Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

W ith Chelsea's help, Sandy gathered his things and packed his Prius. Before leaving Mayfield, he told them everything that led to the break up. They said to give it time, but Sandy was never very good at the waiting game. As he drove down the highway back to Chicago, he couldn't prevent his lips from pouting. Not only had he lost his holiday gig, but he'd lost a guy he genuinely connected with beyond a physical relationship, which was a first. All his emotions hit him at once, and he realized he didn't want to be alone. But Julia was out of town, and he wasn't in the mood to go out to any of the bars. He surprised himself when he hit the FaceTime icon to call his mom.

"You're not dying and you're FaceTiming? Are you sure you're not ill? You should not do the FaceTime while driving." His mom brought the phone close to her face so she could look at him.

"Don't worry. I have a holder on the dash."

Harley pulled the phone back, so he and his mom both appeared on screen. "That may be, son, but we're only thinking of your safety."

Sandy refrained from rolling his eyes, but it took great strength.

"Is everything all right?" His mom pushed her glasses up her nose.

"Fine. It's fine. I'm fine." He inhaled, trying not to get worked up. "I wanted to see if you'd like to have dinner."

"Heck yeah, we do. Come on over. I got some pork going in the oven." Harley beamed brighter than Rudolph's nose. He was the most excitable person on the face of the earth.

"And we have plenty of miso soup."

He hated to admit it, but all of that sounded perfect. "I'm coming straight to yours."

"Whoo-hoo. I'm gonna get the bourbon out. We're having cocktails." Harley slapped the counter.

"You better drive quick, otherwise he will start without you," she mumbled close to the phone.

"I heard that. You're gonna like this one, my boy." Harley hooted enthusiastically.

Mom shook her head, but Sandy knew she enjoyed her husband's wild outbursts.

"See you soon." Sandy ended the call. Somehow that call made his spirits lift even if it was a minimal amount. In a way, he needed to be with them tonight. He needed them to play the love-smothering couple and make him eat too much and drink too much. And perhaps he even needed them to talk him into staying overnight in his old bedroom. Ugh, what is wrong with me? Moonshine nudged her nose into his arm. "Why didn't you have the sense to talk me out of this?"

Forty-five minutes later, Sandy pulled into the drive at his parents' Forest Glen home. Contrary to many of the other homes in that area, his parents owned a modest four-bedroom, three-bathroom, two-story home. His mom filled it with tchotchkes, and she preserved his teenage room with Britney Spears posters.

Before Sandy could say a word, his mother shouted greetings from the door and his stepfather had bounded out of the house and taken out Sandy's bags. "I don't know if I'm staying."

"We're having cocktails. You're staying," Harley responded.

Sandy grabbed Moonshine's leash and followed Harley up the steps, and stopped to kiss his mom on the cheek. The home always smelled the same, a mixture of his mom's cooking and Harley's woodworking projects. Tonight, the savory scent of miso soup welcomed him.

Harley trudged up the stairs.

"He doesn't have to do this." Sandy unhooked Moonshine's leash. The dog barked and headed toward the kitchen, probably enroute to the doggie door his parents still had, even though it was years since their old beagle Bubba had gotten his wings.

"Let him. He likes to do stuff for you." His mom turned to him and poked his belly. "You're getting soft."

Sandy rolled his eyes as he took off his shoes. "Hey, I really don't need to be fat-shamed right now."

"I'm not shaming you. I'm telling you that you have a pouch. Come." Mom followed Sandy and stopped in the kitchen.

He shook his head at his mom's unique way of twisting his words.

Harley rounded the corner and patted Sandy's shoulders. "This is gonna knock your socks off." His stepdad had a bunch of items and glasses out to mix their cocktails. "Got this bourbon straight from a small batch distillery in Tennessee."

Sandy took a seat at the kitchen island. He could really use a drink.

"Why does your face look all frowny?" Annie stood across from him as she started placing pickled carrots and onions in a bowl.

"Long day. Long drive. Long everything." Sandy blew his bangs out of his eyes and headed to the back door. He grabbed a towel to dry off Moonshine.

"I don't believe you." His mom raised her voice.

