I Want This
When he knocked on the front door of the house just before dusk, Huxley’s father greeted him warmly, but directed him down a narrow path along the edge of the back yard, to a double-wide trailer secluded behind an enormous hedge of lilac trees.
“Door’s open!” The call from beyond the door, painted a royal blue, which was in turn painted with giant bleeding-heart flowers, was only just loud enough to be heard.
Bill eased the door open. The inside of the trailer was cozy, perfectly tidy, and exactly as eclectic as Bill remembered Huxley’s childhood room being. The decoration now was decidedly more grown-up, but still so wildly not cohesive it transcended mismatched and soared right into fascinating.
“Some things don’t change,” he muttered to himself. “Huxley?” he called into the dim interior.
The front door opened into the living area, with the kitchen on the wall directly opposite. It took a moment of his eyes adjusting from the bright, sunlight outdoors to the soothing dimmer interior before he noticed Huxley, sitting back in a recliner, a bundled blanket piled on his chest.
“Hey.” Huxley lifted a hand in greeting. “Sorry I didn’t get up.”
“Are you cuddling a crow right now?”
“The box was too hard to regulate. The hot water bottle made it too hot. He was panting. But taking it out made it too cold. A blanket and my body heat seems to be working. He’s calm, so I didn’t want to get up and disturb him.”
“Sure. The pain killers will make him drowsy. Once he’s up and moving around, he’ll better be able to regulate his own body temperature.” He peered into the folds of the blanket. “I’m surprised he’s letting you do this.”
“Animals like me. Plus, he’s seen me around as much as I’ve seen him, so it’s not like I’m a stranger.”
“That’s true.” Bill settled onto the arm of the nearby sofa. “I saw Janet got at your door.”
Huxley grinned. “Yeah. Not too mad about it.”
“Your sister has some skills.”
Huxley nodded.
“I might keep her in mind for some bartering. Think your dad would go for it?”
“She lives to paint murals, and Dad will never complain about bartering for vet care. You know that.”
“I was thinking the waiting room wall needed something. Across from the reception desk.”
“I don’t know why she wouldn’t, if she has a hole in her schedule.”
“I’ll run it past her.”
Conversation lapsed for a moment and Bill was about to bring up the paperwork when Huxley cleared his throat.
“Ran the sanctuary idea past Dad.”
“And”
“He’s not opposed. So long as it doesn’t become a money pit. He’s only just started turning a profit again since we closed Mom’s shop. He’s digging out of that hole financially and emotionally, finally, and I don’t want to set him back.”
“That’s fair. I was sorry to hear about your mom.”
“With her MS, it’s not like it came out of the blue, but it still hit Dad hard. He didn’t want to close the shop. Guess it felt like losing his last piece of her. But no one else knits and crochets like she did, so it made no sense to keep the shop open when we can sell the wool online.”
“You still have her goats?”
“Oh sure. They’re our cash cow. Or cash goats, I guess. The wool is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s breeding. They’re a hardy breed for our climate, and we have a healthy blood line, so we can always sell the extras to good homes.”
“Your mom would be happy to hear you’re not selling them to slaughter.”
Huxley snorted. “Dad would never dare. And he won’t ever say it, but he loves them as much as she did. Then, the B and B guests love them. A lot of people stay here because of them. Wembley has started a small milking program, too. He wants to get into cheese.”
“I thought he was into seeing how many types of berries he could grow. The farmer’s market is always buzzing about what he’s bringing this week.”
“He was. And now that he’s got his bushes all set up and producing without a lot of input, he’s on to the next thing.”
“Your brother is exhausting.”
“Tell me. But as long as his next thing is about the farm being sustainable, I’m all for it. His berry bushes are good for our bottom line, with the pick-your-own program Janet runs, plus the jams she makes, and she can use a lot of the fruit in her desserts for guests. His ideas almost always end up a net positive, so there is that.”
“Good thing. Don’t know if I’d be able to keep up with how fast he changes tracks.”
“No one can.”
Bill chuckled. “Someone will. Some day.”
“I almost hope not. I dread the day he discovers some interest that takes him away from here. Not sure I could keep all his balls in the air, and I doubt we could let many of them fall and still stay viable.”
“And you’re sure adding the sanctuary is going to be okay?”
Huxley lifted one shoulder slightly. “Not sure at all.” He grunted. “Pretty sure Dad only said yes because it’s the first time I’ve brought up doing something I want. Mom wanted her grandfather’s goats and her fibre shop. Janet wanted the B and B along with the whole kitchen and cooking for people thing. Wembley wants—well, all the things. Something different every other year. I’ve only ever asked for this trailer and I’ve kept all the day-to-day work going, so when I brought it up with him, he just said go for it. We have the space, and I want to do it.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s only about the crow.” Bill wanted to reassure him he didn’t plan on dumping all kinds of hard-to-care-for animals in Huxley’s lap. “I want you to be sure, because it’s a lot of hoops to jump through for one animal.”
