I desperately did not want to go home again. My parents and I weren't hostile with each other, but with every passing day, the weight of their judgment hung over me, especially in comparison to my two older brothers.
It started with college, which was a mistake from the get-go. I was never a great student in high school. I was more focused on girls, sports, and having a good time. I was a middling second-string quarterback, an okay first baseman, and in my last two years of high school, a pretty damn decent runner in track, though not quite good enough to land a scholarship. If I went to college, it was going to have to be on a student loan.
So that's what I did. I had a vague plan of picking up a degree in physical therapy, or maybe becoming a PE teacher, which seemed all right. If I'm being honest with myself, I was probably always doomed to fail. I didn't really take classes seriously, and I liked to drink a little bit much. What happened with Ann Lentz only sped up the whole process. In a way, I'm grateful to her for that. She probably saved me another seven thousand in debt.
She was something else, a Barbie doll brought to life. Short, blonde curly hair. Glossy red lipstick. A fake tan that she somehow always rocked to perfection. A body sculpted by many surgeries. Forty-five, and like a .45, she was a bullet to the head.
I met her when I was working in Student Life. She came in with her husband, the vice-chancellor of the school. He was showing her around the new building, and she pretended to be suitably wowed while all the while giving me a none-too-discreet once over.
In two days, she came back, and in about two more minutes, I had her on my boss's desk, her legs spread wide as I fucked the everloving bejesus out of her. We slept together a few more times after that, usually at her house and once in my dorm room, which got her off for some damn reason. She was dangerous, and I knew it. I absolutely knew it. But I was hooked on her, on the taboo sex, on being someone's eighteen-year-old stud.
But I started to hate myself for it. I didn't want to cuckold her husband. I didn't know if he was a good guy, an asshole, or something in between. All I knew was that he had lousy taste in honest women. I tried to break it off with Ann peacefully. Then when she showed up in fishnet stockings without any panties to my office, I had to be a little firmer.
She didn't like that, and went to her husband. Turns out, he was in on the whole thing and liked the idea of his wife fucking a student. I didn't appreciate that, and in the ensuing heated argument, I punched the guy. Whatever my story was, administration didn't want to hear it. They didn't even acknowledge me. I was kicked out before the week was done.
My parents were usually distant people, not exactly cold but with emotional walls always in place. That day, though, my father shouted at me for an hour. My mother cried and drank herself into a stupor. I was told I was an embarrassment, a failure, and I had no idea what I was going to do with myself.
They weren't wrong.
* * *
I still had a few days yet before my roommate Jimmy's deadline to get out, so I called everyone I knew looking for some place to couch surf while I found a new job -- easy, if you didn't mind assholes berating you while you worked behind a counter handing over burgers and fries. But finding an apartment or a place to rent? Not so easy. Jimmy was a friend of a friend, and got the word out quick I wasn't to be trusted because I couldn't pay utilities. Every door but one slammed in my face. My high school friends Steve and Kayla would be happy to take me in, they said, but they worked winter jobs at a ski resort during the winter and wouldn't be back for another month. It was something, at least, and I got a little emotional thanking them.
But a month with my parents was... well, a lot. I kept trying other people. A rental by myself was out of the question. There was no way I could afford first and last month's rent along with a security deposit, but I kept a running list of places anyways in the hopes that when I had enough money I could get a small place somewhere.
In the meantime, I called around and got interviews at three fast food places for the day after Brandon's funeral. I wasn't going to be any use to anyone until then, and besides, Deana was moving on it fast. It would only be a couple days.
I hung out there a lot that week. Deana and I didn't talk about our hookup, but she got me alone the night after we slept together and kissed me gently before pressing her head to my chest. I hugged her, and when Hannah walked in, she thought we were just being friendly and joined in, nestling her head against her mother's shoulder.
The morning before the funeral, Hannah called me up as I was boxing up the last of my things. "Hey, Mom and I were wondering if you had breakfast yet."
"No, not yet," I said.
"Mom's making a ham and egg casserole. Come on by before work."
I couldn't remember the last time I had a real breakfast apart from cereal. It was an unspoken rule that if you worked the midnight shift at the gas station, you could treat yourself to a couple donuts when you made them, so I guess that was the closest thing. The thought of real, hot breakfast made me practically jump for the door.
When I arrived, their house was devoid of company, and I think both Deana and Hannah seemed relieved by that. Not that they weren't appreciative of everyone's well wishes, gifts of food, and their support, but I could see the exhaustion in their eyes. That day, they weren't exactly happy, but they looked better rested, at the very least.
"Do you need it to go?" Deana asked. "I really should have thought of sending Hannah to bring it to you at work."
