It's Not About You (10 page)

The conversation turned to work and I sat patiently, not understanding any of it. I'd catch Michael looking at me from time to time but he kept things very social and Kyle's nervous laugh petered down into a more casual chuckle now and then.
 

Forty-five minutes later Gerald was ready to head home. Since he drove, he insisted on waiting when Michael said he wanted to help clean and get his French Press.
 

"Hey, why don't you go on ahead," Kyle said as I started putting food away. "I can give Michael a ride home. It'll give us time to do a bit of brainstorming on that new broadcasting software."
 

"Are you sure?" Gerald looked from Kyle, to Michael and then to me. "I don't want you two keeping the little cougar up. You know…two young viral men in the same house?"
 

I dropped a spoon at that moment. Kyle knew I was pissed but it was Michael who answered, "Mr. Almondrode…though I'm new at the company, and I don't have much of a say so in the workings of the day to day operations, I would very much appreciate it if you didn't call Grace that when in my presence. It's demeaning to me, and I'm sure to her. She and Kyle have a good working relationship and I think using that kind of language is offensive."
 

My jaw, Kyle's jaw and even Gerald's jaw dropped. I thought for sure Michael had lost his job right then. Kyle put his hand to his forehead and I…well I just stood there and blinked.
 

Gerald was the first to close his mouth and looked at me. His expression wasn't angry, but concerned. "Grace…please tell me…do you think the term's offensive?"
 

"Well…I don't like it. I've never considered myself as such and I've only dated three men in my entire life."
 

"I don't like it," Kyle pipped up. "Grace is special to me. And age should never, ever matter when it comes to love."
 

"Then I am so, so sorry, Grace. I had no idea. And leave it to the new guy to point out that I'd been making my best employee uncomfortable all this time." He offered Kyle his hand. "Please accept my apology. I promise not to call her that again."
 

He and Kyle shook hands and I seriously needed another hit of tater juice.
 

Kyle and Michael walked him to the door and Kyle stood there until the man drove off. He shut the door, locked it and ran up the steps to the kitchen and pointed at Michael. "You know we're not like really girlfriend and boyfriend, right?"
 

"I picked that up from within the first week." Michael laughed. "That you were gay. When Gerald said you had a girlfriend living with you…I didn't know what to expect." He looked at me. "And I didn't expect to see you."
 

"I bet not."
 

"Especially after Tom said you lived with a guy. I just didn't know it would be…" He said as he shook his head and his smile…good God that kind of smile was illegal. "This is one twisted situation."
 

"I'll say." Kyle crossed his arms. "You know Gerald's a bigot. Man's got a heart of gold to a point. And if he knew I was gay? He'd find a way to fire me in a week. Grace's been my beard with him since he started wanting to come over to eat."
 

"Well I can see why." Michael rubbed his stomach. "That was the best meal I've had in weeks. And that coffee turned out perfect."
 

"So now you can French Press." I'd already dumped the grounds into a coffee can. I repurposed the used grounds to fertilize the flowers in the back yard. The carafe was washed and draining on the rack with the press.
 

"So what do we do?" Kyle looked at the two of us. "Cause he can't see you two kissing like that."
 

"I don't know what Grace wants to do," Michael focused on me. "But I'd like to kiss her again."
 

"Just not in front of the window. Really. Gerald can not see this. 'Cause he'll fire you, he'll feel all sorry for me and then I'll feel bad and then you'll tell me him I'm gay—"
 

"No I won't." Michael shook his head but he continued to stare at me from across the kitchen. He finally broke the connection and looked at Kyle. "That's not who I am. I want to see Grace. I want to get to know her. And I promise not to let Gerald Almondrode know any of it." He offered Kyle his hand.
 

They shook on it and Kyle looked a little less tense. "Oy…damn. Grace…I'll clean up."
 

"No. You cooked. I'll clean." I went to the refrigerator and grabbed the rest of the tater juice and handed it to him. "Finish this. Take a bath."
 

"Good idea," he said as he took the glass and offered some to Michael. "Finest grain alcohol this side of the Mason Dixon line."
 

"No…" Michael laughed. "That stuff kills brain cells."
 

"At my age, it doesn't matter." I laughed. Michael didn't.
 

The phone rang. Not my cell or Kyle's but the house number. Kyle was closest to the one in the kitchen and grabbed the wireless. "Yello."
 

The wince on his face told me exactly who it was.
 

Damn.
 

Not now.
 

"Because you deserve it. And if you show up at this house, I'll personally call the police and have you arrested—"
 

I held up my hand and waved at him. "Get to the bath. Now. I'll deal with him."
 

Kyle pulled the phone from his ear, stuck his tongue out at it and then turned to Michael. "You're gonna love that part of her life." He went downstairs with the rest of the juice.

"I'll clean the rest of the dishes while you talk," Michael whispered and started doing just that.
 

I moved to the sliding glass doors and stepped outside. "Hello."
 

"A restraining order? Christ Grace, are you serious? You have no right to keep me out of that house or stop me from spending Thanksgiving with my daughter! I will be there and you can't stop me."
 

"I see you got the restraining order."
 

"That was childish, Grace. Childish. I see you're finally getting the chance to screw Kyle and all your other friends. You have finally shown your true colors."
 

