7. Ethan

CHAPTER 7

ETHAN

Maurine Underwood was a mouse of a woman and Ethan was certain that he didn't like her very much. He tried his best to keep an open mind about the whole thing, but it was hard to do that knowing what he knew about Mickey's living situation. Mickey hadn't talked much about how or why he'd ended up where he had, but it was clear to Ethan that Mickey wasn't welcome at home. Or he didn't feel like he'd be welcome there.

They watched Mickey disappear down the hallway and into the bathroom, and once the shower cut on, Ethan turned to Maurine. "I'll walk you out."

She nodded meekly and put her cup down on the coffee table. She hadn't drank much of anything, but Ethan had more or less made the hot chocolate for a distraction. It was days like this when Ethan questioned the wisdom of having a home phone and of having the calls forwarded to his cell. Clearly, Mickey had wanted to reach out to his parents, but had thought better of it considering the fact that he didn't leave a message.

Ethan shoved his feet into his boots and followed Maurine out to the driveway. "Did you know he was in town?"

She gaped at him. "I know I haven't done right by my son, but I didn't know what sort of situation he'd gotten himself into."

Ethan bristled at the way she laid the blame on Mickey. "And if you did know? Would you have helped him? Where's your husband?"

Maurine stiffened. Her hands shook when she dug into her purse for her keys. "That's not your concern."

"Maurine, the world almost lost Mickey. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that. If he hadn't stumbled into the diner that night, he'd have died in the storm. Sick. Exhausted. Starving. And alone."

"Why are you telling me this?" Maurine snapped. Her eyes were wet with tears and her chin wobbled. She pressed a gloved hand over her mouth. It made Ethan feel like a monster. He doubted Maurine had the best marriage.

"I used to be married, Maurine. The mother of my boys died when Taylor was small. He probably doesn't even remember her. There's not a day that goes by that I don't miss her, but I can tell you one thing for certain. If she hadn't died, if she was still here and she tried to make me choose between her and my boys, I'd choose them every single time." Ethan turned and walked away, leaving Maurine to climb into her vehicle. He stayed on the step until she backed out of his driveway and slowly drove away.

Mickey was still in the shower when Ethan went inside. His mind raced as he gathered up the cups and dumped them down the drain. They were stacked neatly into the dishwasher and any trace of Mickey's mom having been there was erased.

When Mickey came out a little later, he looked around warily.

"She left."

Mickey nodded. "I called the house."

"She called back. I have calls forwarded from the house phone to my cell phone. It didn't take long for me to realize who she was. I'm sorry I let her come over without asking you first."

Mickey leaned against the counter. His hair was damp and a little too long, so it kept falling in his face.

"I can cut that for you if you want," Ethan said. "I used to cut the boys' hair. Single dad, broke as hell most days, and always pressed for time. It was easier to learn to do it myself than worry about getting them to a barbershop."

"Yeah, that'd be great. I haven't had a haircut in a while."

Ethan grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and sat it in the middle of the room. "It's easiest if you sit on the chair backward. The back doesn't get in my way then. I'll just grab my kit and be right back."

The kit was in the bathroom where he'd left it the last time he'd used it, which was so long ago now he didn't remember when. Or who the last one was that he'd used it on. His boys had grown up and grown out of wanting their dad to cut their hair anymore. Which was fine. Kids were supposed to grow up and grow out of things. He brushed his nostalgia aside and grabbed a towel from the linen closet.

Mickey was sitting backward in the chair just as Ethan had suggested. His arms were folded over the back of the chair and he looked at Ethan through a veil of hair that had once again fallen over his forehead.

"I was at the library today. I updated my resume and applied for some work. I put your home phone number down."

Mickey seemed almost apologetic about that, but Ethan paid it no mind.

"That's fine. I'll make sure I stop forwarding the calls to my cell phone." Ethan draped the towel around Mickey's shoulders. "Hold that closed. It'll help keep the hair off your shirt. How do you want it cut? I'm no professional, but I can manage most of the simple things. Just don't ask me to shave a spider web into your hair or a Batman symbol or anything. I can't draw for shit."

Mickey's laugh startled Ethan and he turned away to plug the clippers in. Mickey hadn't done a lot of laughing and it felt like a victory that Ethan was able to make him laugh now, especially after that horrible meeting with his mom.

"Just something simple, whatever's easiest."

Ethan swallowed down a dozen comments and set the clippers on the counter. He grabbed a comb and carefully tugged it through the knots in Mickey's hair until the comb ran smoothly.

"What if I left the top a little longer than the sides? I can trim the sides nice and tight with the clippers, and just take some of the top length off."

Mickey nodded and Ethan got to work.

It was strange to be so close to him. Mickey smelled like Ethan's body wash, but it was different on him. Sweeter. He'd have to be blind to not see how attractive Mickey was, even if he was far too young for Ethan. But Ethan wasn't dead and there was no harm in noticing someone.