Huxley fiddled with the edge of his blanket nest. “Anyone worth talkin’ to would jump through those hoops for one kid. Or a horse. Or a dog for pete’s sake. Why does it matter if it’s a bird instead?”
“I want us to be clear is all. I don’t want you feeling pressured, or think I’ll be back on your doorstep with the next animal. This is just about the crow.”
“I don’t expect it’ll stay that way for long,” Huxley said, lifting his gaze to Bill’s. “You’ve met me.”
Bill had to chuckle. He was, after all, talking to the man who went out and adopted geese to protect his ducks, instead of setting traps for the foxes, or even getting more dogs, which would have been way more likely to do the foxes harm than a couple of geese, no matter how fierce..
“Hard to say about future animals. The goal is always to rehabilitate so sanctuary isn’t needed.”
“Sure. But there’s always that one exception.”
“In my two years running the rehabilitation centre, I’ve treated hundreds of animals. I’ve only had to find permanent homes for a turtle, a great blue heron, and now a crow.”
“Pretty good track record, then.”
“I do okay.”
“That ratio seems do-able. Not sure we could take on anything like a moose or a bear. But a few birds and turtles shouldn’t be that hard.”
“They mostly take care of themselves in an environment like yours. You have enough wooded area, the creeks and ponds.”
“Excellent fencing. Because goats.”
Bill chuckled. “That’s important. Plus, I like the odds here. Your geese are rock-star level bodyguards.”
“They’re assholes.”
Bill chuckled.
“Did you know, Susan figured out why they never laid eggs?” Huxley asked after a few quiet minutes that, surprisingly, didn’t feel awkward.
“Why’s that?”
“Both male.”
“No kidding.”
Huxley chuckled. “I own the world’s grumpiest gay geese.”
“That’s…weirdly not even that surprising.” And it wasn’t because what he remembered of Huxley from high school was a guy so full of contradictions and surprises and oddball quirks, owning gay geese might be one of the most regular things about him.
“Right? Pretty on-brand.”
“The grumpy part, or the gay part?”
Huxley snorted. “You’re hilarious.”
“Missed this.” The words popped out before Bill thought them through.
A static silence fell between them. Not wanting it to get weird, he cleared his throat and dropped the package of papers on the coffee table.
“No reason,” Huxley growled. “Been right here the whole time.”
Which was one hundred per cent true. Damn Leland, who’d known Huxley all of five minutes, seen the two of them together for less than that, and proceeded to aggressively hit that nail directly on its stupid, shiny head. “I know. I shouldn’t have stayed away, Hux.”
Huxley shifted minutely, stretching his back while trying not to disturb his bird. “Don’t worry about it. Ancient history, right?”
“Sure. I guess.” But now it didn’t feel that way to Bill any more than it had to Leland. The observant little fucker.
“Don’t you have cats you have to get back to?” Huxley asked just on that cusp of the silence getting awkward.
“Leland offered to look in on them so I could drop off your paperwork.” Which suddenly seemed suspiciously helpful for an office administrator.
“Actual paperwork? They don’t have all that online?”
“The Ontario government is weird about what you can do online and what you can’t. This is in the can’t category, apparently. But all I need you to do is fill it out. I’ll send it in.”
“I can mail an envelope.”
“Going through the vet clinic and my rehabilitation centre will speed things up and keep the MNR from losing the application.”
“They do that?”
“They’re notorious when it comes to wildlife rehabilitation, but my Uncle Johnathan keeps them in line for me.”
“I remember Uncle Johnathan. He’s scary.”
Bill grinned. “I know.”
“Right. So then they’ll license me?”
“So.” Bill paced the length of the coffee table, taking in the layers of crocheted afghans on the couch—ones he would put money on Huxley having made himself, because even in high school, he used to sit with his mother while she made items for her shop, and work with her. The green tinge to the light filtering into the room through myriad plants hanging in the big, south-west facing window lent a soothing aura to the room. “There is one thing I sort of didn’t mention earlier.”
“There’s always one thing isn’t there?” Huxley pushed himself slightly higher in his chair with a soft groan and a faint grimace.
“There’s maybe a little test.”
“Of course there is.” The grimace grew more pronounced, but now Bill didn’t think it had anything to do with the physical discomfort of sitting still for a prolonged period. “I’m not sure?—”
“There’s a study guide,” Bill hurried to reassure him. “And I can help.”
Huxley pursed his lips, peering at Bill a long time.
Unsure why Huxley’s examination of him was so nerve-wracking, Bill held his breath, and waited.
“Okay,” Huxley said at last.
“Okay? Okay you’ll sign the paperwork? Take the test? Okay you’ll let me help?”
