Ever since Shane brought out his liquor at lunch two days ago, he and William had switched up their afternoon routine. Instead of beer, they sat down with a few carefully poured shots. It was something he'd always pictured for lawyers, stock brokers, or other white collars schmucks—people who didn't allow themselves the pleasure of drinking straight from the neck of a bottle. Yet here he sat with his farmer boss, in a low wooden chair that had unspokenly become his, sipping whiskey neat from a rock glass.
Even stranger was not drinking it alone. Whiskey was, in Shane's eyes, meant to be a lonely drink. Not something you casually split after work.
Your boss, he reminded himself firmly, staring down into the amber liquid. Not your friend.
Because everyone drank with their boss. If he squinted, it could've been Morris in that deck chair. Or Phillip, from the Zuzu store. The one that used to berate employees for a crooked name tag, and gave instructions to Shane as if he was mentally slow and hard of hearing.
Right.
During those porch drinks, Shane looked at William and tried to picture the guy who had grabbed his wrist in that moment of unexplained terror. Who'd been so startled by a bit of water, he'd flung away his wet shirt as if it were a snake. It was really damn difficult. William was at ease after work. He drank slowly. He'd tell Shane something that happened in the fields, dragging tattooed fingers through his hair, laughing loud.
Solid. Steady. Miles away from whatever had shaken him under that tree the other morning.
Not that it was any of Shane's business.
Wednesday started off as usual; the milking, the coop, the normal routine. Except when Shane emerged from the storage barn, wiping his hands on his jeans, William called him over to the parked truck.
"Going out for delivery this week," he said when Shane got close, nodding at the crates of blueberries lining a nearby fence. He opened his tailgate. "Help me load 'em up."
Shane climbed on the back of the pick-up, sliding and stacking crates as William handed them over. For a moment they existed in that silent, rhythmic stride that sank into place when working side by side. Then Shane saw it: a cloud of dust billowing over the gravel road, and the little silver car responsible for kicking it up.
Whomever was behind the wheel honked several times as they zipped up the drive.
"Shiiiiiit," groaned William.
The vehicle parked near the house, and Shane's mouth went dry when the engine cut.
Does he get real estate agents out here?
The woman inside held a compact, expertly applying lipstick in the little mirror. When finished she snapped it shut and dropped it in her bag. The door opened. A dark blue pump stepped out, making a neat hole next to the car.
The lady who emerged was in her middle years. Her creamy red lipstick was a bright contrast to her blue dress and shoes, and the white pearls resting on her collarbone. She pushed sunglasses on top of her head, looking around the farm with approval. At seeing William she broke into a big smile.
"Well thank goodness, you're actually alive out here! After you didn't answer your phone this morning, I was worried."
William gave a frustrated sigh, dropping his crate of berries on the tailgate. He crossed over to the woman, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Mother. What a surprise."
Shane froze with the crate he'd just picked up.
Well, shit.
She accepted the kiss graciously. Then—
"Who is that?"
Of course it couldn't be a real estate agent. No, it was someone he'd actually have to meet, to once again demonstrate how much he sucked at social niceties.
Heart racing, he adjusted his final crate on the stack. He briefly recalled what William had said on the porch last Friday, before the fight. Something about his mom throwing brunches, being on charity committees, and forcing fruity drinks on you. It'd been difficult to picture at the time, but now Shane had no trouble at all. She was the kind of person you looked at and thought: society.
Yet despite how obviously related William and his mother were, seeing them now side-by-side—the same blonde hair, same complexion—Shane struggled to wrap his mind around the fact that this refined little bird of a woman had given birth to his big tattooed boss.
William rubbed the back of his neck. "That's my new hire, Shane. Mother, you can't just—"
"Hello!" she said enthusiastically, waving.
William groaned. "Ma. Maaaaa. Stop. He's busy."
"Oh nonsense, I want to meet him. It's about time you got some help around here."
Shane bit his lip. He knew he ought to get off the truck and go introduce himself, rather than stand around like an idiot, but he wasn't sure he could. He was too aware of his own body. He was going to trip getting down. He was going to make a damn fool of himself.
"Daniels," said William, pinching the bridge of his nose. "C'mere a minute."
"Daniels?" his mother repeated, smacking his shoulder. "Goodness William, you're not a soldier anymore."
Shane was miraculously able to climb down without mishap. He walked over, palms sweaty.
William rolled his eyes. His expression was aggravated, yet tolerant of the tiny woman next to him. "Daniels, this is Ma. Ma? This is Shane Daniels. Now will you stop—"
"Shane! Angie Bauer. So good to meet you! Could you help me with something?" She shot a reproving glance at William. "Since my son isn't offering to assist his mother."
Shane blinked. "Oh, uh. Yeah." He rubbed his neck. "S-sure."
"Excellent. Clearly you have manners."
