Between the Shadow and the Soul - 6. Mothers and Intuitions Part 2

July 18, 2016

After coming home from the gym, Kyle headed to his house while I went upstairs to change clothes.

"I don't know if I can do this," I mumbled as I slipped on a pair of cargo shorts and a wife beater.

As I pulled on ankle socks and pushed my feet into a pair of sneakers, I huffed, shook my head, snorted derisively, sighed, and pretty much grew increasingly agitated.

I should never have agreed to this gym thing. This isn't good for me. I can't deal with him, what he makes me think, what he reminds me of.

He's just a friend. I'm just helping a friend.

"It's not that simple!" I snapped at my empty bedroom.

Just. Calm. Down.

After taking a few deep breaths to steady my nerves, I roamed downstairs to the kitchen to find sustenance. The thought of food sating my post-workout hunger pangs helped redirect my thoughts.

Only, as I stared into a refrigerator full of edibles, I realized I had no interest in cooking. I was too phrenetic to slave over a stove. Or even a microwave.

So I squared my shoulders and marched out to the garage like a conquering general. Nothing would stand in my way until I found someone who'd surrender a meal to me.

"Yo, dude, where you off to?" Nate asked. He stood beside the open driver's door of his car, pulling his gym bag out and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Must have food," I grunted.

"Did you eat everything in the house?"

"Don't be a cheeky ass. I don't feel like cooking."

"Awesome. Neither do I. You're driving."

As he tossed his bag through the kitchen door before shutting it, I stared at him as though he'd just farted in church.

"Um, not to be rude or anything but, like, don't you want to take a shower? If not for yourself, consider the children."

He shot the finger as he opened the passenger door of my car.

"Indeed," I scoffed. "Vulgarity is the recourse of a weak mind, you fucker."

"For your information," he declared with much formality while giving me the middle finger again, "I worked out this morning then showered. I spent the rest of the day in the office doing paperwork and paying bills. So there." And he stuck out his tongue at me.

"How mature," I grumbled.

"You're in a cranky mood, G-Man."

"No I'm not!"

"Um, yeah, dude, you are. Bad day, bad workout, bad something else?"

I huffed. Then I sighed.

Staring at each other over the top of the car, I saw the light of realization dawn in my best friend's eyes.

Before he could say anything, he turned and looked out the open garage door, his gaze slowly tracking toward me. I glanced over my shoulder. Seeing no one, I spun around to find Kyle standing right behind me.

"Hey." He gave me a nod.

"Did you forget something in my car?" I didn't remember seeing anything left behind when we arrived, but I might have missed something small, perhaps a water bottle or phone that slipped under the seat.

"No," he said as he shook his head. "Just came over to hang out."

"Cool," Nate interjected. "We're going out for some grub. Care to tag along?"

I shot my best friend an accusatory look.

Immersion therapy, my ass. This is more like drowning!

Using all the silent communication skills we'd mastered over two decades, I made clear that I didn't think Kyle should go with us.

"Yeah, I'd love to," Basketball Boy answered with enthusiasm.

Nate gave me an innocent shrug that aborted whatever debate I'd been ready to birth.

As they both climbed into the car, our neighbor kid asked, "Where're we going?" He'd already pulled his phone out to let his mother know.

Shaking my head with resignation as I bit back a frustrated sigh, I grunted, "Doesn't matter. Must have food."

* * * * *

"Ever been here?" Nate asked Kyle as we parked in front of our favorite burger joint.

"Fat Daddy's? Sure, I've been here."

"Great little mom-and-pop place," I said.

Resigned to my fate, I'd decided to go along to get along, at least for the time it took to feed the starving beast in my gut. After that, all bets were off.

"You just like it because it's in the same shopping center as the gym and Starbucks. You could live on this block and die a happy queen."

"Asshole," I mumbled to Nate as I walked by him.

Though it somehow attracted more than its share of bikers, the restaurant catered to all and frequently was filled with an eclectic clientèle. It wasn't unusual to see families, friends, college kids and high school kids, bikers, and couples dining together, chatting like old friends, filling the space with an impressive mix of humanity.

It had a relaxed atmosphere, great food, a good selection of beers, and the owners were really awesome and made a point of talking to people, often remembering more than just the names of the regulars.

Sitting in a corner booth against the windows, Kyle on one side by himself and Nate and I together on the other side, we shared large orders of onion rings and fries while we each enjoyed a big, fat, juicy burger made to our individual tastes.

