33. Boston

CHAPTER 33

BOSTON

The distance between California and New York didn't begin to wear on me until my third morning at my parents' farm. I was sure the incessant ache that had taken up permanent residence between my legs as a result of not being allowed to come hadn't helped matters any, but Ford seemed content to let me wallow in that misery until my return.

I'd woken earlier than my parents, with a cock so hard it could have sawed enough lumber to build a new barn, then I'd shuffled downstairs to the kitchen to make myself some coffee to enjoy on the porch. My mom found me an hour later in an old white rocking chair with my feet propped up on the porch rail. The sun was just starting to crest over the horizon, shooting a wash of pink and orange in announcement.

"Didn't take you long to adjust back to farm hours," she said, sitting down in the empty chair to my right. She had a mug of her own coffee, which she sipped while looking out at the sky before us.

"I haven't," I admitted. "I'm just missing home that much. "

"What's her name?" she asked me, and I instinctively clenched my jaw, back molars grinding together.

I slurped a lukewarm swallow of coffee. "His name is Ford," I said.

She made a surprised noise, wood slats of her chair creaking as she started to rock.

"I can't imagine there's many men in that city named Ford," she murmured.

"Yes, it's Kale's friend."

"How has your brother taken that?" she asked.

I took another drink my coffee. "He doesn't know yet."

"Boston."

"I know, I know." I dropped my feet off the railing and let them thump against the wide planks of the porch.

"And a man?"

"You're just as surprised as I was," I told her, casting a sideways glance at her. She studied me with a worried brow, that typical mom expression when she knew something was out of her control but a potential problem for either of her boys, just the same. "It's very new."

"Does he make you happy?"

I reached over toward her and she took my hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Very much."

"Then your brother will bear it."

I snorted a laugh, and caught her smirking. "Kale is not going to be happy."

"That you're with a man?" she asked.

"That I'm with Ford."

"Boston." She let go of my hand in favor of cradling her mug with both hands. "Why would you say that? "

I debated the merits of coming entirely clean with my mother about all of the reasons Kale was going to be furious that Ford and I were together, eventually deciding that I could give her the CliffsNotes version without divulging all of the sordid and unnecessary details.

"Ford isn't the kind of man who has relationships," I explained. "He's a shameless flirt and even before Kale knew I was interested in men, he warned me away from Ford."

"This man flirted with you even knowing you were straight? Or that you weren't interested in him?"

"It was harmless," I said, knowing her well enough to know where the train of thought was getting ready to take her. There was no coercion to be found between Ford and me, at least not from his side. It was entirely possible that I'd tricked him into the whole thing, but if that was true, he didn't seem to have a problem with it anymore.

"Oh." She made a knowing noise in the back of her throat. "He's a playboy."

That was a far nicer thing to call him than the current vernacular, so I answered her with a short nod.

"Is he still?" she asked. "Now that he's with you?"

"No."

"Your brother will be fine with it," she said, matter of fact.

I chuckled, not convinced. "If you say so."

"Your brother wouldn't be close friends with people who lacked moral character, Boston. Even if this Ford was a reckless flirt before you, the core of him has to be good. And I know you wouldn't be with him if it wasn't."

I swallowed, thinking about Ford's ridiculous offer to buy me an airplane. The ways he'd been so nervous about going too far or too fast with me. The way he was always so willing to let me explore…

"He's a good man," I said.

"Then bring him home to meet us," she said, squinting and tilting her head back as the sun itself finally crested from behind the low, rolling hills.

"You've already met him."

"But not as the man you love," she said thoughtfully, making a sound of maternal displeasure I'd never be able to duplicate. "And while you're at it, have your brother bring that prince of his."

I laughed, setting my coffee on the porch rail. It was too cold to drink and I didn't want to get up and go back inside. I leaned back and pushed my weight on the balls of my feet to start the chair rocking.

"Christian gives Kale a run for his money," I said, "I think you'll like him."

"I'm sure I will, and I'm sure I'll like Ford too. The men who make my boys so happy." A soft smile danced across her face and she closed her eyes.

My first night away, Ford had texted me late to let me know that Brooks and Alex both knew about us. They'd taken it well, considering they were friends with Kale. Ford had asked them to keep the secret until we'd had a chance to come clean, and I wondered briefly what it would be like to be with Ford out in the open, without worrying about hiding from my brother.

I'd always been social enough with Kale's friends, but they'd never been my friends. I had Shawn and others who'd come and go, but I'd never had a close-knit friend group like the one my brother and my boyfriend found themselves in the middle of. While I used to be jealous of their tight relationships, now that Ford and I were navigating the limits of secrecy, I was glad to not have the same constraints for myself.