Huxley waved a hand. “All of that. You know I won’t pass the test without… Well. I just won’t.”
“It isn’t a difficult test, Hux.”
“Doesn’t have to be difficult. You know that.”
Bill sighed. “We’ll figure it out.”
“We always do.”
He sounded so resigned when he said that, Bill was on the verge of telling him to forget it when the crow shifted, flapping it’s good wing free of the banket. It made a croaking sound, and quickly, Huxley sat upright, flipped the blanket to free the bird, and lowered it to the floor.
It wobbled for a second, glancing around, then hopped over to step onto the bridge of Huxley’s foot, lean up against his shin, and settled into a roost.
“Dude,” Huxley whispered. But he settled back into his chair with a huff. “So much for supper.”
Moving slowly and quietly, Bill edged around behind Huxley’s chair, then tiptoed to the kitchen. “What do you have?”
“You don’t have to?—”
“You been sitting in that chair since you got home?”
“Pretty much.”
“You eat lunch?”
Huxley grunted.
The non-answer was so typical. So…Huxley, it made Bill chuckle. “You were distracted.”
“Might have been.”
“Can’t blame you. He’s a cutie.”
“What?” Huxley peered down at the crow. “I guess. And tougher than he looks, so there’s that.”
“Oh! I meant your date.”
“Danny?” Huxley shrugged. “He’s nice enough. Brave little fucker. I like that. Came on a vacation with a shit boyfriend, but didn’t barely flinch when the asshole threatened him. Slammed his car door, watched the fucker drive away, and marched into the house to keep his reservation, just his phone, wallet and the clothes on his back. Chin up the whole time.”
Ouch. Bill turned his back to Huxley to hide his wince. That shouldn’t have felt like a stab through his guts. He’d walked out on any possibility of Huxley years ago because back then, he had not been brave enough to see what it could have been.
“He’s not for me, though,” Huxley admitted without any appearance of disappointment or regret.
“Oh?” Shit. Did that sound too hopeful? Bill clamped his mouth shut, opened the fridge, and ducked his head down to see what he could find for food.
“Kid’s independently wealthy, smart, brave. Honestly, he’s way out of my league.”
Again with the gut pain, but this time because holding back the growl of protest listening to Huxley’s negative self talk made his stomach twist. The whiplash of emotions was going to leave marks, Bill was sure.
“Which is fine,” Huxley went on. “If I’m doing this wildlife thing, I’ll need to focus on that. Gonna be hard enough as it is. You sure you’re up for it? You remember how it was in high school. Haven’t gotten any better at that academic shit.”
“Okay.” Bill shut the fridge with a thump and turned.
The crow on Huxley’s foot squawked and hopped a few feet away.
“Calm down. You’re scaring him.” Huxley leaned down and the crow hopped over to his outstretched hand.
“You remember the rule we had?” Bill asked, ignoring Huxley’s admonition and his attempt to woo the crow back to him.
“What rule?” But the tensing of Huxley’s back muscles, even though he didn’t change his focus, said he remembered perfectly well.
“The one about running yourself down.”
“We aren’t kids anymore, Bill.”
“All the more reason to stop that bullshit in it’s tracks.”
“Don’t need a pep talk. I said I would do your damn test and fill out your paperwork.” He turned a look on Bill that made Bill’s skin prickle. “And I’ve outgrown your little rewards and punishments game.”
The tingle moved deeper and suddenly Bill wanted very much to know what, exactly, Huxley thought he had outgrown. He narrowed his eyes. “That so?” he asked.
Did Huxley’s breath catch?
Turning to conceal the heat crawling up his neck, Bill went back to his search for something to make the man for supper. It was the least he could do, given the torture he was preparing to put him through. And not any good kind of torture Huxley might appreciate, but the worst kind of stress and anxiety that writing a test gave him.
The way Bill’s pupils dilated when Huxley tried to make light of their past dynamic definitely did not escape Huxley’s noticed.
The blush though. Bill had never been a blusher and Huxley couldn’t help the little gasp at the sight of that delicate pink tinting Bill’s cheeks under his dark beard.
The spell didn’t last. Almost immediately, Bill spun back to the fridge.
Hiding? Did it matter? They’d had their moment years ago, and Huxley had blown it by sulking like the teenager he’d been instead of having a conversation. It—they—were water under the bridge now.
Thankfully, at that moment, his crow squawked at him, drawing his attention, and he glanced down.
It hopped around his feet, putting itself between him and Bill, casting a beady eye on Bill’s ankles.
“Don’t event think about it,” Huxley warned the bird sotto-voche. “He’s the reason you’re here and safe. We need him to keep it that way, so you’ll be nice to him.”
The bird made a deep, chucking sound and seemed to turn away from Bill in a sulk.
“Sounds like he’s ready for something to eat,” Bill observed, though he hadn’t turned from whatever he was doing in the kitchen.
