“Okay,” said Michael, following him.
Once outside, they walked companionably. “Here, in my 'in case of emergency' data, I'll write 'call both,' okay? And I'll tell my mom to call you right away if anything… You know.” He added Michael's cell number to his mother's, which was already programmed in.
Michael pulled out his own phone, doing the same. “I'll mention it to my mom as well, and program your number into her cell phone. You do the same with your mom's, okay?” said Michael, looking relieved.
“Feeling better?” asked Tristan, seeing Michael smile. Really the man was delicious. “I guess I can't kiss you. I could eat you up right now.”
It was Michael's turn to blush. “Yeah, I really don't do that. Love you, though.”
“Me too. I'm going to help Randy and Mom out, and then I'm on the hook for a whole ton of homework.”
“Guess I won't be seeing you.”
“Guess not, sorry. Till tomorrow, at least.”
“Oh,” said Michael. “I'll try to last that long.” He stood there, at war with himself. Tristan saw his discomfort and butted Michael's shoulder with his own.
“You know what? My friend has phone sex with his girlfriend because she's at NYU; I thought it sounded like fun, call me later? Midnight?”
“If I'm still awake—I'm covering a shift for someone, and I'm likely to be pretty tired tonight.”
“I won't wake you; if you don't call, we'll make it another night.” He grinned. “Good thing I don't share a room, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Michael climbing into his cruiser. “Sparky?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you feeling everything I'm doing to you in my head?” he asked, looking around to make sure no one was close enough to hear.
“Yep, and I'm about to embarrass us both.” Tristan acknowledged his half hard cock.
“Yeah.” Michael smiled. “See you; glad you're okay.”
“Love you,” said Tristan again, meaning it, letting it shine in his eyes.
“Love you,” said Michael, backing out and driving away.
* * *
It was eleven when Tristan heard his mother and Randy return from the hospital carrying what smelled like burgers in greasy paper bags.
“Not broken.” Randy grinned, waving one crutch around. “Just badly sprained and I have to stay off of it.” Tristan saw it still looked swollen. “I'm going to eat in my room, okay? I want to lie down.”
“Just remember to haul the trash out when you're done. I don't want critters.” She rummaged and removed a burger, handing him the rest.
“You mean besides Devon?”
“Yeah,” she said.
Tristan followed his mom into the living room.
“How about you, did you eat?” she asked, holding her food out to him.
“Yes, thanks, I got burgers for Lily, Devon, and me on the way back from the ER. You know what? I want to put Michael's phone number on your cell contacts. He worries too much. Apparently I didn't make it clear I wasn't part of Randy's accident. You should have seen him. He came to the hospital thinking I was hurt.”
“Worried?”
“Yeah. He's rather overprotective. I think that's why he's a cop.” Tristan sighed. “I put him with my ICE numbers, and I told him I'd give you his cell so you could call him in case anything happens to me.”
“Yeah? That's kind of…well…nice, I guess,” said his mother.
“He does see the worst kinds of things on the job. He said a kid got hit by a car on Halloween. I think that kind of thing takes its toll.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“What do you mean?” Tristan came in to take a seat opposite her.
“Michael has a dangerous job. He probably sees things every day that people shouldn't have to see. Have you thought about how that's going to affect you?”
Tristan couldn't say that he had given that any thought. “Yeah…but…Michael—he chases kids on skateboards and stuff. Gives tickets for safety violations. He's not really that kind of cop, you know?”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Well, not in so many words…but I can't see him going all
NYPD Blue
, you know? Chasing street thugs and mob guys down Harbor Boulevard.” He couldn't really see it, but did that mean it didn't happen?
“Have you thought about how you'd feel if you got a phone call about him?” she asked quietly.
“Okay, this is going somewhere, isn't it?”
“I guess so, yeah,” sighed his mother, unwrapping her burger. “I was just thinking about today.” He stared at her for a second and then realized with a kind of horror that it would have been his father's birthday.
“Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I forgot.” He rubbed a frustrated hand over his face.
