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Part IV
December 1991
Chapter Twenty-Seven
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Luke
“We haven’t seenyou since before Thanksgiving,” Mom said, patting the hunks of ground beef into the meatloaf pan. It wasn’t exactly a guilt-trip, more like concern. I knew she’d heard about how I’d canceled on seeing Betsy last weekend too. The first time I’d ever done such a thing.
Bets hadn’t seemed to mind, though. She’d been invited to go to camping with Rodney’s family for the weekend after Thanksgiving, and with me not coming, she was free to go. She’d sounded plenty excited about it.
“Yeah. Sorry about that. Work, you know. Always asking more of us than we want to give.”
She cast me a curious glance but said nothing more as she continued to stuff meat into the pan.
I leaned back in the kitchen chair and struck a casual pose, hoping that was the end of it. How was I supposed to explain that I’d been sticking close to Minty, sharing intense scenes and intimate alone time rather than visiting with my family? And I especially couldn’t tell her that I’d chosen to go to Asheville and visit the decked-to-the-heavens-and-back Biltmore Estate with Minty and his mother for Thanksgiving itself rather than come home to Johnson City for the holiday.
After what had happened during our visit to Nadine’s trailer, Iwasn’t ready to let him spend a full day alone with the woman, much less an overnight trip. Minty had somehow scrounged together enough money to pay for not only tickets to the enormous Biltmore House itself, but for a stay in a hotel room with two queen beds, room service, and an indoor pool. I had no idea how he’d done it. More performances ofCream My Facemaybe?
When I’d told Minty I was coming along to Biltmore, he hadn’t argued, which told me he didn’t feel safe with his mother yet either. But no one would have ever guessed by his demeanor when we’d arrived to pick her up for the trip. He was like a sunbeam personified, all happy eyes and flashing teeth. If I didn’t know the spiraling-out mess he’d been ever since he saw that picture on Nadine’s wall, I’d have believed the act. But I knew better. Like his fashion, the silly, carefree, outrageous flake persona was a layer of armor over his soft, vulnerable core.
For her part, Nadine had been just like him. Cheerful, sweet, and full of gratitude for the gift of the trip, acting like nothing had ever happened. Again, if I didn’t know for certain she still had that stained sofa in her trailer, or if I had somehow managed to forget that she’d framed a photo of her son’s rapist, I’d think she was a joy. As it was, I saw her as a child—broken, fragile, and cruel without meaning to be.
The Biltmore House had been, as expected, a craze of pre-Christmas spirit, and the meal we ate at the Stable Restaurant was expensive, but delicious. I’d paid for it on my credit card, despite Minty’s protests, because I’d had no idea how he planned to cover the bill. Maybe he’d thought he could swing into the kitchen and convince the chef to let him pay with his ass? Maybe he’d planned to dine-and-dash? I didn’t know. But there was no way I was letting him spend more on his mother. If I paid, at least I could tell myself it was a gift from me tohim.She was just along for the ride.
“Where’s your mind, baby?” my mom asked in the here andnow. “You’re somewhere else today.”
I sighed, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “Oh, just thinking about a friend who’s having some problems.”
She washed her hands, put the meatloaf into the oven, set the timer, and sat down next to me at the table. She touched my cheek. “You can tell me about him, you know. In fact, I wish you would.”
I tensed, but she grabbed hold of my chin, so I couldn’t pull away. I met her gaze, heart in my throat.
“Please, Luke. Tell me about your boyfriend.” She dropped her hand. “It’s okay.”
“Oh.” I felt stupid when I realized. Betsy must have told her. I didn’t know why I hadn’t considered that she might. I’d never explicitly told her not to, and she and mom were close. Maybe some part of me had wanted Betsy to be the one to tell her.
Mom smiled, tilting her head slightly. “I’d like to hear about him from you. Betsy sings his praises. She says he looks like a fairy prince.”
I swallowed against a lump in my throat, caught out like a kid. “He does.” My voice sounded gritty.
Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “What’s his name?”
I was sure she already knew. Betsy must have told her that too, but it was right that she should hear it from me. “Minty Arnold.” I paused. “Well, Mitchell, really. But he prefers to go by Minty. It suits him.”
“How long have you been seeing him?”
I did the math. “Around three months now.”
She took a quivery little breath. “Did you think I’d be upset?”
My heart sank. How could I explain? There was so much about Minty that was…so much. He wasn’t a guy I’d met in a usual way, and he wasn’t a usual man. “No, Mama.” I sighed. “He’s…”
“He’s what?”
“He wears makeup, and he dresses in…fashion. He’s really…”
