Summer Son (4 page)

“He’s only twenty-two, you know,” she said, putting her chin on my chest so she could look up at me.

“Fuck,” I said succinctly and wound a lock of her hair around my finger, tugging it at the roots.

“Yeah. But he’s gorgeous, right?”

“Beautiful,” I murmured without thinking, correcting her.

“Yeah. Beautiful. Shame he’s gay, otherwise I would have been right in there. Are you going to take him home?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you should.”

I nodded and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Zane caught my eye as I went to leave. I nodded toward the door, and he held my eyes for a long moment, then slid out of the booth.

Knowing that if people saw us leaving together they would jump to all sorts of conclusions, I waited outside for him to join me.

“Can I walk you home?” I asked as the bell jingled and the door shut behind him.

He nodded and smiled. “Sure.”

For some reason we both started walking in the same direction, without any prior conversation about where we lived. My fingers twitched toward his hand, and I forced myself to shove them in my pocket, just in case I did something stupid like try to hold it.

“I, uh, live just off Lorimer,” he said as we walked up Union Street.

“Really? I’m just up the street from you, then.”

He glanced up at me and smiled.

“Nae mentioned that you’re a student,” I said.

“Yeah. Well, part time. I need to work to be able to afford rent around here.”

“Sure. What do you do?”

“I work with kids,” he said. “It’s an art program, mostly for kids with physical or learning disabilities or who have a difficult home life. We try to teach them different ways of expressing themselves creatively.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. He was gorgeous, artistic, and he worked with kids? I was done. Gone. Drunk.

“That sounds really awesome,” I said gently.

He smiled. “Thanks. I think so. I’m obviously part of an art program. I’m in my final year, actually.”

“What school?”

He gave me a shy smile. “The School of Visual Arts.”

“Wow,” I said softly. “SVA is really hard to get into.”

I wanted to slap myself. He knew that; he didn’t need me to tell him. Zane just nodded, possibly unwilling to talk about his artwork. He certainly wasn’t forthcoming with details about his studies.

“What do you want to do when you graduate?” I asked, hoping to move the conversation along. It was a fairly short walk—I wanted to make the most of it.

“Make a living?” he said with a laugh. “That’s my first priority. We’ll see, though. I’ll figure something out, I’m sure.”

Zane stopped suddenly, and I almost walked right into him. “This is me,” he said, looking up at an apartment building.

“Oh.” I chewed on my lip for a moment, wondering exactly how far I was allowed to take this. “It was really good to meet you.”

“You too.”

He looked like he was having the same internal battle as me.

“Can I?” I said, stepping up close into his personal space.

“Um….”

Then he nodded.

I cupped his cheek in the palm of my hand and leaned down to brush my lips lightly over his. For a moment neither of us pressed for more. Then his lips parted and I moved mine, the delicate back and forth dance of a near perfect first kiss.

Zane pulled away first. “I, uh….”

Stepping back, I gave him some space, even though I didn’t want to.

“I’ll call you,” he said in a rush. “I mean, if it’s okay, I’ll get your number from Meg….”

“That’s fine,” I said.

“I’ll call you,” he repeated, but with a smile this time. He turned and took the first two steps up to the front door, then turned back and leaned in to kiss me again, hard and fast.

The vision came into my head fully formed: Zane with his back pressed against the wall in his hallway, jeans around his knees, me on mine, sucking his cock until he came, my name on his lips.

So my head was spinning when he pulled away and jogged up the steps, let himself in, and waved before shutting the door.

Since my place really was just at the other end of the street, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and go home. I couldn’t be bothered to double back to my mom’s, and I didn’t think about what that meant, or if it made me a bad parent for just wanting to go to bed.

The apartment was eerily silent without Harrison around. Even if he was sleeping, I was used to the sound of the baby monitor and his special nighttime grumblings. Before climbing into bed I sent a quick text off to my mom, knowing she wouldn’t read it until morning, about the same time she would realize I wasn’t in the house. It was only two in the morning, but it felt later for some reason. Probably because I was still buzzing from everything that had happened.

I wondered why it was that when you were specifically not looking for anyone, not wanting someone in your life, they walked right up and let themselves in. The last thing I wanted or needed was the complication of dating someone, even if he was possibly one of the most intriguing people I’d met in a long time.

Since I didn’t have his number and he’d said he would call me, there was no point in worrying about it—if he didn’t call, there wasn’t a lot I could do.

Except hope.

Chapter 3

I
DIDN
’
T
collect Harrison until eleven the next morning, which was almost unheard of. After receiving a text from my mom telling me not to rush, I got up late (late for me, anyway), did all the laundry, all the dishes, caught up on my e-mail, and tidied the whole apartment. Polished and vacuumed too.

Zane was a specter who had haunted my morning while I listened to Rage Against the Machine and Iron Maiden. I guessed he and I wouldn’t share a taste in music, not that it mattered. I didn’t exactly look like a classic metal fan. My hair wasn’t long or black, it was a dull light brown and curled if I didn’t keep it cut fairly short, and apart from the few band T-shirts I owned, I didn’t really get into the hard-core clothing.

Harrison seemed happy to see me when I arrived at my mom’s. I hauled him up into my arms and smothered him with kisses. He smelled clean, looked content and completely emotionally undamaged by the fact that his father had spent the night out drinking with friends. According to my mom he’d been an angel. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but it was easier to agree than argue.

I’d texted Meg to see if she wanted to go for lunch, but she was too hungover, swearing that she wasn’t getting out of bed until Monday morning. I decided to let her be—there was no way I was going to take Harrison over there if she was in that sort of state. Lupe was working at her weekend job, which just left Nae or one of the boys.

