Chapter 10: The Quiet One
612 Words
I woke in the early morning to find Tony standing at the edge of my chair, watching me with his soft blue eyes, prodding me with his outstretched hand. His hair was wet, and he looked like he had just gotten dressed.
Good morning, I signed, smiling at the sight of him.
He stared at me with solemn eyes, did not respond.
How are you this morning? I asked, sitting up and stretching. Sleeping in the chair had been hell on my back and neck.
He continued to stare, said nothing.
Why are you so quiet?
He shrugged.
You hungry?
He gestured at me. Come on!
I followed him into my own room, where we found Jackson getting dressed in a running suit.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said, smiling at me.
“Y’all have been up already?”
“We went swimming. We’re not going to sleep our lives away like some people I know.”
“I was tired,” I said in my defense.
“Jet lag will do that to you.”
“It’s only a two-hour difference!”
He smiled his devil-may-care smile.
“So y’all are getting along?” I asked.
“You’re not the only deaf-child whisperer in our house, Mr. Cantrell.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m glad.”
“We had some breakfast, took our medicine, went swimming, did some bonding. He said he likes your hair.”
“My hair?”
“Your goatee, I think. He says it’s funny.”
“Funny?”
“That’s what he said.”
“We haven’t even adopted him yet, and y’all are ganging up on me already?”
“Just getting a head start. By the way, you might want to steer clear of my mom.”
“Why?”
“She said she hasn’t had anyone s**t in her front room in a long, long time and she’s not sure how she feels about it, especially with a reporter from the Boston Herald standing there.”
“It was an accident!”
“She was pretty mad.”
“He couldn’t help it!”
“Well, I wouldn’t talk to her right now.”
“I’ll talk to her, Ledbetter. Don’t you worry about that. He didn’t mean to do it. Jesus, sometimes your mom makes me so frickin’—”
Jackson grinned.
“You think it’s funny?”
“I’m happy to see I can completely bullshit you and you still fall for it like a wet mule.”
“You’re lucky we have company, or I’d kick your Yankee ass.”
“Uh, Wiley, don’t forget: You’re in Boston now, baby. This is where folks kicked your ass all the way back to Dixie. We did it once and we’ll do it again, and the next time we burn down the South, we ain’t going to stop at Atlanta. Now go take a shower. I’ve been dying to go to a decent shopping mall. That one in Tupelo is more like the idea of a mall, and I’m tired of driving to Memphis to buy clothes. There’s about fourteen shops I need to go to, plus I want to hit up the deli bar.”
“You’re going to take him to a deli? What’s he going to think of us?”
“That we’re health-conscious, upscale gay men with deep pockets and a nice fashion sense who like to eat good food, or at least something—Christ, anything!—that hasn’t been fried in ten inches of pig fat? I mean, what more could he want?”
“You have a point. I’ll get ready.”
- Writer
