Love Letters Post #28

Notes:  And here we have 2800 words of apology for not posting last week.  I needed the break though, and the trip went pretty well.  Almost perfect, right up until the part where Gentle Mother Nature turned into Freak Accident Mother Nature.  I’m fine, my dad is mostly fine, but grr.  Anyway, I appreciate your patience, your sweet comments that helped make me feel better about the delay, and most of all the fact that you’re reading now.  We’re getting into the heavy stuff, people. 

Title: Love Letters

 

Part Twenty-Eight: Ballet and Bars

 

***

 

Joey could have spent all afternoon in the paint section in the hardware store.  The place was huge and stocked paint from three major manufacturers, all with their own displays of color swatches, and Joey took samples of each of them.  There were some model kitchens at one end of the store that had tables large enough to lay the swatches out, and the salesperson politely looked the other way while they deposited Joey’s finds on a pale oak dining table and set about recreating the color wheels.

 

Ben didn’t have the eyes for this, really.  It wasn’t that he was colorblind; it was just that after a while, his vision stopped differentiating between Lemon Chiffon and Papaya Whip.  Joey and Ryan didn’t have that problem, and so Ben was delegated to documenting their expanding organization, which was fine.  Ryan made a bright spiral of color out of the Valspar swatches, which Joey helped arrange and took a picture of when done, before they moved on to Sherwin-Williams.  They had just enough time to finish with the Benjamin Moore colors before it was time to go and pick up Molly at the pool.

The car was mostly quiet, Joey focusing on blending the different manufacturers’ swatches together now that they’d been assessed individually in hopes of finding authoritative names, and Ben too conscious of interrupting the boy’s reverie to want to break the silence.  It wasn’t far to the pool, thankfully, and Molly was waiting for them outside when they got there.

Ben remembered Molly as a slender girl, pale and blonde like her mother, but he wasn’t prepared for how waiflike she seemed now.  Either the black dress at the funeral had hidden a lot, or the kid had lost weight that she hadn’t had to spare in the first place.  She wore a golden yellow sundress (“Citrine,” Ben’s mind provided unhelpfully) that looked at least one size too big, and her wet hair fell in disheveled waves around her face.

“Hey Mols,” Ryan said with a smile as she got into the backseat of the car.  “How was swimming?”

Molly shrugged.  “Okay.  Ballet was better.”  She glanced over at Ben, who, feeling like an idiot, held out his hand.

“I’m Ben DeWitt, I don’t know if you remember me,” he began, but Molly immediately interrupted.

“You’re dad’s friend.”  She shook his hand with her own cool, clammy one.  “You came to his funeral.”

“Right.”

“Buckle up,” Ryan reminded her as he pulled away from the Y.  Molly did, and as soon as her hands were free again Joey reached over and, without looking, grabbed ahold of her closest wrist.  She didn’t grab him back or pull away, she didn’t even twitch, just let him hold onto her like it was completely normal.  Maybe it was, for all Ben knew.

“Why was ballet so good?” Ryan asked, slowing for a stop sign.

Molly smiled, and that was where Ben really saw the resemblance to Brody and Ryan.  “Miss Karinovsky thinks I’m ready for pointe.  She’s letting me into the advanced classes.”

“That’s awesome!” Ryan turned quick and grinned at her.  “Congratulations, that’s amazing.  You’ll be so good, I know it.”

Molly blushed a little.  “Thanks.” 

Ryan’s cell phone went off in his pocket a second later, and he frowned.  “Shoot, can you grab that for me, Ben?  It’s probably Jasmine calling to harangue me, I still owe her three paintings.”

Ben delved into Ryan’s pocket, resolutely keeping his hands away from anything that could remotely be considered flirting at this point, no matter how much he wanted to, and pulled the phone out.  The screen read Tom Bower.  “It’s not Jasmine.”  The phone still rang insistently.

“Answer it anyway.”

Ben did.  “Ryan Kuzniar’s phone.”

“And where is Ryan Kuzniar?” the voice on the other side demanded. 

“He’s with me.  Who is this?”

“This is Officer Bower at Onemor Bar.  Tell Ryan I’ve got Brody’s wife here, and I need him to come and pick her up.  She’s in no condition to drive and the owner’s already complained of her disorderly behavior.”

