Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
CURTIS
I pull up outside David’s mom’s house half an hour earlier than I need to because my best friend deserves tonight to go well, and I want to make sure she’s ready to go on time.
It’s been nothing short of upsetting to see someone who has basically been my adoptive mother since adolescence begin to lose herself.
The sense of dread that hits me as soon as I pull into her street lingers as I climb out of the car.
It’s the worst feeling in the world because the number of times this woman has been there for me throughout my life, I owe her a lot.
And I can barely bring myself to visit her.
I do it out of obligation, but I hate it.
Because I never know which Beth I’m going to get.
David blames himself, of course, for moving to Chicago for work a few years ago.
It’s irrational, but no matter how many times I tell him Alzheimer’s doesn’t work that way, I know it does nothing to ease that gut punch of guilt.
His mom’s diagnosis is the entire reason he moved home with the love of his life in tow.
I hold my breath as I knock on the door twice and then let myself in. “Mom?”
It’s not the first time I’ve come to this house in the last year, silently hoping: please be a good day, please be a good day.
“David, is that you?”
Once upon a time, she would have been able to tell the difference between David’s voice and my own.
It might be time I stop calling her mom, though it will be a hard habit to break.
She practically was my mother. I was always over at David’s house growing up, only going home to my absentee parents’ house when it was late.
Though if Beth ever asked if I wanted to stay over for the night, I always jumped at the chance.
I had more dinners in this house than I did my own, and when my parents decided to move away when I was barely eighteen, I moved in permanently for college until I could afford off-campus housing.
And when David moved, I promised both of them that I would still be here for her.
“It’s Curtis,” I say.
She comes around the corner, her dark brown hair in rollers, her face full of makeup, but she’s only wearing a dressing gown.
A lot of people think Alzheimer’s only affects grandmas and people in their seventies or eighties.
But at a young fifty-nine, Beth’s brain is already failing her, and it breaks my heart.
It’s also why she went so long without a diagnosis.
I first noticed she’d forget simple things—couldn’t find her keys, would ask me the same question five times in a conversation, things like that.
I put it down to juggling way too much and being absentminded.
I probably did that for too long before I finally called David and told him something was wrong.
But hey, it looks like we’re having a good day today because she’s getting ready.
Beth’s face lights up. “Curtis Gunderson. You get your butt over here and give me a hug. It’s so good to see you.” She approaches me and embraces me like a mother would her child. “Am I running late?”
I’m finally able to release my breath because she really does seem to be having a lucid day. Some days, she’s perfectly herself, and other days, she asks me if my mother has been feeding me because growing boys need to eat.
“Nope. I’m early because last week I noticed there was a loose plank in your porch.
I thought I’d come fix it while I had the time.
” During her good days, if she thinks I’m there to check on her, she gets emotional and defensive.
It’s probably the hardest part, if I’m honest, when she knows something is not right with her and hates that she is a burden on me.
Or when she’s in denial and grumbles about me treating her like a child.
While I hate seeing her like this, she’s not a burden. I owe my life to this woman.
She gasps. “And get dirty in that suit? You look dashing, by the way. Sit. I’ll make you a drink, and do you want snacks or—”
“I’ll make my own drink. You finish getting ready.”
She steps closer to me and pats my cheek. “Thank you for picking me up. You’re a good egg.”
“I know.”
She laughs as she disappears down the hall, and every tense muscle in my body relaxes. She’s quick to finish getting ready, so we’re going to be early, but that’s better than what I was preparing for. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst is kind of my motto lately.
On our way to the venue, Beth says, “You boys are all grown-up now.”
“We are.”
“It all happened too quickly. It was only yesterday David brought you home from the first day of middle school, saying he had a new best friend.”
“Both of you adopted me that day. Like a stray dog.” I couldn’t be more grateful for it.
“No. You’re more of a tomcat. A wanderer who gives affection and love on his own terms but prefers to be alone.”
Isn’t that the damn truth? I’ve been burned by too many relationships offering me the world but giving me nothing that was promised. It’s why I prefer to remain single.
Do I want someone to love and cherish? Someone I could call my own? Definitely. But the work involved in relationships, especially when I’m the only one who ever seems to try, isn’t worth the payoff.
