Sweat stung my eyes and ran down my sun-scorched back in streams, before converging at the top of my ass crack; the thick sheen magnifying the blistering rays of the late summer sun. Clenching my jaw and grunting with one final morsel of strength, I pulled back from under the hood of my 1970 Chevelle SS. I inherited the classic from my grandfather, knowing it’d demand its share of work, but nothing prepared me for the explosion of steam billowing from beneath the hood when the radiator took a shit on me in the middle of my already late drive to work.
A swallow of water quenched my thirst, and I went right back to work. “Come on, girl, give me some sugar, and let these bolts slide in.” Coaxing her tenderly usually made all the parts line up properly every time I begged Peter to pay Paul when something broke down on my old classic.
“Trouble in paradise?”
I stood and stretched my back, knowing my father all too well. He wished for a son who loved Friday Night Lights and banging the prom queen all in time with kicking shit off the toe of his boots—in the name of being a man, amen. A heavy sigh left my lungs, aware he waited on the driveway impatient for my reply.
“Nope. She gave up the radiator. It’s almost back in.”
“It’s Friday night. Y’all got plans?” His drawl raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Just tryin’ to get to work.”
“I hear the university team is home. Get yourself washed up and go catch a glimpse of the gridiron. I’ll pay you what the coffee shop would.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. His forearms tensed akin to Popeye’s after he squeezed the spinach out of the can. A football player himself, up through college, he turned his time on the field into a lifelong dream of being a trainer to the athletes. Unfortunately, his business smarts were left in the locker room, and his hustling skills lay in the sweat of his jock.
“They probably do play at home. I’d rather her up and running.” I shrugged my shoulder and returned my attention toward Sadey; my grandfather named the Chevelle after my grandmother. I shifted from one foot to the other. “I’d rather make the greens myself.”
“Come see me before y’all leave.”
“Will do.” My eyes trailed him into the house; the one my mother’s executive secretarial job paid for every month. An angel kissed her but decided to marry her off to the devil: A decision she made when I turned four. One we both regretted.
My fingers trembled as the last bolt tightened into place. Everything appeared back to factory settings and ready for a turn of the engine. The pungent smell of the burnt antifreeze fluid, still residing on the manifold, rose from the rumbling engine. I loathed that odor. It reminded me of the fragile nature of my inheritance. The one dad wanted, and I received, in the last will and testament of one Milo Vincent Garcia. The father-in-law who left his house to his daughter, his vintage car to his only grandson, and his baseball card collection to his loser son-in-law. The man I respected and earned my first and surname from rather than my own father. Clayton “Clay” Wilcox’s name held glory on the gridiron but not an ounce of respect in my heart.
“Boy, y’all done yet?” Dad yelled out the torn screen door. A wad of long-leaf tobacco stuffed between his cheek and gum.
“Almost. Let me clean up.” The dread of the weekend talk loomed over my shoulders as I wiped off Sadey’s hood and closed it with a gentle hand. I thanked the good Lord above for Seth jumping on my shift and switching with me when Sadey blew up earlier. However, I knew the time approached, and with a glance over my shoulder, the clock on the wall told me borrowed time tapped my shoulder for another hour before the coffee shop willed me away.
Heavy steps weighed me down as the pop of a Bud Light can echoed out the tattered screen door. Every day the same old thing. Dad waltzed in from training some youth athlete and cracked open a beer then waited for the right moment to—
“Milo.” He always spoke my name in vain. My mother took pride in handing me down my grandfather’s name. My dad used it as if it soured his last nerve and spit it out in parallel with Hell’s fire.
I ran my hands under the faucet and pumped the soap dispenser a few times, anticipating the moment when he began his doctrine.
“Son, there comes a time in a boy's life that he needs a place warm, tight, and willing to accept all he has to give. I worry you’re waiting on the right girl and not test driving the ones in your league. When was the last time you—”
“I promise, Clay.” I whipped the devil in disgust and used his own given name. “Deborah and I broke up six months ago, and I’ve been busy.”
“Six months is a lifetime. Are you gay, boy?” His belch blew past my ear as he crowded me at the sink. The vile stench of beer and tobacco reeked heavy between us. “You and that Seth kid seem a little off. Is he yanking your pud?”
I inhaled through my flared nostrils and pushed it back out my mouth. While Seth came out of the closet in middle school, he and I remained friends. It never bothered me who he dated. We always clicked. Unlike the jocks in this college town, Seth and I enjoyed movies, video games, music, and studying together. Our goal, solidified on a handshake in ninth grade, resided in the fact we needed our college degrees to blow out of Fort Worth and never return.
***
Fresh roast coffee and pastries wafted over me, kicking up the skip in my step. Nick’s Coffee Shop kept the locals happy, and the tourists flocking in for pictures of the quaint environment before they popped back out and headed to the big corporate thieves.
I slung an apron around my neck and fumbled with the tie around my waist. Seth followed each step of my feet with his eyes as they paved their path toward the barista station. His fingers tapped in rhythm with a-ha’s ‘Take on Me’ playing over the speakers.
