Confounded: Part III - 11. Chapter 7

--==Mitchell’s POV==--

The next morning, I woke up late; 8am, two hours after my normal time. I’d slept like a log. My phone, with the battery dead, had slipped out from under my ear and had ended up near my shoulder. I put it on the wireless charger sitting on the nightstand.

Staying in bed for a little while longer, I lay on my side; listening to sounds and occasionally watching the birds chirping outside and chasing after each other in front of the windows. The sun was out and I stretched lazily and, closing my eyes again, promptly fell back to sleep. When I woke again, it was 9:30am. I rarely sleep in and never this late but I still felt good. Great actually, better than I could remember feeling in a long time.

Reaching for my phone, fully charged again, I logged in biometrically; I’d received a few text messages. One from Kit, telling me he was glad I’d had a good time and confirming he and Mischa would come over tomorrow with the boys, before we would head to church together. The others were from Tomás.

[First time I slept with a man and he didn’t follow through in the morning. Pfff...sad. ;)]

I chuckled at that.

[According to my call log, we slept together for 3.5 hours! Then my phone died.]

[I’m gonna go for a run. But when you’re awake, drop me a text. I have a better idea; I’ll go get my car after breakfast, then come over to your place, I’ll drive you over to the restaurant.]

Looking at the timestamp, I saw he’d sent the messages several hours ago, around 6am.
I typed a response.

<Thank you, I would appreciate that lift to the restaurant.>

I showered and got dressed, then checked my phone again and saw he had replied.

[Wow, taking our time, are we? Just got my car, I’m already heading over to yours. I’ll be there in fifteen.]

He’d sent it ten minutes ago, while I was in the shower. That meant I’d have no time to get a bite to eat and some coffee, so I opted to wait for him instead. I could have a late breakfast at the restaurant; they should be open by now. Afterwards, I could go on for some groceries.

The gate-alert sounded and after checking, I let him in.

**********

“This is a nice car,” I commented as we drove off. Tom had stayed in the car while I locked up, honking once as he arrived and parked.

“Yeah, I like it,” he answered, steering relaxed, trendy sunglasses hiding his eyes. “I never thought I’d go electric but Teslas are nice. You should look into the X model, if you’re ever wanting to go electric. This is an S. Little bit too low for you, I think?”

I chuckled. I actually drive an SUV because of the higher in-step; these sedan models were indeed quite low for me.

“You comfy? You can adjust the seat backwards, if you need to.”

“I’m very comfortable, actually. Lots of legroom.”

There was, and very little noise. I paid more attention. The interior of the car was all done in charcoal, the exterior silver and I might be wrong, I doubted it, but it seemed new; it certainly smelled new. Very nice. The tablet sitting in the middle showed all sorts of information but I appreciated that he didn’t fiddle too much with it while driving, though his style was casual, not too speedy or reckless, with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the armrest between us. Strange; there was no stick.

“Sleep well?” I asked and he responded with a quick glance to me, an easy smile around his mouth. I wished I could see his eyes.

“Like a baby. And dude, you snore.”

Dude? I hadn’t been called a dude since highschool. And no, I don't snore. I’d asked Taylan several times and unless something had changed in the past three years, or he’d been lying all that time, he was trying to rile me up.

“You’re mistaken. You were probably hearing yourself.”

“I don’t snore,” he said with conviction. “You do.”

I hadn’t heard him do so but two could play this game. Wait; so I did really snore?

“Oh, must’ve been the cat, then. I wondered why you were purring. I snore?”
He laughed.

“You’re a dick.” He braked for a stop sign. “Yes you do but not loud. Your text came pretty late. I’ve been up for hours. I did a thirteen mile run, showered and had breakfast. Wanted to go get groceries, but I figured I’d wait.”

“I actually woke up at 8 but fell back to sleep.”

“Oh I see. Now that retirement is around the corner, you figured you’d get a head start on lazy weekends, huh?”

“And here I was, about to invite you for breakfast because I haven’t eaten yet, but if you’re going to insult me…”

He gasped. “Hey now, fight fair. You can’t dangle food in front of me like that and expect me to just drop you off.”

“Well, you did say you already had breakfast.”

“So? I could eat.”

“I don’t know,” I answered, rubbing my chin, “would I want to have breakfast with a kid? The last time was like over a decade ago.”

He clutched his heart. “Oh, ouch, that hurt, man. We better get some food in you; you are cranky!”

I smiled. I’m actually rarely cranky in the morning.

“And coffee.”

“Fine, we’ll get you coffee too.”

“Oh, so now it’s ‘we’ all of a sudden?”

“Stop it...be nice.”

“Lay off the age digs, and I’ll stop.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, then returned one to the wheel a second later and flicked on the indicator, to turn into the driveway up to the restaurant.

“Good boy.”

“You’re no fun. And if I have to lay off, so do you.”

He had a point, I guess. I chuckled as we drove into the parking lot.

“Umm, are you sure they serve breakfast here? It wasn’t open when I got here...”

“I actually don’t know if they do. I’d assumed, but we’ve only done brunches here and dinners; never breakfast.”

