5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Dayton
Tapping on the corner of my keyboard, I stare at the endless Excel table on my computer screen. I should have cleaned this data hours ago. Now it’s almost the end of the day and I’m painfully, uncharacteristically behind.
Is it going to be my heat soon? It’s the only time I get like this.
I check the tracking app on my phone and… no, not for a while. Swiftly, I realize there’s another explanation for my scatterbrain the moment I catch the unopened notification on the top of the screen. I groan to myself, quiet enough to not bother people in the surrounding cubicles, and roll my eyes.
‘I hope you find what you’re looking for’— what the hell?
The truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that goddamn message since the moment I saw it yesterday morning. What I’m looking for is…well, I guess Rowland is honestly as close as I can get to it—is that the reason I am so damn frustrated?
Someone I have good chemistry with. Check .
Someone who seems to have a good head on their shoulders, and their life together. I promised myself that I’m done with immature, toxic douchebags. No more. Check .
Someone easy to look at. Handsome. With sexy, broad shoulders. Sigh… Checkity-check.
Someone who doesn’t intend on simply using me as a cumrag or a ‘friend’ with benefits on the side while juggling with my feelings. Check—I think.
I lean back in my squeaky chair and stare at the off-white ceiling panels above me that desperately need dusting.
Half the guys I’ve gone out with in the past few years would not last past the first few drinks and would always push to take me home. I guess I can’t put all the blame on them, since I went with it of my volition most of the time. Rowland was present with me the whole time. I didn’t see his thoughts wander, and when he kissed me before we parted, it was different. Deeper, somehow. For the first time since I could remember, a stupid kiss gave me butterflies.
Before I ran away like an idiot.
I physically recoil from cringe remembering it. I can’t believe he messaged me after that. I was so afraid he’d sense my pheromones and be disgusted that I straight-up bolted. And I don’t think he did sense them, which is why he’s messaging me now, still wanting to spend time with me. But is there a point to it? The closer I get, the more hurt I will be once he eventually disappears from my life, like the other half of my past flames.
“Your pheromones are just…off. I can’t stand them, Dayton, I’m sorry. I can’t turn that off or act like it isn’t there. I can’t spend my whole life with someone like that.”
Lowering my eyes, I feel a tinge inside my chest—a blade passing between the ribs.
Rowland doesn’t seem like the type of person to be that forward. As candid as he was, he’s a businessman—he has tact, and wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings with the outright truth. So, he’d probably be one of those guys who choose a more avoidant route. The ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’
The ‘I just don’t think we’re a great fit. There was nothing you did wrong.’
‘You’ll find someone who’s made for you one day.’
Tch, right…
I can’t keep spiraling into this self-deprecating pit of despair, so I abruptly stand and head for the kitchen to get some coffee. What I need is to get my heart pumping to finish cleaning that data and start on the visualizations.
I’m not getting paid to cry about my love life during office hours.
Walking past the printers on my way back—a steaming cup of mediocre brew in hand—I notice Joane standing there while copying something, and Drew Gray scurrying away. I pause when I see her adjusting her skirt. She seems uncomfortable and on edge, so I draw my brows together and go to her.
“Hey. Are you alright?” I ask, glancing briefly over my shoulder. Drew disappears into his cubicle, so we’re in the clear.
Joane flashes me a faint smile. “Y-yeah.” The moment she notices my cocked brow and my plain, tell me expression, she relents. “I…I think Drew freaking groped me. It happened once before, but I figured it was by an accident, but—”
I groan and brace my teeth in disgust. “Yeah, he’s a fucking creep. Not that the HR cares, since he never escalates it further. Never did, anyway. I am sorry.”
“I needed someone experienced to help me with that stupid new program and—”
“You should’ve asked me. I’m pretty good with it,” I say in a comforting tone and touch her wrist as a sign of support. “If he tries again, tell him you’ll be happy to tell his wife all about how handsy he is. He thinks no one knows he’s married, but I saw him forget to take his ring off one morning.” Smirking proudly, I wink at Joane. “If I’m in a meeting and you need help, you can ask Jonathan. He’s pretty friendly and willing.”