Behind us, dishes clanked and clattered in the kitchen, and my mom let out a quiet huff of a laugh. "It sounds like your father is up."

"What was it like for you before?" I asked her, rocking my head against the back of the chair to face her. "When you and Dad met and all of that?"

"You mean when he told your grandparents that we wanted to own a farm and not a firm?"

"Yeah," I rasped, "but before too."

"Oh." She chuckled, rolling her eyes like the memory was fond and not horrible. "You mean when that ancient hippie from California stole your dad out from under their piles of money and ruined his life forever?"

"That doesn't sound like how you two tell the story."

"It's how your grandparents used to," she said. "At least at first. They weren't happy I was older than him, and they hated the way he loved me."

"Why?" I asked, nose scrunching up at the thought so violently it displaced my glasses. "You just want Kale and me to be happy. Didn't they want that for him?"

"They wanted him happy there ," she clarified. "Just like I wanted you two happy here."

"Mom."

Being a snappy teenager had been a horrible time for me and for Kale. We'd both struggled to balance the obligations of rural farm living with the expectations of public school. Even though we were still better off than most, kids were cruel and in the absence of knowing any better, we'd thought money would fix it all. When our grandparents proposed that Kale and I finish school in New York, it had felt like a win…for all of us.

Kale and I would get away from the farm and into a more comfortable life. But I learned quickly that money didn't make people any nicer and there were just new things to get teased and tormented about. There'd been a time, two months in maybe, when I thought I'd made a horrible mistake and wanted to come back to California. My grandparents hadn't been too keen on the idea, and neither had my father. Even though he'd walked away from his life to be with Mom, the lessons that had been hammered into his head through school hadn't gone away. I'd made my decision and I had to live with it. If I still felt the same way in a year, we could revisit the conversation.

For as much as our parents loved us, I wondered sometimes if they wanted more for my brother and me. If that was why they'd been so willing to let us go. Even though the farm had always done well enough to keep us clothed and fed and turn a profit, the comfort and the money my grandparents were offering was far more than they ever could.

"I'm not mad the two of you chose to move with them," my mom said, reaching over and patting my hand before I could let that worry take me too far down a dark road. "I never have been. I missed you both terribly when you left, but just like now, I've wanted the two of you to have the best of everything and I've wanted you to be happy. If New York made you happy, if the money and the rest of it…I wanted that for you."

"I love you."

"I love you too, honey."

The screen door swung open behind us and my father stood in the doorway, half-full carafe of coffee in his hand. He bent down and kissed the top of my mom's head, then ruffled my hair.

"Does anybody need a refill?"

I snatched my mug from the rail and held it up for him to top off. The warm scent of fresh coffee drifted around the three of us, and I took a slow sip while he refilled my mom's cup.

"Thanks, Dad," I said.

He grunted an affirmative noise, never good with feelings, just like his parents before him. My grandparents had given Kale and me a good life, if not a cold one. They weren't as affectionate or as friendly as my mom and dad, and there was only so much money could buy.

For so long, even though I'd built a happy life for myself in New York, I'd longed for the comforts of home, the kindness of my parents. It was amazing to be back with them again, but even after barely two full days, I'd realized the feelings I was missing weren't so closely tied to a place, as I'd so long believed. Ford had stirred all of them up inside of me without even meaning to.

With Ford, I found sanctuary.

"You should tell your father all the things we just talked about," she said, pushing up from her chair.

"About how you stole him from grandma and grandpa?" I asked with a chuckle.

"The rest of it, Boston," she said, smacking the back of my head.

"Is the porch a confessional, then?" Dad asked.

The sun was working its way higher into the sky by that point, and I knew the chores of the day weren't going to hold for long. I took another drink of my coffee and stood, turning to face them both.

"The farm," I corrected. "Did you want help with the eggs?"

My mom patted her hand against my dad's chest and slipped past him into the house. I rolled my head around to crack my neck, and my dad shook his head, expression feigning judgment.

"You can't collect eggs in your pajamas."

"Of course I can." I took another drink of my coffee and scooted around him toward the door. "Just let me borrow your boots so I don't get my sneakers dirty."

He laughed at that, smacking the back of my head in the exact same spot my mom had.

"And here I thought there was a chance you'd be moving back for good."

The quiet statement stopped me in my tracks, and I spun back toward my dad, mouth half-open in shock. The corner of his mouth was quirked into a self-deprecating smile, and one eye was squinted closed. He looked so much like my brother, the comparison was shocking.

"Dad, I…"

He wiped the look off his face, expression turning softer and far more honest.

"Let's go get the eggs, Boston," he said, ushering me back inside the house. "And then you can tell me all about the things you've found for yourself in New York."