CHAPTER TWENTY
Billy was sitting at the cluttered dining table, munching on a bowl of cereal and when I crawled out of bed, pulled on the least dirty jeans he could find on his bedroom floor and wandered out into the kitchen.
Billy waved a spoon at me, eyes glued on the screen, and I put the coffee percolator on and leaned against the kitchen counter while it gurgled and splashed enough for me to be able to pour himself a cup.
I sat down opposite Billy and drank my coffee, then found Billy staring at me.
“What?” I said.
“Is Jarrod your lover?” Billy asked, and I nearly choked on my coffee.
“Er, no.” I thought for a moment. “No.”
“You kissed him last night,” Billy pointed out. “And he slept in your bed.”
I rubbed at my chin. Damn, I didn’t want to be having this conversation with Billy right then, and Billy well knew of this. He was a little shit.
“You got out of bed?” I asked, and Billy nodded.
“Went to the toilet.”
I thought for a moment, trying to imagine how Billy might feel about an accidental glimpse of us making out. No wonder he was asking about it.
“Depends what you mean by lover,” I said. “Are we friends? Yes. Do we have a sexual relationship? On a technicality, no. Do I care about him? Yes. That’s as much information as a nine-year-old needs.”
Billy nodded and shifted his attention back to the TV screen, muttering "ick" under his breath.
Movement caught my eye, and I looked up to find Jarrod studying him with ancient eyes.
On the front steps to my porch, Jarrod was sitting nursing his coffee. I sat down beside him and took the hand which was resting on the step in mine.
“You OK?” I asked, and Jarrod’s hand was smooth and strong.
“Do you always talk to Billy like that?” Jarrod asked.
“Yeah. I’ve always felt he was owed the truth about the important things. The value judgments he makes about what I tell him are his own, but just because he’s a child doesn’t mean he shouldn’t know I might have lovers, or that there are more ways grown-ups are closer than the obvious.”
Jarrod nodded and drank a mouthful of his coffee, then looked up and down the street they were on. It was a quiet lower-middle-class street, the sort where everyone has dogs and kids and works on cars in their front yards.
I knew if I waited long enough, Jarrod would speak again.
“Do you ever wonder how you wound up in this place?” Jarrod asked.
“Which place do you mean?” I asked. “This house? With a child?”
Jarrod shook his head. “No more immediate than that.”
“You want me to say it?” I asked.
“It’s only words,” Jarrod said.
I looked down at Jarrod’s hand and rubbed my thumb over the knuckles. “How I wound up sitting here at ten on a Saturday morning, holding the hand of a prostitute I can’t have sex with?”
Jarrod nodded and leaned his head against my shoulder. “I try to do that, think about how I got to this place. It feels less crazy if I can trace each decision I made. Clay asked me to think about where I was headed too. What do you think will happen in your life?”
I pressed a kiss to Jarrod’s forehead. “I think I’ll admit my acting career is over and fire my agent. I’ll sell this house because I can’t make the payments, and I’ll get a nine-to-five job somewhere, perhaps with a union ticket so I can work as the camera crew. I’ll wind up fat and bald and bitter and alone. What about you?”
“I think I’ll go back to London when my visa runs out, and I’ll get a nine-to-five job in an office, and live an ordinary life. I also think, in the gap between when I finish working here and catch my plane, we will have sex until neither of us can move.”
We sat still, listening to the sound of the traffic a few streets away, to the sound coming from the TV, to the squeaks which meant Billy was bouncing up and down on the worn out springs of my old couch; and I found there was certain freedom in letting go of false expectations. Ignoring the curious glances of the woman unloading groceries from her car across the street, I guided Jarrod’s face upwards and pressed our mouths together.
I realized I wasn’t old and alone yet, that I had Billy, and Jarrod for the moment; and that I could hang onto the pale Saturday morning sunshine and the taste of coffee on Jarrod’s lips for a little while longer.
When Jarrod pulled back, I let him go. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.
Jarrod touched my face, tracing the scar on my lip, and when he smiled, it wasn’t sad or hopeless. “I think,” he said, “that you’d better come back to my place on Monday morning after work.”
“Is that wise?” I asked, making Jarrod smile even more.
“Absolutely not, but I’m tired of fighting this thing. In the continuing spirit of honesty, I’m telling you I am in this mess and I do not understand what to do now. Just so you know.”
I smiled too, and the sunshine didn’t seem so pale anymore. “In the continuing spirit of honesty, you’re not the only one. Would you like me to drive you home once I’ve pry Billy away from the TV?”
Jarrod nodded and reached for his abandoned coffee. “Thank you.”