Jason always loses his mind before seeing his parents.
The day of the dinner, he spends the whole day walking around the house, completely scatterbrained. He’ll be making an omelet one second, and the next second I’ll find him trimming his hair in the bathroom, omelet already forgotten in the kitchen.
“You’re doing that thing,” I tell him.
“What thing?” He’s finally eating his (probably cold at this point) omelet, standing up at the kitchen. He’s carried a bottle of shampoo in from the bathroom, and it sits beside him while he eats—why?
I’m about to point it out to him when there’s a knock on the door. Jason walks, barefoot, to the door and opens it up.
Kenzi comes blustering in. “Hey!” she says. “I’m only here for a second—did I leave a hair curler here?”
Apparently, Jason isn’t the only one with scatterbrain. “In the bathroom,” I tell her. “Bottom right drawer.”
Kenzi has been squirreling things away at our place. It’s a side effect of spending the stray night over here. First, it was just a couple of pairs of panties. Now, it’s hair product. Makeup. A blazer.
“You’re a saint,” she says and rushes to the bathroom to retrieve it.
I stayed home on prom night. I imagine this is what it must be like for most people, though—a flurry of half-dressed humans running back and forth between rooms.
When Kenzi vanishes into the bathroom, Jason stares at the wall, his brain a million miles away.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask him.
“Do you know where my black blazer is?”
“In the closet. Next to mine.”
“Cool, cool.” He looks down at his hands, which are suspiciously empty. “Where’s my—?”
“Kitchen counter.”
“I love you, man,” Jason says, reuniting with his omelet.
“Love you, too,” I repeat. I’m scrolling through my computer. Even though the glare of my screen, I can feel Kenzi’s inquisitive eyes on me, lingering in the archway.
“What’s up, buttercup?” I ask her, deadpan.
“How do you guys do that?”
“Do what?”
“Say…those words?”
A smile twitches the corner of my mouth. “What? I love you?”
“Yes,” she says, voice cagey, as though the very words are infectious. “That.”
I shrug. “They’re just words.”
“So you don’t mean them?”
I close my computer. “You know me, Kenzi. I don’t have a heart.” I scan her body. “Are you wearing that?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s wrong with it?”
I shrug.
She breaks her composure and laughs. “I’m joking. I’ve got a dress.”
“T minus 30,” I tell her, and she salutes me before standing.
As we get closer to time, however, with the two of them fluttering around me, I start to feel the jitters take hold.
I’m a grown man. An esteemed doctor. I make my own money, and I pay my own taxes, and I do my own laundry.
I shouldn’t be nervous. But I am.
I go into the kitchen and decide to distract myself by putting away the flurry that Jason left—his dirty dish still on the counter. I rinse it and drop it in the sink when I spy a plate of brownies on top of the microwave. Jason is an okay cook, but he has a knack for baking. I stress eat, stealing a brownie and eating it off a napkin to avoid crumbs.
It’s not like I haven’t met Jason’s parents before. Hell, I work for Mr. King. I’ve sat at his desk. I’ve walked through diagnoses with him. I’ve attended galas at the hospital. So why does the thought of eating food across from him for an hour, maybe two, make me sweat?
Maybe because things have changed now. I’ve seen his son’s O face. I’ve sucked his son’s cock. I’ve made him cum with my name on his lips.
Worse than that, I’ve developed, I don’t know. Nagging sort of feelings for the guy.
So I pick crumbs and ruin my appetite on sugary sweets.
Jason finally reemerges from the bathroom and steps into the kitchen. “Hey, you’re loosening up,” he says.
He looks good, but that’s nothing new—looking good has always been effortless for him. Dark hair jostled, he’s wearing a light button-up and creaseless gray slacks. The top couple of buttons are undone, teasing his curly chest hair.
“Kenzi’s still changing.”
“Cool,” Jason says. He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back against this counter.
Even dressed up, I can make out the bare outline of him. Even his relaxed slacks can’t hide that mammoth.
My fingers twitch with the want to undo his belt, and my blood starts to rush south. Why am I so horny right now? I force myself to ignore the dryness of my lips and steer my thoughts.
He nods to the plate of brownies. “How many of those have you had?”
I scowl. “Are you counting my calories right now?”
“No. But uh…you should know I made those for Maria.”
“I only had one. She won’t notice.”
“No, I mean like…they’re special. You know. Like…really special.”
My throat feels thick and slimy. What. The. Fuck.
“Pot brownies?” I hiss. “You made her pot brownies?”
Jason lifts his hand in a half shrug. “She’s been having trouble keeping food down, so—it’s medicinal! It’s fine!”
“No, it’s not fine! You need to…put a sign on them! You can’t just have pot brownies lying around!”
Jason chuckles. “Holy shit, dude. You’re going to be fun.”
I groan and put my head in my hands. “I’m fucked. I’m so fucked. I’m going to be sick.”
I feel Jason’s hand on my shoulder. “Hey. Maybe this is God’s way of telling you to chill out, go with the flow—”
“I don’t want to flow!” I snap at him. “You poisoned me!”
“It’s not a big deal. You used to get high all the time when we were kids.”
“When we were kids!” I grab him by the collar of the shirt and bring him in close—I’m bull-seeing-red mad right now. “This might come as a surprise to you, but it’s not my idea of a good time to be stoned in front of my boyfriend’s dad!”
Those blue eyes widen, and a small smile climbs his lips. “Am I your boyfriend?”
“That’s what you got out of that?” I hiss.
“Is everything okay…?”
We stop and turn to see Kenzi standing in the middle of the room.
She’s wearing a white shirred dress with a frill trim. Lace flowers pattern the skirt, which stops above her knees. The neckline draws a V to her breasts and ties off into a sweet little bow.
She’s breathtakingly beautiful, and for a second, my chest tightens and my heart beats faster and my throat closes. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the edibles.
Probably.
Kenzi blinks at us, confused. “What’s going on?”
“He ate the pot brownies.” Jason points at me, the boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Kenzi’s mouth falls into an “Ooooh.”
A sharp stab of anger between my ribs. That voice in my head: Everyone’s having a good time, and as usual, you’re fucking it up.
“I’m fine!” I snap. “You look like a fucking angel! Jason’s ready! Let’s go while I can form sentences!”
I genuinely mean the compliment, but I’m too pissed and bitter, and my mouth is full of silverware, spitting knives.
“Do you want to go?” Kenzi asks.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
Kenzi frowns. Then she steps over to the table, picks up a paper napkin, and plucks a brownie from the pile. She tears off a corner and pops it in her mouth. “Solidarity,” she explains.
I don’t know why…but that does help. My heart, which is bouncing around my chest like a cat on a 2:00 a.m. rampage, finally starts to slow down.
I exhale, and the breath takes some of my rage with it.
“Okay,” I decide. “Let’s go.”