"She doesn't believe me. Shocking," he said to Moonshine before rejoining his parents. Harley handed him his drink, and he took a big swig. The ginger hit the back of his throat, and he covered his mouth, choking the liquid back down. "Nutcrackers!"

"Yeah, it's got a kick. I call it Ginger Snapped." Harley's features lit up with pride.

"More like Ginger Bitch-Slaps. Wow. This is potent. I love it." Sandy patted his stepdad on the arm.

His mom rounded the island and headed into the cozy living room, where a fire was blazing away in the fireplace. She held a mug of tea in one hand and a bowl of mixed nuts in the other. Sandy followed her and took a seat on the floor, where there were half a million pillows for sitting. "You have too many pillows. This is ridiculous."

Harley moved a bunch of pillows on the couch, too, and sat down. He threw his arm behind Mom. There was barely an inch between the two. "He's avoiding something big," Harley mumbled to her.

Sandy threw a pillow at Harley, who caught it and placed it in his lap. "You gotta be quicker on the draw than that."

"Why are you here? What happened to the nice boy?" His mom reached for the nuts on the coffee table and took a handful, sharing with Harley.

How does she do this?

"You're sulking like when that boy in fourth grade broke your heart. Remember him?" She glanced up at Harley.

Harley took a sip of his drink, wrinkling his features in thought. "That scrawny kid."

"With the hair." She lifted her hand above her head, indicating the messy style Dennis Parks' messy hair style. Not that Sandy remembered his name or his favorite color or the fact that last year he'd liked one of Sandy's tweets and then Sandy proceeded to stalk him online only to find out that he was happily married to a man who looked exactly like him and their 2.5 children.

"Can we please stop skipping down memory lane?" Sandy smiled, enjoying this even though he'd never admit it. I'm just going to tell them, because that's why I'm here, isn't it? "Before anymore guessing ensues, I made a mistake with Patrick and things . . . dissolved."

His mom silently stared at him as she blew on her tea.

Harley stirred his drink.

"What did you do? Why do you push everyone away from you? You're handsome, talented, and you think you're very funny. Why do you do this to yourself?" Mom rattled off as she set her mug down.

Sandy pointed a finger at himself. "Me? I'm the problem?" He looked between his mom and stepdad, baffled by that announcement. Harley had gone oddly silent and averted his eyes. "I don't believe this." He slapped a pillow to emphasize his indignation.

Moonshine sat next to him and sneezed as if on Harley and Mom's side.

"You don't get a vote."

The dog barked and turned away, hopping up on the couch next to mom and curling into a ball as if offended by Sandy's dismissal.

Harley cleared his throat. "Perhaps what it comes down to is that you might get in your own way."

Sandy inhaled. He couldn't deny that he did block his own way to happiness with Patrick. He could have been upfront about his new job. But it was too late, wasn't it?

His mom tilted her head at him. "You like him."

Sandy lifted a shoulder, acting indifferent.

"You want to get him back." His mom pointed at him. "You came to us for help!" She sat up and practically wiggled in her seat.

"Ha. No. Not at all. That's a big glass of never ever." Sandy hid behind his cocktail and took a long sip. Oh yeah, I'm having another if I'm going to drown out all her excitement. Why did Julia have to go to Japan? She's so selfish.

"I got an idea." With big eyes, Harley glanced between his mom and Sandy. "What you need is a grand idea like a big, in his face, I-like-you bouquet."

Mom tsked. "Not flowers. That's not good enough. Bigger."

"Bigger?" Harley rubbed his chin as if he were Santa about to fire up the sleigh to get his gift. "What's he into?"

"Until recently he lived for his job, but they lost the store in a fire, so now he's starting over from scratch."

"That's work. What about outside of all that?" Harley rattled the ice and leftover liquid in his glass.

"Sadly, that's been his life for so long it's the only thing he's been living for, well, and his obsessive need to exercise. He might want to get into coaching." Sandy stirred his empty glass, considering what could help Patrick the most. "They have a lot of bills to pay off."

Harley stood and took his empty glass to the kitchen. "I'm turning off the soup."

Mom waved a hand in the air. "Then help him raise money."

Sandy bobbed his head. The fundraiser page was still up, and he'd have to check that later. "Don't I need something more personal?"

Harley sat back down. "How about a silent auction?"

