It's Not About You (21 page)

"Then for crying out loud don't tell them."
 

"Their mom already broke the fourth wall. They know. So we're doing Thanksgiving here first, then that night we're heading over to her house. Should be fun."
 

I smiled at him. "Nervous?"
 

"Terrified. Both because I'll be face to face with his kids and I'll be stressing over the meal here. Hoping he'll like it."
 

"Why wouldn't he? Kyle you cook great."
 

"He's a chef!"
 

Oh. That made me giggle again. "So we got me, you and—"
 

"Stephen. You'll love him."
 

"—Stephen, five of Tanae's friends, but we're calling it ten, then Tanae. My sister and her husband—" Oh. Hell.
 

Kyle caught my hesitation and the reason why at the same time. "Oh no. You haven't told April about Michael either, have you?"

I hung my head. My sister, April, was a loving, caring individual. She had great kids, an awesome husband and a wonderful life. She was also a Bible Thumper. Not in-yer-face thumping, but close. She wasn't approving of my life style but she tolerated it. Figured her older sister had always been lost. She did like it when I married Burt and had a kid, but once hers and Burt's horns clashed—it was war. Burt despised religion of any kind.

Me? I always said live and let live. Just don't smack me with it. I'll make up my mind when the time comes. Besides, I'd always been too busy just surviving day to day with an asshole.
 

"And don't forget Burt."
 

I glared at Kyle.

"You know he's going to show up."
 

"
Great
. I need wine, a pen and paper and find a funny show or movie. If
Big Bang Theory's
on, leave it there."
 

By the next evening we had the menu on the chalkboard in the kitchen. I came straight home from work after Michael called and said he had to work late. We had everything from simple finger appetizers we could set out in the living room to soup, the turkey (which I was handing off to Kyle to cook), green beans, mashed potatoes, stuffing both cornbread and white bread, that weird green bean casserole with fried onions on top (I didn't like it but apparently that's what every else liked), and April was bringing her sweet potato soufflé, which was really like a dessert—

Dessert!
 

I was in the middle of making spaghetti when I thought of desert. I drained the noodles, checked the sauce and grated more cheese as I went through the possibilities and finally decided I would just go to the grocery bakery before Thursday and grab a pie and a cake. And cookies.
 

"Dessert…" Kyle mused when he came in hung his coat in the closet. "I totally zoned on that."
 

"And you know if we don't have something, we'll never hear the end of it."
 

"Got that right."
 

There was something in his tone that worried me. Kyle was a pretty transparent guy with me, and we'd spent enough time together that we sort of picked up on the little things. And whatever little thing was bugging him had the capacity to become a big thing.
 

I grabbed a wine glass off the drainer, poured him his favorite red and handed it to him as he stepped in the kitchen. Kyle was a fine looking man—gay, straight, bi, plaid—there was just no way to make him ugly.
 

He took the glass and leaned on the door frame. "It's that obvious, isn't it?"

"Spill it."
 

"Gerald cornered me in the break room today—"
 

"Oh no."
 

"—and he mentioned several times in a matter of ten minutes how his family lived in Orlando and he wasn't driving down there this year—"
 

"No, please no."
 

"—and after the third mention I kinda sorta…" He shrugged as he talked.
 

"You invited him."
 

"Yeah."
 

I hung my head and braced my hands on the edge of the island, the steaming pasta giving me a facial. Pasta! I grabbed the butter and spooned some into the pot and stirred it. Some people put oil in it to stop it from sticking together, but I preferred buttah. The oven dinged and Kyle put his wine down, grabbed a potholder and pulled the garlic bread out and set it on an open space.
 

He didn't say anything for a few minutes, then, "Michael wasn't at work today."
 

That was surprising. But come to think of it, he hadn't come by the coffee shop either. I'd been too engrossed in the holiday work schedule and the impending doom of my family on my house. "Did Gerald mention why he wasn't there?"

"He told Gerald he wasn't feeling well." Kyle rubbed at his chin. "About Gerald…I'm sorry. I just…he's my boss and I hate thinking of anyone being alone on Thanksgiving."
 

"Wait…Michael didn't feel good?"

"That's what Gerald said Michael said. But let's stay on topic."
 

I turned the sauce off and removed the lid to stir it. "It's like…this holiday that's supposed to be all about giving thanks is turning into something that's going to give me a severe case of agita." That reminded me—had I taken my blood pressure medication?

"I owe you on this one."
 

"No. I think we're just a couple of softies." The clock over the oven read 6:32. "Hand me the phone. I'm going to call Michael and see if he's okay."
 

The phone rang just as Kyle picked it up. He looked at the screen and smiled. "Speak of the sexy devil."
 

I smiled. "Michael are you okay? Why are you calling the house phone? You could call my cell."

Michael's light voice answered me with a chuckle, and then a cough. "You're not answering your cell. Do you know where it is?"
 

Oh. Right. I patted my back pocket. Not there. Maybe my purse. "Uh…next question."
 

He laughed again. He sounded sort of scratchy. "I had trouble sleeping last night so I stayed home to catch up. When I woke up at noon I felt even worse."
 

"Worse how?"

"Achy. I'm mostly cranky. I know you wanted to get together as much as possible before Thanksgiving but right now, I might give you something."
 

Damn. "You're at your house?"
 

"Yeah but—"
 

"Is that whole chicken still in the fridge from Sunday?"
 

