Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Blake
After the forty-five minute drive to Concord, Blake turned onto the street where he grew up.
Other than a few houses being a different color, and a favorite tree having been chopped down – its freshly-cut stump the only reminder of where it once stood – the neighborhood looked largely the same as it had when he moved away eight years ago.
The night before, he’d tossed and turned, replaying him and Ethan having sex on the runway, trying to understand how it all went wrong. He hadn’t pressured Ethan into anything. He was sure of that – they’d leaned into the kiss at the same time.
No, Ethan had clearly wanted him. That level of wild, uninhibited desire was hard to fake.
Not impossible, Blake supposed, seeing as he’d faked his way through more than a few scenes in his career.
But the way Ethan had worshipped Blake’s body, the loving way he’d gazed into his eyes, the way he’d clung to Blake as he came inside him – all of that felt very real.
The night had been so romantic and passionate. Blake couldn’t understand why Ethan had retreated, running off before the sweat had dried on his skin.
Confused thoughts and feelings bounced around in Blake’s head like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, and he only trusted one person to help him sort through it all.
He pulled into his mama’s driveway and cut the engine. Her quaint single-story Craftsman bungalow hunkered on the lot like a gingerbread house, with its warm, orange-brown siding (a color his mother insisted was “terra-cotta”) and white royal-icing trim.
He’d helped his mother paint the house when he was twelve, and as a reward, she’d let Blake pick the color for their front door.
After carefully sifting through all the paint cards, he’d selected a vibrant candy-apple red.
Once the door was painted, they stood by the road and admired their handiwork.
“Why did you pick that color for the door, Blakey?” his mama had asked, stroking her son’s hair.
“Because it would make our house stand out.”
“It certainly does that.”
“The other houses are boring. Our house is the star of the street!”
Although Lena Larsen had repainted the house a couple times since then, she always kept the colors exactly the same. Maybe it was so Blake always had a familiar place that felt like home.
He got out of his car and strolled up the paved path to the front porch. The sunflowers in the front yard were wilting, their heads lolling and dripping their once-golden petals onto the lawn.
He jogged up the porch steps. Before he had a chance to knock on the door, his mother opened it, smiling at him and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Middle-aged now, her mahogany-colored hair was streaked with silver, and worn shoulder-length instead of cascading to her mid-back.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Lena pulled him in for a hug. He was now nearly a foot taller than her.
“Hi, Mama,” Blake said, kissing her cheek.
“Come in.” Lena stepped back and beckoned him inside. “You look very nice.” She lightly smoothed the lapels of his plaid sport coat. It was too heavy a layer for the mild day, but he’d wanted to look sharp and successful, like a person with a real job. “Can I get you something to drink, hon?”
“Maybe some coffee?” Blake hung his coat and cap on hooks near the door.
“I just brewed a pot. Get comfortable, I’ll be right back.” Lena hurried to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I didn’t have time to bake. I hope store-bought cookies are okay.”
“They’re fine,” Blake called back as he slipped off his sneakers and padded into the living room.
The room was exactly as he remembered it, down to the blue, brown, and gold afghan draped over the back of the couch, one of the sole survivors from his mom’s short-lived crochet obsession.
Along the far wall were two rolling garment racks, their crossbars drooping from the weight of countless suits and wedding gowns. Ever since he was a boy, his mother had taken in alterations work, fitting clients in the corner of her living room.
When he turned fourteen, he asked her to teach him how to sew. He practiced every chance he got, and by sixteen he was a competent tailor. From then on, he helped out whenever he could, taking on most of the suit alterations so his mom could focus on the wedding gowns.
This room held a lot of fond memories, of coming home from school and sewing with his mom until it was time for dinner, chatting and sharing stories while he grew from a boy to a man.
Lena walked by him carrying a tray with a mug of coffee and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. “We’re still in wedding season, so you know what that means.”
“Sew while we talk.”
“There are two pairs of trousers that need hemming. Do you remember your hem stitch?”
“Of course.”
He took a seat on the couch, and after popping one of the cookies in his mouth, he threaded a needle and got to work on the first pair of trousers.
Lena sat at her sewing machine and skillfully guided the hem of a silky white gown through her machine’s specialized hemming foot.
