Page 8 of The End of Summer

“You ready to party?”

The last party I attended was for Sadie’s fourth birthday. She’s my little cousin. The party was in the backyard of their home in southeastern Connecticut. We played Hot Potato and Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Donkey, and after the cupcakes, the tiny tykes took turns smashing a piñata shaped like Peppa Pig with a yardstick. Everyone was gone by 8:00 p.m., which was way past the bedtime of the children invited, and was not too far off from my own bedtime.

I suspect this evening’s festivities will be a bit more interesting.

“Hell, yeah,” I respond.

Not in Kansas, indeed.

CHAPTER THREE

BRADY

Obstacles are just opportunities in disguise.

This is the mantra I’ve been repeating to myself all morning.

“It’s about damn time,” Big Mike says, chewing on a bite of his breakfast burrito. We’re perched on the tailgate of his royal blue Ford F-350. It’s a good thing I’m tall, or else I would’ve needed a ladder to climb up here with those fat tires he’s got. Big Mike’s a ginger and a sheep in wolf’s clothing – the nicest guy you’d ever want to know, but he looks and acts like a thug – which is quite possibly the best mix one could imagine in a human in that it’s so obscure. Also, my dude is a tree. But not just any tree: Big Mike’s an old, thick-ass oak tree in October: flaming red and orange leaves on a massive trunk. In a stretched out, used-to-be-white Hanes undershirt. With a flat-brim resting on his head, just slightly askew.

Best guy I ever met.

“What’s in this? Chorizo?” he asks me.

“Yeah, bro. They call it the Long Pond because the ingredient list just goes on and on.” I count off on my fingers. “It’s three eggs, cheddar, swiss, avocado, salsa, bacon, ham,chorizo, and hash browns, double wrapped and then pressed on the grill.”

“It’s dope,” Big Mike concurs, taking another hearty bite. “This town needed a good breakfast burrito.”

“Agreed.” I swallow a gulp of coffee. “Let’s hope this little spot makes it past Columbus Day.”

He nods. “Well, now that me and this wrap have become acquainted, I’ll be back for more. This is worth battling bridge traffic. And thanks for picking up the tab.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the least I could do. I could never have moved all that shit without your truck.”

“You know I got you.” Big Mike swallows. “Did your dad say anything before you bounced this morning?”

“Nope.”

He slaps me on the shoulder once, twice. “His loss, Bray. He’s a dick.”

I shrug. “It’s whatever. We’ve been avoiding each other since that day. And to be honest, I should’ve left years ago. It’s just such a shitty market for apartments here.”

“Yeah, I feel you. I don’t appreciate that you got evicted from your own house, though. Like, that’s your son. I don’t know. It’s not like what you did was so egregious.”

Did I mention Big Mike’s a high school English teacher? When he kicks his SAT prep vocab into overdrive, I can’t help but laugh. Nothing about this man makes any sense at all. I shrug. “Nobody fucks with Chef Brax, I guess.”

“Well, I think you’ll like your new digs. There’s definitely something to be said for autonomy.” He sinks his teeth into the handheld and moans something vaguely sexual.

I choke back a snort-laugh. “Did you notice that the hallway reeked of weed?”

Big Mike nods, chewing, holding up a finger until he finishes the bite. “I may have noticed.” He licks a speck of hot sauce off his upper lip. “Now you got me thinking it was a contact high that got my ass so hungry.” He smiles.

“It was 7:00 a.m. though. Who do you know that smokes at that time?”

“You never know; your neighbors might have still been up partying from the night before.”

“I hope not. I’d rather be living next to some landscaper who gets fucked up before his early shift than a bunch of children who plan to keep me up all night.”

“You sound like a greybeard, son.”

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