"Where did you learn to cut hair?" Mickey asked once Ethan set the clippers down and started to work on the top with the scissors.

"Necessity, mostly. A neighbor used to watch out for the boys when they were younger and I was stuck at the diner a lot. He taught me. He was old and didn't get around too well a lot of the time, so the boys were good company for him. He'd been a barber before he retired."

They were quiet after that, but the silence wasn't strained like past silences between them had been. They weren't thinking they needed to say things to fill the gaps. Mickey was comfortable around him, Ethan realized. And though he hadn't been aware of it before, maybe Ethan hadn't been fully comfortable around Mickey either. Until now.

Ethan felt his lips curve into a gentle smile as he finished cutting Mickey's hair. "Don't move. Let me get the hair off your neck first." Ethan's kit had a small brush just for this purpose and he used it to dust off the nape of Mickey's neck. "If you get itchy, you can hop in the shower again."

Ethan tugged at the towel and Mickey released it. Carefully, he took it off of Mickey and bundled it up for the laundry. "Go have a look and tell me what you think."

Already he missed touching Mickey. It had been calming to run his fingers through Mickey's hair and it gave him an opportunity to be closer to him. Ethan had tried fighting the force that wanted him in Mickey's orbit, but there was something freeing about giving in to it.

Mickey padded down the hallway and Ethan put the chair back, then swept the hair off the kitchen floor. There was a lot more than Ethan thought there would've been, but Mickey's hair was thicker than Ethan had first guessed.

Mickey returned and hung at the edge of the room while Ethan finished sweeping up the hair.

"What do you think? It's okay if you hate it." Ethan put the broom away and turned to see Mickey run his fingers through his hair.

"Thank you." Mickey's cheeks were dusted with pink and it made Ethan wonder what on Earth he had to be embarrassed about. "I haven't had a haircut since before I left Lance."

"He must've been a piece of shit if sleeping on the street was better than being with him."

Mickey's shoulders dropped and Ethan saw the relief wash over him. It was like he'd put out that statement just to see what Ethan would say. If it had been a test, Ethan was certain he'd just passed. Maybe he should be insulted that Mickey felt the need to test him like that, but he didn't. Mickey had been through some shit, that much was obvious. And if he was finally ready to talk about some of it, Ethan was all ears.

"He was great at first. Charming. Doting. He's a bit older than I am, not much, but enough, you know? He seemed…" Mickey furrowed his brows. "He was everything I thought I wanted and I know now that was calculated of him. I moved in with him as soon as the ink was dry on my final exams." Mickey scoffed. "What a stupid move that turned out to be. He doesn't live here. So I left everyone and everything I knew and at first it was amazing."

Ethan pulled out a chair and motioned for Mickey to sit. Mickey dropped down into the chair and exhaled a deep breath.

"I was an idiot," Mickey said.

Ethan wanted to smooth the sadness from Mickey's face. He cut his gaze away before it got too intense.

"You were young and taken advantage of. Abusers are always nice at first. It's how they trap you. They lure you in with big promises and sweet words and then, one by one, all that changes. When you're young, it can be harder to spot. You find this person and they seem to really like you. They tell you all the flattering things you want to hear. Things about how great you are. How special. And it continues on until one day, they tell you that you're shit. That you've changed and you're not the same. And it makes you try harder because now you think you're doing something wrong and you want to get back to that place you were before."

Mickey looked at Ethan with wet eyes. "That's… how do you know?"

"My dad wasn't around and my mom dated some good guys, and then some not-so-good guys. You learn the pattern after a while."

"I'm sorry. It's not easy to watch your mom be with someone who isn't good enough for her. My dad is… he's okay with the "gay thing," as he put it. Even though he grew up pretty religious, he didn't care that I was gay, so I always felt lucky about that. I don't know how much of his attitude was acceptance and how much was tolerance, but that doesn't matter. The last time I saw him, he told me not to come back. And Mom, well, you've met her."

"I know I already said it, but I really am sorry for letting her come over without talking to you about it first."

Mickey shook his head. "No, don't. I'm glad I saw her. At least it answers some questions for me about whether or not I made the right choice in not going back there. As hard as things have been, I don't think they'd be any easier at my parents' house."

"I'm sorry," Ethan said, because what the hell did you say to someone who didn't feel like they could go home? He folded his hands together to prevent him from reaching for Mickey.

"It's fine."

It wasn't, but there was nothing either one of them could do about it.

"The weather is supposed to be warmer tomorrow night. Once a month or so, the kids come over and we do a fire out back and cook dinner and there's usually a song or two on the guitar. They used to bring their friends, but now they bring their boyfriends. Do you feel up to roasting some marshmallows?"

Ethan couldn't do anything about the past, but maybe he could make the present better.