Her alarm went off at ten in the morning. We were able to start our day off right, and still had time for breakfast. Although it was Friday, I decided not to go in. Too much excitement from the day before, and my food truck was noticed. I felt sure, by now, the press would know who we were, and I didn’t want to give them an easy way to follow me.
I prepared a breakfast fit for a queen and we fed one another bites before she had to get ready for work. Handing me a key, she invited me to stay the day.
“Or you can go out and about, and come back. I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’ll happily stay.”
“You want more sex.”
“Not untrue. But I want you to feel safe. You’ll be okay on the way to work? I can take you in.”
“I have to go to the secure facility. You can’t know its location.”
“Gotcha. I’ll head home, clean out the truck before tomorrow night.”
“Do you have to work tomorrow?”
“I usually put in a few hours with the club crowd on Friday and Saturday, but I may not. It’s mostly bottles of water, lemonade, late night munchies. It won’t break my bank account to miss. I just never had a reason to stay in on the weekend.” I nuzzled her neck, my hands finding soft, interesting things to fondle.
“I have to go,” she cautioned as I got too friendly.
“Yes. Go. Dammit.” I let her go, walking her to the door. Grabbing my keys and wallet, I joined her in the elevator. As we walked out to her car, I saw some vehicles on the street. “There a back way out of this lot?”
“There’s a truck entrance. Why?”
“Media vans.”
“Well, shit. Follow me.”
She backed out of her spot and I followed her around the back of the building. We went out, heading different directions; she for work, me for home. I needed not only to clean, I needed to count the till and make my deposit. Things had been too busy the day before for me to do that. I was curious to see how much was in the tip jar.
My street was surprisingly quiet. I was able to pull into the driveway and garage without being bothered. The message light on my home phone was blinking like crazy. I pressed the button, listening while I picked up the living room. It was full of calls from my mother, all of them saying mostly the same thing.
“Keir, it’s your mother. Call.” She’d called three times, as had each of my sisters.
The final one was from Chica. “Where the f**k are you? Call your mother!”
Chica, real name Charlotte, is less than two years older than I, but lords it over me. Our eldest sister, Maria, is fifteen years older. She practically raised me, since our mom had to work two jobs after Dad left. I wasn’t sure if Chica was telling me to call Maria, or Mom, so I chose to call our mother.
“Finally!” she answered the phone. “What have you been doing? I’ve gotten seventy-two phone calls from TV stations, newspapers, online webzines, I have no idea what all else. They all want to know what it’s like having a hero for a son. What the hell?”
I explained. Mom sat in silence for a moment.
“Well…. Well. So…. Was the man armed?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you knew that going in?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Were you armed?”
“I thought it was better not to be. But I had on a bullet proof vest.”
“You know those don’t cover your testicles.”
Having worn one, I was aware of that.
“Your sisters have all given me grandbabies.”
Not entirely true. Three hadn’t reproduced, four had. But there’s no arguing with my mother.
“You haven’t had any children.”
“That we know of.”
“Don’t go there, Keir.”
“No, ma’am.”
“And don’t give me that patient tone, like I’m crazy. I’m your mother! I will worry about you until the day I die. I’ll worry about you after that, too. From my cloud in Heaven. You couldn’t even call? I had to hear this on the news?”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I was a little busy.”
“Too busy? With what, I’d like to know. Too busy to call your mother. A mother, who worries!”
“I have a new girlfriend,” I said calmly.
The screeching stopped.
“I was—getting to know her better.”
“In the Biblical sense?”
“Yes.” Flinching, I waited for the screaming to start up again.
“Well, good. Is this a serious relationship?”
©2021 Dellani Oakes
Dellani Oakes 