“Oh,” Ben said, his stomach tightening.  He could feel Ryan and Molly’s attention focus in on him.  “We’ll be right there.”

“Good.”  The officer ended the call and Ryan immediately said, “What?”

“That was Officer Bower,” Ben began, and Ryan grimaced.

“Oh god.  Where’s Cheryl?” he asked.  Ben heard Molly’s breath catch in the backseat.

“Onemor Bar.  Do you know where that it?”

“It’s the same place I picked her up last time,” Ryan said.  “Is he in a hurry, or can we drop the kids off first?”

Very conscious of his audience, Ben said, “I think the quicker the better.”

Ryan’s mouth tightened a bit.  “Right.”  He did a U-turn at the next light and headed back downtown.  By the time they got to the bar, Cheryl was outside, leaning against the hood of a cop car as a man Ben assumed was Officer Bower stood speaking in front of her, his posture intent.  Cheryl wouldn’t look him in the eyes, and when she saw Ryan’s car pull in she pushed unsteadily to her feet and headed their way.

Cheryl had changed just like her daughter had, losing too much weight.  Her hair, so carefully coiffed the last time Ben had been through, was pulled back in a messy ponytail.  Her pale eyes looked stark above the dark smudges beneath them, and she was wearing too-big sweatpants and a t-shirt than had seen better days, none of the beautiful clothes that Ben remembered from the few family photos Brody had sent along.  Her left arm was bound in a sling, held close to her body.

“Fiii-nally,” she called out, stumbling a little as she made her way over to the car.  Officer Bower followed close behind, his expression sternly disapproving.  He was an older man, with short grey hair and a slight potbelly, and he had clearly reached his bullshit limit for the afternoon.  “What took you so long?”

“I had to get Molly from swim practice,” Ryan said tightly as he stepped forward.  Ben got out of the car as well, on reflex, and so did Molly.  Joey stayed inside, but didn’t let go of his sister’s wrist, holding onto her as she stood by the back door.

“Molly had…”  Cheryl looked blearily at her daughter.  “You had swimming today?  I thought you were doing…it’s ballet, right hon?  Didn’t I drop you at the studio?”

“Swimming was after, Mom,” Molly said quietly.  “I walked there from ballet.”

“Oh.”  Cheryl looked at her daughter with blank incomprehension before switching to Ryan, and a moment later, to Ben.  The blank look dropped away and was replaced with first shock, then anger.  “Oh, hell no.  I am not getting in a car with that man, I will drive myself home.”

“You aren’t driving anywhere, Mrs. Kuzniar,” Officer Bower told her.

“Stop being so damn formal, Tom, you’ve known me for years,” Cheryl said, rounding on him.  “A few cups of…just, I need some coffee, and I’ll be fine.”

“Mrs. Kuzniar, if you start your car up again I will arrest you for drunk driving and reckless endangerment no matter how many cups of coffee you’ve had.”

“Tom,” Cheryl coaxed, “c’mon now, you wouldn’t arrest me.  You were Brody’s partner for two years, you wouldn’t arrest his wife!”

“I was his partner, true, and I knew him well enough to know that your husband would’ve happily kicked my ass if I let you drive in your state,” Officer Bower said flatly.

“Well, I’m not riding with that man,” Cheryl insisted, glaring at Ben again.  “I’m not!”

Officer Bower glanced at Ben.  “What’s the problem with that man?  Looks like a normal enough person to me.”

“No, he’s not!” Cheryl insisted.  She leaned in and tried to whisper, but being drunk it came out loud anyway.  “He’s Brody’s gay friend.  He’s been trying to steal my husband for years.  Takin’ his attention away from his family, where it belonged…it’s just not right.”

Ben felt blood rise in his face, a mix of anger and embarrassment.  He looked for a cue from Ryan but Ryan just stood there, resolutely silent. 

“Well, there’s no need to fear for that now,” Officer Bower said, his voice gone gentle now.  “Get in the car, Cheryl.  Go home.”

“But I don’t want to ride with him!”

“I could drive her car back,” Ben offered, more than willing to keep his distance from Cheryl.

“No!”  She rounded on him suddenly, almost falling over.  “I won’t have you drivin’ my car!  It’s a…no, Brody bought that car for me, and I don’t want you in it.”

“Then you’re left riding with us,” Ryan finally spoke up, sounding almost as tense as he looked.  “So get in, please.”

