Page 99 of A Much Younger Man
“He might seem that way. I promise you, though. Ipromisehe needs something else right now. He does not need to get involved in a sexual relationship with a man twice his age.”
I winced. “It sucks when you say it like that.”
“That should tell you something.”
She let me sip my wine in silence for a while. It was a blessing and a curse having her for a mother. I respected her. She’d always given me good counsel. We had a track record that—except for her attempts to see me paired up and on my way to the altar with just about any successful middle-aged man—spoke positively about her parenting skills.
I listened to her. I believed that she had both my and Beck’s best interests at heart. She was utterly outraged on Beck’s behalf, and I kind of admired her determination to throw me under the bus. But it killed me to hurt Beck. Even if I was doing it for his own good, it still fucking killed me.
“I don’t know how hungry I’ll be,” I said.
“Mm.” She waited to weigh in on that until my father came back with food that smelled so delicious, I ate about twice what I’d planned. I also finished off the wine by myself. She and Dad helped me toss the trash and wash up the dishes.
“I’m sure you need a good night’s sleep.” She kissed my cheek. “We’ll be expecting you to stop by after work for dinner at the resort tomorrow evening, and I’ve booked you a massage on Saturday morning.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know what my schedule is like. I don’t know if it will be possible to get up there every night.” Friday was pie night after all. I ached when I thought about giving up my guitar lessons. Would Beck even speak to me if I called him?
“We’ll take whatever time you have, son. We understand work comes first.” Finally, Dad was able to forestall one of Mom’s arguments.Better late than never.
“Night, guys. Thank you for dinner.” I didn’t plan on thanking them for stopping by unannounced and ruining my life, but old habits died hard. “Talk to you soon.”
“Tomorrow.” My mother crossed the threshold before my father practically pushed her out the door.
He turned to me. “Always remember, your mother has your best interests at heart, but she’s not perfect.”
As I closed the door behind them, I heard my mother say, “What do you mean by that? I’m not perfect? What does that mean, Doug?”
My house seemed so empty after they left.
Except for Rico, who probably slept peacefully beneath the quilt Beck had used to cover his cage. It was going to seem empty for a good long time.
I loathed the idea of going back to the old days before I had the sight of Beck’s face when I hand-fed him to look forward to. He loved it when I spoiled and cherished him. His body spoke so eloquently for him every time I treated him like he was mine.
I'd miss the enjoyment he took feeding kittens, the sound of guitar music wafting in through the bedroom window, the feel of his slim body pressed against mine when he sought me out sleepily in the middle of the night, and the scent of him—coconuts and ocean breeze and that certain sweet something that was only ever Beck.
It hurt so much I wanted to cry.
* * *
The phone rangfour times before Beck picked up.
“You don’t have to tell me. I already know what you’re going to say,” he said by way of a greeting.
At first, I couldn’t respond.
“Are you there?” That was a little less confident.
“I’m here,” I said. “I was just trying to decide if you were right. What do you think I’m going to say?”
“That we’re over.”
“We’re not over. We just can’t keep going on like we are.” I cringed because never in the history of the worldwasit’s not you, it’s memore true or less awful.
“Just the part where we fuck.”
“I guess. Yes.”
“Your Mom thinks I’m not good enough for you, is that it?”