She turned toward her car, and Shane turned to William.
I am so sorry, William mouthed.
Shane glared at him.
Angie popped open her trunk, grabbed a box, and walked over to shove it into her son's hands. "You skipped Sunday, Will. It's rude."
He groaned, marching toward the house as Angie returned to sort through more boxes in the trunk.
"Um," Shane said, hating how dry the word came out. "It's nice to meet you too."
She flashed a brilliant smile. "Has my son been a good boss? I'll spank him if he's bad, you know." She turned her head toward the house. "YOU'RE NOT TOO BIG TO TURN OVER MY KNEE, YOUNG MAN!"
"MA!"
"He's good," Shane said, his face roasting pink. "It's good work."
She gave an approving nod, stacking a few boxes into his arms. Through the crack in the flaps Shane saw a couple of pies, their delicious warm scent wafting up.
"You, er, made these?" he asked, scrounging for something polite to say.
Angie softened. "I did!" She closed the trunk and crossed to the passenger's side, pulling out an elegant little clutch. "Would you like to take one home?"
"Oh. I didn't mean—"
"Because I made enough for an army." She rolled her eyes toward the house. "That glowering behemoth of a son can't eat them all anyway. Pick one out, I insist."
"Okay," Shane said quietly, not wanting to insult her by refusing. "Thanks."
Angie walked up the porch, Shane following. She sighed at the can of empty beer bottles, pushing it with her toe. "William! For heaven's sake, son, I didn't raise you in a barn."
"I'm a bachelor, Ma!" he called from inside. "You don't like the way my house looks, call first."
She stepped into the kitchen, giving it a once-over. "Have you boys eaten lunch yet?"
William leaned against the fridge. "No. We were working. It's what happens during the daylight hours."
"Did you put away—"
"I put away the food."
She crossed her arms. "Don't sass me, William Joseph." Then she nodded at the table. "Shane darling, over there is fine."
Feeling slow and stupid, Shane set the boxes down. He wondered if Angie knew that he and William had eaten lunch together in the kitchen the last two days. Most people would probably consider it a better break to eat on the porch, but after toiling in the hot sun, eating indoors was refreshing. They'd even talked a bit more yesterday…
Because she can totally tell that your ass sat in his chair, just by looking at it.
William, as if sensing his discomfort, waved a hand. "Daniels, if you wanna go back—"
"What, you're not going to feed him? Shame on you, Will."
At that William looked to the ceiling; the look of a man who would rather die here and now.
"I—I'm okay," Shane stammered. "Not hungry."
"Shane, you ignore him honey. I'm making lunch," Angie insisted.
"He said he's not hungry," said William.
"Oh, you boys are always hungry!"
William threw up his hands. "Fine. Whatever. Cook. Do your woman thing. I still have to finish what I was working on."
She put her clutch down and began to pull out pans and utensils.
"C'mon," William groused, stomping outside, nodding for Shane to follow.
He felt a plunge of relief at the direct order. Not an open-ended introduction, which he was expected to respond to. Not an offer of food that would make him feel greedy to accept, or rude to turn down. Nothing that required improv on his end. No, it was just instruction. Beautiful, soothing instruction, that saved him from standing awkwardly in the kitchen.
As soon as they were out the door Angie called, "AND THROW OUT THOSE BOTTLES!"
William snatched the bucket up.
"Daniels, I'm sorry," he said in a low voice as they headed down the porch. "She does this. Just sort of pops up like a goddamn pimple."
Shane wasn't sorry—he was only relieved to be out of the house. It felt good to be alone, just the two of them. So good he even felt a little bold.
"It's cool, William Joseph."
William, opening his recycling bin, froze for a moment. "Ha, ha," he said sarcastically, tossing the bottles inside.
Shane flushed. Maybe that was too familiar of him.
"Guess I'll, um. Get back to my shit?"
"Yeah." William sighed, scrubbing his hand through his hair. "Just…don't make her wait for you to get to the table, or she'll be screaming holy hell later. Best way to deal with Ma is to give her what she wants. She won't stay long. Just enough to embarrass the shit out of me." He gave Shane a pained look. "Unless you want to knock off early today, and leave me to her tender mercies."
The offer was tempting, but something stopped Shane from accepting. Maybe it was that look on William's face—the one that suggested Shane was leaving him to be devoured by rabid wolves.
He shook his head. "Don't wanna be rude…she wanted to give me a pie and shit..."
William clapped him on the shoulder. "Dude. Her pie is pretty fucking delicious. I don't blame you."
His hand remained there, and Shane glanced nervously at the farmhouse. "So what," he said, trying to ignore the slight squeeze it gave. "I do this lunch, I get credit or something? Can skip out on the next one?"
"Yeah. Fuck, I'd owe you. She's always less intense if she has an audience."