There it was. No way to dodge that question. "I had some trouble with my boss the other day. Going to be looking for a new job." They both looked at me, alarmed, and I hastily added, "It wasn't anything to do with Brandon or being here. They wanted to cut back my hours and if I wasn't going to be working forty a week, then I might as well work somewhere else I can get better pay and better hours."
I didn't think they bought it for a second, but in the moment, they had their own troubles going on. Deana said, "Do you have anything lined up?"
I talked about my job interviews as she cut us up pieces of the casserole. Both of them tried to eat healthy in general but all bets were off that wee and the casserole was almost nothing but cheesy greasy goodness. We all tried our best to act like it was old times, and you know, in moments, it really felt like it was, Hannah giving me shit, Deana metaphorically shaking her head, me loading the dishwasher after as thanks.
It was the minutes after everything was put away that got to me, though. Our conversation faded, and none of us quite met anyone else's eyes. We shut down, and Hannah started to cry.
We went to her, holding her, out of words and barely able to give her any warmth but being with her anyways.
It took some time but her tears finally abated, at least for the moment. She excused herself to was her face and touch up her makeup, but before she left, she looked back at me. "You want to go for a walk or something?"
"Sure."
When she was gone, Deana pushed me down gently in a chair and leaned over to kiss me. It was more than a friendly thing, and when my hand roamed her ass, she moaned softly against my mouth. "Be good to her," she whispered against my lips, then pulled away. "It's not so icy around Gazelle Park. That would make for a nice walk."
"Not going to join us?"
"No. Gordon is driving in later and I'd like to sharpen my knives before then." The joke caught me by surprise and I laughed harder than it probably warranted. She looked pleased with herself, and leaned against the counter. "I'd like to take care of a few things. Have some time to myself, think and decompress. And I might go by the funeral home just to..." Her voice trailed off and I nodded. "It's a lovely spot they have ready for him. Lots of sunshine."
"That's good," I said. "He'll get more out there than he ever did here."
Deana too laughed harder than the joke deserved. Despite the fact that she kept trying to pull back from me emotionally, there was still some immense pull there between us and I had to fight to keep from going to her and kissing her again. A good thing, too, because Hannah popped her head into the kitchen to ask me to fill some water bottles. I did, and in another ten minutes, she emerged in form fitting pink sweatpants and a long-sleeved faux turtleneck that did wonderful things for her breasts.
She caught me staring and smirked. Yeah, there was still some of the old Hannah there, and I grinned sheepishly back. "I'm not apologizing for staring at that. You know how you look."
"The butt look okay?" she asked innocently, and turned to show it off in profile.
"Don't know. I could use a closer look."
"Oh Lord," Deana said.
To my utter shock, Hannah strutted to the table -- and it could only be called that, a strut, crossing her legs in front of one another in an exaggerated model's walk. She twirled around and placed a hand on her butt. I don't know what came over me, but I gave her a spank. She yelped and blushed, but turned and asked, "Well?"
"They'll do," I said.
"They'll do?" Deana said. She came over and inspected her daughter's very fine behind. "Baby, that butt is perfection."
"Aw, thanks, Mom. Just showing off what you gave me."
She gave Deana a peck on the cheek and I followed suit without thinking about it. Hannah looked surprised at that and Deana pleased.
In Hannah's crossover, she said, "Mom needs that now and again."
"What? The kiss on the cheek?"
"Yeah. The last guy she dated was Warren and he wasn't much for PDA. She likes it. So make that a habit."
"I will." Feeling bold, I added, "You know she's right about your butt. It's god-tier booty."
She grinned. "Booty?"
"Yup."
"No one says that anymore." But her gaze flicked towards me, and it was definitely not my imagination that she was blushing. "Thanks. Maybe I needed that too."
We drove in comfortable silence to the park. As Deana suggested, the meandering paths were well kept by the city parks department and the parking areas were almost completely empty, since it was a weekday and in the middle of a Vineport cold snap. Lined in cherry trees whose blossoms would coat the ground in a few months and a copse of beeches called Dancers Grove because that's exactly what the gnarled trunks and arms looked like, it was a beautiful park.
Hannah took the week off from school. She was a senior that year at the same college I was kicked out of. We talked some about her classes. She was double majoring in business and economics, with the intent of opening her own hair salon someday. Having been working as an apprentice for a hair stylist since her freshman year, she was ready to be licensed but wanted to focus first on college. Even long before that, she practiced her skills on Brandon and me, usually without her mom's -- or our -- permission.
We laughed about that some, remembering a time when Brandon had to get a buzz cut after a particularly unfortunate attempt at a crew cut. She walked close to me, and for the first time in a while, I saw her genuine smile. It was a rare thing, even before Brandon's illness. She used it sparingly on purpose, because it was a weapon and a tool, capable of making guys like me fall forever for her.
Hannah caught me looking. "What?"
"It's good to see you smile. It's always made my day."
