Chapter Sixteen
I’m not quite sure why it bothers me so much that Brooks keeps reiterating that this is all just practice, but it does.
I should be thankful that he’s patiently taking on my burdens and helping me work through them, and I am thankful, but why do I get the feeling that he keeps repeating what the boundaries are for his benefit, rather than mine?
Especially when those boundaries keep getting moved back, allowing for a little more leniency.
First, I was supposed to be reckless with him for just one night.
Then, he promised me that I would have the whole rest of the summer.
He told me that this wasn’t the start of anything, and now here I am at Alder Notch Pride with him.
Which, again, should be just for practice coming out now knowing that I am gay, but feeling more like a ‘meet the parents’ kind of date, instead.
Specifically, since we’re currently at Brome’s Diner, and I’ve just learned that Brome is an acronym: Brooks, Ryann, Olivia, Morgan, and Elizabeth—or Lizzy.
Brooks’ Ma, the Lizzy in that namesake, practically jumped out of her skin when she realized that the lonely, out-of-town widower that kept frequenting her establishment nightly, over the past two weeks, was working at her son’s camp.
I about jumped out of my own skin when I realized that the very same woman who had gotten me talking to her, spilling things to an empathetic stranger and helping out while she closed up the diner every night, was none other than one of Brooks’ mothers.
My conversations with this lady, who I had assumed would be an anonymous pair of ears and an excellent advice giver, listened to me ramble on for hours about how much I found myself lusting after someone I shouldn’t be.
I just thought it was because she herself is a lesbian, so she could understand a good ‘finding yourself’ predicament.
“Listen, I know all about falling for someone everyone says you shouldn’t.
My wife, for example, she was my sister’s best friend.
I was pretty sure I was straight before I met her, but she quickly corrected me,” she admitted.
“I had no idea there was still a ‘bro-code’ when there were no bros involved,” she added sarcastically.
As she sat us at the table, she gave me the look when Brooks introduced me to her as his employee and new friend.
She immediately called bullshit on me with just her eyes.
I never specifically told her I was obsessed with my boss, so I’m not sure how mothers just know that stuff. My own calls it ‘mother’s intuition.’
Brooks proceeded to give his Ma and I both a look himself, albeit his was a quizzical one, when she came and dropped off our plates, without even taking an order from either of us. She just winked at him and headed back into the kitchen.
“Now—me, I get. She knows what I order here every time. How did she know what you wanted?” Brooks asks.
I shrug. “I must look like a bacon burger and a Diet Moxie kind of guy.”
He rolls his eyes. “And I must look like someone who has fallen off a turnip truck. Is this where you went every night those two weeks you were gone, avoiding me? I noticed that you, not once, ate at the camp.”
I crunch down a fry. “I like the food here.”
“He’s good at washing dishes too…” Lizzy notes, walking by with a tray full of drinks for a couple booths down. When she walks back by with the empty tray, she adds, “I might steal him from you, Brooks, if Rodney keeps missing his shifts.”
“He’s mine, Ma! I’m keeping him!” Brooks calls back, as she walks away.
And fuck, if I didn’t wish that were true—only, not in the employee sense.
Another thing he keeps reiterating that grates on my nerves.
It’s like he’s trying to convince himself of that, too.
I don’t know jack shit about dating and relationships.
That point has been hammered home by Miranda, but I’m quite certain what I am feeling for Brooks goes beyond just wanting to experiment sexually with him.
Maybe, just maybe, I can get him to stop with this ‘just for the summer’ bullshit, and see himself as someone worth putting in the effort to catch. Maybe I want to be that guy, because, deep down, I know I’m not a hook-up guy.
Maybe you want to snip the very last thread you have tying you to your son, moron. He’s finally trying to work on things with you, and you’ll destroy all that, just because you think maybe you have feelings for his girlfriend’s father. How stupid are you, Waters?
“Did that sip of Moxie personally offend you?” Brooks asks, shutting up the voice in my head. “Because, honestly, I don’t see how you can drink that.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” I rebut.
He nonchalantly picks at a bit of lettuce from between his teeth. “No, it’s for people with poor taste.”
“I don’t have poor taste…”
He gives me a withering look. Then, he leans in and whispers, “You sure do. Exhibit A: You blew me last night.”