“Well, it doesn't look like it.” The parking lot was quite empty too, only a few cars here, amongst which mine. “I’ll check. Back in a sec.” Tom got out and went over to the door, coming back a minute later, shaking his head from afar. “They don’t open until noon. No coffee for you, no food for me,” he said, getting back in.

“Then I guess I’ll have to skip and go get some groceries.”

“Considering I need groceries too, why don’t we combine it; we go to the store, and I’ll make us an early lunch. You like Philly Cheesesteak?”

I perked up. All I had in mind was a tuna sandwich at the counter perhaps, but if someone was gonna make a more elaborate feast for me, I'd be first in line. “Fries? Onion rings?”

“Sure. You got the ingredients?”

I stared at him. I was looking back at myself, with those sunglasses. He seemed to catch on, sliding them down a notch, showing his light browns, with a frown above. “What…”

“You can make it?”

“I wouldn’t offer it if I couldn’t. But we’ll need the ingredients.”

“Getting groceries, remember? I’ll just buy what’s needed.”

“Philly cheesesteak sandwiches it is, then.”

“And hot peppers.”

“Yes, yes, just go get your car and I’ll follow.”

**********

Tom quickly disappeared once we got into the store, grabbing a basket as he headed off, saying he would hunt down ingredients for lunch. I got a cart for myself. I’d written down the groceries I needed but had forgotten to bring the list so I went by memory. I was about halfway through when he turned up, his basket filled to the brim. I noted a bottle of wine amongst his things and crinkled my nose.

“Alright, I got rib-eye, thinly sliced, hot peppers as requested, mushrooms, onions and some other crap I need.”

“That’s not a good wine for Philly...”

He rolled his eyes.“Don’t go fussy on me; I’m totally with Taylan on that one. It’s cheesesteak, not a Michelin star dinner.”

I smiled and no, I would not give in on that. No grocery store wine, thank you. Ever. There was a liquor store closeby. “You take care of the food, we’ll get the wine elsewhere?”

“Fine. I’ll drink it myself, then. I’m leaving this here with you and go pick up some other stuff for myself. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

He dropped off his basket on the bottom of my cart and rushed off again. Shaking my head, I took out his wine of choice and went to that aisle, returning it. He shouldn’t be drinking that cheap stuff. I continued my far slower perusal of the aisles.

“Gilmore!” A familiar voice boomed and I turned, surprised, then winced when the hand of one of my neighbors slapped me on the back just a bit too hard. He always was just a tad too familiar.

“Sanders! Don’t tell me Cindy sent you grocery shopping.”

“Just to steer the cart, dear,” his wife’s voice spoke up behind him. “That’s all he’s good for, and you know it. Hi hon, how are you?” Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed my cheek and I got a good whiff of her very heady perfume.

“Good, thank you. Haven’t seen you two in a while.”

I usually saw them in church and at select social functions in our community, dinners I got invited to on occasion. I viewed them as a free meal instead of ordering in, or having to go to a restaurant.

“Holiday. We went to Ellen’s, remember? I told you about it last month, when we had dinner at the Johnson’s.”

“Ah, right, right.” Their daughter lived in Hawaii. I vaguely remembered the topic. “How was Hawaii?”

“Fabulous. I’m still trying to get Bob to move there, but he’s not budging.”

“We spent almost thirty years taking care of that brat; I’m not about to move after her. We finally got some peace and quiet,” her husband boomed, laughing at his own words. Their daughter married only last year.

Just then, Tom reappeared, hauling another basket and also placing that one underneath the cart, then slowing his movements as he became aware I was having a conversation here.

“Hi,” he said, somewhat uncertain.

Cindy’s head swiveled and raised an eyebrow, slowly looking him up and down.

“Hello! And who would you be?”

“I’m Tom. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand to shake hers, sending her a polite smile.

“Tom, meet Cindy and Bob Sanders, neighbors two houses down,” I introduced them, “Cindy, Bob, this is Tom Slattery.”

He shook Bob’s hand as well and before I knew it, we had a cross-conversation going as if we’d never done anything else. Tom’s easy manner and ready answers had Cindy digging around like a pig in mud, definitely taking an interest in him; where was he from, did he live around here, what did he do for a living, that sort of thing. Her eyes constantly went from him to me, then back again and I became aware that this might actually not be such a good idea; the woman was a horrible gossip.

Tom grinned at me when she said something, then nodded in my direction and said “You should ask the boss. I thought the food was good but he’s the expert in wine.”

Ask me what?

“I was asking him what he thought of the wine cellar they have over at Luco’s.”

Ah! “Pretty good. We had a nice Chardonnay last night. They have a nice collection of reds, too.”

“We’re having dinner there tonight; I’ll have to try it,” Cindy smiled.

“Try their salmon too. It was delicious,” Tom supplied.

“Oh no darlin’, Bob won’t touch fish. He’ll have a steak.”

“Ah, I’m making Philly Cheesesteak for lunch. He already disapproved of my choice of wine,” Tom chuckled, rolling his eyes.

Roll those all you want; drink good wine or go home.

