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It had been hard to focus on all of Uncle Curtis’s financial documentation over the past several days. I'd made some headway, but I was no closer to knowing where the specific problems were, and I’d found myself looking out the window more and more often throughout the day to try and catch a glimpse of Xavier as he’d worked around the ranch. At night, I'd listened for his footsteps going past my door on the way to his own room.
But there'd been none.
Uncle Curtis had been quieter than usual too. I wasn't sure if he sensed the growing tension between me and Xavier, or if it was something else. We were coming up on the five-year anniversary of Del's death, so it could very well be that. But I'd been so preoccupied with my own issues that I hadn't talked to him about it.
I was starting to wonder what I was doing here. A week ago, I’d been so certain that all it would take would be a few days to fix things, and then I'd be able to get back to my normal life. Strangely enough, that life seemed so far away. And not just literally. Things had pretty much been shit ever since I’d gotten back to Eden, but oddly enough, there was a strange sense of being home that kept hitting me at the oddest times.
Every time I’d see one of the pictures on the wall, or looked at the things Uncle Curtis had left around the house to remind him of Del, I couldn't help but think about the times I'd visited them and had those same brief moments of comfort, of belonging. Uncle Curtis and his foreman had always made me feel special. They’d always made a big deal about me coming to visit. Oddly enough, it was one of the reasons I’d stopped coming to Eden in the years before Del had died. Things had started to become too comfortable.
I wrapped my arms around my upper body and quickly made my way to the house. I wanted nothing more than to escape to my room, crawl into the shower, and scrub the sensation of Xavier's touch from my body. Maybe then this need for him would stop.
Mine.
The way he’d whispered that into my ear, like he’d really meant it… and then he’d turned his back on me like I was nothing. I’d been with plenty of guys in college and beyond who'd been one-night stands, but I'd always known that going into it. Tonight had happened so fast, and I’d wanted Xavier so badly that I hadn't even had time to consider the ramifications. I was always so smart when it came to consequences… I was a planner, a thinker who saw everything in black-and-white. But being with Xavier had been all gray, all the time.
I expected the house to be dark and quiet when I entered, but the kitchen light that was on when I opened the door wasn't actually for me. It was on because Uncle Curtis was sitting at the table, drinking what looked like a cup of coffee. His eyes slowly trekked up and down my body as I stood in the doorway.
"You okay, son?" he asked. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to see me. At least not coming from outside.
I nodded. "Yeah, couldn't sleep. Just getting some fresh air." Uncle Curtis narrowed his eyes at me, so I quickly added, "Don't worry, I kept the house in sight at all times. No more runs in the woods for me." I’d meant the comment to be a joke, to ease the tension between us, but it just sounded dull and flat as it came out. Not surprisingly, Uncle Curtis didn't make a return joke. After a moment, he motioned to the chair opposite his.
"Why don't you have a seat, son? Grab yourself a mug. There's enough coffee." He motioned to the pot sitting in the middle of the table. “It's decaffeinated. Del was always reminding me not to drink caffeine after dinner."
The sadness in his voice was hard to hear. I opened my mouth to respond when something Xavier had said to me that first night I’d arrived suddenly hit me.
Really look.
I started with the tray on the table. It was the same kettle Uncle Curtis and Del had always used for their evening coffee. But it wasn't just the kettle on the tray. There was a mug too.
Del's mug.
Del had had the same mug for as long as I'd known him. The once white mug had yellowed with age, and there were nicks all over it. The handle had been glued back on at least once that I could see. In short, the mug was very sad looking, and had been for as long as I could remember. I’d asked Del once about the ugly mug and the tag line that read, Farmers Do It Better. There'd been nothing particularly special about the mug that I could tell, especially since Del was the foreman of a ranch and not a farm, but Del's response had made it clear that the mug was special to him.