When William finally pulled his arm away, Shane let out a breath. He nodded.
"Okay," William said. If he noticed the squeeze made Shane uncomfortable, he didn't let it show. "The battle plan. Do whatever. When she starts hollering, we go wash up. We eat, and I'll try to get us out of there as soon as possible."
His face set as if mentally girding his loins, and he started back across the field.
For a moment Shane only stood watching after him, the warmth on his shoulder lingering.
William worked as if harvesting the tomatoes would somehow make his mom go away. She was always pulling this bullshit, randomly popping up as though she half-lived there. It felt too damn much like being spied on.
When he'd first moved out to Pops' land, his parents had celebrated his independence by giving him blessed and appreciated silence. It had lasted a whole three months. Then, to 'surprise' him, Ma had dropped by—just in time to witness a slap across the eyes by an errant cow tail. In an effort to stop her fussing, William had steered her out of the barn, into the house that Pops had left as a ramshackle and unrenovated shack.
Compared to her cathedral ceilings and shining hardwood floors, Ma told him that he was only a step above homelessness. She'd flown into a lecture over all the work that needed to be done, as if William didn't fucking know what a giant load he'd taken on.
Still, Bauers didn't shy away from a challenge. His first winter had been a flurry of visits, measurements, and new decor. At the end of Wintersday, she'd taken pictures of his cozy and rustic house and put them in the family newsletter.
Like all battles engaged in with his mother, annoying her was a game. Starting that spring he'd begun expanding his house, sending her into stitches over each disruption. She'd come in with design ideas and sweep over the place like an interior decorating Napoleon, and then he'd change the territory like Duke Wellington.
Unfortunately he'd run out of room to expand unless he wanted a second floor, and his back injury made any extra stairs an accident waiting to happen. He settled with games on a smaller scale now. Like putting things where his short mother couldn't reach them, just to see the looks of exasperation on her normally perfectly poised face. Once, when he'd been living at home and she'd been particularly tyrannical, he'd found all her step stools and hidden them in a fit of pique. Her voice had rung through the house to come reach things for her. She'd not found it funny at all.
Just as he was wondering how much she'd disrupted his kitchen today, Angie came outside. She dragged one of his deck chairs over to a metal triangle hung high on the porch, and climbed up to whack her spoon against it.
William glanced over to see Shane put aside his shovel, giving the house the same look one might give the gallows.
He felt inclined to agree.
He turned on the outdoor spigot and began to suds up his hands, scrubbing off dirt. The scent of pot roast, veggies, and Gretchen's yeast rolls wafted from the house. If Ma would just bring Gretchen, then at least someone else would be around to help punch her persona as Queen Bee. His mom might like to give the illusion of being a domestic goddess, but all the food she'd brought was part of the catered meals that his parents subsided on.
When Shane joined him at the water pump, William put on his 'social' goggles, taking stock of his appearance.
Shane's t-shirt was a low-quality fabric, sweat-stained and with hay dust clinging to it. His dark hair—which hadn't seen a pair of professional shears since God knew when—stuck to the sides of his head. His face was ruddy, his chin dark from its five o'clock shadow. The cheap jeans he wore every day had darker stains on the knees, where he'd likely been crouching to scrub the chicken coops.
It was, William thought, a normal-ass look for anyone who had real fucking work to do. But his mother was a wild card in what she'd seize on, to hit a fucker with weeks later.
"Take off your shoes or she'll take off your head," William warned, eyes falling to Shane's feet. His boots were caked in mud and shavings, bird droppings spotting the tops.
"Damn," Shane muttered, stepping back from the pump. "Some leash she's got."
He wiped wet fingers against his pants, leaving long, dark streaks on the denim before walking towards the house, not giving William a chance to say anything else.
William glowered after him as he made his way to his fucking doom.
Fine, he thought, scrubbing up to his elbows. Go forth and drown, you ungrateful shit.
While washing he slowed, his eyes drifting to his forearm, up to the stylized angel sitting on a marble pillar wrapped in roses and thorns. The face was hidden by a shining halo, and her hand held a sword dripping with red, each drop forming a flower in the thorny briars.
Poe, his tattoo artist, had created the piece when he was clean, a tribute to his parents who had supported him during recovery.
Did he come off as a momma's boy? Well, shit, what was Shane supposed to think? His mom showed up out of the ether like a damn tornado in pearls, and William just did whatever she asked him to.
Still. She was his mom. She'd gotten a superintendent fired when he was in elementary school, after an unfair ruling had suspended him for two weeks. She'd been on every booster club and PTA possible. She'd stayed up with him the night before boot camp, and probably was the only person he could cry in front of without shame. When in the hellhole that was the Gotoro frontlines, his care packages came like clockwork: warm, dry socks, a plate of his favorite cookies, and letters of news from home in every box.