“What happened this time?” He stepped back from the register, crossing his arms over his chest.
“The usual.”
“Did you tell him to eat shit with a capital S?”
“Seth, you know how he is. ‘Slay the pussy. Take names later’ and then he turns around and kisses my mom’s ass since she pays the bills.”
“Lauren came in asking about you while I covered your first shift.” The crack in his voice forced a smirk across my face.
“She’s all yours. I tried her out and couldn’t follow through.”
“I refuse sloppy seconds.” His fingers whipped the towel off his shoulder, and he snapped at me in jest.
“Relax. I think her friend Chris wanted you anyway. Lauren wants a bad boy, but not a poor bad boy nor one who doesn’t desire women to begin with.”
“Do you want a bad boy?”
I choked on Seth’s words. My eyes widened as my fingers fumbled with the knobs on the espresso machine. “What?” flew from my lips as I shook my head unclear of what he mumbled.
His brows furrowed. “I said, do you wanna be a bad boy? Do you need to clean your ears?”
The chime of the door snapped our heads to the couple entering the coffee shop. As Seth greeted them with a warm welcome, anxiety took residence in my chest. How could Seth know the new sandy-haired, ocean-blue eyed, cocksure boy from Britain in my philosophy course irritated me as much as he interested me? I didn’t tell him how this new intrusive foreigner intrigued me. His chatter with the customers faded, and I retreated into myself attempting to rationalize this bothersome situation taking up more time in my thoughts than I had time for.
We’d only been in class for three weeks this semester; every day he arrived with a guilty smirk on his face and sat too close to me in the lecture hall, despite the course not being full. I struggled placing his lack of personal space on whether this crossed a cultural difference between Brits and us or if he suffered from something which made him unaware of my discomfort.
The fourth day of his impediment on my personal space, I politely stood and moved one seat. To my surprise he moved one over as well and told me, “Yes, this view of the podium is better if we must listen to the drivel of the professor.”
Despite my subtle attempts at setting up personal space, he pressed forward in his pursuit to annoy me. Then, first thing this morning, he waited for me in the library. I’d slipped yesterday and told him I studied there after my morning jog. Somehow, he asked me to dinner Friday night, and I accepted. Paranoia set in as I never discussed my encounter with Seth. His comment hit me like the ACME anvil—square between the eyes. Did Edward ask me on a date? I shrugged off the thought. Clearly, he’d noticed my disdain for his proximity. I left my thoughts volleying on the idea he knew me from class and needed a friend.
“Hey?” The quick repeated snaps of Seth’s fingers lured me out of my confusion.
Irritation seeped through my lips. “What?”
“You gonna make their orders or do I need to continue my double duty?”
“No. Sorry. You know how I am when my dad rubs me the wrong way.” I grabbed the ticket off the counter and began making the green chai tea and deciphering the fat free coconut bullshit her date ordered.
“We’ve got to get you out of that house soon.”
“No kidding.” I forced myself to devise a plan for next semester. An urgent need for new housing—somewhere else. A place away from my beer-guzzling-sperm-donor where he wouldn’t annoy me. It pained me on the other hand, as my mom worked herself to the bone to support the three of us.
I promised in that moment, in the middle of Nick’s Coffee Shop, to free my mom and me once and for all. She only stayed because of me, and I knew the past due notice on my dad’s welcome wore out years ago. Shoot, it only took four years after my arrival to actually marry him—what a mistake.
My dreaming continued on its journey toward freedom when I bumped into Seth standing back behind the pastry window. “Can you grab the clean mugs from the kitchen? I need to wipe down a few of these tables.” He clapped my shoulder with his left hand and grabbed the spray bottle at the same time with his right. The heat of his chest rubbed against my back for a brief moment. My head spun, wandering back to the uncertainty of Edward’s invite.
“Seriously, are you alright? I’m watching your eyes dance to the back of your head, you’re so deep in thought you might have stuffed your head in your ass. Did you meet someone? The last one who made you lose your mind hit home in the form of big-busted Brenda, and she lasted a nanosecond after you dipped your stick into her. Is that what has you so messed up tonight?”
I huffed and slammed my hand against the swinging kitchen door, a little too hard, in my confusion. “No. My dad. Nothing more than the usual with my dad.”
Silence loomed in the kitchen with the lie I spoke to my best friend. Why I kept my meeting with Edward from Seth only weaved the situation into a further tangled mess.
Edward’s odd social graces intrigued me. I’d never met anyone from the UK and perhaps that entertained my thoughts far more than him hitting on me. Or, with my state of misfortune, this all swirled around some warped version of my dad seeping in and spoiling my thoughts. Dad’s opinion left nobody the wiser in the long run. Or maybe, it was as simple as I needed to get laid, and the blood located in my yearning groin would return to my mind, allowing all the neurons to concentrate on my end game a little more.
I grabbed the crate of clean mugs and wrestled with my thoughts the rest of the shift.
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