by Trisky
"I know, I know, I'm sorry." He runs behind the counter, tossing his apron over his head and picking up some dirty dishes as he goes. "You wouldn't believe the line at the bank and then they make you show them 6,000 different forms of ID before they even consider letting you open an account. I thought I'd make it in time. I tried calling but the battery in my cell went dead."
Debbie stands with one hand on her hip, the other offering him a rag, disinterested in his excuses. "Wipe down the counters. Then refill the lemon bars. You can make the time up tomorrow and cover the end of Elaine's double shift so she can go home to her son." In Deb's world that math makes some sort of sense.
"No can do, I have plans." He gives her a cheeky smile and looks in my direction for the first time since he came in, all hot and sweaty, out of breath and defiant. And smiling. Just the way I like him.
I get the once over from Deb from one side and a glare of pained indifference from her offspring on the other side. "I'm sure Babylon can wait a few hours for your presence. You don't mind do you your highness?" she demands, more than asks. I shrug my shoulders and serve back some of my own practiced indifference.
"Actually, we're not going to Babylon." I can't believe I let him guilt trip me into this. That's the only reason I'm doing this. Fuck it, I shouldn't even be doing that much. I don't do guilt. It's not a big deal. It's not. I knew I'd be paying for that vacation debacle long after I paid off my Visa bill. It seems that repaying certain debts can be an endless, fruitless enterprise when it comes to restoring someone's dignity. I will be paying through the nose until he's satisfied that he no longer feels totally humiliated. I've already done one movie, one art gallery and two nights without Babylon in the course of a couple of weeks. This is my final concession. No more. Nothing. Absolutely the end of the line. As long as he stops panting... and smiling. I wait for him to trade in his humiliation for my own. "I just have some shopping for a shirt I have to do. Brian doesn't think I can find it around here, so he's gonna drive me to find something."
He carries on adjusting his apron and wiping the counter around us, without a care in the world, saving us both from having to explain. Sometimes, in the back of my mind I realize... I really like this kid.
Debbie must too, because she just snaps her gum, tosses her hands in the air and lets it go at that. Mikey on the other hand...
"Just what we need, another label queen in the making. You're teaching him well."
I could only dare to dream.
"Learning at the knee of the master," Justin pipes in, his rag swiping Mikey's hand, rather than the counter. He pauses and stops wiping for a second looking right at him. "Literally." He grins, satisfied with himself. I'm not getting in the middle of it. I've had enough of that to last me one lifetime.
Before Mikey can respond, Debbie saves us all with her well chosen, articulate words of wisdom. "If the two of you want to have a pissing contest, do it somewhere else. Otherwise keep your cocks in your pants."
"Sorry," they both mumble, humbly. I don't apologize. I'm the only one behaving myself, for once.
"And you," she points her pen right at me like a weapon. What? What did I do now? I haven't said a damn word! "If you turn him into a mini-snot like you, you're gonna have to answer to me. Leave Sunshine alone. He's fine just the way he is." She smoothes the bangs on his head and he beams for her like some angel sent from above. Mikey and I both grimace and roll our eyes simultaneously, sickened from the sugar rush. He will always be the favored, golden child.
If she only knew what he was capable of. She'd know that he was clearly the devil's handmaiden packaged as a fair blonde to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting people who have the misfortune of mistaking him for an innocent.
"He should thank his lucky stars I'm willing to take pity on his helpless fashion sense. Khakis with everything..." I shake my head talking mostly to myself. It pains me, it really does.
"What's wrong with khakis?" Michael asks.
"Thank you! I ask him the same thing all the time." Justin verbally high fives him. Oh, that's just bloody fucking priceless. You couldn't get them to agree that the sky is blue on most days, but that they bond over.
"Go clean your hands and get me a lemon bar and be quick about it." I don't have to justify myself. Anyone with a pair of eyes and some taste already knows I'm right. I look around at the three of them. Clearly none of them qualify.
"I'm the only one who gives the orders around here!" Deb reminds me, very loudly. "Sunshine, go clean your hands and refill the lemon bars." He responds dutifully, like the perfect son that he is, taking off in search of the perfect, fattening topper to this oh so pleasant exchange. "And the both of you stop rolling your eyes at him, or I'm going to slap you both in the head so they get stuck up there."
