Monster mash, p.29
Monster Mash, page 29
I liked food and cooking, but I enjoyed the service aspect of it a little more. When given the choice between manning the grill and smoker or bussing tables, I’d rather be the busboy any day of the week. Wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy cooking. I just didn’t have the right temperament for it.
Chefs and grill masters were solitary leaders, people who were capable of organizing others quickly to work toward a common goal. I preferred to work with people individually, and nothing gave me more satisfaction than knowing I’d made someone’s day better. There was a vast ocean between understanding someone’s strengths and weaknesses like a chef had to do and understanding how to make people happy.
Sometimes, what made people happy wasn’t what was best for them, and that was just fine. As a maître d’, I saw myself as both a problem solver and a people pleaser, both of which I enjoyed immensely. I couldn’t do either of those things from behind a grill.
Still, I wanted to fix whatever was wrong with Bluz and make my dad proud. I wanted to be useful to the pack. I couldn’t do that if I was mindless with worry over Grey.
I pulled into the paved driveway of their nice two-story brick home and parked right behind Dad’s truck. The rain was just starting to come down when I got out of the car. I paused and frowned up at the growl of thunder crawling across the sky. Was Grey indoors? Was he safe? Shit, I should’ve made sure he had food and at least offered him the apartment above Bluz, even if he didn’t take it.
The storm door’s hinges groaned and my mom stepped out. She was wearing an apron with strawberries on it and had a dish towel over her shoulder. Her reading glasses hung around her neck by a beaded string. “What’re you doin’, hun? Get out of the rain, you silly goose!”
I grinned at the old nickname and jogged up the steps to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Hey, ma.”
“Hey, sweet pea,” she said, leaning into the kiss. “Your dad’s out back finishing off the mutton still. I got to finish these greens and get the biscuits out still, but there’s lemonade and sweet tea in the fridge if you want it.”
“No thanks, ma.” I held the door open for her as we shuffled inside and out of the rain, stopping to kick off my shoes before going further into the house.
“All right, hun,” she said, walking back to the stove, “but tell your father not to overdo it. He’s been on his feet a lot and you know the doctor said he wasn’t supposed to.” She picked up her wooden spoon and went back to stirring the pot.
If heaven had a smell, it’d be Mom’s cooking. The house smelled like bacon fat and golden, flakey biscuits with a hint of the seared meat coming in from the back yard. On my way through the house, I stopped to grab a couple beers from the fridge only to sigh when I found Dad still preferred his canned beer to a proper one in a bottle.
“See you in a few, ma,” I said and went through the back door.
Their backyard was a griller’s dream. Dad had one of the best grill-smoker combos on the market. Charcoal, of course. He swore by it. Gas grills were for lazy people who didn’t know how to maintain the temperature. Dad was standing over it with big metal grill tongs in hand, wearing blue jeans and his old Bengals jersey.
He’d seen better years, my dad. Since his accident, he’d put on some weight around the middle and his fur was notably lighter, with whole patches of gray, especially on his muzzle. His eyes were still bright, and he was in good spirits, but he was getting older, a fact I really didn’t like to think about.
“Hey, Dad,” I called and offered him a beer. “How’s it going?”
“Just about to pull this off to rest,” he said and took the beer. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We popped the tops on our cans and drank in silence for a minute.
Dad frowned up at the sky. The grilling area had a canopy over it, but the rain was coming down good enough that some of it was starting to make its way through. “She’ll be a good one, this storm,” he said, rubbing the side of his leg.
“You want to sit? I can take the chops off the grill if you want,” I offered.
Dad grunted and limped over to the swinging glider to sit down. He must’ve been in a lot of pain if he were limping openly, the reason he still couldn’t come run Bluz. Dad didn’t know how to sit in the office to let someone else man the pit out back. He liked to be in control of every little thing.
I took the tongs and moved one of the double chops up onto its side. It made a satisfying hiss as the fat met the hot bars of the grill. Flame spouted, licking at the meat and leaving a nice char in its wake.
