It's Not About You (8 page)

I laughed at him. "Nah. You volunteer stuff and I'll just back you up. But please…no weird trips to like Bora Bora 'cause let's face it, I've never gone there. Don't put me in a position where I can't answer intelligently or he'll know something's wiggy."
 

See…here's the thing…
 

Gerald Almondrode didn't know Kyle was gay, and the reason for that was simple. The fucker was a raging anti-gay ass-hat. Kyle had already watched as two of his co-workers were let go (there's those words again) due to their less than acceptable performance. The truth was Almondrode found out they were gay and then set them up to fail at something, then fired them. Everyone at the company knew it, but Gerald was good about keeping his nose clean while others did the dirty work. The guy had henchmen and they were always watching out for anything unsavory in the lives of their employees.
 

Kyle had kept a low profile, did his work, and he was damn good at it. Until a year ago when someone commented that he never brought a girl to any of their functions, and in fact, they had never seen him with a girl. He came to me worried he was going to get targeted by Almondrode and fired so I did what I always did with my gay friends.
 

I became his beard. We kept the ruse up when ever he needed it. The fact the fat bastard was coming to the house made things…weird. But nothing Kyle and I couldn't handle.
 

"George called, told me about Sam's condition." He set a timer on the chops and looked at me. The boy's shirt was open, revealing a nicely muscled six-pack. No hair. He shaved it, letting me know that grass did not grow on a playground. "You okay?"
 

"No. And yes. And…" I popped my soda and leaned against the edge of the counter opposite the boiling potatoes. They were peeled and I grabbed a knife to poke and test them. "I'm upset but not about what I should be upset about."
 

"Those potatoes are nearly done. Grab the colander and drain them. Watch out for the potato facial though 'cause it'll kill that perky uplift you've got going with your bangs. I got garlic butter ready and some good stuff milk."
 

"You got Cagle's?" I bypassed the colander and opened the fridge. There they were. Two gallons of Cagle's milk, the best milk evah! "I love you!"

"I know." Kyle had that mischievous look on his face again. "So grab a gallon then drain the potatoes while you tell me."
 

I drained the potatoes first and managed to avoid the facial. I dumped the spuds back into the pot and put them back on the stove with no heat as Kyle dumped a stick of butter into them and then grabbed the milk. "I know Sam's gonna be okay. Her family's gonna take care of her. But it's…"
 

He handed me the potato masher before he flipped the chops. "Is it George? I know he can be a bit of a drama queen and he's not all that easy to work with. Did he give you crap about this morning?"

"Oh no…no." I started smashing the quickly melting butter and spuds. "It's not George."
 

"Someone else?" He removed the chops, reapplied oil and waited for that to ripple. "One of the workers?"
 

"No. Well yes." I stopped smashing. "I feel really silly saying this."
 

"Honey, I've known you going on twenty years. You've seen me puking after a bender, and you've nursed me back from…that thing." He slid two more chops on the oil. "Spill it."
 

"Kyle I'm old. And don't go trying to change my mind on that. I see it in the mirror. But I'm still a woman, I still feel and now I seem to want sex more than ever."

Kyle blinked. "You do? Honey when was the last time you had any?"

"Since Kevin and I broke up? What's that…over a year?"
 

He arched a brow at me. "You know you can't grow your virginity back, right?"
 

I punched him with my elbow. "Shut up. I don't want it back, I want sex. But I don't feel sexy. I don't feel attractive."
 

He turned the chops. "
That's
what has that line between your brows so deep?"
 

"No. It's this customer. I met him the day George hired me. In fact George knows him. Or he knew his name. He's gorgeous, got these eyes to die for, and he seems…nice."
 

"So what's the catch?"
 

"He's gotta be in his late twenties."
 

Kyle removed the chops and reapplied oil again as I continued smashing buttery potatoes. But I added some of that damn good milk first. "You know…this shit has got to stop. Age doesn't make a bit of difference."
 

"Really?" I glared at him. "You who just said his boss was too old for him is going to lecture me about age?"
 

"Oh. Yeah. You're right. But that's different. Almondrode is in his sixties. He's like a year from retiring. I'm not even past forty yet." Then he stopped. "I'm just digging that hole deep. Sorry Grace." He dumped chops this time and the spatter made him back up. "Hey get those beans off the steam. Ice bath's in the fridge."
 

I did as he asked and then went back to pounding spuds. I didn't expect him to finish talking but he did.
 

"Grace…I can't tell you dick about straight men. They're a wonder to me. An enigma. They like what they like. You're the same. If you think this guy's cute, see if he's interested." He paused. "Or is that it? You did and he rejected you?"
 

"No. Nothing like that. He was in this morning buying a French Press and he asked for me personally. Then he came back to get a lesson on how to use it. Kevin was there and the guy somehow left with Mary. She was going to teach him."
 

"You mean Mary
I-open-it-for-manly-men
?"
 

I poured more milk in and switched out the potato smasher for a big spoon to start whipping it into something creamy. "Same. But she does make a mean cup of coffee with one of those. We have regulars who come in and want their coffee on a French Press."
 

"If you can work one, they are good. Almondrode takes his coffee that way. Anytime he's taken us out to eat we've gone to restaurants that press their coffee." Kyle shrugged as he flipped the chops. "So you know on an intelligent level that Mary was the best choice, but you wanted to show him? Grace you don't know how to operate a single cup. And why was Kevin there?"
 