“Exactly. You say that as if it were meant to be an insult. Again, I assure you, I don’t have poor taste. I have excellent taste, and believe me, I got quite a mouthful last night.”
Suddenly, he doesn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, his cheeks get that cute as shit pink tinge to them again. I grin. “What, no witty rebuttal?”
“You shouldn’t say stuff like that. I’m your boss…”
“A boss who had his dick down my throat last night,” I say, loud enough to catch the attention of the men sitting behind Brooks.
They look like a couple, the way they’ve been feeding each other their lunch, sharing looks and trading kisses with one another.
I won’t lie and say that I’ve been stewing in jealousy, over their openness, as I watch them.
The guy on the left spins and gives me a wink. When he turns back to his partner, I hear him murmur, “Sounds like someone is employee of the month back there.”
Brooks buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I thought you were mute the first day you came to drop Colton off.
Now, you’re here, likening what we did yesterday to a sampler flight at a brewery, and people are listening to us,” he mutters into his palms. “This is it. I’m mortified.
I can no longer dine at this establishment. ”
I chuckle, tossing a fry at him. “You wanted me to be more comfortable in my sexuality. How am I doing, coach?”
“Stellar,” he deadpans, giving me another sardonic look.
“Are there any breweries around here we could check out? That might be a good date idea, wouldn’t it? We could just hop on the bike and go…”
“We aren’t dating,” he reminds me, but this time I’m not letting it get to me.
The man sitting across from the table from me deserves to be wooed. I’m going to woo until I’m the best woo-er to ever woo. I can fucking woo.
“We’ll see about that,” I promise him with a wink.
“Brooky, sweetie! You made it!” I hear, right before Brooks is ripped away from my side by a slighter, auburn-haired lady who is most definitely his mom, Olivia.
“Oh, you should see how well the showcase is doing today. You certainly do have a bunch of budding artists in your camp this year. Their loved ones are overjoyed, looking at the masterpieces.”
His cheeks flush rosy again, right before she plants a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Hi, Mom,” he drawls, like an embarrassed middle-schooler. “Yes, I told you I was coming out today. Of course I’m here.”
“Oh, of course, I know that sweetheart. It’s just sometimes, I know you get squirreled away by all your responsibilities. I understand that.”
“When was the last time I didn’t make time for you or Ma?” he asks.
“Good point,” she says, stroking a hand through his hair and looking at him lovingly. “You always make time for us.” Then she takes a glance at me, “Oh, well now, who are you?!” she coos. “Brooks never told me he was bringing a gentleman caller! I’m Olivia, by the way,” she adds.
“I’m Evan,” I respond, holding out my hand, expecting a handshake. She sidesteps that and greets me with a hug, instead.
Well, well… quite the family of huggers we have here. It’s a concept so foreign to me that I think I’d pick up friggin’ Swahili better than knowing what to do with a hug. I melt in her arms, though. It feels just as good as it does unfamiliar.
“Evan’s not my date, Mom,” Brooks cuts in, as she releases me.
“Oh, well then who—”
“Don’t let him lie to you. I am his date,” I cut her off. “You certainly must know him; you raised him, after all. He is always so modest. We’ll work on that.”
A beaming smile crosses her face. “Excuse my language, but”—she leans in and whispers—“it’s about fucking time someone did.”
“Oh my gosh, Mom! Evan is my employee, not my date,” Brooks protests sternly.
The protest comes off rather comical looking though.
Like, if he had balled up his fists, stomped his foot, and huffed, it really would have been adorable.
Childlike, really. Olivia must be thinking the same thing, because I see her shoulders hitching and her lips purse, as if she’s trying to hold back a laugh.
“My wife already gave me the good news, sweetie,” she says, pinching one of his red cheeks. “There’s no lying to either of your mothers.”
After a little more conversation with Olivia, and maybe more than just a few funny stories featuring a young Brooks—which he did not seem to find all that funny—we went for a stroll around downtown Alder Notch.
The place consists mostly of novelty shops where Maine-themed souvenirs are sold, antique stores, an independent bookstore, a home goods outlet, a hardware store, a general store similar to the one Colt and I live above, and a locally owned outdoor gear supply store—since Alder Notch is close to an Appalachian Trail crossing.
The air here isn’t briny. It’s crisp, like mountain air. Real mountain air, not that stuff you get in a spray can.