CARTER'S SHADOW
Chapter 24 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
West was distracted that night; he barely noticed his supper
as it came and went, seeming to walk around lost in his own thoughts, his
eyes down, staring with fixed determination on nothing at all, his mind trying
to process what he had done.
He'd kissed Peter and he couldn't explain why. He had a boyfriend,
Tony, who he liked and who liked him. But he had still done it, he'd gone
from boy scout to player in no time flat and he hated himself for it. He couldn't
explain his actions, he couldn't work it out at all; it just didn't make sense
at all to him. Peter was emotional, rude, argumentative and... and Tony wasn't.
He was stuck in a cliché, and he rolled his eyes, playing
idly with the cuff of his shirtsleeve. What was he supposed to do now? The
hockey handbook didn't cover gay love triangles, and he contemplated writing
a complaint letter to the Player's Association to get it added. At least he
might be able to get some advice that way.
"Ok, I've been patient," his mother said, setting
the cup of tea down on the table in front of him as she took a seat across
the table. "What's wrong?" she asked, dipping her own herbal tea
bag into tepid water.
West looked up and wondered how the hell he was supposed to
tell his mother that barely a week into a relationship... hell, barely four
days...and he'd already cheated.
"Is it about that Tony boy?" she pressed, adjusting
the flannel robe she was wearing, and West suddenly realized exactly how late
it was. He hadn't noticed as the entire night had slipped away with him just
sitting there.
He opened his mouth, trying to find a way to explain it, explain
how he had screwed up, and he closed it again as words failed him, wrapping
his hands around the mug of tea and watching the steam curl off of it.
"Did you two break up?" she asked delicately, worry
in her voice.
"No," West said looking up, "No, we're still
together... it's just... I don't know for how long." He sighed, "I
screwed up, Mom."
Her worry lines eased slightly, relieved that he had finally
decided to start talking to her, and she leaned down a bit to look into his
eyes, "What happened?"
West sighed again, loudly, "I kissed another boy."
"Oh," his mother said, again the questioning look
seeping back into her eyes. "Who?"
"Peter McCormick," West said after a bit.
"Isn't that the boy you hate from school?" his mother
asked, slightly surprised.
"No, I don't hate him..." West began.
"Well obviously," his mother said with a smile. "You
usually don't explore the tonsils of a boy you don't like."
West looked up. "Mom!" he accused, scandalized by
her lighthearted jibe.
"Well, I mean you could kiss a boy you hate I suppose,"
she remarked, thoughtfully. "But I don't think it's something that happens
every day. Does Tony know?"
"No," West shook his head, "not yet."
"Does he have to know?" his mother asked cautiously.
West sighed, thinking about it for a moment. It would be a big
lie; it would worm its way deep into the relationship and when it was found
out, it would spoil everything. He shook his head, "I have to tell him."
His mother blew lightly on the surface of her tea, cooling the
already cold tea, looking at her son thoughtfully, "When I told you to
make a few mistakes I didn't expect you to go out and make them so soon."
He sat there awhile, just looking into his mother's eyes, trying
to glean some kind of wisdom from them, hoping that she too could see what
was going through his mind. Perhaps some understanding could come from it.
He didn't need a liberal wise-cracking mother at that moment, he needed someone
to offer him the kind of hearth wisdom that would make him feel better about
himself. He needed his mother to make sense out of the mess he had felt his
life slide into.
"Oh West," she said, as the silence lengthened, reaching
out her slender hands to wrap around West's hands which were still cradling
the mug. "You kissed a boy, it's not the end of the world. I don't know
where you get this... this conservatism from, I think you caught it from your
grandparents."
"Who said the C-word?" West's father chose that moment
to walk into the kitchen. "Oh, is he talking now?"
West looked up at his father, the kind of salt-of-the-earth
man you would expect to be the bastion of conservatism, but then the Hardings
had never been a typical family.
"Your son has been kissing boys," West's mother said,
patting West's hand.
"If I recall, he gets that from you," West's father
said, setting out a cup and returning the water to the stove to reheat it.
"And as I recall, you did your fair share of that as well,"
his mother said, arching an eyebrow at her husband.
West blinked and turned to glance at his father, who was whistling
as he plopped a tea bag into his mug. "What?" he asked, turning.
"It was the seventies. So is this about that boy I caught you molesting
in the yard the other morning?"
"I wasn't molesting him!" West replied defensively.
"And no, I kissed Peter..."
"The crazy kid from school?" Old Mister Harding leaned
on the counter and shook his head, "Why is it, the men in our family
always have to fall for the ones that make their lives miserable?"