He’s always looked at me with hidden disdain—I can tell he has his qualms about who or what I am—but he’s cordial enough, and will help Joane without being inappropriate.
“Th-thanks, Dayton. Really,” she says, glancing at me with a weirdly guilty expression. “I don’t know why you’re so nice to me.”
I frown. Carefully sipping my coffee, I saunter back toward my cubicle. “What’s the point of not being nice? This is work—we spend half our lives here. I’d rather it be pleasant. Costs nothing to be decent to people.” I glance back at her with a smile and lift my cup to her before turning around.
She’s a good person. At her age, I too was worried about everyone else and what they thought of me. Not like that goes away. I just got more used to it.
I hear steps behind me.“Wait! That date you told me about.” Joane lowers her voice to not bother our coworkers with the idle chatter. “So? How’d it go?”
Snorting, I turn on my heel and shrug. “ Eh … I don’t think anything’s going to come out of it.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Joane pauses by my cubicle, pressing the papers against her chest. She has that pitying expression on her face—the same one I will get out of my moms when I meet them after work. Explaining my entire grim thought process to Joane would have cost me far too much mental strength, so I play along with the lie.
“Maybe next time,” I say with a faint smile and sit back down at my desk.
?
I finally park on the curb, after an hour of being stuck in the worst traffic imaginable. Now, I’m even more unsure if I’m ready for the emotional labor of dealing with my lovely mothers. Not like I have a choice in the matter.
Slowly, I get out of my car. The fence of our small family home, sitting in the calm, scenic suburbs outside of the city, has been repainted a different color since I last saw it. Again . I’m sure Ma rearranged half the rooms in the house as well.
I’m secretly looking forward to the chaos of it. It’s always something new each time I come back for our biweekly hangout.
Stepping up through the main door, I draw in the comforting, familiar scent of peonies and banana milk. “I’m here!” I shout while taking off my coat.
“We’re in the sunroom, sugar. Come in!” Mom’s voice flows through the hallway.
Smiling to myself, I walk ahead, and it doesn’t take long for the little approaching tippy-taps to reveal a small fluffy blur. “Hello there, Momo!” With an excited grimace, I spread out my arms and bend down to pick the dog up. It looks like he just got a fresh cut. Coupled with his cute rainbow bandanna, Momo looks like a living teddy bear.
While I hold him against my chest and let him lick my chin, I walk into the sunroom.
Most of the big, tropical plants are gone. Instead, the antique settee from the upstairs hallway has been placed on one end, and a side table from the living room next to it with a glorious bouquet of colorful flowers on it.
I raise my brows and quickly meet Mom’s gaze. She already has a telling smirk on and tries to not move from her position as she lies on the settee in the ‘paint me like one of your French girls’ fashion. To my left, Ma stands in front of her easel, halfway through painting her. The image gives a somewhat expressionistic impression. It is colorful and messy, not completely adhering to perspective or proportions, but it’s hers, so I like it. Painter’s palette in hand, she’s concentrating on measuring Mom from afar with her brush, only turning to me once I clear my throat.
“Hello, darling!” she rejoices. “Give me a second. I can feel the surge of inspiration passing through me, so I gotta finish this.”
I refuse to hold my chuckle of disbelief for a second longer. “What is this? What’s going on?” Putting Momo back down, I lock eyes with Mom. She’s still holding back a playful grimace, and I’m pretty sure I know exactly what she’s thinking.
“What do you mean?” Ma mutters.
“This easel has been sitting in the attic even since you had your little art phase after I left for college,” I remind her with a gentle taunt to my tone. It was her way of dealing with the empty nest syndrome, but after like a month, she gave up like she always does and moved on to some other obsession. “She wanted you to get rid of all the clutter, didn’t she?” I say with an amused snort while glancing at Mom. Her face says all.
“Wh— Nonsense! I’ve just felt the urge to get back into it again is all!”
Folding my arms over my chest, I tilt my head and watch Ma avert her face, trying to hide the flush of her cheeks that’s telling me I’m right. Mom’s expression confirms that all this indeed is ma trying to convince her she in fact needs and uses all the crap in the attic. I’m pretty sure there’s still that flower-arranging station, a woodworking table, a bunch of yarn, and one or two old bird cages from that weird time of my childhood when she was really into breeding finches.