“So, uh, there’s something I haven’t told you yet, because I didn’t want you to feel bad, but, um, I got a diagnosis from a doctor.”
Lena’s foot paused on the foot pedal, her eyes widening. “Blakey, are you sick?” she asked, a frantic edge to her voice.
Realizing too late how dire his words sounded, he quickly added, “Not that kind of doctor. A psychologist. She says I have dyslexia.”
“Oh.” Visibly relieved, Lena went back to sewing. “Dyslexia?”
“Yeah, and a problem with math. I can’t remember what that one’s called, but it may be the reason I got bad grades in school.”
Lena pulled the dress out from under the machine’s needle and trimmed the threads.
She turned to face him, the gown folded loosely in her lap.
“It never occurred to me you might have a learning disability. You were so talented as a child, always singing and dancing, always on the move. I just thought you didn’t like sitting still and had trouble paying attention in class because you were bored.
I should have pursued it further. I’m sorry that made things harder for you, honey. ”
“It’s not your fault, Mama. The doctor said it’s easy for parents to miss the signs.” Blake knotted off and cut the thread tail. He turned the pants right side out, folded them, and placed them on the couch’s armrest. “But it’s why I need Ethan’s help with the club.”
Lena slipped the straps of the gown over the ends of a hanger and returned it to the garment rack before joining Blake on the couch. “How are things with Ethan since you reconciled?”
“Good.” Blake pulled the second pair of trousers into his lap and began stitching the hem.
“Weird. Things had been going great. After the show last night, we had sex. I thought it meant we were getting back together, but he said we can’t do that again because it’s unprofessional.
” Blake stumbled on the last word, his voice quavering from a fresh wave of sadness over Ethan’s rejection.
His mother ran her fingers through his hair. “That complicates things.”
Blake sniffed. “Yeah.” He wove his needle into the pant leg and set his stitching down in his lap. “When did you know you were in love with Dad?”
Lena smiled, and her eyes took on a faraway look.
“It didn’t take long with your father. He was funny, and thoughtful, and so talented.
After a couple dates, I was completely infatuated with him.
Not long after that I realized I was in love.
I wanted to spend all my time with him, and it hurt when we were apart. ”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “It was all incredibly romantic. Our time together was short, but ours was a love to remember.”
Chuckling to herself, Lena bit into one of the cookies.
Blake hated the thought of his mother watching the man she loved walk away, toward a new life in a new country. She’d been single ever since, which must have been terribly lonely. “Why didn’t you date other men?”
Lena ducked her head, and a pink flush rose on her cheeks. “Oh, there’ve been a few men throughout the years. But they never amounted to anything. Besides, I didn’t need a man. I had you, my sweet boy. My life was complete.”
She trailed her fingertips across his forehead and down the side of his face. “How long have you been in love with Ethan, sweetheart?”
“A few weeks.” If Blake was being honest, though, it had been longer than that.
“Since August. I’ve wanted to tell him, but he’s made it clear he doesn’t feel the same way about me.
I can’t blame him. Now that he knows I’ve done porn, he knows I don’t have anything to offer him that I haven’t given away for free to hundreds of other men. ”
“Oh, Blakey.” Lena hugged him, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “I don’t love the hundreds of men part, but you have plenty to offer.”
“Like my ability to make tear-away pants?”
Lena snorted. She pulled back from the hug and wrapped her delicate fingers around his huge hands. “When you were making your movies, did you love those men you worked with?”
“No.”
“Then you know what you can offer Ethan.”
Blake stayed the rest of the afternoon, sewing and eating cookies, finding calm in his mother’s presence. They ate dinner together at her small kitchen table, just the two of them, the way they had so many nights before.
When he finally drove home, dusk settling over the freeway in bands of pink and indigo, his mama’s words stuck with him: You know what you can offer Ethan.
The thought followed him mile after mile, and by the time he’d pulled into a parking spot and cut his engine, his doubt and confusion had lifted.
Right there, behind the wheel of his expensive sports car, Blake made a promise to himself.
He’d cherish Ethan, and protect him, and do what he could to make Ethan’s dreams come true, the way he was helping Blake’s dreams come true.
He’d love Ethan Whet, even if Ethan couldn’t love him back.