Mrs. Harding gave her husband a withering look. "Twenty-five
years of marriage, and you decide to pick now to tell me I make you miserable?"
she asked in a haughty tone.
"If I recall," old Mister Harding turned, "you
told me that after a week."
"You always were stubborn," Mrs Harding laughed.
"And you just liked the se...."
"Okay!" West said standing up quickly. "There
are just some things I don't need to know!" He backed away slowly, hoping
to make a speedy retreat back to his room.
"Do you like this Peter?" his father asked.
"No, he's..." West shrugged, "I don't know."
"Then," his mother turned in her chair, "you
need to tell Tony you're not ready for a relationship just yet, and figure
out which one you want to be with. It's not as hard as you think it is. You
don't have to agonize over who, or what you want. Just don't be in such a
hurry to have a boyfriend, and take the time to figure it out."
"Wasn't the last piece of advice you gave was for him to
hurry up and make some mistakes?" Mister Harding commented as he poured
hot water into his cup.
"Shut up, you crusty old..." West's mother snapped
at her husband.
"Ahh, twenty-five years of bliss," West's father commented,
toasting the ceiling with his mug.
"I want a divorce!" she glared.
"You look pretty," his father commented with a patented
charming Harding grin.
His wife frowned suspiciously, her tirade dying in her throat
as she was thrown off guard, "I... thank you..."
West rolled his eyes as he managed to slip away and back to
his room. He slid the door closed as he sat down on his couch, glancing at
the phone sitting in its cradle, Tony's number on a pad beside it. Knowing
what it was he was supposed to do.
A cold knot settled in his chest, tightening at the thought.
There he was about to hurt yet another person, all because he couldn't keep
it together and had stupidly kissed someone he shouldn't have. He liked Tony,
he really did, but his mom was right--he couldn't go on stringing Tony along
while he tried to work out what was going on inside his own head. Rushing
head first into a relationship he wasn't prepared for was the quickest way
to disaster.
He got up and steeled his nerves, his fingers flexing as he
reached for the phone; all he had to do was pick it up and dial...just pick
it up and dial...and he would be able to say...
To say what?
'Hi Tony, I can't date you any more 'cause I kissed Peter in
art class today, but don't worry as soon as I figure out which one of you
I like we can all get back to normal.'
Now that wouldn't work. He returned to his sofa, and stared
at the phone, trying to play out sample conversations in his head. The problem
was that no matter how he tried to work through it in his mind, it always
ended badly. Whatever happened to that bright-eyed kid with the overactive
imagination that could conjure up alien worlds in the back garden and save
them from the evil zombie hordes before lunch?
He stood up again and walked back to the phone, knowing the
longer he procrastinated over calling, the harder it would be for him to actually
call.
* * *
"I told you you'd kiss him," Will observed seated
across from Peter in Perkins's, a large appetizer sampler sitting between
them. They were sharing a cornucopia of cheese sticks, onion rings and assorted
other greasy goodness designed to make a teenager happy.
"I didn't want to!" Peter grumbled, poking his mozzarella
stick into the ranch dip disheartedly. "He kissed me."
"Yeah," Will smiled, "you've repeated that a
few times already. But I'd like to point out you still didn't stop him from
kissing you."
"He took me by surprise," Peter retorted defensively.
"Right," Will smiled as he rested back in the booth
and smiled at the waiter who refilled his coffee mug, "but did you return
the kiss?"
Peter looked up, his blue eyes blinking a few times and he suddenly
blushed and looked back down at his mozza stick standing straight up still
in the dip. Choosing not to answer.
Will read the reaction and nodded, "Right, so that's a
yes."
"I don't like him!" Peter again repeated lamely, knowing
full well that that excuse wasn't cutting it with Will, a man who in many
ways knew him better than he did himself sometimes.
"So," Will said leaning forward on his elbows, "a
guy you don't like kissed you, and you kissed him back. But you're still not
interested in him because you don't like him."
"Yes!" Peter said, knowing that Will would understand
him.
The amused smile on Will's face said he understood Peter all
too well. And Peter's ears burned again as he looked back again and poked
his mozza stick, "He's an asshole."
"So you've said," Will replied, popping an onion ring
into his mouth and munching on it contentedly. "Who do you like at your
school? Blake?"
"No," Peter shook his head, "I don't like Blake,
he's too... annoying."
Will chuckled, "Right... you're not into guys your own
age, I forgot."
Peter blushed again. "Stop!" he insisted, "I
thought I could talk to you."
"I seem to be the only one doing the talking," Will
responded taking another drink of coffee. "You seem quite content to
make abstract art sculptures with perfectly good cheese sticks."
"Sorry." Peter ate the cheese stick, and immediately
began to repeat the process all over again with a chicken finger.
