Chapter 4 #3
I knew what that meant: deposit offensive devices. It was a move I made on him to reinforce quality time or minimize distractions. I dropped my phone in his backpack and resituated myself in my seat and focused on the larger-than-life characters commissioned with making the world villain-free.
Forty minutes later we applauded with the rest of the audience as the adventure ended, waited for Marvel’s trademark post-credit scene, then hurried to the restrooms after nearly three hours of sitting. “Talk to no one. If you’re not out in ten—”
“I know, Mom. If I’m not out in ten, you’re coming in.”
For my son’s safety I’d gladly endure helicopter mom allegations.
Women’s restroom queues being what they were, Justus was across from its entrance preoccupied with his fidget spinner when I exited.
His spinner was colorful and illuminated from the inside, which, for some reason, Justus didn’t seem to mind despite his dislike of bright lights.
I started towards him but noticed a man, popcorn and drink in hand, moving in our direction.
My heart skipped as he approached. “Paul… Giles?”
He stopped, eyes wide with recognition. “Lynette! Tell me it’s you and not my imagination.”
“Your mind hasn’t failed you. Yet.”
He laughed that huge laugh I recalled and wrapped me in a hug despite his refreshments. “Damn, girl, you look good! You’ve barely changed since twelfth grade.”
“The lies you tell, but thanks.” He, however, had aged in a good, fine wine kind of way. The goofy but cute high school football player I’d shared my virginity with when we won our homecoming game—final score 32 to 6—was now an impossibly handsome full-grown man.
His parents still lived locally. I ran into his mother occasionally.
Mrs. Giles was overly talkative—what Granny called the mouth of the south.
And even though we hadn’t dated long, she loved sharing tidbits about her son’s life, so I knew he’d divorced a few years back.
I had other questions. “What’re you doing in Austin?
Aren’t you still living in D.C.? How the heck are you? Your children?”
“That was a lot in one breath. You haven’t changed, Lynette.”
We both laughed. He’d always teased me about being overly curious and said I’d make a great investigative journalist when we dated in senior year.
Back then I was young and dumb, basing everything on chemistry and butterflies in my belly.
Our chemistry had been basic at best, and we’d called things off after two additional fumbling attempts at sex.
We hugged on graduation day and went our separate ways, but this full-grown Paul made me want to rewind time and rethink things.
“Lemme answer what you threw at me. I’m in Austin on business. I relocated from D.C. to Chicago last year. My sons are great. Both are in college. And who’s this young man? Is this Justus?” Clearly, Mrs. Giles fed him information on me as well.
“Yes, this is Justus, the incredible human I call my son.” I pulled Justus close and felt him tense slightly.
Meeting new people wasn’t always easy for him. Social interactions could cause overwhelm or trigger an episode depending on the situation or surroundings. I laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “J, Mr. Giles is a friend from back in the day.”
Justus accepted his handshake and looked him in the eye before speaking to his chest. “Justus is my first name, but my dad and I have the same middle and last names. Avery and Adams.”
Paul gripped his bearded chin, feigned deep contemplation. “Justus Adams is a distinguished name, young man. Like someone ready for the Supreme Court bench.”
My son nodded. “Yeah… I guess. Have you ever been to the Supreme Court building? It has thirty-six columns in the Great Hall. Do you want to go get pizza with me and my mom?”
I smiled at Justus. “That’s nice of you to extend an invitation, but it looks like Mr. Giles was headed inside and hasn’t seen his movie yet.” I nodded at the refreshments Paul held.
“How about a raincheck?” Paul looked from Justus to me, his gaze slowly raking down my form and up again in a way that left me warm, bubbly, like room temperature champagne.
“Mom?” Justus interrupted before I could respond. “Your shoe.”
I followed his downward gaze to the toilet seat cover and strip of toilet tissue that had attached themselves to the heel of my shoe during my restroom visit unbeknownst to me.
Lord, really?
I excused myself and hurried to the ladies’ room to divest myself of heel hitchhikers, telling myself I was forty-six and too old to be embarrassed, particularly after the teenaged sexual fumbling Paul and I experienced.
But Paul looked good. Having hugged him, I knew he felt and smelled that way as well.
And I was celibate. Not that I wanted to get with him.
Plus, his being divorced didn’t mean he wasn’t in a relationship.
Washing my hands, I had a split-second wish that I was anywhere else besides in the presence of a handsome man, like maybe Granny’s hat-wearing, water-sac-having, dress-dummy-infested attic.
I’d gone from hats and haints to toilet bowl pranks. All I could do was look at myself in the mirror and laugh. Just damn, Lynette. Damn!