“Let the men make those choices, hon, haha. Mitch! It was about time you got yourself one that can cook,” Cindy remarked, winking at me. “Alright you gentlemen, I’m afraid we’re on somewhat of a schedule, but it was very nice meeting you, Tom.” As she passed me by, she whispered, “he’s insanely yummy. Good choice!”

I stared after them and then glared at Tom, who was snickering it up somewhat rather satisfied.

“They think that…”

“Oh yeah,” he continued to laugh, craning his neck after them, “they do think that. Well, she does. He will in a minute, when she informs him. Oh! Oh…there we go. He’s informed!”

“So; it’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Why is what wrong?”

“I meant that it’s not true. That their idea about us is not correct.”

Tom shrugged at that and frowned, checking his baskets.

“I don’t mind. Why do you care what they think? Hey! Where’s my wine?”

“Well, I do mind. Your wine is back where it came from. I told you; we’ll visit another store for that.”

He rolled his eyes again, exasperated. I didn’t care. No. Supermarket. Wine. That will not get on my receipt! Bah!

“Oh please. So she thinks you have a new, yummy boyfriend. Yes, I heard that. So? Let her think you pulled this,” he indicated himself with dramatic flair, “hot young bod, just asking to be boinked. So what if she assumes we’re having lots of outrageous monkeysex. She probably can’t remember the last time she had an orgasm. If she ever did.”

No, body, don’t go there. Do. Not. Go. There.

“You don’t understand. That woman? She has another name. Sherman Oaks Chronicle. She’s a walking newspaper. An hour from now, she’ll have contacted all in her little witch coven, and I’ll be the talk of the community within an hour after that.”

He guffawed.

“Witch coven. That’s funny.”

“Laugh all you want; you don’t have to face an entire congregation tomorrow that thinks I’m having an intimate relationship with a boy.”

He raised his eyebrow, amused.

“Now that’s just offensive. Sorry, but a) I’m not a boy, at least not in the way that you’re implying, and you promised to lay off the age digs, and b) a congregation that has issues with same sex relationships, and don’t get me started on boys with priests, yet not with a witch coven in their midst? I’d like to meet that bunch of cuckoos: I got somethin’ to say to em.”

When he put it like that, I had a hard time keeping a straight face and not chuckling after he cracked that joke.

“You are a little jerk, you know that? Did you do that on purpose, insinuating there was more going on?”

“Mhm. It was fun; she gobbled it up like a pig in shit. So, are we about done here? Got everything?” He glanced in the cart, taking an interest in what I’d picked and then started shaking his head, lifting some items. “Nuh-uh. Frozen meals; really? Absolutely not. Put them back.”

“What? No, I like those. Tom!”

Already in the process of taking them out, I followed him with the cart as he carried them back to the freezer.

“These are about as healthy as fast food. Make a fresh meal, don’t eat this crap.” Yanking the freezer door open, he returned them. “And if I have to give up my wine, you have to give up these. You’re home all day. You might as well make yourself useful. C’mon. Fresh produce is thattaway.”

“I can’t cook,” I hissed, trying not to draw too much attention and following him, with a last sad glance at the freezer. I really liked those meals. I can operate a microwave like an expert.

“Can’t lies in a grave; won’t lies right beside it,” he quipped, walking fast with purpose. Once he got to the fresh produce, he selected more stuff than I imagined ever needing. Carrots, peppers, lettuce, fresh herbs, potatoes, tomatoes; within minutes my cart was brimming with color.

Next up was the butcher. He skipped the prepackaged displays.

“Fresh meat. That pre-packaged stuff is full of water, to make it heavier, since they sell it by the ounce,” he explained, “put that in hot oil and you’ll be scraping bacon out of the extractor hood.”
He then began to pelt the employee behind the counter with questions. She clearly detected his knowledge and was actually up for it; she obviously enjoyed being challenged, advising him, correcting him where she felt it was necessary, and convincing him twice. Very helpful woman, that. More bags were added. Like; a lot.

“Pasta. Always good to have in the house, in case of emergencies. C’mon.”

I felt like a whipped husband, chasing his wife through a store but I was also beginning to enjoy it and by the time the pasta was added, I had a grin on my face; I really enjoyed this. It was like a game. I added some things that he totally didn’t notice; cheese sticks, a bag of candy. Okay, he did notice them; he picked up the cheese sticks but let them drop back in the cart. I didn’t get to keep the candy; it disappeared somewhere when I wasn’t looking.

“All this stuff will go to waste, you know,” I chuckled as we arrived at the checkout. The cart was almost overflowing now.

“Trust me; it won’t. I’ll show you.”

Frowning, I wondered how he would do that. There was a lot of stuff. We wouldn’t need most of it for the Philly steaks.

“Alright, looks like we got everything.” He examined the cart then exclaimed, “Oh! Condoms! Extra small, right?”

Next to us a couple stood, waiting in line and the woman gasped audibly; I sent a glare Tom’s way. He’d done that on purpose! Reaching over, he patted my hand.

“We’ll work with what we got; I can cut the pinky off one of those garden gloves you use. Okay, let’s go!”

Jackass!