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Standing crammed in the slim hallway by my bedroom, Dusty’s brow creases and Cece rubs his bicep, saying what he’s thinking. “No Bhodi?”
“He’ll be home soon. He had the big brother program this afternoon.”
“How’s it going?” My best guy friend’s enormous frame radiates concern.
I’m ready to drag them the rest of the way into the condo and crack the top on a few beers when the bell rings and the front door simultaneously pops open.
“It’s here!” Bhodi jumps up and down like he’s on a pogo stick.
Cary’s holding his backpack.
“I don’t know what that is, but it’s impressive.” He looks back as I beckon him inside from the stoop.
My nose wiggles, filling with the lingering odor of motor oil and shop grease. It does little to cover the spice of Cary’s aftershave, a scent I’m intimately familiar with thinking about him when I’m all alone.
“C-could use a hand if you don’t mind?” Dusty motions outside.
“Not at all,” Cary replies. A little piece of my heart swelled when he ignored Dusty’s stutter.
The guys introduce themselves, shake hands, and are out unstrapping the ratchet system holding the load in Dusty’s truck upright and steady.
I’m three steps behind everyone else when Celine and my sister gang up on me.
“She’s blushing.” Cece mocks low to Laurel.
“She does when he speaks too. And she pretends not to look at his ass.”
“Oh, Dust has the tightest glutes, but that’s a fine ass too.”
“Sure is.” Laurel hums in agreement.
I’m aghast, shushing the pair as they lean against each other, conspiring to embarrass the crap out of me.
We shift into my room, allowing the guys ample space to heft the massive box through the hallway and into the living room. They set it in front of the unplugged TV on the dresser. Bhodi follows with Dusty’s tools. The trio gets to work, mounting the television on wall brackets and triple-checking measurements before drilling holes into the sheetrock. It’s amazing how little talking happens and I see the complement of Dusty’s maintenance man skills and Cary’s mechanical skills overlap with the tasks they give my son.
“You seem a little peaked, Hol. Do you need to sit down?” Cece puts the back of her hand to my forehead.
Laurel snorts when I slap it away and the commotion has Cary glancing at me, making more heat rise from my neck.
Dusty pulls a silver dome antenna out of his toolbox and steps up on the ladder one last time. Removing the paper from a double-sided adhesive, he sticks it to the top of the box.
“I love it!” Laurel claps.
“I can’t even believe you built this. It’s perfect,” Cary has both hands on Bhodi’s shoulders and has already thanked him for being a great assistant.
My son looks at the wall, proud of our overt weirdness.
The simple wide box Dusty built surrounds the modern TV. It has an oblong hole cut out for the screen and the false rabbit ears on top. From what Cece’s told me, he had paused the scene fromBack to the Future,where Marty is with his mother’s family trying to explain reruns, while designing and painting it to resemble an old RCA.
Dusty accepts hugs, blowing off our appreciation for a job well done. I see him pocket the check Laurel gives him and that makes it worthwhile.
My sister insists Cary stay for dinner. I can’t overrule the chef, and I won’t take credit when she unwraps the roast, slicing into the flaky meat. After being called to the table, the kids only stick around long enough to fill their bellies and disappear in a foot-race up the stairs. In charge of clearing, I fall into my barmaid role and refill everyone’s drinks while they sit and chat.
“Thought you had a thing against younger men.” Dusty’s voice is a low rumble passing behind me to deliver a wayward dish to the sink.
“Cary?” I bat my hand in the air, accidentally letting go of the plastic wrap I’m trying to get off the roll to cover the leftovers. It wrinkles, and I’m picking at the edges to unstick the film. “He’s Bhod’s big brother,” I remark as if Cary’s presence is insignificant and my nipples haven’t been hard dots, poking underneath the fabric of my shirt since he returned with my son.
“Then stop undr-ressing him with your eyes like he’s on stage at the club.” His voice remains at a whisper.
