“Yeah, that, but I also wanted to check in with you. You’ve been quiet lately. I noticed.” The scraping of plates let me know he was probably setting the table for lunch. Being neurodivergent, he didn’t always pick up on body language or social cues, but having been friends for over a decade, he did notice when I was quiet. He just didn’t know why. That was something I didn’t share with anyone. Even him.
“You’re a good friend, dude. But I’m fine. I haven’t been around too much because you just got married. You and Leyla need your time together. And not with your big, goofy bachelor friend hanging around,” I said with a chuckle.
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t important to me, though. And you know Leyla loves you too.” His words made me put my fist to my mouth to compose myself. Niko had no idea what those words meant to me. Even in his honeymoon bliss, he felt my absence and my silence. When he’d mentioned it before the wedding, I used the tired excuse of being busy with work or out in nature.
“Thanks, friend. Means a lot,” I said, clearing my throat to cover up the emotion. “But I’ve got a full agenda the rest of the weekend. Let’s plan to get together next Saturday after my visit with Grammy. Or you can come with me. It’s been a while since they’ve seen their favorite Turkish hunk.”
He growled his displeasure, and I could picture him blushing. The Granny Squad loved it when he came by, but he said some of them had scarred him for life with their brazen innuendo.
“I’ll see if Leyla wants to come with us since I need a bodyguard. Last time I’m pretty sure one of them pinched my butt,” he said with panic in his voice. I heard Leyla laughing in the background.
“That wasn’t your imagination. They’re still talking about it. Gemma said it was quite an impressive butt. Can’t say I’ve noticed, though.”
He groaned as I laughed along with Leyla.
“Love you, man. Kiss your girl for me. I may go to the first service tomorrow so I can get some things done around the house. See you next week.”
“Love you, too. Bye.”
My smile vanished as I scratched my head, pulling onto my street. Going to a different church service than theirs was not my usual Sunday morning routine, but one of them would notice my mood, so it was best to avoid them until it passed.
Most of the people in my life expected me to be the funny guy all the time. Not Niko, but it was getting harder and harder to keep what was happening to me from him and Grammy.
I parked my truck and headed for the front door. Dropping my keys onto the side table and toeing off my shoes, I walked into my living room, sighing heavily. The sun shone brightly through my window, flooding the room with its warmth. It wasusually enough to give me the boost that I needed because I loved everything in nature.
But as the now familiar darkness crept into my mind, my heart rate increased, my throat went dry, and the tears fell unhindered.
Guilt, shame, and fear all circled around my heart and mind like sentries waiting to enter. I had tried and failed to fight them off on my own; their power over me was too strong to resist. The longer I kept it from the people around me, the more it grew.
As my anxious thoughts swirled around about what could possibly be wrong with my grandmother and the loneliness that threatened to consume me, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
Have more faith, Mike. You’re a believer. You shouldn’t feel this way. Try harder.
My other best friend, Max, short for Maximus, my aging but gorgeous Alaskan husky, quickly trotted over, his blue eyes happy. No doubt he was coming from my room, where he pretended not to use my bed as his own, and I pretended I didn’t know about it.
“Hey, boy. Had a good day? I missed you so much.” He jumped with his front paws up to my chest, almost knocking me down with his weight.
My sweet boy whined, sensing something was wrong, as tears flowed freely down my cheeks like a river. I scratched my fingers into his deep, thick fur, his unconditional love shining in his bright blue eyes.
You’re the funny guy, not the sad guy. No one will understand or like you when you’re this way.
Max jumped down and followed me to the sofa, plopping down at my feet when I sat down. As I looked around my living room, my eyes scanned photos of Niko and me surfing over the years, and Leyla’s friends who had become mine during gamenight. All of us were smiling and having a great time. I tried to cling to anything that would push these conflicting feelings aside.
“You’re such a good boy, Max. Thank you for loving me so well.” I laid my head back on the sofa and closed my eyes. Maybe I needed to get into my workshop and finish the wooden cabinet I’d been working on. My woodworking hobby always helped improve my mood. That or surfing. But this wasn’t the time to feel better. I needed to face what was going on in my life.
“Father, forgive me for being weak and letting these feelings have control over me again. I’ll try harder, do better. I know I’ve asked You before to forgive me for the mistakes I made years ago, but when I feel like this—low, down, confused—I fear that You might still be disappointed and angry with me. I’m sorry I wasn't strong enough to fight this,” I cried. I could only hope that my prayer was enough. I’d awakened the next morning still on the sofa, determined to be the kind of man everyone expected of me. I couldn’t let them down.
CHAPTER TWO
Renata
“I can’t believethis is happening,” I whispered while sitting in a meeting with my new boss and a few other designers. There was no way this client could get away with such a thing. I looked around the conference room, spotting my co-workers leaning into each other and whispering as they looked at me with judgment. I wished my best friend, Vicky, was here to commiserate with me. But she was in San Diego and I was in Italy about to lose my mind.
“As I was saying,” Mr. Lamont grumbled, the lines in his forehead deepening, “the Escambia Villa is technically under the Italian Heritage Protection rule. Our Brazilian clients didn’t know this when they purchased the home.”
“But that isn’t our fault. That should’ve been disclosed by the seller, yes?” I asked, tapping my foot, trying to stay calm. I’d worn my favorite crimson dress that made me feel confident, its bodycon style fitting me perfectly, paired with my black stilettos. I loved dressing like the fierce woman I was. One who never backed down from a challenge.
“That is correct, Renata, but unfortunately, it wasn’t. When the contractor started removing plaster from the wall in question, underneath was a hidden 18th-century fresco, something I would’ve hoped you’d be on top of.”
