5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Zahir
M y pleasure, Andre. I’ll take care of you, okay? Just…trust me.
As the hot water hit my back, I winced. Both at the tightness in my shoulder and the ridiculousness of my words. This young man had no reason to trust me—let alone believe I’d take care of him. I should never have said anything so…bold.
Marty would be laughing his ass off.
Because I’d always been the nurturer of the two of us. He’d been the one to take risks and reap rewards. I was happy being behind the scenes. Doing whatever I could to make our homelife as wonderful as possible. The polar-opposite thing worked for us.
As I washed the day away, I tried to focus.
You’ve offered him protection. He needs you to care for him.
He needs…guidance. That you can do. Just don’t steamroll him.
I’d never had to worry about that with Marty.
He loved playtime even more than cuddle time, and he was never shy about letting me know what he needed from me.
Not another soul in the world knew about his pup side.
We’d kept all that to ourselves. Even though he’d been gone for more than a year, telling Andre was something I should’ve hesitated to do.
Marty…you forgive me, right? I was just trying to make him comfortable. To let him know I wasn’t going to judge him.
My husband didn’t answer, of course. He never did. But his presence was always with me.
As I finished washing my hair—again offering gratitude for hot water on demand—I tried to picture how the next day or so might work.
Andre would need to find the courage to call Demetrius. I couldn’t do that for him.
Hopefully the older brother would be welcoming to the younger. If all went well, there might be some kind of embrace. Reconciliation. A forging of a new relationship.
I finished washing my hair. I kept it a little longer than I used to.
That felt right. A different look from the one Marty preferred.
As I stepped out of the shower—feeling much less grungy—I took stock.
I didn’t often. The mirror never felt like my friend.
And not because of the aging thing. But because I wasn’t so quick with a smile.
Because I’d taken some hard knocks. I’d missed my grandparents’ funerals.
Acquiescing to the wishes of my parents rather than making a fuss.
Grieving in private. Essentially doing the same for Marty because everyone was in pain.
By the time I was ready to express my personal agony, everyone had sort of melted away.
I dried off, put on a pair of cargo pants and a loose cotton shirt, and headed downstairs.
To find Andre sorting the food.
Good. Glad he felt at home.
He gazed up sheepishly and pointed to his head. “No hair to wash.”
I burst out laughing. “That’s very true.”
“I’ve also sort of got showering down to a science. What with taking several a day.”
“Huh.” I grabbed plates and serving utensils. “That doesn’t dry out your skin?”
“I use a good moisturizer. But I don’t have dry skin.”
“Lucky.” I gestured to my arms. “I’ll put some cream on before I go to bed. Just the way it is for me.”
He offered a sympathetic smile. “One of my clients has eczema. That looks so painful. She’s tried pills, creams, potions, and nothing works.”
“That would be awful.” I offered him a plate. “Guests always serve themselves first.”
“Thank you.” This time, the smile was a little shy. “You’re always so generous.”
For a moment, I hesitated.
“You held my hand on the plane, you offered me a place to stay, I’m certain you’ll help me with Demetrius—” He cut himself off. Then bit his lower lip. The gesture felt incongruous…but also right. His always-present nerves were just below the surface.
“I’ll be here to hold your hand again.” I handed him a fork. “Food first. Unless your stomach is too upset.”
“No, not upset. But yes, scared.” He forked shrimp egg foo yung, sweet and sour pork, beef broccoli, and vegetable chow mein. He licked his lips.
I grinned. “Table or living room in front of the television?”
“Well, television is less personal, right? Like we don’t have to talk?”
“We can sit at the kitchen table and not talk.”
“But we could talk.”
“Of course.” I heaped food onto my plate—although not as much as he had—and headed to the kitchen table .
This room had windows on all three sides, and the western setting sun flooded the room with light.
“It’s so cozy.”
“The morning light through the eastern window is amazing. I have a little office upstairs, and it faces east. Sometimes I see a stunning sunrise, and I run out and take a photo or two.” The egg foo yung’s temperature wasn’t as high as I liked. “Do you want me to heat up your food?”
He offered a sheepish grin. “Uh, yeah.”
I rose, grabbed our plates, and headed to the microwave.
“Andre, you have to tell me what you want. What you need. I can be good at anticipating some things—but not everything. I want to be a good host—and possibly a friend—but I need help.” I didn’t with Marty because I knew him so well.