Weird…I was suddenly hearing "True Colors" by Cyndy Lauper in my head.
 

I stared across my yard at the back of the house behind mine. A privacy fence hid most of their life from mine, and vice versa. I never wanted a back yard. That was Burt's idea, and then of course he never did the yard work. So I often had to bat at the howler monkeys as they popped up out of the knee high grass. They weren't as scary as the tennis shoe chasing possums. "Whatever Burt. That's right. I'm hot for gay men."
 

"This isn't a joke."
 

"Never said it was."
 

"You know this order isn't going to stop me from seeing my daughter."
 

"Burt…if you'd stop talking for once and actually listen to other people, you'd hear what they're saying. I'm not stopping you from seeing your daughter. You're more than welcome to come to Atlanta to see her for Thanksgiving. You just can't come to my house and do it."
 

"
Your
house."
 

"Yeah.
My
house. It's
my
house. Your name isn't on any of the documents. Not the title, not the mortgage. And I was assured by the police that if you step one foot in my yard, you will be arrested."
 

"You'd ruin my Thanksgiving and embarrass me in front of my daughter and make this the worst holiday of my life?"
 

He wasn't listening. He was trying to make this more than what it was. He was trying to make it about him. Just like always. "Burt, it's not about you. It's never about you, don't you get it?"

The sliding door moved. "Hey Grace…you want to keep the green beans?"
 

I turned and looked at them. "Yeah…I can heat them up for lunch."
 

Michael smiled, pointed to the phone and arched his brows. I shook my head and motioned him back in.
 

"Who's that?"
 

"It's Kyle."
 

He was quiet for a second and I thought I was going to get a reprieve. Then, "You won't get away with this, Grace."
 

"You threatened to invade my house when I told you that you were not welcome."
 

"Wait till I tell Tanae what you're doing."
 

I started to tell him what Tanae said, about how she didn't want her father to ruin Thanksgiving with his constant complaining about his job, or his ability to start an argument where there wasn't one.
 

Or to have him start his accusations of how I locked him out of his daughter's life. She knew this was the baggage he carried around and would open it and expose it no matter what.
 

"That's fine. Good night, Burt. Don't call me again." I disconnected and got as far as getting inside the house and shutting the door behind me before the phone rang again.
 

I looked at the number as I entered the kitchen and punched the answer and then disconnect button.
 

When I set it on the island, the damn thing rang again.

"What the hell?" Michael said as he set dishes in the dishwasher. "Is that the same person?"
 

"Yes."
 

"Let me guess…ex-husband?"
 

"How did you know I had an ex?"
 

He shrugged and shut the dishwasher as I shut the phone off. "I checked your Facebook page."
 

"Right…and it says divorced. Dammit. I meant to flip that back to Choose One."
 

He leaned back against the sink and braced his palms on either side. "Sucks doesn't it? When the labels on a site like that don't come close to the truth of where you are, and who you are?"
 

I stared at him. Had I not just had this apostrophe recently? Wait…did I write it in Facebook? Is that how he knew?
 

My cellphone started buzzing in my purse. I knew it was Burt, even though I'd blocked his number. He was using a new number now. Maybe even a prepaid. I put my hands to my face and waited until it finally stopped. With a few choice words I yanked it out of my purse and blocked the bastard's new number.
 

"I take it something happened he didn't like." Michael rocked forward and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a slightly defensive gesture. "Was that him at the coffee shop today?"
 

At the coffee shop? I had to think of who he could mean. Then, "Oh! Detective Taylor? No." I laughed nervously. "He's just a good friend. We dated for a few weeks after Burt and I separated, but it didn't go anywhere."

Michael looked relieved. I mean
really
relieved and he lowered his arms and put his hands to his face. "Just friends? Wow. Okay. Man…isn't it weird how your imagination just takes situations into the strangest of places?"

"Yeah…like me watching you walk out of there with Mary and thinking you were just looking to get into some Hoochie Mama's pants."
 

A few beats of silence followed Michael's jaw dropping, then he filled the kitchen with laughter. He removed his glasses and set them on the counter as he took a paper towel from the roll and wiped at his eyes. "Hoochie…Mama? I've never heard anyone actually use that phrase in a way that worked."
 

I started laughing too. And then I couldn't stop. It was like something just burst inside of me. I leaned against the refrigerator and laughed. I laughed until it hurt and I couldn't laugh anymore.
 

After I caught my breath and wiped tears from my eyes—tears I didn't know I'd shed—I felt arms wrap around my shoulders. I tried to push them away but they were strong. I don't think I tried very hard, though.
 

Michael held me close to him, and cradled the back of my head with his hand. I buried my face into his shoulder…and cried.
 

I couldn't remember the last time I'd let go like that. Or the last time I'd felt comfortable enough to even try. So often during my marriage I'd bared my soul, needed words of comfort, a shoulder to cry on…but Burt had never offered. He'd never been there.
 

It wasn't a part of who he was. Or is. Caring for others was an alien emotion for him. Something he knew he was supposed to do because it was a social convention, but he couldn't work the logic out in his head as to how doing it helped him. It wasn't profitable. And it wasn't something that comforted…him.
 

To have someone hold me, really
hold
me…the idea was new again to me. I felt like I did when I was sixteen and my boyfriend held me. I tingled in all the right places, and I felt…