Page 32 of The Falcon and the Foe

“Why?” She crossed her arms, waiting for further explanation.

“Because...that’s just not something you do! It’s like eating breakfast for dinner.”

“See?” she said to Cal, and they traded another coded glance. She pulled me close and linked her arm through mine. “It’s okay, Brother. I love you as much as you love rules and order.”

I lovingly glared at her. I was crazy about my big sister even though we played at opposite ends of the sandbox.

“And I love breakfast for dinner,” Cal said.

“Of course, you do.” I shook my head. “Well, it seems you two are peas in a pod.”

“Just like your sons,” Monica said, catching both of us off guard. Cal and I swapped a look, our senses tingling at the mention of our sons.

“What do you mean?” Cal asked.

“Quentin and Josh are pretty friendly, from what I’ve seen around school. Blake, this fifth-grader, was giving Quentin a hard time for being little, and Josh stood up for him, got him to back off.”

Blake Sorenson was Melanie’s son, a kid with a DUI and wrap sheet in his future—one that would be covered up by mommy and daddy, of course. I never liked him, never liked having him at birthday parties. Please and thank you were not in his vocabulary.

“Quentin was the one who invited Josh to join the scouts,” she said.

“Really?” I said. “Monica, you are quite the spy.”

“I hear things in class and in the halls.” She shrugged, pleased with herself and her sleuthing skills.

Cal sat speechless, a faint smile on his face. Monica and I shared a special sibling look full of warmth, silently proud of Quentin. Cal and I might have had our squabbles and our flaws, but we were raising good kids. We must’ve been doing something right.

The bell rang over the loudspeaker, announcing it was time for our next rotation. Cal hopped off the art table and bid adieu, still giddy with the news.

Monica made eyes at the back of his head, then at me. Specifically, the scheming romantic eyes that had previously unleashed Brent the insurance salesman on my lunch break. The eyes that didn’t need explanation.

Me and Cal sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g?

I guffawed so hard I strained my throat. “No! Are you kidding?”

“You two seem to get along.”

“We just became able to have a civil conversation. He’s barely tolerable.” My whole body tensed at the suggestion that Cal and I...I didn’t know why it was making me so tense and nervous.

“He’s cute,” she gushed.

Objectively, yes. Very much, yes. “But then he opens his mouth.”

A new set of parents filtered into the room. I was never tardy for anything, including rotations for back to school night. I stood up so straight my back became an iron rod. “Just because we’re both gay doesn’t mean...anything,” I hissed. “I need more to be attracted to someone than sexual orientation if I actually cared about dating.”

“I’m sorry.” She put up her hands in defense. “You’re right.”

I nodded and smiled at all the parents I knew on my way out the door. I stomped down the hall, rushing to get to class, my heart beating like it did back in high school during those close calls between periods. Although, this was a new kind of anxiety pounding in my chest. Why was the thought of being set up with Cal causing me to panic?

11

CAL

Being back at school made me remember why I hated it growing up. We might’ve been grown-ass adults, but the parents in Josh’s school were still gossipy, backstabbing, cliquey mean girl pieces of crap.

Perhaps I was generalizing.

My family didn’t have a lot of money, and there were kids in school whose primary mission was for me to remember that daily. Kimber and her satanic sisterhood were carrying the asshole torch. They thought they were being quiet, but I heard their snickers and comments about me wearing my Market Thyme uniform.

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