“How about we take a break, honey? Our child is here, and I can’t feel my leg,” Mom says while laughing, and slowly lifts herself off the settee. With a groan, she stretches, and Ma rolls her eyes with a loud sigh, admitting defeat.
“You’re both insufferable! No one in this house understands the sacrifices of art,” she grumbles. Thankfully, her tone is the opposite of her harsh words. As I stand there with a grin, she puts her supplies away and comes close with hands reaching for my face.
“Hey! You’re all messy!” I shout, but it’s too late, and her paint-stained fingers dig into my cheeks as she pulls me close for a motherly kiss.
“Oh shut up,” she says with feigned anger and wipes her hands into her already stained shirt.
Mom comes up to us—still jerking her leg to get her feeling back—while I try to clean my face. “Good to see you, love,” she says, hugging me briefly. She’s been letting her natural hair grow out, and since the last time I saw her, several more visible strains of gray adorn her long black mane. Exactly like we both told her, it doesn’t make her look older at all, only more charming. For being nearly fifty, she has a youthful face still, gray hair or not. “How was the traffic?”
A disgusted growl escapes me. “Don’t even talk to me about it.”
“I made some pie yesterday. Let’s have it in the dining room.” Ma saves me from having to work myself up about it and so we all move to the other side of the house. Momo bounces and tangles between our legs as we walk and though my mothers are used to it, I nearly fall over him three times.
I sprawl out on the couch with Momo next to me and roll my head back.
Mom sets herself on the armchair with a cup of coffee. “It’s only Monday, darling, and you already seem done with life. Stressed out.” She gives a pitying expression. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not stressed,” I murmur, closing my eyes. The text message lights the dark space deep within my mind’s eye.
“Oh, come on, you know I can tell,” she says, and I feel her chastising gaze fall upon me. “That Friday date—how did that go?”
Here we go…
Before I can reply, Ma sweeps in with a platter of some cut-up fruit and slices of apple pie. Her curling blonde locks slip out of her messy bun as she bends down to place it on the coffee table. “I hope you remember what I told you. If he said anything about your pheromones, it is he who is a vain, ignorant human piece of trash. And frankly, you should be overjoyed he showed you his true face, because—”
I groan tiredly. “He said nothing like that, Ma.” Her overprotectiveness is touching, but a bit too much right now. I’ve heard this talk a million times ever since I presented and discovered that my flavor is less than desirable. I know she means well, and in essence, she’s right, but she has no idea how complicated things really are. How many people truly are that vein, and care about this sort of thing. Neither of them do.
Glancing at her as she sits on the armrest of the chair, wrapping her arm around Mom while they both give me worried glances, makes my heart ache.
They are happy, and they are normal. They could never understand. Not with how early in their lives they found each other, and how madly in love they’ve been ever since.
“What was wrong with him, then?” Mom asks, raising a brow. Her tone isn’t prodding, more like calculative. As always, she’s already trying to devise a perfectly logical and thought out plan to fix me, my life. “I don’t really know his mother that well, to be honest—I’ve only met her a couple of times at some social events—but she was always a great lady, and from what she told me, he sounded like a great catch.” Though her low, pensive tone gives no indication of it, I can’t help but feel judged. Like I’m some fuckup who was given yet another wonderful prospective partner and somehow messed up the opportunity or dared to be too selective.
My inner turmoil and utter desperation must translate outwards a little too well because when I blink, Ma is coming to sit with me. Squeezing my hands, she nuzzles against my shoulder and rests her head on it.
This is stupid. She shouldn’t have to comfort me like I’m five years old. I’m a grown-ass man, dammit…
I say nothing. I don’t explain or answer mom’s question. Instead, I sit there, soaking up their scent in a completely non-sensual way that is unique to families like ours. Their presence seeps into me and feels like balm on my soul. It doesn’t take long for Mom to join us as well, enclosing me from the other side, and Momo quickly seizes the opportunity for an uninterrupted, slobbery cuddle.
