside, because it wasn’t as if they intended to spend the night chatting with one another. Most likely Randy had prowled off in search of the big guy in leather he’d been eyeing for weeks, and the rest of Austin’s friends were looking for tonight’s one-night stands.

Austin spied a cute boy with an enormous Afro, caught his eye, and gestured to the dance floor. The guy grinned and nodded.

They danced together for a while, twisting and grinding, until they were joined by a third guy who’d once sucked Austin off in JayJay’s bathroom, and then a fourth Austin vaguely remembered hooking up with on Grindr. Around then, the Afro guy disappeared, but that was okay because Austin was being groped by a man with an open shirt and hairy abs. After that he was thirsty again, and although he’d intended to order water or maybe Pepsi, he ended up with a beer.

Several drinks and a lot of dancing later, he pulled out his phone to text Randy and realized it was nearly two. Shit.

Going home
, he typed.

Randy didn’t reply, but that didn’t worry Austin. If Randy was deep in the middle of a slap-and-tickle, no way he’d take a break to read a text. Austin headed to the exit.

He had just stepped outside when someone caught his arm. He whirled around—a little dizzily, truth be told—and discovered Mr. Hairy Abs. “Leaving so soon?” Hairy asked.

“Clock struck midnight a while back. I gotta hurry before I turn into a pumpkin.”

Hairy had a deep voice and a noisy laugh. “How ’bout you come to my castle, then? I might not be Prince Charming and I ain’t got a glass slipper, but I got something that’ll fit you like a glove.” He wiggled his ass.

“Oh my God. That’s the worst double entendre I’ve ever heard. And I think you’ve ruined
Cinderella
for me for life.”

Hairy didn’t seem bothered. “Well, fuck fairy tales, then. I can give you a better happy ending anyway.”

He was corny and just a little too much, but on another night, Austin might have accepted the offer. “I’ll take a rain check. If you head back inside, I bet you can still find Belle or Aurora.”

“I ain’t gonna find no Snow White—that’s for sure!” Hairy guffawed, slapped Austin’s ass, and sauntered back into the club.

The air was chilly, swiftly cooling Austin’s sweaty clothes and making him shiver. His feet hurt. His shoes were stylish and expensive but not especially comfortable for hours of dancing. And his head swam.

His apartment suddenly felt impossibly far away.

When he was only a few blocks from home, trudging alongside a street that was busy during the day but nearly deserted now, a pickup truck pulled up and kept pace beside him. It was one of those huge vehicles that required a ladder to climb into the cab and guaranteed the owner had a tiny dick. Austin looked straight ahead.

Then someone in the truck let out a piercing wolf whistle, and an empty can flew past Austin’s head and bounced off the sidewalk. “Faggot!” someone yelled before the truck screeched away.

It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened to Austin. People had been calling him names since grade school. Bill used to threaten to yell at the school administrators, maybe file a lawsuit or two, but Austin always talked him out of it. Austin didn’t find the ugly names all that hurtful. Even when he was a kid, he’d understood that the bullying was more about the aggressors’ insecurities than about him. He almost felt sorry for guys like the ones in the pumped-up truck. Unlike them, Austin was secure in his identity.

Too bad he wasn’t as secure in his footing. He tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, fell, and scraped his hands and knees.

Limping, he resumed his homeward trek.

A
USTIN
’
S
PHONE
woke him up at eight, giving him plenty of time to shower, dress, eat, and drive to Sam’s. Too bad he turned off the alarm and went back to sleep.

When he woke up again—at his bladder’s insistence—it was ten thirty.

Fuck.

Well, Sam couldn’t exactly fire him, considering Austin wasn’t really a paid employee.

He got ready as quickly as possible, ignoring the lingering stale taste in his mouth, the timpani drums in his parietal lobe, and the abrasions on his hands and knees. There were still no clean cups and no Cap’n Crunch, so he drank milk from the carton and called it breakfast. His stomach wasn’t quite ready for solid food anyway. He drove to Sam’s as quickly as his ancient car allowed.

