Chapter 14

Fourteen

At five-thirty, the following Friday evening, Titus opened the porch door for Pedro, who hurried past him in a whirlwind of nervous energy. Along with his usual overnight bag, he was carrying clothing from the dry cleaners on hangers, the ghosts of plastic coverings trailing behind.

"You are not wearing that."

"Why not?" Titus asked, following him into the bedroom.

Pedro tossed his bag on the bed and then lifted the wrap from his dry cleaning. There were two button-down shirts and a pair of slacks on three separate hangers. He held the shirts up for Titus to see. "Which one?"

"I like the blue one. What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Pedro hung the shirts on the closet doorknob and toed off his athletic shoes, pulling his shirt over his head and off.

"Shorts and a T-shirt? Really? That's what you want to wear for dinner with the mayor?"

"They're my parents. We don't have to dress up, you know."

"We're not dressing up. We're dressing casual, but nice. No Hootie and the Blowfish ."

Titus looked down at his t-shirt, lifting it with pinched fingers. "But it's my favorite," he said, resembling Tucker so much at the moment that Pedro was compelled to hug him. He stood on his tiptoes and Titus leaned in for a kiss, receiving only a peck on the nose. "It's adorable," Pedro said. "–and so are you. But you're not wearing it."

"Fine." Titus sighed, hands up in mock surrender. "I'll wear jeans and a polo."

"Pantalones, por favor. Khakis," Pedro said, removing his pants.

"Hm. You're almost naked."

"That's because I have just enough time to shower and get dressed before we leave. Perhaps if I'd had more than a day's notice that I was having dinner with the mayor, I would have been better prepared. Where's Tucker? What's he wearing?"

"He's spending the night with Shelly. Roz left with them about an hour ago." Titus pulled Pedro close again, offering a sad puppy-dog face. "I've been here all alone, just waiting for you to come through that door."

"Yeah? Well, you're gonna have to wait some more. There's no time for the hanky-panky. Maybe after."

Titus looked at his watch. "We have plenty of time. Before and after."

"I need to clip some flowers for a bouquet."

Titus nuzzled Pedro's neck, pressing tighter to him. "First, you're gonna get down on your knees, unzip my shorts, and get me good and hard. After that, I'm gonna bend you over that bed and get you nice and slick. Then I'm gonna make you come while we do it doggy style."

"You've given this some thought, I see."

"All day long. Yesterday and today."

"It's very tempting."

"I was hoping you'd think so."

"I like facing you when I come, though."

"Then maybe–" Titus continued, voice lilting. "–if you're a good boy and do exactly what I say, I'll roll you over, step up to the plate, and hit a grand slam like Crime Dog."

"Um." Pedro's brow furrowed. "The baseball metaphor's not working."

"Sorry. Stay with me. How about…I'll roll you over, put your leg on my shoulder, and make you feel me where you've never felt me before?"

Like magic, Pedro felt a shift within himself. The movement of his eyes slowed from frenetic to focused. More than that, though, his demeanor altered too. His anxiousness dissipated, consumed by a burgeoning sexual energy, relaxed, yet empowering. His lips curled upward slowly, eyes offering Titus a seductive twinkle.

"Fifteen minutes," he said.

They only needed ten.

After they showered and dressed, Pedro quickly clipped some hydrangea, gardenia, and baby's breath. He arranged them to his liking in a vase on the counter before transferring the flowers to paper and wrapping them. He held the bouquet up for Titus to see.

"It's beautiful," Titus said.

"I'm happy you approve."

"Looks professional."

"Better. They're fresh. Nothing like fresh flowers."

"I love you."

The words, equally fresh and spontaneous on Titus's part, surprised Pedro. He'd been so preoccupied with making everything perfect for his first official dinner with the parents that hearing them stunned him.