After washing down a bite of food with a swig of beer, Nate looked at Basketball Boy and said, "I take it the gym's working out for you."

"Yeah, man. Greg's awesome with teaching me stuff and spotting me. I just don't think I do very much spotting with him because he uses more weight than I can handle."

"It's all good," I told him. "You don't have to be able to lift it on your own so much as help me lift it if there's a problem. Trust me, Kyle, if I ever run into trouble, you'll be able to help me out of it."

"I didn't think of it that way," he said with a nod.

About then I noticed a guy walking in the door on the other side of the restaurant. He was delicious. Maybe twenty-five or maybe a college kid, his looks made it difficult to figure out his age. He was very defined and very tan and very Nordic.

When he caught my gaze, he smiled casually before ducking his head. Then he continued on, weaving through customers and employees before walking behind the counter, quickly disappearing into the kitchen.

He's really easy on the eyes. I wonder if he's a new employee.

But you know how these things work out. No sense even trying.

I wonder if he'd consider a little no-strings fun.

Maybe he wants more. Or maybe he's straight.

My best friend's leg whacked mine about the same time I realized I'd meandered off into my own thoughts.

"Saw him, huh?" Nate asked just above a whisper.

"Hard to miss."

"You said hard." Then he chuckled.

So did I, at least long enough to remember we weren't the only ones sitting at the table. My eyes snapped to Kyle's. And they were unreadable.

Did he not hear us? Or did he not understand what we were talking about?

But he's completely focused on us. Just chewing. And watching.

But is he listening?

As smart as he was, I often wondered if he was a little dense in that conversational way that allowed innuendos and the like to slip by him, or if he intentionally didn't react to them. If that was the case, I had to wonder why, and I also had to admire the intelligence and skill it took to act clueless at such strategic times.

Maybe it's tactical instead of strategic.

But that would depend on why he does it. And whether or not it's intentional.

Does it really matter? Is he going to be around long enough for this to be relevant?

What is it with these internal conversations lately?

To divert my attention yet again, I flagged down the waitress so Nate and I could order another beer each.

"So, Kyle," my best friend began, "you live with your mom and your step-dad. Where's your father? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"No, I don't mind you asking." And with that he gave Nate his patented blank look.

We stared at him for a second or two wondering if he intended to answer. Finally, though, we both got it at the same time and started laughing. Kyle joined us with a twinkle in his eyes and a huge smile on his face.

My laughter faded and I continued staring. And staring.

He met my gaze directly and threw me a nice little grin that looked a tad too purposeful. My face scrunched up with confusion.

There are time like this when I really like this kid and enjoy being around him, like we're great friends. But there are times when he makes me so uncomfortable and angry. More and more lately it's the latter rather than the former. I don't get it.

"Crafty punk," Nate called him with a chuckle..

With a giddy laugh Kyle told us, "Honestly it's not a big secret or anything. My mom comes from money and my dad was an employee for my grandpa. Mom says they fell in love, but when she turned up pregnant my dad disappeared."

"I'm sorry," I offered.

"It's no big deal. Really. Mom thinks her dad had something to do with it. He never thought my dad was good enough for her. Getting pregnant maybe pushed him over the edge."

"Or he might have just had cold feet and left," Nate said, though it was both a statement and a question.

"Yeah, Mom and I have wondered about that. Since he was gone the day after she found out and she never saw him again, we don't know."

"Gerald seems like a good guy."

Looking at me again he explained, "He is. He and Mom met about a year after I was born. They fell in love, eventually got married, my sister came next, and here we are."

Offering him a sympathetic look Nate asked, "Do you and your step-dad have a good relationship?"

"Oh yeah. Mom says he loved me like his own son the moment he met me. He even adopted me. But I kept my mom's name."

Nate and I both nodded with understanding.

"That's good to hear," I observed. "I'm glad he's never seen you as somebody else's. That would suck."

Kyle nodded in agreement. Then he looked at Nate and observed—right choice of words, that, for increasingly I had the impression that the boy definitely observed things—"You never talk about your parents."

My best friend nearly choked on his onion ring. Giving him a few pats on the back to help him clear the obstruction, I bit my tongue and wondered how he'd respond.

After taking a long pull of his beer, Nate cleared his throat and told Basketball Boy, "My mother died when I was very young. It was an undiagnosed aneurysm. Very sudden."

"I'm sorry," Kyle immediately said.