Sam was standing outside the office talking to a delivery guy when Austin entered the furniture factory. After the UPS man left, Sam didn’t mention the time; he just looked tired and a little sad. “Michael could use some help loading a bedroom set into the truck,” he said.

“Sure. I’m on it.”

The bedroom set was big and bulky, with lots of individual pieces. Austin wondered why anyone would need so much furniture in their bedroom. He had a bed and dresser—both made by Sam years ago—and a wonky, ugly nightstand he’d made himself when he was a kid, and that was it. Of course, a good portion of his clothing never made it to the dresser, generally ending up on the floor because he never found time to fold things. But still.

By the time the bedroom set was in the truck and he’d helped Michael relocate several bookshelves, Austin’s head was pounding and he wanted a nap. Too bad none of the bed frames in the factory had mattresses. The scrapes on his hands and knees twinged as he lugged cans of paint and varnish, shelved a shipment of hinges and broke down the boxes, and swept up a lot of wood shavings.

Then most of the crew took a lunch break. Austin joined them in buying food at a nearby taco truck, but when he carried his burrito and Mexican Coke back to the factory, he felt a little awkward. The other employees had gathered near the back to eat, but Austin really wasn’t one of the gang. He’d even heard one or two of them muttering about “the boss’s kid” that morning. Austin wandered into the office area, but Sam wasn’t there. Ben was—sitting at his desk with a sandwich in front of him and a paper napkin tucked into his shirt collar. He looked slightly startled to see Austin.

“Hey, is it okay if I eat at my dad’s desk?” Austin asked.

“Guarding it from you isn’t part of my job description.”

“Good.” Austin sat down heavily, causing a little cloud of dust to puff up. He unwrapped the foil from the end of his burrito. “Where is Sam, anyway?”

“He and Bill are looking at a possible retail location.”

Austin took a bite, chewed, swallowed. The food was good. “Oh. Well, if I were him, I’d put the store here.”

“Really? Sam thinks somewhere with more foot traffic would be better.”

“Nah. You’re not gonna get a lot of impulse buys anyway—not for what he charges. But if you put the store here, it’ll impress a lot of buyers who want to know they’re getting the real deal. You know, the locally handmade stuff instead of mass-manufactured crap shipped in from Bangladesh or somewhere. Plus they’ll kind of have this idea they’re getting a bargain because it’s a factory outlet, even though they’re really paying a fortune. And they—” He stopped himself and ducked his head a little. “Sorry. I guess I’ve spent too much time in retail.”

But Ben looked intrigued rather than annoyed. “Is that what you do? What store do you manage?”

Austin barked a laugh. “Manage? I can’t even manage myself. I’m usually barely above minimum wage floor help. Except now, when I’m mostly unemployed. Apart from a couple shifts a week at a deli and grunt work here.”

“Oh! I thought— Never mind.” Ben swiveled his chair and returned his attention to his sandwich, which gave Austin a better opportunity to stare at him. He sat really straight, even while he was eating, and his pale blue shirt looked freshly pressed. The one part of him that didn’t appear carefully controlled was a cowlick at the crown of his head, which made Austin smile.

Ben ate his sandwich slowly, chewing each bite thoroughly and washing it down with a sip of water from a reusable plastic bottle. He was still eating long after Austin had devoured his burrito and drained much of his Coke, and although Ben must have realized Austin was watching him, he didn’t turn around or say anything.

Austin wadded up the foil and tossed it at the garbage can along one wall. He missed; the uneven ball bounced off the edge and tumbled to the floor. He stood. “I guess I should get back to work.”

Still eating, Ben made a noncommittal little grunt.

“See ya,” Austin said and left the office. But he’d gone only a few steps when he remembered his remaining Coke. He turned back to the office to discover Ben standing near the trash can, leaning over to pick up the discarded burrito foil. Ben dropped it into the trash, wiped his hands on the napkin at his neck, and threw that away too. When he turned and saw Austin in the doorway, he froze.