Saturday was designated band practice day for Azriel, Crash, and Ben, although I was convinced their time was more often spent getting high than actually practicing. In some ways I hoped so—the band was earachingly shit. My love of rock music meant I got invited to all their gigs, and I’d taken to wearing earplugs automatically to try and drown out the cringeworthy noise.

Since I couldn’t get hold of Nae by phone, I strapped Harrison into his harness and walked the few blocks over to her apartment. The cell reception in her area was notoriously bad, so she was used to people dropping by unannounced. Plus, she seemed to be the best person to grill about Zane.

“I’m working,” she said after she’d opened the door.

She clearly was, too. Her dark hair was scraped back from her face, and she was wearing a huge paint-splattered T-shirt and leggings.

“You look every inch the tortured artist, darling,” I said, leaning in to give her a kiss.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, ignoring me and zoning in on Harrison. I let her lift him out of the harness and pulled the whole thing off. It got uncomfortable after a while.

Nae had one of the nicest apartments out of all of us, mostly due to the fact that she’d shacked up with Levon, who was tall, dark, handsome, and loaded. He worked doing something with computers that I’d never quite understood, and he worshiped Nae like she was his queen.

“So, did you take Zane home last night?” she asked, carrying my son through to her kitchen to find him a cookie. Since I knew it was likely to be a low-fat, sugar-free cookie, I didn’t mind. “Or did he take you home?”

“No,” I said. “I walked him back to his place. Then I went home.”

She looked shocked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning against a counter. “He said he’d get my number from Meg and call me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, what? What does ‘oh’ mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Nae,” I said, watching, out of the corner of my eye, Harrison trying to shove the entire cookie into his mouth in one go. It wouldn’t take him long to figure it out.

“Zane… doesn’t really date.”

“That clears up actually fuck all,” I said. “Please. I like this guy. Help me out.”

“I don’t know!” she said. “He’s an artist, and he works with kids. He doesn’t like dating, but he’s gay. That’s all I know.”

“Then why were you encouraging me to talk to him if you know he doesn’t date?”

“Because you’re perfect for each other,” she said with a little sigh.

I held my arms out for Harrison, and she handed him back. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said, looking at my son while bouncing him gently on my hip. “It’s too soon. My life is complicated enough right now without trying to chase down some guy who may or may not be interested in me.”

“He’s interested,” Nae said. “I promise.”

“Well, if he is, he’ll call me.”

She shooed us out of the house so she could get back to work on the… whatever it was that currently sat in the corner of her makeshift studio. I tried not to ask the artists what they were doing, whenever possible.

Since I was feeling ridiculously refreshed after my good night’s sleep, I decided to take Harrison to the park. The day was clear and warm but not too bright, and I wasn’t worried about sunburn this early in the year.

Clearly I wasn’t the only parent with the great idea, and the park was packed with kids and parents, all in various stages of excitement. Since Harrison was too little to play on any of the big things, I waited until a swing was free, then strapped him into it. Swings were his favorite, and I couldn’t help but grin when he squealed with laughter as I pushed him higher. The kid had absolutely no sense of danger—he always wanted more, higher, faster.

I was worried he was going to scream in an entirely different way when I pulled him out, but the gods seemed to be shining on me and he was fine, so I took us both for ice cream at the stand in the middle of the park.

Harrison was used to sharing food with me, and I didn’t think twice about sticking one of those little plastic spoons in my cone to get a bit out for him. It was typical. Half the time Harrison didn’t want to eat, and most mealtimes were a battle. But as soon as I put something bad in front of him, he turned into a little angel.

“Come on then, baba,” I murmured after cleaning his face from ice cream residue.

He went back into the harness facing my chest, rather than out, another vain attempt at getting him to nap as we walked home. It didn’t work, of course. Harrison hated sleeping almost as much as he hated eating.

By the time we got home I needed to start dinner—routine, routine, routine—and I set Harrison down on a blanket with some toys so I could watch him from the kitchen while I worked. He was already crawling, but for some reason he didn’t like the feel of the bare floorboards under his hands and knees. It meant I could create an effective island without barriers in the middle of the apartment and he’d happily stay there for ages.

Since we’d been on a bit of a classic British rock theme for a while, I stuck the Stones on and danced along as I made chicken and rice and steamed vegetables. It was easier to cook once, something that would do for the both of us. Harrison was at the point where he was starting to want to feed himself, and I didn’t need to turn his meals into mush anymore.

I sat at the counter and watched while Harrison threw his food around and generally did everything possible to avoid eating it. He wasn’t so fussy about sitting in the high chair these days, thankfully, and would still let me feed him some things.

I ate one-handed, with one eye on my son, not really tasting what I’d made. Food was energy, except when it was chocolate. Then it was a cry for help.

Our evening soon settled around us—bath, bottle, bed—and then I went back to my desk. Even something that had rocked me like Zane had couldn’t change the foundation of my life these days. I kissed Harrison on the head and went to work.

A
WEEK
later, he still hadn’t called.

For the first few days I’d been climbing the walls, then I’d had a day or two of being completely down on myself and life in general, then I picked myself up, dusted off my pride, and got on with life.

It was Oliver’s weekend to take Harrison, but as usual, he wasn’t going to pick him up until Saturday morning. I wasn’t quite sure when Oliver’s definition of taking his son for “the weekend” turned into picking him up from my mom’s at midday on Saturday and dropping him back by three on Sunday afternoon… not that there was a lot I could do about it.