I loved the way he usually caught sentences on a two minute delay. "Kevin was there because he drew me up a new restraining order on Burt. I have to keep him informed if Burt drives up."
 

"When will the bastard get his copy?"
 

"I don't know. I don't care. I have my copy." My arm got tired so I stepped back. Spoon stuck up out of the pot. "Potatoes are done."
 

"Salt and pepper?"
 

"No."

"Fine. They can do that themselves. The table's set and the last thing I'm gonna do is drop the lobster tails. Why don't you get a shower? I got wine chilling for dinner, but I opened one of the mason jars and I'll have you a glass ready when you come down."
 

I grabbed my soda and then paused at the kitchen door. "I don't know, to answer your question. I just felt sort of cheated out of the opportunity to get to know him."
 

Kyle gave me a sideways smile and waved me on. I meandered down the hall to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and started the shower. When I undressed I avoided looking at the mirror. I had since I had Tanae and my body just didn't look like mine anymore.
 

It's a sad mix of feelings we get after childbirth. The joy and love of having that small, tiny human in our arms, and then looking down to see that our laps, our thighs, our feet and ankles, and even our breasts were no longer ours.
 

We love our kids, us moms. Even with the sacrifice of what it does to us physically. But what does it do to the fathers? There are no physical changes. Just changes in their perceptions of us. That now we've created life our bodies aren't touchable anymore.
 

That we've stopped being women and are now mothers…a completely different species. While they turn from the Madonna and find the whore outside the house.
 

I took a long, hot shower and pretty much cursed Burt for everything he was worth.
 

I just finished putting the food on the table when the doorbell rang. Kyle had dressed me, insisting I wear something besides jeans, shorts or capri pants, I settled on a nice half summer, half fall dress he bought me on that last excursion to the mall to improve my wardrobe. "And wear a real bra!"
 

I wear sports bras, cause they're more comfortable.
 

"I'll get it!" Kyle ran up the stairs from his lair and I saw him pause at the front door. Take a deep breath, and then he opened it. "Hi Mr. Almondrode. Come on in."
 

I'd met his boss a few times. Gerald Almondrode was a big guy. And I mean girth-wise. He was also close to 6'4" and that had to be barefoot. I waved at Gerald from the table, just visible from the door.
 

"Hello there!" He said in his booming voice. "How's the little cougar doing?"
 

Gerald just loved it that we were a 'couple' and I was older. I made a promise to myself—the fat-ass got three shots at cougar for the night. But on the fourth…I kill him.
 

I cringed inwardly as I waved back to him. "Just fine! Putting food on the table. Come on in." I ducked into the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator and grabbed the glass of hootch Kyle had ready for the two of us—just to get us through the night. His grandfather used to run white lightening and his dad liked to make it. They lived in the swampy parts of southern Georgia and as far as I knew, the old fart had a still in the woods. Kyle called it tater juice. I called it battery cleaner as it burned on the way down and I ended up in a coughing fit.
 

"Hey…you all right? I can get—"
 

I knew that voice, and it wasn't Kyle's, nor was it Gerald's. The world moved in slow motion as I turned to see Michael Oliver standing in the door to the kitchen, the French Press in its box in one hand, and a Trader Joe's bag in the other.
 

We stood like that, me by the sink and him in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity. Then Kyle came in the side door from the dining room and looked from me, to Michael, then back to me. He put a hand on my arm. "Is there something wrong?"
 

Michael responded in a sort of breathless voice. "Uh…she was…coughing. I didn't know if she needed…help."
 

Kyle looked at me and I stared at him, wide eyed. What was I supposed to do? Here was the guy I'd mentioned to Kyle, without giving a name, in the house, with my room mate's boss. A boss who believed I was his employee's cougar girlfriend.
 

I was in a bad sitcom and didn't see a way out of it. And the look on Michael's face told me he was just as shocked as I was. And he looked…beautiful. His hair had been combed back and his thin beard made even thinner. He had silver, wire framed glasses perched on his nose as he set the French Press he'd bought earlier in the day on the only space available on the kitchen's island.
 

Gerald came into the kitchen behind Kyle and gestured to Michael. "Grace, this is Michael Oliver, our new team leader. Michael, this is Grace Murphy, Kyle's wonderful girlfriend."
 

God I was so happy he didn't say cougar again. God I was so humiliated he called me Kyle's girlfriend.
 

But Michael didn't skip a beat. He schooled his expression and offered me his hand. "Nice to meet you Grace."
 

His touch sent warm feelings to my happy place, which honestly hadn't been visited in several years. I was so embarrassed, but at the same time, the saner part of my brain was thinking, what did it matter?
 

I
'
m a lot older than he is. And he went out with Mary, for crying out loud. He's young. He's hot. And he's…damn he's so hot.
 

Kyle stepped in and moved the box. "French Press?"
 

"Uh yeah…Gerald said he liked his coffee made this way so I figured I'd buy one and give it a try." He held up the Trader Joe's bag. "I brought coffee so after dinner I can make everyone a cup. As a way of showing thank you for the hospitality."
 

I moved in and took the bag from him and set it on the counter behind me. "That's really nice of you."
 

"Yeah it is." Kyle turned and gave me a look that I read as
bitch is sucking up hard to this asshole
. "I bought a cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory the other day and we haven't tried it yet. So the coffee will add a nice accompaniment. We also have angel food cake. And if you'll take a seat, dinner is ready."