"He's not even your kid!" Michael squeals a little more sharply than he intended, no doubt. Biology doesn't matter much in this family. "Besides, it's not like he walks on water, but you treat him like he does. He can do no wrong." He sounds dangerously on the verge of a 'you love him more than you love me'.
"He does plenty wrong. I'm sure Mr. Wonderful here can tell you all about that." Her glance automatically finds me and pokes me in the eye with a withering stare. "He just gets cut a little more slack because he's 19 and impressionable. You're grown men and he's already more mature than both of you combined. So what the fuck is your excuse?" she asks both of us. How did I warrant an equal reaming? It was Michael's whine! I feel a 'he started it' on the tip of my tongue, but I suppress it. That would only prove her right.
I plead possession by the devil, I don't know what Michael's excuse is. I'll have to remember how precious and fragile Justin really is when he's worshipping my cock in a few hours. I'm tempted to tell her that just to knock him off his pedestal.
Instead we both say nothing. Our wrists have been thoroughly slapped.
"Well now that we're all one big happy family again, I expect to see all of you Sunday night for dinner at 4. Do you think you could find the time to do me that one little favor?" She lays it on thick. If it were anyone else, I would have been out of here the minute I sat down.
"As a matter of fact, no." I move my fork closer to me and away from her as a precaution. "I have a business function I can't get out of."
"On a Sunday?" Michael asks the question forming on Debbie's lips. He thinks about it for minute, recognition alighting on his face. "Your company picnic. It's that time of year, isn't it?"
"Well then you're excused," she allows.
"I can't make it then either," Michael responds. "What time is it? I'll have to rearrange my plans with Ben."
Justin arrives with newly clean hands, a batch of uncut lemon bars and a very large kitchen knife.
"What the fuck for?" Debbie takes the lemon bars, but not the knife. I look at my fork. It doesn't even compare.
"Because I have to go to this boring picnic to make sure he doesn't fall into a coma," he laughs, surely just remembering all the years that I nearly drank myself right into one at this thing and that's it. Meaning nothing by it at all. No one else laughs with him. I watch Justin's ears perk up, listening but not looking, concentrating on cutting perfectly sized wedges with his very large knife and a slightly shaky hand.
Debbie peruses Justin's stiff, robotic movements, a frown appearing on her face. "I'm sure Brian can handle one year without you, can't you Brian?"
"It's not a big deal, we'll do the dinner next Sunday." Michael answers for me. Debbie stops chewing her gum. When Debbie stops chewing her gum, it's wise to take shelter somewhere far away.
"I'll finish that, honey." She takes the knife from Justin's hand, shielding him from her coming wrath, because he's 19 and impressionable, and still not entirely up to speed. "You go clean up table three." Sometimes she forgets how smart he really is. Sometimes I think we all do.
"Sure," he says with a confident smile. "I don't mind cutting them though. It helps my hand." He waves his fingers as he casually strolls by me on the way to table three, and it cuts my stomach into tiny little pieces. I no longer have an appetite for lemon bars or anything else. It's just another in a long line of reminders about why I don't care how much people tiptoe around him or look at me with that blame in their eyes, at least he's still here to tiptoe around. He can be forever encased in glass for all I care.
She waits until he's out of earshot before leaning across the counter, directly in front of Michael's face. "Sometimes you're a real shit!" She makes good on her promise and slaps him in the head with her order pad. Can't say he didn't deserve that one.
"Whaaat? What did I do now?" He's honestly confused. It's why he's so easily forgiven by everyone. Justin is just following in his well worn footsteps. It's hard to stay mad at someone who doesn't honestly set out to hurt anyone. It's why no one would ever confuse me with someone who deserves to be forgiven for anything.
She sighs an exasperated, upset sigh. "You have to learn to think before you speak." I don't take the shot, it's way too easy. Besides, I'd rather it come from Debbie. If it came from me, then it would just be me interfering. A vow I plan on sticking with for once in my life. I'd be getting it from him about choosing sides and cackles of glee from Justin about which side I chose. Instead, I make no choice. I just let the chips fall wherever they may. "Now listen up, you're not going to this thing. You have plans with Ben, you keep your word. I know I taught you better than that." She turns bluntly towards me, not unexpectedly. "I think you know what you have to do, don't make me spell it out." I smirk, insouciantly.