“So, son, what’s eating you?” Dad threw one arm wide and leaned back in the creaky old glider. “Must be something serious to have you so riled.”
“I’m not riled. I’m just…” I spent a minute searching for the right word. “Frustrated.”
Dad’s answer was a grunt. He lifted his beer and took a long drink before pointing at me. “Don’t overdo it, son.”
“I know, Dad. I got this.” Just the same, I held the first chop up for his inspection. “Look good?”
He tipped his head up, staring down his nose and squinting. “Maybe a bit more color. Not much more heat, though.”
I sighed and put the chop back down. “Speaking of heat. I um… I was wondering…” I glanced over at him and turned my focus back to turning the chops around so they’d be evenly colored. “When you and Mom got together, how did you know she was your mate?”
Dad considered me for a long while. I was worried he might ask me why I wanted to know, and then I’d have to explain everything with Greyson, which would be awkward as hell. My parents weren’t homophobic like Greyson’s, but I wasn’t out to them. It’d never been an issue. I didn’t date a lot of people, and I’d certainly never been serious enough with anyone to bring them home.
“You know the story,” he said, relaxing in the glider. “Was a full moon hunt and the males and females were each supposed to have their own hunt, but your mom… She decided rabbits be damned, she was going after a deer like the boys. I was just about to bring the deer down when she swooped in out of nowhere. About gave me a heart attack. I thought it was old Quentin Stillwater at first, she moved so fast.”
I smiled at the story. Though I’d heard it a hundred times growing up, it was still nice to revisit it. Dad’s face always lit up whenever he told it. He loved Mom something fierce, and it showed in everything he did. They’d been together for almost thirty-five years and made the best team, always working together to keep the pack going. I had grown up thinking I wanted a love like that, someone strong and dependable to lean on, someone sweet and solid. Greyson was…
Well, he wasn’t that.
He was wild and spontaneous, soft spoken unless we got on a topic he was passionate about. He had a good heart, but he was flighty sometimes, easily spooked and somewhat delicate emotionally. I had never thought I’d want someone who needed reassurance and protection, but I found the idea of pampering him extremely appealing, especially knowing that he wasn’t used to it.
“Right,” I said. “I know the story, but how did you know?” I held up the chop again and got his approval before I moved it to the plate to rest.
“We’re werewolves, son,” Dad said with a shrug. “A lot of it is instinct. Some of it is smell. Stuff that happens way back in the primitive parts of your brain. It definitely registers in the subconscious before the conscious mind. Once you know, though, you just…know. You get this feeling in you, a need that nothing else can fill that only goes away when your mate is close to you. It’s hard to explain if you’ve never felt it, but if it ever happens to you, trust me. You’ll know.”
I moved the chops to the plate to rest in silence, thinking about what he’d said. There was something going on inside of me I couldn’t explain, a restlessness that wouldn’t let me focus on anything but Grey for too long. I needed to find him, to be with him. Even if he didn’t want me romantically, something in me was driven to ensure he was safe and cared for.
The back door opened as the wind picked up and Mom stepped out. “Greens are done and biscuits are ready. How’re the chops?”
“Resting,” I replied.
“Our boy was just asking about how we got together, Liv,” Dad said, sounding amused. “And how I knew you were the one.”
Mom laughed and came over to sit with him, putting one arm around him. “You mean when I made you look like a fool in front of the whole pack?”
Dad grinned up at her like a love-drunk idiot, all the years falling away. “Best worst day of my life.” He kissed her cheek and playfully grabbed her ass.
She laughed and pushed him away. “Behave, Mason, or I swear…”
I shook my head and smiled, turning back to run the brush over the grill while it was still hot to clean off most of the char.
“So,” said Dad, “who’s the lucky she-wolf?”
I froze in place, my heart pounding in my chest. That was exactly the question I’d been dreading answering. My folks were great, and I knew they’d love me no matter what, but there was always that little voice wondering what if I was wrong? What if they didn’t approve of me being with a human, or what if I disappointed them somehow?