Will sighed and shook his head loosening his tie as he rubbed
his stiff neck. It had been another twelve-hour day, his fifth in a row; he
was tired and desperately wanted to go home and sleep, but Peter needed to
talk, and he'd agreed without a second thought. Peter had so few people he
could open up to, and Will wasn't about to begrudge the kid a way to vent.
"So have you thought about asking West out?" Will
suggested.
"Why?" Peter asked petulantly, "I don't want
to go out with him."
"Right, but maybe he's different outside of school,"
Will pointed out.
"He's not." Peter crossed his arms, and Will was immediately
reminded of how many of his own mannerisms Peter had picked up, as well as
that same stubborn streak that Andrew had come to curse repeatedly.
Will nodded, knowing that no one would shift the kid when he
dug his heels in like that--only dogged determination would succeed--and so
Will decided to play it safe and drop the suggestion.
"If you don't want him kissing you, then tell him not to."
"I did, but he kissed me anyway," Peter replied, finishing
off the last of the sampler.
"Right," Will said, "after you fell into his
arms and you bumped noses."
"Yeah..." Peter said, knowing how weak it sounded
even to his own ears.
"And even though you said no, you still kissed him back.
Despite not being interested," Will drove the point home again. "Well,
you are in a pickle."
The waiter returned, picking up the basket and smiling down
at the both of them. "Would you gentlemen like dessert?" he asked
pleasantly.
Will smirked. "I'd like the brownie and ice-cream,"
he got a twinkle in his eye. "Lots of cream and a cherry."
Peter gaped across at Will, and giggled. Will nodded; at least
he had made Peter smile. Peter for his part ordered a slice of pie and rested
on his hand looking at Will. "I don't want to date someone..."
"Else?" Will finished for the young man, smiling tiredly,
and reaching out a hand to brush the seventeen-year-old's cheek with his fingers.
"You need to date someone, you can't... you can't keep going like you
are."
Peter looked down at the table and nodded. "I know,"
he replied quietly, mousilly.
Will shook his head sadly as he took a sip of his coffee. "I
love you, Sprog," he said seriously, "but... you know it's never
going to happen..."
Peter bobbed his head, "I know."
"Why not at least try to be happy?" Will asked. "You
don't know if you can fall in love with this guy if you don't at least open
yourself up to the possibility. You can't just write him off as an asshole
just because he happens to like you."
"Here you go, gents." The waiter returned with Peter's
pie, and a bowl piled high with cream and saturated in cherries.
Will blinked at the mountain of cream and looked up at the grinning
waiter. "Uh, thanks..." he said, startled.
"There's a surprise in there," the waiter winked as
he spun his now-empty tray and backed away from the table grinning.
Will stared at the waiter a moment and then over at Peter who
was trying not to grin. "Shut up, you," Will said, gesturing with
his spoon, knowing that his sprog was loaded with some kind of witty comment.
He dug into the ice cream as suddenly it welled up with fudge underneath,
and Will's head snapped up again to the grinning waiter who was leaning in
the doorway to the kitchen watching him.
"Fudge packer!" Peter giggled.
"Shut up!" Will intoned, blushing now himself.
"He likes you," Peter teased, glad to finally get
some of his own shots back in at last.
"Ok, stop!" Will insisted, poking the oozing fudge
and laughing despite himself. "We're discussing you and boys."
"This is funnier!" Peter grinned, flashing his bright
blue eyes as he met Will's gaze and smiled broadly.
Will sat there and looked at the beautiful young man who brought
so much life and light whenever he smiled, and he realized how fond of the
sprog he had become over the years of their friendship. "Right, so make
me a deal?" Will asked.
"What deal?" Peter asked suspiciously.
"Next pasta night, you bring this boy," Will said
firmly. "If you don't I'll get Andrew to invite him."
"But..." Peter began.
"Nope." Will shook his head, dipping his spoon into
the fudge and lifting it to salute the handsome waiter grinning at him, "I
insist. And while you're a stubborn brat when you want to be, I'm worse and
you know it."
Peter set his jaw. "You super suck!" he grumbled,
chewing on his pie.
"Yep," Will replied.
* * *
West blew a sigh as he hung up the phone; an hour or so later
and it had finally ended. He felt bad, sitting there rubbing his forehead.
He felt terrible; Tony hadn't taken it well, wanting to know why. Questions
that West didn't have answers to. The only thing he had was the truth, and
it was better coming from him now, than to come out in some kind of mess later.
He rubbed his jaw and grabbed a pillow, sinking back onto the
couch to stare up at the ceiling holding the pillow in his arms as he just
thought about the mess his life was descending into.