“Go on, now.”  Officer Bower took Cheryl’s good arm and led her closer to the car.

“God, why’re y’all so mean to me?” she exclaimed.  “I don’t deserve this!”

“Get in the car, go home and sober up,” Officer Bower said. 

“I’m not going home,” Cheryl pouted.  “I’m going to Brody’s mother’s house, that’s not my home.  God, the way she looks at me you’d think I’d killed her son myself.  Everyone there hates me.”

“That’s not true, Mom,” Molly said, scooting into the middle seat of the car to make room.  Officer Bower kept one arm and Ryan took the other, and they helped Cheryl down into the backseat.  Molly leaned into her mother comfortingly as she helped get her seatbelt on.  “I love you.”

“’Course you do, you’re my good girl,” Cheryl said, then looked past her daughter at her son.  “Joey?  Aren’t you going to say hello to your mama?”

“Hello,” Joey said, not taking his eyes off the swatches.

“That was terrible.  Give me a kiss, I want a kiss.”

“No.”

Officer Bower shut the door and sighed.  “Ryan, I’m telling you this as a friend.  Cheryl needs help.  Rehab, therapy, counseling…I don’t know, don’t care, but it’s gotta be something and it’s gotta be soon or she’s going to kill herself or someone else.  Those kids need their mama, and she needs to be there for them.”

“We’re working on it,” Ryan told him.  “Once her arm is healed up.  Mom has a list of grief counselors and addiction specialists and programs for her to consider.”

“Do what you can,” the man advised.  “There’s only so much leeway the force can give Cheryl before the chief’s goodwill runs out.”

“I know.  Thank you, sir.”

“You boys have a good evening.”

When they got back in the car, Cheryl was haranguing Molly. “Why does he hold onto you?” she demanded.  “He always holds onto you.  I’m his mother, he should hold onto me.”

“Mom…”

“Switch seats with me, I want to sit next to Joey.”

“Mom, the car’s already moving.”  Ryan had wasted no time getting them going.  Cheryl’s mouth twisted with melancholy and she looked away from her children.

“There’s always something,” she muttered.  “Always something to keep me at arm’s distance.  You were always, both of you…you were always your daddy’s children.  Always went to him first, you always liked him best.”

Molly looked like she was on the verge of tears.  “That’s not true, Mom.”

“I know it’s true,” Cheryl said hollowly.  “I come second with everyone.  I came second with you when your daddy was here, and now I’m second again.  Or hell, third, I don’t know.  I was third with your daddy too, now I think on it.  You kids, then his friends, then me.  His friends.  Friends.  Like they could give him something I couldn’t.”  She seemed to have forgotten Ben was in the car.  “He read those letters first, before everything else.  Not the paper, no time for the TV, nothing.  He read that…that damn book…twice, kept it on the bedside table.  I wanted to burn it.  Can’t believe that little shit signed it for him.  Had to make it special, so Brody would hold it close.  And Brody knew what that did to me, and he didn’t even care.  No one cares.”

“Momma…”  Molly was crying now, her face turned into her mother’s shoulder, but Cheryl didn’t notice.  She just stared out the window, drifting through her stupor.  Ben shared a worried glance with Ryan, who drove a little faster than strictly legal to get them back as soon as possible.

By the time they got to the house Cheryl was asleep, snoring with her face mashed against the glass of the window.  Ryan parked the car behind the chain of others that had appeared during their absence, then went around to the door where Joey sat silent and opened it up.  “Let’s go in, guys,” he said gently. 

“But Mom,” Molly protested with a sniffle.

“I’ll come and get her in a minute.  Ben can stay in the car with her until I come back out.”  The look Ryan gave Ben was pleading, but it wasn’t something Ben even had to think about.

“Of course I will,” he said.  Molly looked slightly appeased, and Joey got out of the car without comment, his hand still firmly attached to his sister’s wrist.  Molly immediately turned to Ryan for a hug once she exited the car, and after a moment Ryan turned and led them inside. 