She always feels better after she's finished running our lives.
"You don't understand. It's not a big deal." Michael scrunches his eyes in that way he always does when he's trying to emphasize a point. "It's just something we do every year. Like a tradition. It has nothing to do with Ben or Justin. Will you tell her that?" he pleads with me.
"What has nothing to do with me?" For once he might actually be as innocent he looks.
"You finished cleaning that table already? Christ, you're quick," Deb recovers well enough for all of us.
"Your mother is right Mikey. Spend the day with Ben. I'll manage without you." She purses her lips in gratitude.
"I don't mind changing my plans, I'm sure Ben won't either." I put my hand up in protest and he doesn't challenge me.
"You are hereby absolved of best friend duties for the day," I hold my hand to my chest solemnly but jokingly and that seems to appease him. He's clearly disappointed that I didn't jump to his defense and explain how not that big of a deal it really is. He's right, it's not a big deal, it's just something we do every year. So it's not a big deal, if he doesn't come. Frankly I don't understand why any of it is a big deal anyway? It's just a boring picnic. You'd think it was the party of the century and there was only one spot on the guest list left.
"I have to get back to the shop." He fishes around his wallet for some money and throws it on the counter. "Have fun if I don't see you before then." He says it more than he means it. He slaps my shoulder and looks towards Justin. I can feel his hand slide off slowly the longer Justin looks in our direction.
"Lemon bar to go?" Justin drips with pleasantness.
Mikey leans over the counter to give his mother a kiss on the cheek, like the good son he is, ignoring Justin. We all watch him leave until Deb comes around to my side of the counter. She does have a living she has to make, that doesn't involve directing our personal traffic. She leans close to my ear, gum firmly stuck under her tongue. "You think you could do the right thing for once?"
"I always do." My voice follows her retreating backside. I look over my shoulder to make sure she's not coming up from behind me with any blunt objects.
"So what doesn't involve me?" He leans on the counter, crossing his arms.
"You're so clever. Except you're not." That innocent act doesn't work on me.
"And you're such a fucking coward. Except... on no, wait... you really are."
Can't say I didn't deserve that one.
"Do you want to stay home? Because that can still be arranged," I threaten.
He takes the tongs from the cake platter and retrieves a plate from under the counter, putting a lemon bar on it, without my asking, or my permission. He shoves it in front of me expecting me to just eat it. We both wait a beat and I take my fork and reluctantly poke a hole in the devil's candy.
"Why didn't you tell them?" he waits until the fork is planted firmly in my mouth.
"Nothing to tell." He buys my innocent act as much as I buy his.
"If that were true, then you would have said something and saved yourself the scene. Now they're both going to think it was Debbie's idea!"
It's official, nothing will ever satisfy him. "You're already going, what more do you want? A banner?"
"Don't you at least want credit for doing the right thing without having to be pushed into it?" It puzzles him that I don't. I kind of think doing the right thing, doing what's expected of you, isn't something that needs its own celebration. If I were someone who did it more regularly, maybe everyone else would stop thinking it was an achievement when I finally did. If I were someone who did it more regularly, we wouldn't have to keep having this conversation, would we? "Unless of course it's not about that," he leads.
I follow. "What is it about then?" Straight into the fires of hell.
He pulls himself up straight, leaning his hands on the counter. "You want them to think it was her idea. You want to hide behind the whole world thinking it was someone else's idea. I get it now." It's not kind, but it's not an accusation either. It's like the curtains have been separated and the light has just begun to dawn on him. "That's fine. I'm the only one who needs to know the truth anyway. You can pretend for everyone else. So what time are we on for tomorrow? Even though I totally don't see what's wrong with just wearing a t-shirt." He leans back down reaching both of his hands out for one of my own, no longer panting, but smiling. That's enough for me.
That's it, no finger pointing, no arguing, no long faces.
I smile back and shove the remainder of the lemon bar in his mouth.
Sometimes, way way waaaaaay in the back of my mind, I realize... I could really love this kid