I closed the hood on the grill and let my fingers rest on the handle. “Actually, he’s a human.”
“Is it someone we know?” Mom asked immediately. “Or someone in LA?”
I turned to face them, studying their faces. Neither of them seemed upset or shocked by either part of that statement. “You heard what I said, right?”
Dad shrugged. “We heard you.”
“And you’re okay with both those things?”
Mom and Dad exchanged a look before Dad stood and limped over to put his hands on my shoulders. “The most important thing to us is that you’re happy and healthy, son, and that whoever you wind up with, we get to be a part of your life. We don’t care if you’re gay.”
“I’m not gay,” I blurted. “I’m pansexual.”
Dad sighed and looked back at Mom as if he were expecting some help.
“It means he likes people, dear,” Mom filled in. “Not bodies.”
“Well, whatever. You’re our son and if that’s who you are, you shouldn’t be ashamed of that. We love you, and I’m sure we’ll love whoever it is you love.” Dad squeezed my shoulders before pointing a finger in my face. “As long as he cooks with charcoal and not propane. If he’s a propane guy, we’re going to have a serious chat, son.”
I threw my arms around my dad’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Dad had never been a big hugger, but that didn’t stop him from patting my back.
“Is that what’s been bothering you, Gaston?” he asked as we parted.
I shook my head. “No it’s…” I sighed. “It’s Greyson, Dad.”
He frowned. “Greyson Boggs? The kid whose parents kicked him out?”
Mom came over and put a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Greyson was his best friend, Mason.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “You two were inseparable. I always wondered.”
I nodded. “We ran into each other last night and I thought everything was going great… But he, um… Well, he slipped out of the apartment. His housing situation isn’t stable and with his eyesight gone and the storm, I was so worried about him. I’ve been looking all over Louisville for him and I can’t find him, Dad, and I’ve just got this awful feeling. I need to find him.”
Dad took a step back, straightening to stand at his full height for the first time. “Olivia, call the pack.”
My ears perked. “Really?”
Dad nodded while Mom took the plate of chops and hurried inside. “If Greyson is your mate, then he’s family. I’m not about to let one of our own sleep out in this. We’re going to use every resource we have to find him, and make sure he’s taken care of.”
“Thank you, Dad.” I hugged him again, and we started walking back toward the house. “This really means a lot to me, you know. I promise I’ll make it up to you and get Bluz up and running.”
Dad snorted. “Forget about the bar, son. This is what packs are for. We take care of one another.”
There was a loud crack of thunder as I led Dad into the house. I frowned up at the darkening sky, and the sudden plink-plink of something hitting the canopy. Little balls of white bounced down to the ground. Hail. The storm was getting worse.
When it started raining, Alabama, Boyd, and me decided to pack it in. The wind and rain came in real fast, though, and Louisville turned into a ghost town.
“You got somewhere to go?” Alabama shouted at me over the howling wind. “Looks like it’s gonna be a bad one!”
I nodded and held tight onto Simon, who seemed antsy, but he was still doing his job well. “Yeah, I’ll just take the bus uptown to the YMCA. What about you, Boyd?”
“I’m going to go with Alabama,” he said. “You sure you don’t want to come with us?”
I shifted my backpack and extended my walking stick. Weathering a bad storm in a tent didn’t seem like a good idea. The YMCA would be much better shelter, and I could get there just fine as long as the busses were running, which they should’ve been for another three hours.
“Nah,” I said. “Me and Simon are good. You two go on. I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?”
“We’ll be there!” Alabama shouted over the thunder.
“Come on, Simon. That’s a good boy.” I patted his shoulder, and we started off down the sidewalk.
There was a covered bus stop just two streets over from where we were, so it wasn’t a long walk. At least, it wasn’t normally. With the wind howling in our ears and the rain coming down like needles, it sure felt like it took forever. The temperature had plunged with the rain, too, and I wasn’t dressed for it. By the time we made the bus stop, I was shivering something awful.