What the fuck am I doing here? Ben asked himself once Ryan was out of sight.  He felt so out of his depth he couldn’t even see the surface anymore.  The kids, okay, he’d been doing all right with that, but for all his private nature Ben wasn’t the type of person who was content to sit back and take abuse.  A large part of him had wanted to lash out at Cheryl for being a complete and utter bitch to him, and it had taken Ryan’s pained expression and Molly’s obvious discomfort to keep him from doing that.  Ben didn’t mind being teased, he could handle professional ridicule and he didn’t even care about being ignored, but a deliberate attack wasn’t the sort of thing he was inclined to let slide. 

But Cheryl was drunk and in pain, and she had good kids and Ryan needed his support, so Ben didn’t say anything.  He just stared straight ahead, staring at the trees and the grass and ignoring the other occupant of the car right up until the moment when she suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

“Why didn’t he love me best?” Cheryl demanded, her grip uncomfortably tight.  “He was so careful with your damn book…what makes you better than me?”

“Nothing,” Ben told her, and he meant it honestly.  “He didn’t think I was any better.  He did love you best, hang on a sec.”  Ben took out his phone and searched his inbox for the text.  He hadn’t been sure why he’d kept it, beyond the fact that it was a keepsake from Brody, until right now.  Ben found the one he wanted and showed it to her.  “Look.”

It’s our 12^th anniversary in a month. Google says I have to give her something silk.  I’m thinking lingerie. She looks fucking amazing in lingerie. Does lingerie do anything for you? Is there some manly equivalent?

The conversation had devolved from there into a discussion of jockstraps, but this was the important part.  Ben watched Cheryl work it out in her bleary head, and he was completely unprepared for the tears that filled her eyes once she was through.

“He gave me Victoria’s Secret,” she cried, her face blotchy.  “It was in Moroccan Blue, and that’s my favorite color.”

“I can assure you, Brody never sent me lingerie,” Ben told her.  Cheryl looked at him blankly for a moment, then laughed.  Her breath smelled like gin, but the laugh seemed genuine, not bitter.

“God Almighty, I don’t understand you at all,” she said once she’d settled down.

“Good thing you don’t have to.”

“You like Ryan, huh?  Like, really?”

“Yes,” Ben said firmly.

“That’s good,” Cheryl said, letting Ben’s shoulder go and sitting back against her own seat.  “That’s nice.  Brody worried about him.  The kids love him, y’know.”

“I can tell.”

“Poor boy needs someone to love him in this place,” Cheryl continued absently, looking out the window again.  “It’s a hard place to live when they don’t really want you here.  I know it.  No one knows like me.”  She chuckled, and now the bitterness was back.  “They think I ruined Brody.  Think I’m ruinin’ my babies.  But what do they know?”  Cheryl sighed.  “What do any of you know?”

That, Ben thought, was a good question.  He didn’t know what it was like to lose a spouse, but he did know what it was like not to have a real parent.  “Are you ruining your kids?” he asked her, looking straight at Cheryl.  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Shut up,” she whispered.

Ben shut up.

So, um, Love Letters? Hello?

It's not written yet.  I'm sorry, I knew this week would be hellishly busy, but I only needed a few hours.  I haven't had a few hours, not unless you count the time when I'm sleeping.

I got my mother from the airport Saturday, and she promptly decided to throw not one, but two parties, complete with ludicrous amounts of alcohol, so things have been hectic at home.  I took tomorrow off, in order to go and get my dad from the airport at  seven am (why? my god, why these awful early flights?) and then they have Plans, capital P, that involve me being available.  I see my folks once a year, they're visiting from Germany, I need to be available.  

I'm going to try to find the time to write a shorter update tomorrow, or will give you a long and incredibly fulsome one later in the week, I promise.  I would try to stay up late and finish it tonight, but I'm feeling at the end of my rope.  I feel frayed, my man is on edge, there's brittle merriment and lots of wine and genuine love and affection, but it's all tangled in with a morass of duty and expectation that makes me step very lightly.

So, there it is.  I'm sorry for the delay, I truly am, I'll try to get something done Tuesday afternoon and posted, and if I can't I'll write through my lunches at work, because apart from that I have no time.  No.  Time.


PS-Aw, thanks for the comments so far, you make me feel better:)  As does my mom's amazing cooking, so.  Guess I just needed some lovin', as she'd say. 

The Last Episode of Cambion Is Out!!! and other updates.

It's here!

*shrieks with satisfaction*

My first serial novel is finally finished, and the sixth and final episode, Find Me, is being released today.  You can find it here:  http://www.stormmoonpress.com/books/Cambion-Season-1-Dark-Around-the-Edges.aspx.