Besides, my toys and my bank account are plenty to keep me company.
“You’ll meet the right girl one day,” Beth says.
My blood runs cold.
I came out to her during freshman year of college while I lived with her.
“Maybe in college.” She reaches across the center console and touches my forearm. “And don’t forget, you’re welcome to come live with us if you wanted to stay here instead of moving with your parents.” She sighs wistfully. “To think, my boys are graduating high school already.”
She goes back to her side of the car and stares out the window while my heart shatters into a million little pieces.
As soon as we make it to the venue, a giant mansion that’s been converted into a hotel all the way out in Spruce Grove, I lead Beth through the entryway and into a room that’s decorated like an actual wedding reception.
It’s obvious that this was once the living and dining room, but it’s so large, it has a two-way fireplace in the middle and still fits standing cocktail tables around the edges.
On the other side of the fireplace, it has floor-to-ceiling glass leading outside to a field that would be covered in snow come winter.
Imagine living somewhere like this?
I’d love to get married here—you know, if I ever had any hope of finding someone. Which I don’t.
Even though we’re early, we’re not the first ones here. The happy couple are outside, standing with a tall man I don’t recognize. Even though I can only see the back of his head, I’m sure I’ve never met someone that tall. He has to be six six, at least.
David points out toward the field as we approach, and I catch the end of him saying, “We could put a marquee out there. The ceremony—”
“Hi, hi,” I interrupt before he can say anything about the wedding.
I’ve found that when Beth is having one of her bad days, it’s sometimes easier to play along than to argue with her. Sometimes the jolt of reality makes her break down and cry, and I cannot stand to see her upset.
“Mom,” David says and gives Beth a hug.
“Curtis,” Melanie greets me, kissing my cheek.
“I want you to meet my brother.” She pulls the man, who is at a minimum half a foot taller than me, forward.
“Finn, this is David’s best friend. Well, practically his brother.
This is my actual brother, Finn. You two should go get a drink before everyone gets here and it’s a free-for-all when it comes to the open bar. ”
Normally, an introduction like that wouldn’t raise any red flags, but there’s something in the way she’s smiling and focusing on Finn, then me, then back to Finn again.
I smell a setup.
“Nice to meet you,” Finn says, holding out his hand for me to shake.
I take his hand, and fuck, the way his strong hand engulfs mine sends tingles right to my gut … and lower.
“Finn just moved here from Chicago and is pathetic at making friends,” Melanie says. Ah, so not a setup. She wants her brother to make a friend. He’s probably not even queer.
“And I love it when she tells people that.” Finn nudges his sister. I’m surprised his elbow doesn’t hit her in the head, considering it’s about that height level. Seriously, how can someone so tall be related to someone so petite and small?
She ignores him. “It took a while for his ducks to get in a row, but he’s here now.”
“They’re still not in a row,” Finn says. “At this point, I think my ducks are drunk. And lost. Maybe they’re squirrels.”
I chuckle, and he smiles. It’s a toothy smile that lights up his blue eyes. His light brown hair is the right length to run a hand through and grip it at the roots.
Okay, it’s official. It’s been too long since I’ve hooked up with someone that wasn’t silicone. But … effort. Drama. Heartache.
And I’m cured of that urge again.
“Maybe to find your drunk ducks, you have to get drunk yourself,” I say. “I need a sec, and then I’ll help get you there.”
Finn’s gaze narrows, but I barely catch the weird look as I step up to David and say quietly in his ear, “She thinks it’s our high school graduation. Just a heads-up.”
His sad, guilt-ridden eyes meet mine, and I squeeze his shoulder as I leave with Finn.
I wish there were more I could do for David and Beth, but short of winning the lottery to fund scientific research for a cure, I’m doing everything I can.
It still doesn’t feel like enough.
Inside, Finn approaches the trestle tables in the corner of the room, where there’s a bartender putting the finishing touches on the setup, placing a tray with three bowls of drink garnishes on it. Lime wedges, onions, and olives.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asks.
“Are you open yet?” Finn asks. “We can wait if you aren’t. It’s no problem at all. I don’t want to be a bother.”