“Just, uh, getting my drink,” Austin said, waving vaguely.

“Okay.”

But Austin didn’t budge, because a realization had just landed on him like a ten-ton boulder. There were two kinds of people in the world: those who made messes and those who cleaned them up. The mess-makers might be gleeful and carefree, but they didn’t think about the consequences of their actions. Didn’t consider how their messes affected other people. Lived in the now, with little reflection on the mistakes of their past and no contemplation at all about their future.

Shit. “I’m a mess-maker,” Austin said.

Ben blinked at him. “It was no big deal. Just an unlucky shot.”

“No, I….” On slightly wobbly legs, Austin made his way to his father’s chair. He collapsed heavily onto the cushion. “I mean in a
larger
sense.”

Poor Ben appeared completely bewildered. “Are you all right? I can… get you a drink of water.” He narrowed his eyes a little at Austin’s pop bottle, as if he suspected Austin had spiked the Coke with something pharmaceutically interesting.

“I’m not on drugs, Ben. I’m having an existential crisis.”

“Oh. Is it because of your job situation?”

“No. Well, sort of.” Austin rubbed his head, which was aching twice as badly as before. “I’m a fuckup, Ben. I’m… I’m acting like a kid. I used to have a lot of friends, and we used to party, and… and that was cool. But they grew up. They got married or found steady partners. A few have kids. They have college degrees and real jobs and their own homes. They don’t have to share a crappy apartment with Shaggy and the Hulk. They have health insurance, retirement accounts, cars that aren’t held together by duct tape and spit. They’re… grown-ups.”

Most likely the bulk of Austin’s monologue only confused Ben, who nonetheless walked over to give him an awkward little pat on the shoulder. “I think you’re a nice guy, Austin. And I know Sam thinks the world of you.”

Austin sighed. “Sam sees his sons through rainbow-colored glasses. I wish….”

Bang! Just as the realization of his fucked-up-ness had suddenly landed on his head, now an epiphany rocked him so hard he almost fell off his father’s chair. He was going to be emotionally bruised in the morning due to all these revelations, but for now he was just dizzy and gasping for breath.

“Austin?” Ben said, looking alarmed.

“I need you to help me!”

With a look of near panic on his face, Ben took a quick step back. “Help?” he squeaked.

“Yes!” Austin leaped to his feet, making Ben scramble backward even more. “How old are you, Ben?”

“I’m, uh… what?”

“Your age. How old are you?”

“I turned thirty-two last month.”

Austin winced. Thirty-two sounded so
ancient
. But the truth was, his birthday was in three months, and when he reached that date, his driver’s license would announce to the world that he was twenty-nine—only three years younger than Ben. They could have attended the same high school at the same time. Could even have been in a few of the same classes, except Austin suspected Ben had gravitated toward honors and advanced-placement courses, whereas Austin had been content sliding by with Bs and Cs in the easiest classes he could get away with.

“Is that a problem?” Ben asked. His brows were creased in a worried frown.

“Nope. It’s perfect. Look, Ben. I need you to teach me how to be a grown-up.” Austin grinned triumphantly, a man who had solved his greatest problem. Or, well, nearly.

Ben’s gray-blue eyes looked almost impossibly big behind his glasses. “Pardon me?”

Austin nodded eagerly as if his point were already made. “I need someone to teach me how to get my shit together and be a genuine grown-up. Someone to… mentor me. Thing is, I don’t actually know that many mature people. There’s my brother—he’s so mature it’s almost painful—but he lives in Indiana. Plus we tend to fight a lot when we’re in the same time zone. There’s my boss at the deli, Gopal, but he’s too busy. The guy works, like, a hundred hours a week. And there’s Dad and Bill, of course, but they’re a little too close to me. I need a mentor with objectivity.” He nodded again. Yeah. He was sounding less fucked-up already.

“But… why me?”

“Because you’re the most grown-up person I know.”

Not only did Ben blink this time, he actually recoiled slightly. “Is that what you think of me?”