This is the one that season pass holders will be really happy about, because it includes an extra short story featuring Devon's dads and an extra drawing courtesy of Nathie, my cover artist.  And the drawing is absolute x-rated sexiness, so lots to enjoy there.

The entire season turned out to be a novel of 90k words, two additional stories and the extra artwork.  The fully compiled novel (no clicking from episode to episode) is also available for season pass holders.  It'll be released in December for everyone else.

Hopefully the sales on this will pick up now that the season is complete, because I've got a sequel in the planning stages for next year.  That being said, I'd probably write the sequel even if I didn't make any money, because I hate leaving a story unfinished.  Not that this one isn't finished, exactly, but...well, just read it.  You'll get it.  :)


Now, onto Real Life Stuff!  My folks are arriving tomorrow and will be staying for a week. I will do my absolute best to make sure Love Letters is out on time, but my mother is like a tornado: powerful and impressive, but occasionally highly destructive.  I love her to tears but it's very possible I will be brought to tears by her visit, or at least made to run around frantically for a while, so I can't guarantee anything.

So, happy weekend, darlins, and if all goes well I'll be with you again on Tuesday.

Love Letters Post #27

Notes:  Wow, so, it’s going to take me a few long posts to get through Maydays, I had to stop this one at 2500 words in order to get to work on time.  There’s just a lot of ground to cover.  I hope you guys enjoy the journey.  A lot of this stuff is based on interactions with my very own family (and I’m not dissing southerners, I love the south, I just happen to have some disturbed relatives down there—I can’t even go into it, you’ll think I’m exaggerating when I’m not), so.  Anyway!  The start of Maydays.

Title: Love Letters

 

Part Twenty-Seven: An Auspicious Beginning

 

***

 

 

 

By the time Ben got to Concord on Friday night, it was already too late for him to go anywhere but his hotel.  Because Maydays corresponded with the long Memorial Day weekend, most of the guests would be randomly arriving on Saturday.  The giant birthday party was set for Sunday, and then a lot of people planned to stick around for a Memorial Day barbeque on Monday.  It would be, in a word, hectic, and Ben wasn’t sad that he got an evening to himself before the plunge.  He didn’t have a long commute this time, his hotel room was fifteen minutes away from the Kuzniar’s enormous house, and he’d already promised Ryan he’d get there relatively early in the morning to help distract Brody’s kids.

Which, ha.  Ben had no idea what that was going to amount to, but he was determined not to be as insular around Ryan’s family as he’d been around his friends.  He could do this, he could be supportive and friendly and present, and surely he could do it without losing his mind.

Oh really, said mind taunted Ben as he lay on top of the hotel’s slick comforter, absently flicking through the TV channels.  Because you’ve got so much experience hanging out with kids, right?  Sure, this’ll be a frickin’ breeze.  Keep thinking that.

“Shut up,” Ben muttered, staring blankly at a baseball game for a few moments before he turned the TV off.  He’d be okay.  Kids had to be easier than adults in a lot of regards.  Heather’s advice on the subject had been short and to the point: “Do what they want to as long as it doesn’t involve bodily harm or getting away with murder and you’re good to go.  You’re just there for the weekend, you don’t have to worry about discipline.  You get to be one of the fun adults.”

Ben wasn’t sure he’d ever been a fun adult before, but he’d get the hang of it.  Right.  Of course you will.

Ben grabbed the book he’d brought with him, for once not one he needed for research but pure pleasure instead, a huge volume of Sherlock Holmes tales.  He turned on the bedside lamp and tried to focus on A Study in Scarlet, but his eyes kept jumping to the clock.  Ten-fifteen.  Ten-twenty.  Ten-twenty one.  Shit.

R u sleeping yet?

Oh, thank god his phone went off.  Ben grabbed it up and texted back quickly.  Not even close.

Good. I dont feel guilty thenJ Be glad you have your own room, Im sharing with Joey and I love him but something so small shouldnt snore so loud. Physical impossibility, and yet.

You don’t have your own room?  That was news to Ben.

Mom made mine into a guest room. The house has six bedrooms and well use all of them before weekend is over.