Do I really want that much? All I’ve ever wanted was something like this. An unbreakable bond of love, respect, and understanding.
“You will find your person, sweetheart,” Ma sounds in my ear. “Don’t lose hope, alright?”
Deep within my chest, my heart sinks even lower. I want to say that I might, but it probably won’t be with an alpha, and I know how much that goes against what they both think. Considering that possibility out loud is almost like giving up on love altogether to them. I can’t possibly explain to them that the same love they share might not be possible. That I’m hurt and tired of being used, tossed aside, and made to feel insignificant. Weird. Broken.
A flash of Rowland’s charismatic smile flashes through my mind. I guess he wasn’t trying to use me, and he certainly didn’t make me feel any less. He didn’t mention anything about my condition, either. But what are the chances of him being my shining north star? Statistically, they’re close to none. Zilch.
Yet…sitting sandwiched between my two wonderful parents, still radiating with joy and smitten with each other every single day, even though they’ve been together for thirty years, is making my fingers tingle and my mind turn to the phone in my pocket. Maybe there’s no harm in trying. In believing in the impossible odds.
With a sigh, the group hug finally releases, and I feel like a fresh clam being cracked open. Air rushes in again, and Momo uses the opportunity to claw at my chest to slide his tongue inside my nostril. “Oi!” I shout, pushing him off playfully.
“Ah, no more of this, it’s depressing,” Ma says while standing. She straightens her back and releases her hair, only to tighten it into a ponytail. “The sun is setting. Let’s go for a walk. The path by the river is going to be lovely.” The mention of the magical w-word immediately sends Momo into a frenzy. He starts racing from one side of the couch to another—with no regard for me sitting in the middle—and lets out sharp, whiny barks that pierce my ears.
“What about the food?” I ask. Though, I guess a walk wouldn’t be too bad.
Ma waves her hand dismissively. “We’ll take it with us. Let’s make a little picnic or something, it’ll be nice.”
“Come on,” Mom urges me, poking my shoulder. “You didn’t come here just to bog our home down with this negative energy. Can’t have that.” She shakes her head at me, feigning disgruntlement.
“Are you mocking me?!” Ma shouts from the kitchen, and we both laugh.
Putting my hands in my pockets, I sigh and hang my head down. “Alright. Just…let me go to the toilet,” I say in a low voice and head upstairs. As I walk up, I heard Mom go, “I would never,” and my simper grows even stronger, knowing it’s most likely followed by a kiss. I should visit more.
Once I close the bathroom door behind me, I lean against it and take my phone out. Sighing deeply, I stare at it for a while, until I muster up the courage to open the text message window. Now, the sweetness of his message and my lack of response are striking.
Am I acting like a complete fool? I enjoyed our time together. For the first time in months, I had dinner that didn’t end up with me feeling like shit, so…why do I keep letting these noxious thoughts control me?
Sorry for the late response. Crazy weekend.
A little white lie never hurt nobody—especially when it’s needed to save face.
I’d love to see you again. Have to work overtime on Wednesday and Thursday. Otherwise I’m free. One condition, though: has to be somewhere a bit more low-key.
I send the message, and only after a few seconds of standing in the quiet bathroom and staring at it breathlessly do I realize how fast my heart is beating. Closing my eyes, I subconsciously draw a deep breath and recall Rowland’s scent.
When the phone buzzes in my hands, I nearly drop it.
How does my house sound?
A jolt of excitement shoots through my chest. Damn, he responded straight away.
It sounds good, exciting even. The idea certainly piques my interest. What does his house look like? What are his tastes? Where does he live? But it sounds intimidating, too. Meeting a date inside their home has a clear implication that can’t be ignored. Are we just going to fuck? Is the tender human connection we made last time going to dissipate once he has me in there alone? Was that his plan all along, and would I be able to say no?
I have an excellent wine selection. Friday, 7.30?
The corners of my lips curl upward. Momo’s deranged barking from downstairs and my mothers’ voices fade into silence. All I hear are those words in his low voice. I feel his deep blue eyes on me. His lips on mine.
Maybe I should let myself hope. This one last time.
Alright. Sounds like a date.