He lowered the bouquet, their eyes meeting. Titus was so handsome in his snug khakis and his white polo shirt. His dark hair was still wet from the shower, finger-combed back, with one rebellious Superman curl resting on his forehead. Pedro had never seen him don anything other than shorts and t-shirts which–though appropriate for Georgia heat–were much less mature. What he saw now was everything he had ever dreamed of in a man—handsome, successful, caring, confident—standing right in front of him. However, this perfect image, in combination with those three words, hit him like a sucker punch. He felt dizzy, disoriented, and worst of all, guilty as he watched the assurance drain from Titus's expression with each passing second of his silence.

"I–"

"You don't have to say it," Titus said, averting his eyes. "I know I jumped the gun. Probably seems desperate too, having just asked you to move in. I can't help it, P. I've known for a while now, maybe since we first met, if that's possible. And seeing you all dressed up, taking the time to make a gift for my mother– who you don't even know –I… I just couldn't hold back anymore."

Pedro laid the bouquet down on the counter and went to embrace him. "I feel the same. I do. It's just hard for me to say it–that's all. I'm scared, T. The last time I was happy in life, things changed so fast. Sometimes, I feel like I'm still spinning."

"Your father?"

Pedro nodded. "His decline and death began a chain of events I never foresaw. I know you've been through it, too, and please don't think I'm suggesting my father's death was more devastating than Violet's was for you–or anyone, for that matter."

"No. I get it. You were a teenager forced to become an adult early. You sacrificed your dreams in order to provide for you and your mother."

"I also did things I'm not proud of."

"We all have secrets, P. I'm ready to listen whenever you see fit to tell me– if you ever want to tell me. No pressure there. But it won't change the way I feel about you. That, I promise. Our situation may be similar, but you and Tucker have something in common, too, you know? He lost his mother. Maybe subconsciously I'm moving fast to spare him similar distress."

"It's hard losing a parent, but it's even worse when you're young. I thought I was invincible. Then one day I wasn't. Suddenly, I had to factor making money, our well-being, safety, quality of life–all at sixteen."

"It's a lot of responsibility for kid. If it makes you feel better, I'm very fond of the man it molded." Titus laid his head on Pedro's shoulder with a sigh. "Makes sense I guess."

"What does?" Pedro asked.

"Opposites attract. You met your family situation head-on, took the wheel, and now you're steering toward a better future for the two of you. I ran away, receded, all but disappeared."

"Whoa. Wait. Both were unique situations involving untimely death. And like you said, we were kids. We did what our defense mechanisms dictated."

"That's what I mean. You became a man. I became Big Britches. Not the one I aspired to, but the one people predicted, resting on my laurels while the world kept turning. Forever Truman Shepard's son."

Pedro took Titus's face in his hands. "No. I don't believe that. Recuperation time is different for everyone. You also had a baby to consider."

"Tucker is five years old, and I'm still hiding. Nothing has changed."

"But it has. You've been– we've been going out more. And you and Alden are selling your business, considering another. And tonight we're having dinner with your parents."

"I just want to be a better man, P… for you."

"Listen. When you said those words earlier, I don't know why they startled me. I know how you feel, and I love you, too, T–and Tucker. I'm just stuck in this weird pattern of everything needing to be perfect before I can consider happiness. I don't know if it's inherent, or if it came with the onset of becoming breadwinner, but you've made me see it now for what it has become– a crutch ."

Relief welled with the tears in Titus's eyes, but he pressed on with the subject, nodding vehemently. "I get it. We both put family first. You told me yourself what your priorities were. You're a well-oiled machine that way and I respect it. Tucker and me, well, we're the monkey wrench."

Pedro chuckled at the fragmented idiom through tears of his own. "Love… is a monkey wrench ."

"It'd make a good book title."

"Yeah." Pedro wiped at his eyes. "By one of those obnoxious self-help gurus."

"We're gonna be a little late for dinner now, but I don't care."

"Me either." Pedro pulled Titus down for a kiss. After, he flashed a cartoonish grimace. "Well, maybe a little. First impressions, you know?"

"Then grab your flowers, my dear. It's time for you to meet my parents."