So Ryan was sharing space with his nephew.  No wonder the kid had assumed it was okay to do whatever he wanted to Ryan’s paintings, those were probably crammed in there too.  Speaking of that…

Make any progress on the new paintings?

Not much.  Joey says my colors are wrong.  He gets antsy when I paint in front of him and someone has to watch him.

Why not his mother? Ben wanted to ask, but he didn’t.  It wasn’t his business, or at least only insofar as it made Ben happy or sad it was, and even then…whatever, it was just for a weekend.  He and Ryan signed off a few minutes later, and Ben pressed his face against the pillowcase and hoped sleep would come fast.

                It did.  In retrospect, Ben should have asked for more of a delay.

                He showed up at the Kuzniar house at ten the next morning, parking his rental further down the gravel drive where hopefully it would be out of the way.  The two-story Victorian looked enormous in the bright morning light, glowing white against a backdrop of blue sky and green grass.  It looked like the kind of house that got featured on the cover of magazines, and probably had been.  Stately houses Ben could handle, he lived in one, but this thing could have just time-travelled straight from the late 1800s, it was so well preserved. 

 

 

                There was no one outside.  Ben walked up the steps and used the lionshead brass knocker to rap on the door.  He heard a sudden rush of feet, and the door opened abruptly.  Ben found himself looking down at Joey, whom he’d barely seen during Brody’s funeral but had heard so much about.  The kid looked a lot like his father, except for the solemn expression on his face.  “One,” he said, more to himself than Ben, before letting go of the door and turning away.  Ben stood on the stoop and wondered what the hell had just happened.

                “Joey, you have to invite him in,” a familiar voice said gently before appearing in the door.  Ryan immediately pulled Ben into a hug, much more demure than his last greeting, but his arms were just as tight around Ben’s shoulders.  “It’s so good to see you,” he breathed.

                “You too,” Ben replied, kissing the side of Ryan’s head, which was all his mouth could reach.

                “No, really…it’s…”  Ryan pulled back and shrugged his shoulders.  “Don’t mind me, I’m just kind of tired.”  He finally caught sight of the yellow roses in Ben’s hand.  “Those are nice.”

                “They’re for your mom.”

                “Nice call,” Ryan said appreciatively.  “She loves roses.  Come inside.”  He led Ben into an entryway with a parquet floor and a vaulted ceiling, complete with a crystal chandelier that cast rainbows around the room as it caught the morning light streaming in through the large front windows.  Wow.  Fancy.

                “Should I take my shoes off?”

                “Nah, it’ll be okay,” Ryan assured him.  “Come on, mom’s in the kitchen.  She’s been baking since Wednesday.”  They walked down the hall, took a few turns and ended up in a room that was overwhelmed with the smells of fresh bread, yeast and something roasting in the oven.  DeeDee Kuzniar bustled around the kitchen, far less put together than the last time Ben had seen her but still neat and tidy in a yellow and blue sundress protected by an apron.  (The only cook in the house is my mom.  You can’t try to do something yourself, can’t even try to help.  She knows how she wants things done and that’s that.  This is why I’m shit at cooking anything not out of a box: I never got the chance to learn, not at home, not at college, definitely not in the army.  I think my mom always liked the fact that being a good cook gave her the authority to kick my dad out of the kitchen if she wanted to.  It’s the only place she had that kind of power.)

                She turned to smile at them as they came in, and Ben tried to focus on her instead of on the most telling thing Brody had ever written about her.  “Benjamin!  You’re here!”  She walked over and made “come hither” motions with her hands, and as soon as Ben was within reach she grabbed him and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek.  “Welcome, honey!  I’m so glad you could make it for Maydays.”

                “Thank you, Mrs. Kuzniar.”

                “Oh honey, call me DeeDee,” she told him.  He thrust the bouquet at her like a shield. 

“What beautiful flowers!  Let’s just put them next to the cakes.”  She filled a vase with water and put the roses in it, then set them down on a table with…one, two, three…six cakes on it?  Each one was a little different, some of them on elevated glass cake plates, others covered with saran wrap. 

                “How many birthdays are you guys celebrating?” Ben asked.  He was sure Ryan had mentioned it, but holy shit.