And because his pup nature gave him permission to speak his mind. Andre, though? I needed time.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll try, okay? I promise to try. I’m…not used to being honest with people. I tell them what they want to hear. To do with me, anyway. I can help them with fitness goals and techniques—but I can’t tell them if my feelings are hurt or if I’m having a bad day.”
My heart ached for him. “Well, that’s not true with me, okay? You have to promise to do your best with me. I’m not going to judge, okay? Like not ever.”
“You say that now—”
I shook my head. “Look, my husband was a pup. I was a Daddy. I deal with all kinds of people through my work. Some have…different lifestyles. It’s not for me to say whether what they’re doing is right or wrong. Just to support and to help.”
“That feels…too easy.” He rubbed his face .
I put our plates back on the table. “It’s as simple or complex as you want to make it.” Again, I extended my hand.
Again, he grasped it.
“I’m sorry you’ve had a rough go. My parents’ rejection didn’t come out of nowhere. We knew Marty was dying. I’ve had time to prepare for the crap in my life. And there’s been more good than bad. I get the feeling it hasn’t been that way for you.”
He held my gaze with his dark-brown shimmering eyes. “Yeah. Not.”
“So I need to find a way to make your life as easy as possible while you’re here. But that starts with you being honest.”
“Okay.” He said the word quietly. He also picked up his fork, speared a piece of broccoli, offered a tentative smile, and ate the vegetable.
I’d take that for a win.
We spoke casually about our lives through dinner. I shared some funny anecdotes about the work I did. Normally I considered it too boring for polite conversation, but I wanted Andre at ease. Since much of the humor was at my expense, I didn’t mind.
In turn, he gave me a better sense of what he did.
I coaxed him into sharing some wins. Including helping people recover from injuries and slowly ease back into exercising.
He might not prescribe the plans, but he worked with a physiotherapist to put that plan in motion.
Quite a few of his clients had lost weight.
Some had even kept it off by continuing fitness routines after they hit their target size.
“The successes sound great.” I stacked our plates and headed for the dishwasher.
“I should be helping.”
“No should . I like things a certain way. You can observe and, if later you want to try, that’s fine. Do you like ice cream? ”
“I love ice cream.” His eyes lit with delight.
“Oh, perfect. I have several flavors. It’s my treat at the end of a long day. Just a little bit, mind. But you can have more.”
He bit his lower lip. “Maybe…after I make the call? It’s getting late and—”
I shut the dishwasher after having put the plates inside. “Is your phone charged?”
He checked. “Eighty-one percent.”
“That’ll do. How about we head into the living room where it’s more comfortable? You still want me here?”
He nodded vigorously.
“All right then. Maybe help me stow the food first?” I retrieved several containers. Together, we put all the food in the plastic containers and then put them in the fridge. I washed my hands and smiled. “Ready?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
I grasped his hand and led him into the living room. The sun was mostly set, and I hadn’t realized how late the time was. I was an early bird, but I suspected Demetrius would be up later—what with two teenagers. Well, Alaina wasn’t quite there…but close enough.
So I flicked on a lamp, then gestured for Andre to sit on the couch.
He did and then held out his hand.
I took it and sat right beside him.
He pulled out his phone. And stared for a really long time.
The decision is his. Of course he knows he can put it off until tomorrow.
Finally, at length, he pulled up his contacts and dialed. Before I could say anything, he put it on speaker phone.
It rang three times before a deep voice answered. “Andre? Is that you?”
I’d know Demetrius’s voice anywhere .
Andre didn’t speak.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Still, Andre said nothing.
“Uh, Demetrius? This is Zahir Parnal. I’m here with Andre. He’s staying with me in Mission City. Sort of a long story.” I tried to get Andre’s attention—to have him focus on me—but he just stared at the phone.
“Zahir? Is Andre okay?” Worry tinged Demetrius’s voice.
“Nervous, I think. So, how are you doing?”
A quick laugh. “Uh…surprised. I didn’t know Andre was coming to Mission City.”
“Yes, he’s said as much. I met him on the airplane. One of those weird coincidences, you know?”
“Yeah, I know those.” He paused. “Andre? Are you still there?”
Andre nodded—but didn’t speak.
“He is, Demetrius. He’s nodding.”
“Okay. Are you up to meeting me in person? I’m a teddy bear, I promise.” He sounded so damn earnest. And completely the man I’d come to know.
Andre nodded.
“That’s an affirmative.” Because one of us had to say something.