"It's okay. I don't remember her. I was only about a year old. Greg and I met when we were ten and his mom sort of adopted me, so she's been my mother ever since."

And that's where he stopped.

When the kid's mouth opened, undoubtedly to ask about Nate's dad, my best friend preempted the question by adding, "I won't talk about my father. Maybe when we know each other better."

I was unaware of his leg banging mine. Repeatedly. And not softly.

Kyle smartly responded with "Okay" before pushing the last bite of burger into his mouth.

Finally realizing he needed to intervene directly, Nate wiped his hands on his napkin, then he reached beneath the table and grabbed my hand. It had found its way to the phoenix tattoo, rubbing it absentmindedly, worrying what the tattoo covered.

My whole body jerked at the contact. He released me as quickly as he'd arrested the movement. I used that hand to grab my fresh beer, then I guzzled it. All of it.

Kyle watched with an inscrutable expression on his face.

Leaning his head against mine Nate whispered, "You're shaking, G-Man."

I was. Noticeably. My whole body trembled as if with a chill. The empty beer bottle rattled against the tabletop as I put it down.

"Are you okay?" Kyle asked, concern painting his features.

Closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths, I tried to find some calming thoughts.

Puppies. Kittens. Ponies. That time Nate sucked face with a pretty girl at the club then strutted around like a peacock until I told him he'd just swapped spit with a drag queen.

No matter my efforts, calm eluded me. Every thought fizzled and every spark failed to ignite. Instead, everything that came to mind dragged me back to that black hole in my head, that blind spot used to hide—

"Is this your brother?"

I jerked bodily and my eyes snapped open. Both Nate and Kyle were looking at the person standing beside our table.

"No, this is our friend, Kyle," Nate answered.

Turning my head, my eyes came to rest on Denise, one of the owners of this fine establishment. Somewhere in the vicinity of fifty years old, she was slightly overweight but not obese, maybe a little over five feet tall, beautiful red hair bobbed short and full of bounce, her brown eyes always sparkling with mischief and merriment.

She placed her hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "He looks like a smaller version of you, Greg."

"I suppose," I croaked, my voice weak and tremulous. Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, I gathered my wits about me as best I could.

I'm having a mental breakdown. And it's all his fault.

"He must remind you of yourself at that age. I bet it's like living in the past."

Kyle's fault or The Fiend's?

Both! Either! I don't know!

Nate's hand grabbed my thigh and squeezed enough to lend support. He knew I was already in a bad place and he knew Denise was unintentionally making it worse.

But it was Kyle who jumped in and changed topics. "I've been in here a few times before."

"Oh, right. I think I remember..." Denise nodded her head as she gazed out the windows. Then her face lit up. "With your parents and a sister, right? A younger sister?"

Smiling, Kyle nodded. "Yeah. MJ, my little sister."

"I just needed a minute to remember." Giving each of us a sly smirk she added, "I'm not as young as I used to be, so it's getting harder and harder to remember everybody that comes in here."

"I'm impressed you remember as many people as you do," Nate offered.

"I'm not that old!" she declared, though the bright smile she wore and the wink she gave him made clear she caught his meaning.

"Sorry," my best friend chuckled, "I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course you didn't, dear, but I'm always up to no good so I'm always suspecting others of the same."

Everyone chuckled at that.

Feeling slightly better, I glanced at Nate, who gave my leg a final squeeze before releasing me so he could grab his beer. As he sipped, I glanced at Kyle.

That unreadable expression was back on his face as he stared at me. But it wasn't entirely blank this time. There was a hint of concern, perhaps a touch of understanding.

The closer I looked, the more I realized he was showing a good deal of thought.

It's like he's trying to figure me out.

Good luck with that, dude. Nobody's figured me out yet, not even me.

Anything else I hoped to glean from his gaze vanished when he glanced behind me. His eyes narrowed a bit, as if in study. Then just as suddenly he wore that unreadable expression of his, that silent mask that seemed to hide a great many things.

With her hand still on my shoulder, Denise turned slightly to look behind her. In the same direction Basketball Boy was looking.

"Keigan, honey," she said excitedly, giving a come-hither gesture with her other hand, "come over here for a minute. I want you to meet some people."

Promptly a different expression took over Kyle's face. This one seemed knowing. And his eyes immediately jumped to mine.

But my observation of Basketball Boy crumbled beneath the weight of a baritone voice next to me. "Hey, Mom. Who do we have here?"