Michael laughed. "Grace, I'm fine. You don't need to come over here and cook."
 

"Bullshit. I know men. Just tell me if you like noodles or dumplings."
 

"Ooooh dumplings."
 

"Uh huh. Get back in bed and I'll be over in an hour or so." I hung up and looked at Kyle, who was giving me a stern face. "Well?"

"He's a big boy. He can take care of himself."
 

"I have to make sure he does that. Even you don't always take care of yourself when you're sick. And you like my chicken soup."
 

"I'd like dumplings better."
 

I pointed to the stove. "Dinner's ready and hot. I don't plan on spending the night because I have to open up in the morning. Can you clean this?"

My room mate gave me a withering look. He was good at that. "Fine. Maybe I'll invite Stephen over for supper."

"Yes!" I pointed at him as I dumped my coffee in the sink and headed out of the kitchen. "You do that!" I changed into some jeans, a light shirt and grabbed a sweater on my way out.
 

It took most of the hour to get to Michael's house, given it was right in the middle of six o'clock traffic and it was starting to sprinkle. The weather had been threatening all day and it decided to dump on me the moment I got out of the car and ran to Michael's door. I banged on it and he answered it in a pair of sweats and a blue plaid bathrobe. He grabbed me and pulled me out of the deluge of rain and shut the door.
 

He looked adorable. His hair was all over the place and he looked sleepy. When he took me into his arms I felt the heat and pulled back to look into his eyes. His skin was hot when I touched it and he frowned at me. "I'm fine."
 

"No you're not!" He had a temperature and it was a high one. I put my hands over his chest and stomach. His skin felt like a heating blanket. "Get back in the bed. I'm going to start some soup and then come see you."
 

He put his warm hand on my cheek and smiled. "Yes ma'am."
 

I made sure he shuffled back to bed before I went to the kitchen. There I put on a pot of water, grabbed whatever vegetable was in the fridge and then cleaned the chicken. Within a half hour I had the chicken boiling, the vegetables cut up and ready and tea steeping in a large blue glass pitcher.
 

I brought Tylenol, but I also found a few other fever reducers. The owners of the house had a separate shelf in the kitchen with organized boxes of medical supplies. I cracked open a thermometer, poured a glass of Gatorade and set them on a tray which I carried down the hall to the master bedroom.
 

Michael had gotten back in bed just like I'd asked, and he was sound asleep. The only part of him I could see was his hair sticking out from under the covers. The TV was on to a classic episode of
Law & Order
. I set the tray on the nightstand and sat on the bed next to him before I started digging him out.
 

My cooler hands on his skin roused him and he peeked a dulled, fevered blue eye at me. He pulled the cover down and smiled. "Hey."
 

"Hey yourself. I need you to sit up for me and hold this under your tongue." I picked up the thermometer.
 

He did as he was told. He'd also put on a tee-shirt. "You cold?"
 

"Mmhmm," he said as he let me slip the little device under his tongue. Then I opened the small bottle of Tylenol and dumped two out after reading the directions. He put a hand on my arm and held it there, his gaze focused on me. When the thermometer beeped I took it out and whistled.
 

"How bad?"
 

"Michael, you're running a fever over a hundred and one point three."

"Oh that's not so bad."
 

"For an adult it can be. If that gets to a hundred and two you'll really start to feel bad." I held out the Tylenol and the glass of water. "Take these and rest some more. I want to get that fever down before I feed you."
 

"But I'm starving." He whined but he swallowed the pills and drank all of the water.
 

"That's good. I'm going to put dumplings in it."

"So you're making Chicken 'n Dumplings."
 

"Yes."
 

Michael moved forward and wrapped his arms around me. I held him close and kissed his warm neck as he buried his face in mine. After a few minutes his shoulders shook and I pushed him away far enough so I could see his face. "Michael?"

"I'm sorry. I get emotional when I'm sick." He wiped at his eyes and wouldn't look at me. "It's just…my dad used to take care of me when I was sick because mom worked."
 

And his dad had recently died. I put my hand to his cheek and directed that intense gaze of his back to me. "I'm not your dad. I'm your lover. And I want to take care of you…
for
your dad."
 

A tear had caught along his nose and now dangled off the end. He wiped at it and grinned, but his eyes were red rimmed and I could see just how bad he felt. "Lover. I like the sound of that."
 

"I do too. Michael, did you go to work sick yesterday?"

"Yeah. I felt weird Sunday night after I dropped you off, and it just kept getting worse at work yesterday." He raked his fingers through his hair and pulled it back away from his face. He was just so…gorgeous. "What about you? Are you feeling bad? That was really why I called because I thought if I was feeling bad you might be feeling bad. I can take care of you."
 

"I'm fine. I'm usually as healthy as a horse. So no worries there." I stood and took the tray in hand. "Get more rest and once that fever breaks, we eat."
 

"Will you stay the night with me?"
 

"I have to open up…" I started to say, but the look of a little lost boy in his face won me over. "Okay. But I'll have to leave early to get back home and open up the shop. And while I'm at work, you have to rest."

"Yes ma'am." He beamed at me and I left the room.
 

His fever didn't break before midnight and when it did, he was sweating all over the sheets. I set the table as he took a cool shower and when he joined me, dressed in gray sweats and a black Nine Inch Nails tee-shirt and wet hair. He looked much better. The shower had added color to his cheeks.