                “Seven, honey!” DeeDee beamed.  “Well, only six are actually in May, but Grace was born on June second and it would be strange not to include her too.  Me, Ryan, Joey, Uncle William, Sissy, Melinda and Grace.  Sissy is my cousin, Melinda is Pam’s oldest and Grace is Bill’s new grandbaby, she’s just turning two!”  DeeDee gently patted one of the smaller cakes.  “This one will be hers, just vanilla with some buttercream frosting I’ll whip up tomorrow morning.  Mine’s the cherry cheesecake in the fridge, Joey’s is chocolate and Ryan’s is pineapple upside down cake!”  DeeDee patted her son on the cheek.  “He always has to be different.”

                “Mom…”

                “I’m just teasing, honey, calm down,” she chided him.  “Shouldn’t you be looking after Joey?  You don’t want him to get into your things again.”  She turned to Ben with a smile.  “He was so upset when his paintings got a little messy, but he didn’t even yell at Joey!  Ryan is so good with kids.  You should have been a teacher, honey,” she added pointedly.  “You could even have been an art teacher, if you had to have that, and you’d be working toward a good pension right now.”

                “Let’s go and see about Joey,” Ryan said before his mother could continue, and turned and walked out of the kitchen.  Ben gave Ryan’s mother a weak smile and followed his lover out.

                “Now there’s no need to be rude about it!” DeeDee called after them.

                Ryan stopped in the foyer and just breathed for a moment before turning to Ben, a fake smile plastered to his face.  “So, that’s probably the best things are going to be this weekend.  My family is kind of opinionated, and they all have to say their piece about everything you’re doing, and it’s going to be especially weird this year because Brody isn’t here.  He was the only one everyone listened to, and the kids are still having a hard time, so…please, just do your best to ignore it.  They’ll probably be all right with you, you’re a guest, but try not to let it upset you, okay?  I really don’t want to rock the boat, not while things are so mixed up with Cheryl and the kids are so fragile.”

                “I’ll do my best,” Ben said, and he meant it.  He wasn’t here to make things harder on Ryan, although he was beginning to wonder how exactly he could do that, if that interaction with his mother could be considered the least offensive one of the entire weekend.

                “Great.”  Ryan leaned in and kissed Ben, a gentle press as tender as it was cautionary, a kiss that said: Don’t let go here, don’t get too excited.  They separated after a moment and Ryan took another deep breath.  “Okay.  Let’s go find Joey.”

                Joey was in the living room—one of them, Ryan informed Ben, the one intended for the kids because the furnishings were second-hand.  He was lying on the floor with a pile of colored pencils spread out before him, meticulously shading a giant color wheel.  He was doing all the intermediate grades of color, too; he colored in a thin line of green, then a line of blue on top of it, followed by grey.  “Hey, Joey.”

                The kid didn’t look up.  “Hi.”  Ryan knelt down next to him.

                “Can you look at me for a moment?”  Joey looked up.  Ryan pointed at Ben.  “That’s Ben DeWitt, he’s a friend of mine.  He’ll be visiting us for Maydays.”

                Joey looked at Ben.  “Are you an artist too?”

                “No, I’m a writer,” Ben told him.  Joey immediately went back to work on his color wheel.

                “That means he’s really good with words,” Ryan said.  “I bet he could help you find the names of a lot of these colors.”

                Now Joey looked interested.  “Really?”

                Ben knew a cue when he was fed one.  He sat down on the couch near where Joey was lying.  “I can try.”

                “Okay.  What’s it called when you mix these three colors?”  Joey held up the light green, dark blue and grey.

                “I don’t know for sure.  It looks like a lichen or moss to me.”

                Joey scowled, a strangely adult expression on such a young face.  “No, there has to be a specific name for it.  The right name.” 

                Ryan looked ready to intervene, but Ben could handle this.  He remembered reading dictionaries as a kid, and marveling at the idea of synonyms.  Multiple words that meant the same thing?  Crazy. 

Ben pulled out his smart phone.  “Here, we can look it up.”  He put in color wheel with names and came up with— “Whoa.”

                “It gives you too many options,” Joey groused, looking down at his own color wheel with dissatisfaction.  “There should only be one name for every color.”

                “Some sources agree, though,” Ben pointed out.  “These two both call that color,” he checked the screen, “Cambridge blue.  Huh.  It’s one of the oldest names for that particular shade, so it’s probably fairly authoritative.”

                Joey looked at the screen, then back at his color.  “It’s not quite right.”