Nate and I both turned at the same time and looked at the owner of that voice. It was the good looking guy who'd come in the door earlier.

Denise slipped one arm around him as she gestured with the other. "Keigan, this Greg, this is Nate, and this is Kyle. Guys, this is my son, Keigan."

My breathing stuttered for a moment as my cheeks warmed with the hint of a blush. Even still, I turned to face Keigan, feeling like an addled schoolboy for no apparent reason. Meanwhile he smothered the table with an incredible smile that brought out his dimples.

"Hey, Keigan," Nate said, reaching by me to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Nate."

I love his voice! So rich and warm and just deep enough...

Releasing my best friend's hand, he leaned in front of me to shake hands with our neighbor. "Pleasure to meet you, Kyle."

"Same here," he responded. Then his eyes flicked to mine for a moment before returning to Keigan's.

As he stood up and turned fully to me, I held my hand out as I stared into his blue eyes and felt the heat of a deepening blush spread across my cheeks.

"Your parents have a really awesome place here, Keigan," I said, mostly to distract myself, but also to derail the niceties and expedite my exit from this situation. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave the restaurant, even if it meant abandoning Nate and Kyle.

Gripping my hand firmly yet amiably, he shook it as he smiled, dropping his face a bit, nervousness clear in his expression.

"First," Keigan began as he released my hand, "it's really nice to meet you, Greg."

"Nice to meet you too." I sounded as nervous as he looked.

Gotta go. Now.

"Second, thanks for complimenting this place. I'm glad you like it.

"Oh, and third," he continued as his eyes first glanced at his mother, noting the grin she now wore, before returning to mine, his own face taking on a knowing smirk and more confidence, "it's actually my restaurant. My parents like to take care of it as part of their retirement."

Denise interjected with as much false hurt in her voice as she could muster through her growing smile, "Don't let him kid you, boys, it's practically indentured servitude! He's a real task master—"

But her words were overtaken by her giggles. Which prompted the rest of us to laugh as well.

Once he'd caught his breath her son said, "I don't indentured servitude applies here, Mom."

"Enslavement?" she asked.

"Um, no, I don't think so," I answered. "Maybe peonage, though."

Keigan gave me a gracious nod and an appreciative smile. "Thank you, Greg." A blush was spreading across his tanned face even as he added, "I'm glad someone around here speaks proper English."

"Ain't nobody talk English gooder than me!" Denise quipped.

Again everyone laughed.

"Wait!" Nate interrupted. "You two can quibble over semantics later. Right now I want to understand this better." He gave Keigan an inquisitorial look. "We've been coming here for months but we've never seen you before."

"College," Denise enunciated with all the haughtiness she could muster, even pointing her nose in the air to emphasis her point.

But nobody was fooled. Even as she jibed with her son, she pulled him tighter against her side and nestled against him, constantly shooting admiring looks and loving glances in his direction.

"I recently got my MBA at UCLA. I've only just finished the move back to town, found a place, got settled, blah blah blah."

Looking at Denise Kyle inquired, "So you and your husband have been running this place all these years while he's been away at college?"

"Yeah, honey," she answered.

"That's cool."

"All well and good," Nate dismissed as he waved away this part of the conversation, his voice taking on a tone I understood all too well, "but I want to know—"

Don't, Nate!

"—if you've moved back—"

Shut your dirty mouth, Nate!

"—permanently, or are you—"

Fucking hell, he's going there...

"—just stopping in before you're off to someplace else?"

I swung my leg as hard as I could and connected with his fist, which unbeknownst to me he'd placed between us with his knuckles aimed at my thigh. The force of my movement caused a great deal of discomfort for me and a great deal of amusement for him, as his chuckle demonstrated. His gaze never left Keigan's face.

"I'm here for good. Mom and Dad will be getting more time off once I'm back in the swing of things."

"I was wondering—"

I cleared my throat as I leaned to the side enough to bump Nate with my shoulder. He ignored me.

"—if you brought your significant other back with you? From California, I mean."

This time Keigan's eyes snapped to mine before bouncing back to Nate's.

"No significant other at the moment." Then he inhaled deeply before asking, "Are you trying to ask me out? Because I'll be honest with you, Nate, you're a pretty hot guy."

Kyle tried and failed to stifle a laugh, snorting and snickering, eventually covering his mouth as if about to cough.

I looked over my shoulder and gave Nate a death glare, one that told him to shut the fuck up.

