24. Seth
Seth
My parents still live in Santa Ana, which isn’t that long of a drive if you’ve got wheels, but I don’t.
So, once in a while, my mom schedules these FaceTime calls to check up on me.
Making sure I eat, sleep and hydrate enough.
As if she could tell by a phone camera, but I love her, so I let her live in that delusion and answer her calls.
“Oh, I read something the other day, Seth,” she says in that thick British accent of hers, after she confirmed that I was taking care of myself. “And it made me think of you.”
“Was it in Vouge?”
She gives me a look. “I wrote it down somewhere. Give me a minute.” I hear some papers being shuffled before she comes back into view.
“I saw that you were perfect,” she reads. “And I loved you. And then I saw that you were not perfect, and I loved you even more.” She puts the paper down, looking at me with a pout, like that was the best thing anyone’s ever heard.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you saying I’m not perfect?”
“That was nice. Where’s that from?” my dad says from behind the phone, and then his face turns up on the screen. “Hello, son!”
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“It’s not but it smells like lipstick,” he grins, and nudges Mom with his elbow.
I make a hurling sound, and Mom straight out laughs. Fucking obscene is what it is.
Dad mumbles something, which makes her laugh even more, and I’m so done with this call, so I start flipping through a GQ magazine I’ve already read a hundred times.
“But don’t you think it fits, Seth?” Mom says then.
I turn back to my phone. “What?”
“Do you ever listen to me?”
“Not if I can help it.” I grin.
She places a hand over the camera, like it’ll mute her.
“Do you think we can use the birth certificate as a receipt?” she mumbles.
“I think the return policy’s expired, honey,” Dad says.
She removes the hand, and smiles at me.
I give her a tired look, pressing my tongue to my cheek. “Really?”
I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around my hips. Grabbing another one to dry my hair, I squeeze out some curling cream in my hands, running it through my short locks.
Then I pull out the box I keep in the far back in my bathroom drawer, taking out my moisturizer, serum, and eye cream. I hate myself for doing this almost as much as I hate that I hide it. No one knows about it.
That’s not true. Lou knows. She’s the one who introduced me to skin care in the first place. Then I did some research on my own, and ordered everything online.
I know that guys using skin care is not exactly a revelation. I know that, but the first cut is the deepest. So, I keep this to myself. It’s no one’s business but mine.
I’ve just swapped the towel for my worn Abercrombie grey sweats and an Off-White Skate tee, when my phone pings.
Kadey-babe
You home?
Me
Yeah?
Kadey-babe
Coming up
“Hey,” I say, opening the door for him.
“Hey!” He glances at me, kicking off his shoes.
“What’s up?”
He shakes his head, shrugging. “You got beer?”
I raise my brows, nodding at him to follow me to the kitchen. I hand him a bottle, and he opens it, gulping down half in one go.
“Something’s up?”
He doesn’t look at me, just shakes his head, taking another gulp. I frown, turning around to put the dried dishes away.
“Are you, uhm… Are you still seeing that Adam guy?” My selfish neighbor. I gave him another chance, and he gave me a repeat.
I snort. “No. Fuck me badly once, shame on you. Fuck me badly twice, shame on me, right?” I glance at him, catching him frowning and shaking his head.
“Never mind.” I turn back again. “Uh, but no, I’m not seeing Adam anymore. Why?”
When he doesn’t say anything, I turn around, leaning back against the counter. He’s staring at the floor, tapping a finger on the bottle, biting his lips together.
“I’ve been thinking,” he mumbles.
“Yeah? How’d that go?” I snort. It doesn’t lighten the mood, or whatever the fuck is wrong with this situation. It’s making me anxious.
He looks up at me, under his lashes, still tapping a finger against the bottle. And then he stops.
“I’ve got a proposition for you.”