The Shepherd home was similar to the Hawthorne House in that both mansions were near the town square, but the Shepherd home was a Victorian from the early 1900s.

"I had no idea," Pedro said, getting out of the truck. "I drive by this house every day."

Titus smiled. "It's Spoon, remember? You could drive by most things every day."

"It's gorgeous. It looks a lot like the farmhouse."

"Yeah. Pretty much the same. Mama just enjoys being in town more."

They strolled up the front walkway in the early evening twilight.

"You nervous?" Titus asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

Before they reached the steps, the front door opened, light spilling out. In it stood the silhouette of a woman. From their angle, her features were mostly hidden in shadow, but Pedro could just make out a cordial, yet mischievous smile.

"Alas," she said, in a pleasantly deep and husky voice. "My son has arrived. It's about damn time, you know."

"I'm sorry, Mama," Titus said. "It's my fault we're late."

"That is not what I meant. You must be Pedro."

Pedro scaled the steps, extending the bouquet. "Mrs. Shepherd, it is such a pleasure to meet you."

"Don't make me feel older than I already am. It's Patricia. Pat, if you like." She stepped out of the doorway and took the bouquet. "How absolutely beautiful. You grew them, didn't you? I recognize the gardenias, but some of the hydrangea colors are new."

"Yes, ma'am."

Patricia Shepherd raised her eyebrows, a friendly reminder.

"Sorry—Pat."

She was taller than he'd expected, wearing a simple-but-striking tailored red dress. Her demeanor was slow, almost seductive and, in mere seconds, Pedro was taken with her. Much like his initial meeting with Titus, he found himself captivated by an effortless charm. Bouquet in hand, she extended her arms and welcomed him with a warm embrace. She smelled as good as she looked. The spicy fragrance–a hint of Cinnabar by Estee Lauder–complemented the velvety purr of her tone perfectly. "What I meant was, thank God, you've come along and lured my only son out of his shell. I barely see him anymore. I'm counting on you to change that, you know?"

"I'll do my best."

"I know you will. You've already got him wearing decent clothing."

Titus blushed, squirming awkwardly at the foot of the steps.

"He cleans up pretty good, doesn't he?" Pedro asked Patricia.

"I'll say. If there's one thing I did well, it was birth a big handsome son."

"I agree. He's like a young Brando-Burton hybrid."

Patricia chuckled softly, leaning toward Pedro with a congenial whisper. "Rock Hudson for height, and just a splash of Burt Reynolds pre-mustache."

Titus groaned. "You two can stop anytime now."

"Only if you give your Mama a hug, too. What have you done with my darling grandson?"

Titus climbed the steps and hugged his mother. "He's spending the night with Roz and Shelly. Thought it might be easier for us all to talk without little ears around."

"I'll forgive you this once." She turned back to Pedro. "That's another duty of yours, by the way–more Tucker time."

"I think I can manage that."

"Wonderful. Well, y'all come on in. I sent Amelia home early, too, for similar reasons even though, according to your father, your secret is out. She made a wonderful dinner for us. We've been keeping it warm."

"What are we having?" Titus asked.

"Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits, butter beans, and banana pudding."

"Hell, yeah. I'm so hungry I could eat the north end of a southbound mule."

Patricia's eyes cut to Pedro.

"I'm on it," he said.

Truman greeted them in the foyer. "Well, you must be Pedro. I've heard nothing but good things about you."

"I'm afraid he's biased. But I promise I'll try to live up to what you've heard." Pedro held his out hand to shake. "Pedro. Pedro Torres."

Truman's eyes never left Pedro's. "We hug in this family, son. Handshakes are for business and politics, and I do enough of that all day."

The hug was brief but robust, and when they parted, Pedro smiled at the couple. Truman was petite and, standing opposite them, he saw they mirrored the couple in height difference. Truman was clearly a charmer, but one thing was abundantly clear to Pedro. Titus had his mother's magnetism.