“Boiled eggs do?” Huxley asked. “I think there are some in the?—”
Bill turned around, holding up an egg, shell cracked, solid flesh peaking out. “I suppose that’s what the ‘H’ on the shell meant?”
Hiding his grin, Huxley nodded. “Chickens lay enough for the B and B and us. Sometimes a few too many. Not so we could sell them, but I usually hard boil some for sandwiches to make sure they last.”
“He’ll like the yolk. We can probably give it to him like this and he can dig in on his own. Good for his brain to have to do a little work for it. And he will, because it’s a treat compared to last year’s dried up chokecherries and week-old roadkill.” Bill turned back to the stove where he was frying something. “Got any nuts?”
“Only salted. But pretty sure there are some pumpkin seeds in the pantry. Give me a minute. I’ll fetch ’em.”
The care with which he eased himslef to standing didn’t go unnoticed. He had a bad knee that didn’t like staying in one position too long.
“Problem?” Bill asked, too casually.
“Old injury.”
“Horse?”
He could have lied, or at least hedged, and let Bill believe he’d fallen off a horse sometime over the past decade. It didn’t seem worth keeping track of a lie, though. Not after so long. “There may have been a motorcycle,” he admitted at last.
Bill’s hands stilled in the act of scooping what looked like a slab of Spam out of the frying pan with a spatula.
Bracing for the told you so, Huxley closed his eyes and counted to ten.
When he opened his eyes again, Bill was manipulating the egg lifter with one hand and depressing the lever on the toaster with the other.
“When?” Bill asked after several more minutes had ticked past.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Huxley said, instead of replying.
“The fall I left?”
“I made sure no one told you.”
“I would have come back?—”
“Which is why I made sure no one told you. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Were you coming down to see me?”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Stop saying that!” He slammed the spatula onto the counter, and the flipper end snapped off and flew across the kitchen.
The crow squawked, unfurled its good wing, and took a threatening step towards Bill.
“It wasn’t,” Huxley said in a soothing voice as he eased one foot in front of the bird, putting himself partially between it and Bill in an effort to calm the animal, but not spook it. “Come here.” He held out a hand.
“What?”
“Here.” He wagged his hand. “Last thing we need is for this guy to think you’re the enemy, so take my hand, and show him we’re best buds.”
“Shit.” Bill nodded. “You’re right, Of course.” Moving slowly, he closed enough distance he could reach out and take Huxley’s hand.
“You see?” Huxley said, addressing the bird. “He’s not a bad guy. Just excitable.” He squeezed Bill’s hand, forcing himself to focus on the crow at his feet, and not on the warmth and strength in Bill’s fingers. If time had eroded their connection some, it hadn’t affected the perfect fit of Bill’s hand in his. “We’ll settled him,” he said to the bird.
“Settle me, huh?” The catch in Bill’s voice was unmistakable.
“I have heard you’ve been a bit…unsettled. Since you got back.”
“Rumour.”
“Maybe.”
The crow eyed them, first Huxley, then Bill, then Huxley again. As they watched, he seemed to make up his mind, and finally, pulled his wing back in and chucked at Bill.
“What do you think that means?” Huxley asked.
“I expect it means he’s reserving judgement.”
“Guess you’ll have to stay on our good side.”
Bill’s nostrils flared. “Think your spam needs flipping.”
“Think a lot of things need flipping.” But he squeezed Bill’s hand then let him go. “You see?” he said to the bird. “He’s fine.”
In answer, the crow hopped across the room, poked at the spatula head a few times, as if assessing it, then he picked it up and hopped back, dropping it on Huxley’s foot.
“Sorry about your utensil,” Bill muttered.
“Plastic dollar store crap is plastic dollar store crap. Next time, take a breath.”
“Right.”
Huxley picked up the head and took the handle out of Bill’s hand. He dropped them into the sink and fetched an old, slightly melted version from a drawer.
Bill’s smile of thanks was sad. “You were riding that fucking bike to come and see me, weren’t you?”
Huxley tightened his grip on the flipper, so Bill had to look at him.
“You wouldn’t even have been riding if I?—”
“Who knows what I would have been doing,” He managed to keep his voice calmer than he thought possible. “What might I have been doing if not trying to come see you? What might I have done to hurt myself if I hadn’t decided I wanted to see you instead of doing some other stupid, even more reckless thing? There was a reason for how we were back then, and it wasn’t fluke. You were the grounded one, and I needed that.”
“But I left.”
“Of course you did. You should have. I was as reckless with us as I was in every other thing.”
“But you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
“No? I don’t know that. You don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It was ten years ago, and I’m fine.”
Bill tilted his head.
“Mostly fine.” He let go and nodded at the pan. “You let me worry about my body. You worry about my food.”
Bill’s grunt sounded slightly pinched of breath, and damn if that wasn’t just a bit satisfying.