Page 80 of The Idiot

Mothers—they remember everything. To her credit, she hasn’t made a peep about that awkward day when my silence confirmed her accusation of me being in love with Jesse.

Have we worked everything out?

Her question tumbles around my lust-sated brain. A resoundingnois the most accurate response, as much as it pains me. I’ve been living off the pipe dream that sex equals love, or that enough sex will eventually equal love. It hasn’t escaped my notice that the only time we spend together since we got home is behind closed doors. I’m getting ditched for strippers tomorrow, and he’s declined each time I suggest we go out for a drink. I’m starting to feel like a dirty little secret.

Other times, I have hope, but I’m so confused and I don’t know if it’s just my wishful thinking. That confession he gave me in the shower today about Marianne Gregor—I wanted to profess my love right then and there. He broke up with a girl because she didn’t approve of his attachment to me? I want to believe only someone smitten would do something like that, but that was years ago, before he discovered my dick. Yet, now he’s invited me to Thanksgiving. I don’t know what to think.

“Yeah,” I assure Mom. “Everything’s fine.”

Leaning against the counter, I watch her busy movements as she stows the butter and egg carton in the fridge. She’s a whirlwind of energy that I envy sometimes. I should be thinking about how I can improve the orchard next season so she can retire from the hospital early and not about if my love for Jesse Carver is contagious enough that he’s caught it.

When she’s packed away her ingredients and picks up her plate, I follow her to the kitchen table. It’s been a minute since we’ve spent some quality time together. She’s leaving today to head up to my sister’s place for the weekend. I already feel guilty for dodging out on Danielle’s Thanksgiving.

On the table, I find a clothes basket in front of my chair. It’s filled to the brim with my folded laundry. When the hell did she have time to do that?

“Mom, you don’t have to wash my clothes.”

“Habit,” she says around a bite of food, waving me off. “I always do extra cleaning before a holiday, and they were there in the laundry room, so it was no big deal.”

My breath catches at the sight of a pair of boxers folded on the top of the stack. Jesse’s. Fuck.

Glancing at Mom from across the table, I swear she was just watching me before her eyes returned to her food. “Those look a little small for you,” she comments. “Wasn’t sure if they were yours.”

I know what she’s implying. Who else’s would they be? It’s just the two of us that live here.

“Yeah,” I lie. “They are.”

She hums noncommittally and keeps eating. I ask her about her shift at the hospital to get the focus off Jesse’s underwear. He writes ‘favorite son’ on the inside of the waistband, an odd reminder that his mother still washes his clothes for him like he’s a giant, helpless child. The irony that he now got my mother to wash his drawers for him shouldn’t be laughable, not at a time like this.

I can still remember the day he wore them last week. I found them under my bed after he went home—the idiot. Who doesn’t pipe up when they can’t find their damn underwear?It’s probably not an appropriate time to think about him walking around commando.

“I saw Lorraine at the grocery store on my break last night,” Mom interjects, making me go rigid.

She’s known Jesse’s mother our entire lives. The mention of Lorraine Carver has never set off alarm bells for me, but that was before I corrupted the woman’s ‘straight’ son with my cock and my kisses.

“Yeah? How’s she doing?”

“Good. She kept gushing about Pete’s boyfriend. Cameron, is it?”

“Uh, yeah. I met him in town last month. He seems like a nice guy.”

Smiling, she reaches for her coffee. “Pete’s a nice man. I’m glad he’s met someone who can appreciate him.”

I know she’s talking about Pete’s OCD, but I feel a twinge of jealousy hearing that she and Lorraine were so openly discussing a same-sex couple in public, one that wasn’t me and Jesse. Also, why the fuck was Lorraine at the grocery store? I thought Jesse said he had to go pick some things up for her. Did he just make up an excuse to not spend time with me today? Was his Thanksgiving invite a pity offering after I foolishly blurted out that I’m staying in Wenatchee for the holiday to be near him?

“She said Jesse went on some camping trip last month.”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I think he did.”

That has her eyeing me like I’m an alien. Ithinkso? How would I onlythinkso? He’s my best friend. I know his every move.

“I thought you two got over your…” she searches for a word to describe that awkward week after I came out to him, “disagreement.”

“Yeah. We’re good.”

“Well, anyway. Lorraine said he went on this camping trip for over a week. Rappelling or something.” Images of Jesse in his harness on the cruise and the way I blew up on him have my face heating as Mom rambles on. “I think he was gone the same time that you were. You never told me he was taking a trip, too.”

“I didn’t? Well, yeah, I think he was gone about the same time,” I concur, getting up from the table.

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