The dinner was both formal and informal. They made their plates at the kitchen stove, but ate at an immaculately set table in the dining room. Patricia swiftly arranged the bouquet in a crystal vase on the nearby sideboard, with the dessert bowls and banana pudding.

"There," she said. "Now we can enjoy them while we eat."

"Your home is lovely," Pedro said.

She joined them at the table. "Well, thank you for adding to it."

"It's the best of both worlds," Truman said. "Like Titus, I love that house out in the country. But Pat loves it in Spoon proper. So, a few years ago, when a similar house came on the market here in town, we jumped on it."

"I love Victorians too. Unfortunately, we don't have many in Mexico."

"No," Patricia said, sipping her iced tea. "But you have those gorgeous Spanish colonials and baroque homes. I would love to see haciendas like that here in Spoon. It's more of a Florida thing, though, I'm afraid."

"Where are you from, Pedro?" Truman asked.

"Chiquilá. It's on the tip of the Yucatan."

"Speaking of Florida, that's south of the panhandle, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's funny. We always think of Mexico as being far away, on the western side of the States. But its reach is vast, just across the pond, so to speak."

"I was telling Titus the same. Chiquilá is very close to Cuba."

"Near Cancun?" Patricia asked.

"Very, but there's no direct route, so it takes a few hours by car."

"Wonderful weather, I imagine. What on earth brought you to Spoon?"

Pedro told them a little about his family, his father's passing, and their hardships following. Both parents listened intently, with the occasional empathic murmur or gesture. When he finished, Patricia reached out and took his hand.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, and so young. It's not fair. But it's noble of you to look out for your mother that way. Coming here to provide a better life for both of you."

"I miss her terribly. We speak on the phone. But it's not the same."

"No, it's not." Patricia said, cutting Titus some side-eye.

"A boy's best friend is his mother," Pedro added, tossing the movie quote like a breadcrumb.

Patricia did not disappoint.

" Psycho . Norman Bates. Please tell me you're not going to stab my son in the shower."

On the contrary, it's usually the other way around , Pedro thought. "I promise I won't. I'm too fond of him."

"Well, that's a relief. Perhaps this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

" Casablanca . Rick. To Captain… Louis, I believe."

"Oh, Lord, son," Truman interrupted. "What have you done?"

Titus smiled. "Pedro's a movie buff, too, Mama. I told him about your obsession with the American Movie Classics channel."

"I wouldn't call it an obsession," Patricia said.

"No. It's more of an addiction," said Truman. "Could you please pass me the biscuits, Pedro?"

Pedro did so, saying. "I've been an old movie buff since I was a kid. My father used television to help me learn English."

"You speak it very well, I noticed." Patricia raised her napkin to her lips. "I hope you don't mind me saying so."

"No. Not at all. I'm quite proud of it. English is one of the hardest languages to learn. It's also why I read a lot. Barb and I have our own little book club."

"Barb? Hawthorne?"

"Pedro has a room at the Hawthorne House," Titus said. "He and Barb are friends."

"How quaint," said Patricia. "We've practically been neighbors this whole time and didn't even know it."

"How is Barb," Truman asked. "We hardly see her anymore."

"P says she's got her hands full with property maintenance on that old house," Titus said. "Says the historical society has been no help at all."

"That's no surprise. Bobby Garner and that bunch… they probably want her to turn it into a museum, maybe wear hoop skirts and hang rebel flags."

"You're not far off," Pedro said.

"She should have told me. There're other options out there. I could co-sign a business loan for her–just like I did for you and Alden. It's not like I haven't known her since she was knee high to a grasshopper. She's so goddamned independent."

"She's cautious," Patricia said. "She's a woman in a man's world–a gay woman."

"Daddy told me you knew… about both of us."

"A mother picks up on these things."

"How long?" Titus asked.

Patricia smiled, placing her napkin on her plate. "Well, since we're moving on to this topic, I suggest we move on to dessert first. Pedro, dear, will you help me clear the table?"