She patted his knee at the idea. "I can make finger food."

Sandy gazed at the flames dancing in the fireplace, considering the scope of all of this and how he could even afford to do something like it in a short time span.

"Have it at the Asian American Community Center, and you can auction off your photos."

"I got a Rolodex full of clients and other docs and dentists that we can easily nudge into spending their money." Harley said.

"You're showing your age using that old timey language." Sandy smirked into his cocktail glass. "But if you're making these Ginger Bitches for them, their money will fly outta their pockets. This is all absurd, isn't it? How am I going to get all this together before Christmas?"

"We'll use the center's phone tree and Harley's Rolodex from the 1980s." Mom winked at Sandy. "And call the gays."

Sandy shook his head at his mom. In her mind it was really this simple. If only he was this positive. But he had to try, didn't he? If he was serious about Patrick and his feelings for him, then he couldn't stop at anything to try to win him back. "Ok, let's do this thing."

Patrick was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He hadn't slept at all last night. Every single time he turned in bed he expected Sandy to be there snoring next to him. How had he gotten so used to the man invading his space so fast? Patrick kicked the covers off.

He pulled on a sweatshirt and changed from pajama bottoms to jeans. Instead of making breakfast, he'd walk to Viv's and pick up some pastries. And he hoped the morning air would invigorate him. He needed the cold to slap him out of his thoughts.

As he tied his boots and put on the rest of his winter gear, he even missed the morning routine with Sandy. He missed seeing his shoes mixed in with his own. He missed the preppy jacket Sandy wore and his inability to dress properly in winter weather. How did he survive in Chicago?

Big fluffy flakes of snow fell as Patrick traveled through the park and toward the café. The way Sandy's face lit up when they walked this route on that first night was something he'd never forget. And their playful snowball fight had made Patrick recognize right away that this man was something special. His stomach dropped at the idea of never goofing off with Sandy ever again.

When he arrived at Viv's, the café was bustling with regulars. He moved to the pastry display, where Viv slid a fresh tray of chocolate croissants into the case. He requested four and ordered a coffee to go.

Chelsea stopped next to him with their hunched gait, removing their gloves.

"Did you come down the chimney?" Patrick smiled at the arrival of his friend.

They nodded and gave him a sly look as if maybe they did wear Santa's red suit. "Thanks for the recommendation. Made Mom's day that I got a new job already."

"Happy to help." Patrick took his coffee from Viv. They gravitated to the counter and sat down.

Chelsea dipped their head down. "Hey, um, not sure if you heard, but they arrested Wayne."

Surprised, Patrick leaned back in his chair. He hadn't been expecting that news at all. "Are they sure it was him?"

"Found the same gas cans at his place and other stuff. Evidence. When they picked him up, he was passed out drunk at his front door. He got frostbite."

Patrick rubbed a palm across his face. What a terrible ending for Wayne and the store. "He needs help." He'd make a call to the sheriff today. Maybe he could speak on his behalf and get him into rehab.

"Haven't seen Sandy around . . . " Chelsea glanced at him and then away as if the idea of talking about relationships made them uncomfortable.

Patrick averted his eyes. Instead of discussing his personal life, he sipped his coffee.

Chelsea removed their phone from their pocket and hit a few buttons. They slid it over to Patrick to see the screen. "The store GoFundMe page blew up last night."

He took a quick peek at the screen, then grabbed the phone in shock. "This is . . . this is incredible." The funds raised could pay off the debt that they owed. The urge to text Sandy crossed his mind, but he couldn't do that. What would I say? And he probably doesn't want to talk to me anyway.

"Not enough to cover rebuilding, but it's a good start." Chelsea took their phone back. "What are your plans now?"

Uncertainty coursed through him. "I don't have a clue. I'll have to discuss this with my parents. It's up to them if they want to start over with another store, but I'm thinking I need to move in a new direction."

Chelsea slipped on their gloves and took a takeout bag from Viv. "Whatever you do will be great. Glad you're braving a new path. It's scary as fuck, but you can do it."

Patrick glanced up at them. "Did you just give me a pep talk?"

Chelsea gave him a one-armed shrug. "No idea what you're going on about." They turned and headed for the back exit.

He chuckled as a smile crept across his mouth.