“The date is not that important, Tris. I was just thinking, though, about your dad and losing him like that. I keep going back to that moment, the last thing we said…”
Tristan got up and balanced on the arm of the chair she sat in, wrapping an arm around her.
When had she gotten so smal
l
? “Mom—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Hear me out, Tris, I really need to say this. I was with your dad for twenty years, and I probably shouldn't feel like I was cheated. But I do. Every day I think I'm going to get better, and every day something else reminds me that it can't ever get better. I didn't walk into that with open eyes. I married an architect. There was no indication, ever, that he wouldn't live to be a hundred. And one day we were just talking…”
“I'm sorry, Mom.” A huge, hard lump burned in Tristan's throat.
“If you keep dating a cop, you have to go in with your eyes open. You can't fool yourself about this. If you really love Michael, you need to cherish every second you have with him.” She grabbed the box of Kleenex that was on the end table and yanked out several of them, covering her whole face, which seemed to dissolve before his eyes.
“That's just not because he's a cop, though, is it?”
“No.”
“It's good advice.” He hugged her hard, knowing she'd probably spent the day needing it.
“My phone's on the counter in the kitchen, and there's ice cream for dessert.” She sniffed loudly and went back to her food.
“They're coming for Thanksgiving,” said Tristan, hesitating and then rising from the arm of the chair.
“Good, it will be nice to meet them.”
Whatever she really thought about Tristan's choices, Tristan thought, she'd keep quiet until she saw for herself. She was that kind of mom. He worried his tongue bead a little as he got himself a small bowl of ice cream. He could see himself standing in this very same kitchen with his father, working the microwave for popcorn or trading stories at the end of the school day.
It made him a little sick to think that he'd forgotten his father's birthday. It had taken months after his father's death before he could enter the house without expecting to see his face at the desk in his office, waiting to ask him how his day had gone. He imagined sitting in Michael's kitchen, so alive with everything that was so quintessentially Michael in it, and knowing he'd never see Michael come through the door again.
Suddenly, he didn't feel much like eating.
* * *
Michael slept as soon as his head hit the pillow, and he dreamed of his boy. He dreamed the hospital was an impossible drive away, and when he got there, his Sparky was gone. He woke up sweating at four a.m. and realized he hadn't called Tristan at midnight.
Shit
. He was covering a shift again on Thursday, but he could sleep as much as he wanted today, and he needed it. He hoped Tristan didn't take it personally. He rolled over and went back to sleep. This time, he dreamed of Tristan making his body fly.
The two weeks before Thanksgiving sped by in what seemed like a second for Tristan. His homework load ground him down to nothing, yet he and Michael shared quiet, intimate moments in Michael's house that still made him tremble with erotic aftershocks whenever he thought about them.
Thanksgiving Day turned out to be one of those cool but sunny California days when cooking a turkey and making a ton of side dishes appeals not at all. Tristan was trying to take it seriously, peeling potatoes and roasting squash, but his heart wasn't in it, for more reasons than one. Randy and Devon had been tiptoeing around the house being quiet, a sure sign something big and nasty was up, and Lily went into hysterics the minute Tristan and his mother had removed the bag o' guts from the turkey.
“Honestly, I don't see how you can stand near that thing much less eat it,” she wailed, holding her nose. “It was once a
living thing
.”
“More for us,” said their mom, taking the high road.
“It's disgusting. I can't stand to be in the same room.” She turned her back on them.
“Yet I notice,” said Tristan, “that you aren't forgoing the pleasure of toasting those Pop-Tarts in here on principle. Don't they taste good cold?”
“You? Shut up,” she said, still with her back toward him. “I take it we're meeting Mr. Magic and his mother tonight?”
“Yes, and Edward's coming too,” said Tristan evenly, wrestling the bird out of the sink into the roasting pan. The girl had a point; this was really pretty nasty. “And I would change my tone if I were you. Michael is bringing something meatless especially for you. He wanted to try out a dish that a friend of his told him about. He won't say what it is.”
“Well, that's nice,” said Julia. “Isn't it, Lily?” She looked at her over her glasses, and Lily agreed reluctantly.
“Yes, it's nice.” She took her Pop-Tarts and fled.