“Yeah, honey,” I teased. “Something doesn’t seem right,” I pointed out, nodding in agreement with his mom.
“You look pretty, and the incense is nice,” he defended. “And I’m happy,” he added.
Me and his mom looked at each other because we were two peas in a pod when it came to taking care of Mike. “He’s happy,” I mimicked.
“I heard,” Mrs. H. added.
Mikey began laughing. His mood was contagious and we joined him. At first he appeared pleased, but his laughter suddenly turned into tears and weeping. He brought his hands to his face and leaned forward, crying harder until his mom stood up quickly and went to his side.
“Michael, honey?” she asked, trying to remove his hands from his face.
He gave in and leaned back in his chair, letting out a huge sigh when he caught his breath, his face a tear streaked mess.
I was stunned by his outburst. I was right. Something was wrong.
“What’s wrong, honey,” she asked, reaching for my napkin and dabbing his face.
He stared at me and then at his mom.
“Mikey?” I whispered. “What’s up?”
He opened his mouth but words wouldn’t come out. He took a drink of water and wiped his eyes, taking a moment. He let out a nervous laugh then cleared his throat. “I’m happy, is all,” he said softly. He stared at the empty seat across from him. “But I miss Dad. I hoped he’d be here too.”
Mrs. H. looked surprised by his statement. Mikey hadn’t spoken much about Mr. H. since he’d died. “You hoped he’d be here?” she asked.
Mikey just kept staring at the vacant chair.
“Oh, honey, I wish he was here as well. Your father is with us in spirit though. I know he is and always will be, son.”
Mikey reached for his mother’s hand. “I know he is too, Mom. I really think he is.”
“Thank you, son,” she replied. I noticed her tilt her head slightly. She was as surprised as I was. Mikey didn’t talk much about spirits, incense or any sort of mumbo-jumbo his mom believed in. He wasn’t unkind about it, but he and his dad had had a running joke about the odd woman they shared a house with for as long as I could remember. He usually had a wisecrack whenever she brought up something he found a bit too out there.
“Sage, right?” he asked. “Dad liked that one, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Yes, he did,” she answered. “Everything okay, son?”
“It’s perfect, Mom. Like every Sunday with you and Coop.”
I wasn’t convinced he was perfect though. Something about Mikey was different and I was hell bent on finding out what that was.
“How was work last night?” I asked.
He hesitated and looked toward his mom. “You know . . . busy-ish . . . type, sort of thing,” he stated, unsure about his own words. “Nothing special really,” he added, reaching for more bacon and smiling nervously at both of us.
“I didn’t see you come home last night,” I said. “Did I miss Jen droppingyou off or did you stay overnight with her and then come home early this morning?”
“Hardly,” Mrs. H. interjected. “There is no staying overnight at Jennifer’s house. You boys are still seventeen and I make the rules.”
“I walked home and used the backdoor,” Mikey interrupted the lecture, ending the discussion about sleepovers at Jen’s. “I forgot to wave at ya, Coop. Sorry, bro.”
“Okay, yeah,” I agreed, even though I knew he wasn’t being truthful. I knew he was hiding something because Jen had texted me at half-past midnight looking for him.
Mikey yawned and stretched his arms high over his head, exposing his ripped abs and a happy trail I wanted to hike. I constantly had dirty thoughts about him even though I would never act on them. Mikey thought I was somewhat pure, old fashioned, and shy. Most of that was true, however I still had dirty and sexual thoughts about us all the time. Those thoughts conflicted with the guilt in my heart about my feelings because I also deeply loved him and wanted to tell him the truth.
The love that Mikey had shown me my entire life through how he took care of me and protected me had always been enough for me. I sometimes felt like I was in his shadow, but he always respected me and treated me as his equal even though he was better at practically everything. He was more popular but still made sure to always include me.
Sometimes I think he was better at loving as well. He was direct, honest and unmoved by people that questioned who we were to each other. In my opinion, his approach was a risk considering his popularity, but he never cared nor did he defend himself against the chatter. He’d once told me that what we shared was far more important than a bunch of bullshit chinwag. I think he’d heard his dad use the word chinwag. It was an odd choice, but definitely something Mr. H. would’ve busted out.