Simon shook himself dry and hopped up onto the uncomfortable wooden bench to huddle in next to me, but he wasn’t much warmer. I put my arms around him and tried to stop shivering, telling him, “It’ll be all right. We’ll be fine. Bus is comin’ any minute.”
So we waited.
And we waited.
Above, the thunder rumbled, and the rain pelted us through the open sides of the shelter. Water flowed down the sidewalk and over my shoes, so I pulled my feet up to keep them dry. I didn’t think we were in trouble until the hail started.
“Where the fuck is that bus?” I muttered through chattering teeth.
Even as I asked the storm, I knew the answer. Sometimes, when the weather got bad, the city shut down the busses, and this was one hell of a squall. No bus was coming, not until tomorrow morning, and that was if the river didn’t rise to flood the city.
I opened up my backpack and felt around for the emergency thermal blanket I’d gotten from that Red Cross event, spreading it over Simon so he wouldn’t be cold and around my shoulders. There wasn’t much food in my pack, but I did find a beef stick to share with Simon. Even after eating it, my stomach complained I was still hungry, but it wouldn’t be the first time I went without a meal. Wouldn’t be the last either.
“We’ll be all right,” I told Simon again as we bunkered down in the bus shelter for the night. “Little rain never hurt nobody.”
He whined and let his head rest on my knee.
Darkness fell, and it was a mean dark, the kind with malicious intent. Wind and rain and hail tore at our shelter, rattling the roof and throwing thick sprays of cold water on us. Just when I started to get warm, we’d get hit with another blast of it and I’d start shivering again.
At least me and Simon had a roof, however small it was. At least we had each other, and we had this gig at Bluz coming up. That was lucky, right? Things weren’t so bad.
That’s what I tried to tell myself.
But then I thought of Gaston alone in his apartment above Bluz, where he was safe and warm and probably nursing a broken heart with expensive bourbon. I wanted to be angry at him for coming back into my life, but that wasn’t his fault. Even when I tried to be angry that he hadn’t come out to me eight years ago, I found it just wasn’t in me. All I had was a hollow ache in my chest.
“I wish he was here,” I said quietly to Simon and patted his furry head. “I miss him, Simon. I do. I…I think maybe we made a mistake leaving last night.”
Simon let out a small whine of agreement.
There was nothing to do but sit there and live with our decision, though. No way to get back to where we were supposed to be.
Was that right? Was I supposed to be with Gaston? It felt like it. The universe couldn’t push two people together any harder than it’d thrown us against each other, even if the timing was always terrible.
Maybe it was the cold and the melancholy, but while I sat there, shivering under that bus shelter, I started to ponder what it would be like if I just went with it. I imagined a life where I flew back to LA with Gaston, and he introduced me to some producer who liked my sound and offered me a recording contract. Not a big one. Just enough. I could play my music, share it with the world, and we could be together.
What would that be like? Did he have a big house out there in the hills? Maybe just an apartment with a nice view. We could go down to the ocean and watch the sunsets together, eat fancy food, work all day, make love every night. Simon could have his own bed and more toys than he knew what to do with. We could sit together and he could watch TV while I listened, and he could point out all the famous people that he’d served at his restaurant. Maybe we’d even go to fancy cocktail parties to meet them.
But none of that mattered to me as much as the quiet moments we’d get to spend alone together. Lazy Sundays spent sleeping in, long baths, nights spent just lying next to each other, talking about our dreams and other stupid shit like we used to. Shopping trips and stolen smiles and holding hands in public.
My heart sank at that thought. Would he even want to do any of that with me? No matter how good I cleaned up, I’d always be me. I’d always looked like I’d gotten lost on my way to some hippie fest in the woods and Gaston always looked like… Well, refined. He was a gentleman. He’d always thrived in social settings while I could never wait to get out of the spotlight, a strange sentiment for someone who wanted to be a famous musician, to be sure.