Clearly discerning the growing tension at the table, for I certainly felt it, Denise pulled her son down so she could plant a quick peck on his cheek. Then she said, "His father and I are hoping he'll meet someone now that he's back home."

Only after she'd said it did I become aware of her hand once again squeezing my shoulder. When I glanced up at her, her expression was telling me something. Or asking something. Or something.

Before I could evaluate it further, she turned her attention back to Nate as he asked, "Why an MBA to run a burger joint? A fine burger joint, I might add, but still..."

"Eventually I hope to open another restaurant, maybe several more."

"A chain of Fat Daddy's restaurants?" I asked.

"Maybe," he replied with a smile. "Then again, maybe something different."

"Or several somethings different," his mother added.

He has plans. And she knows.

"Hence the MBA."

He smiled and nodded at me. "Yeah. Hence the MBA."

"But you owned this place before you went to college." Basketball Boy's statement communicated the same intrigue and confusion Nate and I felt.

"He sure did," Denise interrupted, "but that's a story for another time. We have work to do and you boys looked just about ready to leave before I walked over here."

"I'm—" My mouth slammed shut with an audible clack of teeth.

I'm what? Going to tell him I'm interested in sitting and listening to anything he's got to say? Going to swoon and giggle and blush at him?

I'm going to leave, that's what. He's easy on the eyes, sure, but these stories never end well.

Still, maybe I'll eat here a little more often just to enjoy the eye candy.

Maybe I need to stop thinking and get going.

I ducked my head, took a deep breath, then looked around the table. All eyes were on me.

"I'm ready to go."

Reaching up and taking Denise's hand in mine, I stood, but when I tried to release her, she gripped my hand tighter, squeezing just enough to get my attention. When I looked at her, she simply smiled before letting me go.

Keigan already had his hand out to me, so I shook it as I told him, "It was a pleasure to meet you. Interesting, too, since it throws all our assumptions about this place out the window."

He chuckled and nodded, then replied, "It was very nice meeting you, too." Leaning in a bit and lowering his voice he added, "Hopefully I'll see you again."

It was my turn to blush and stammer. "I... Uh... Yeah. Okay."

"We eat here pretty regularly," said Nate, his bionic hearing not missing a thing, "so you'll be seeing Greg again."

Once more feeling infuriated at his interference as well as my own topsy-turvy emotions and higgledy-piggledy thoughts, I murmured over my shoulder, "I'll be in the car," then to Denise, "It was nice to see you again."

But when I looked at Keigan, his crystal blue eyes locked on mine, I found myself at a loss for words. I wanted to look at him, talk to him, get to know him.

Instead I pushed the idea of him into that vacuous black hole in my head, knowing full well such things would never amount to anything.

I gave him a nod, mumbled something about it being nice to have met him, then I turned and walked with purpose to the exit and outside to my car.

With the radio pouring quiet music into the car to quench my raging thoughts and the air conditioner blowing cold against my burning skin that didn't know if the heat came from rage or confusion or lust or fear or memories, I stared blankly out the windshield and watched Nate pay the check as he chatted with Denise, her husband Nelson, and Keigan.

Kyle was nowhere to be seen.

Leaning my forehead against the steering wheel, I tried to breath deeply yet slowly, tried to get my racing heart under control, tried to find some measure of calm.

My whole body jerked when Nate opened the door and dropped into the passenger seat.

I didn't look at him. It felt like I'd explode if I did.

"Kyle's in the bathroom. He'll be right out."

I grunted in reply. And I shook my head.

"G-Man—"

"Don't," I snarled through gritted teeth. "Just. Don't."

When I lifted my head and looked into the restaurant, I could see Kyle talking to Keigan and Denise.

That further enraged me, though at myself for my lack of control and my inability to cope with the life that was unfolding around me.

I've come unmoored. I'm losing my way.

"You're not adrift, G-Man," Nate said quietly.

"Then what do you call it?" I nearly yelled.

"Finding a path out of the dark."

I hated him in that moment. For knowing so well what was going on in my head. For understanding so easily everything I thought and felt. For sympathizing and supporting me no matter how out of control I sometimes was. But mostly it was for being right when I wanted him to be wrong.

And for that I loved him more.

When Kyle settled into the backseat and shut the door, Nate gave him a cheerful smile and told him, "Greg's not feeling too well, so how about we not hang out tonight?"

"Sure, man. I understand completely."

When I glanced in the rearview mirror, it wasn't Basketball Boy's blank look that I saw. No, this time it was concern.

And something else.