                “We can keep looking.”  Eventually they decided on cadet blue for the color, and by then Joey had abandoned his own color wheel in favor of pulling out his own computer and starting a spreadsheet to categorize the various names they found for each different color.

                It was a slightly strange but not unpleasant way to spend the morning.  It was really just research, and Ben was good with detailed, exhaustive research.  Ryan sat next to him on the couch and worked feverishly in a sketchbook, and the only interruptions came when on the couple of occasions the doorbell rang.  Joey dropped everything he was doing and ran for the door, and the second time he did Ben asked Ryan about it.

                “He has to be the one to get the door.  Joey likes to count the number of people in the house.”  That explained the “one” when Ben had arrived.  “It’s one of the things his therapist is working on with him.  He used to do it at school, too; he’d shout at kids who came into the classroom without giving him a chance to count them.  He’s gotten a lot better about it.”

                “He seems pretty good to me,” Ben offered.

                “He’s having a good day.  There haven’t been a lot of disruptions yet; Joey likes to have a routine.  It’ll get a little harder this afternoon when the rest of the family starts to arrive.”

                “We could take him out,” Ben said.  “Maybe go to a hardware store and get color swatches that he can use for comparisons.”

                Ryan looked a little taken aback.  “You don’t mind?”

                “This is the sort of thing I like,” Ben said, completely truthful.  He could think of far worse ways to spend his time than with a generally quiet, orderly kid and Ryan.

                “Sure, that would be great.  We can get Molly too while we’re out, she’s got swim lessons after ballet so she won’t be ready until around three.”

                “Sounds like a plan.”

               

 

***I know, this is a terrible place to stop writing, we're not even through Saturday, I'm sorry!  I had to go to work.  I'll try to post again later this week, especially since next week will be hellacious.***

A Post Entirely Made of Recs

This is my happy Sunday karma post, darlins, my pay-it-forward post.  This is a post of recs for LHNB free stories I've been reading, and I think it pretty much covers the ones I've loved the most.  Why am I reccing just LHNB stories?  Because they're free, basically, and the links I'm providing here lead to their Goodreads pages which have downloads for most of them.  If you're interested, you can get them.

If you're reading as well and agree with some of my choices, or disagree, feel free to let me know.  I haven't read every single story posted for this event (including Kaje Harper's enormous novel Nor Iron Bars A Cage, which is very highly reviewed and I've been meaning to get to) but I have read a lot of them, and here's what's stuck so far.

A.S.H.E.R. by Kallysten, which is a lovely sci fi story involving a realistic robot.  It's fun, fairly light, pretty quick and definitely enjoyable.

Winter Winds by Missouri Dalton, which features a deaf vampire.  I'm not generally a fan of vampires, but she makes this story different enough to be really interesting.

Prisoner 374215 by Angel Martinez, a darker sci fi story that has non-graphic torture, a great but subtle back story and is just generally awesome.  I loved this one.

An Adventure In Beginnings by Alex Whitehall, a slice of life kind of fic with older men as the main characters.  I loved the picture and I really enjoyed the sweet, easy story that came from it.

The Five Times Raptor Messed With The Bull by Xara X. Xanakas, which I rated highly in essence for the intense chemistry between the men and the hot sex scenes.  Highly plotty?  No.  Witty and fun?  Yes.

As He Watches by Finn Marlowe, which is the story done from my own picture and prompt!  And I didn't make it easy, asking for an offbeat power dynamic without specifying BDSM, and Finn totally delivered.

Red by Belinda McBride, which is an amazing, interesting and complicated new take on Little Red Riding Hood that I absolutely have to read more of.  I do love me a twisted fairytale...

When You Were Pixels by Julio-Alexi Genao, which is just UNF!  Tightly plotted, intricate, intimate sci fi with assassins, corporate dystopias and a promise for more.  Holy shit, it's good.  It's that good.


Those are the ones that really jump at me when I look at my "stuff I've read" list.  I hope you've picked some of these stories up, it's a great way to get some excellent free fiction.  Not all of it's excellent, obviously, but enough is that it's completely worth it.

My own story You Get Full Credit For Being Alive was really well received, and I'm now planning a sequel to it.  Hey, enough people asked.  I'm easy that way.

Anyhow, happy Sunday to you all.  More Love Letters on Tuesday if all goes well!