Let Shane think he was whipped. His mom knew the truth.
William dragged behind him, stopping at the steps to untie his boots. Half to make his mom wait, and half because he wasn't quite sure what the battle plan was for this visit.
From inside, he heard her asking Shane when he'd been hired.
"Uh." Shane's voice hesitated. "Last Monday…"
It'd only been a week and a half, he realized, putting his boots to the side. It felt like longer.
William walked into the kitchen, taking in the scene with a glance. His mom had, somehow, found the stupid, lacy apron she'd bought last year. He thought he'd hidden the damn thing better. Yet it was another game the two of them played—whenever she left after one of her self-imposed improvement sprees, he rearranged her set-ups, hiding things in obnoxious places.
She carried a dish to the table, sporting her costume of domesticity. She'd laid out a huge feast, completely out of proportion to the three people in the house. William leaned down and brushed another kiss over her cheek, skin that had been conditioned with three different types of moisturizers and a dusting of powder. She smelled like Paris, her favorite scent.
He squeezed her shoulder once, tugging on the apron and casting her a raised brow.
You found it.
She gave him a smug smile, subtle and easily missed if someone hadn't been raised to see that slight turn of her eyes.
Of course I found it, the look said.
Satisfied that the apron had proved her point, she took it off, and sat down at the table.
William glanced at Shane, who was doing his best imitation of a silent robot. He didn't meet eyes with anyone as he scooped helpings onto his plate, and then began to eat as though the act of consuming the food would give him invisibility. William sat catty-corner to him, following his example. The sooner the food was gone, the sooner his Ma would head home.
He counted to ten in his head while he ate. At three, she tutted.
"When was the last time you had a decent meal, son?"
William swallowed his bite. "Last night. Leftover frozen pizza."
This did not make her smile.
William knew she wanted him to say something. Wanted him to introduce Shane. Wanted to open up the floor to questions. She practically vibrated with the need for him to speak. She moved with deliberate grace, cutting potatoes and taking exact sips of tea as if the ghost of her finishing school teacher were watching, instead of her goading son and his silent farmhand.
William let her twist on the vine.
He'd almost finished his plate when she finally gave a soft cough. Her ankles crossed then uncrossed under the table, the soft soles of her pumps rubbing the tile.
"So," she said. "We missed you Sunday."
Oh no she didn't…
William paused in the middle of scooping out a fresh helping of garlic potatoes. He felt her laser beam focus, and like any good warrior who sensed a weakness, she pressed.
"I called you back and you didn't pick up, Will."
He sighed, replacing the spoon.
"Yeah, sorry. Was raining. Makes the signal bad out here."
She stiffened, catching the lie. William narrowed his eyes at her, and flicked a glance at Shane, the message loud as he could make it: Not. Here.
She followed his gaze, then as if uncocking a gun, softened her shoulders.
William didn't trust her retreat. Before she could try another verbal volley of attack he went on the offensive. "What kind of pie did you bring?"
"Apple, blueberry, and peach," she said, frowning.
"Cool." William stabbed a piece of beef. "Thanks."
He focused on his meal, not his mother. She wasn't fooled, her eyes on him like weights. He knew she was scrutinizing. He felt her assessment on his face while he ate. Were the lines there new? Had he been staying clean? She looked at his fingers, nails, and clothing, then rested on the inside of his arm.
After a moment she pulled her gaze away. Like always, when she thought too hard about what he'd done to himself once upon a time. She glanced around the room, casting for a subject, and he'd just started a new bite of pot roast when she found one.
"I've invited Henry this week."
William choked. As he coughed, he saw the cool triumph in her eyes.
"Ah ha! You were avoiding Henry!"
He grabbed his tea, swallowing it down, glaring at her through his sudden asphyxiation tears.
"No, Ma," he managed to wheeze. "No one wants to hear about Henry."
He didn't need this today. He didn't need Shane, who's status in his life was blurred enough, to get a whiff of his mother's matchmaking.
"Well, I don't see why not. He's a lawyer, you know. Very accomplished."
A headache began to bloom. "Ma…"
"What?!" She made the word over-the-top, then pouted. "You're all alone up here. I worry."
It was a bullshit pout. It was a fucking show. And it wasn't even for him—it was pure goddamned theatre because she had an audience. And here he'd thought she'd be more discrete if there was a relative stranger about. So this was her game? Ignore me and I'll make it so painful that you will never do it again?
There was only one way to deal with her stupid fucking games.
Head on.
"I am not going on a blind date with Henry." William leaned back, and nodded his head towards Shane, who had been glued to his plate during the entire mortifying exchange. "Besides, this is embarrassing. Don't make Daniels sit through your matchmaking."
Shane's knife scraped his plate with a squeak. His face reddened.
Instead of backing off, she doubled down, focusing on Shane.
"Fine. Shane? You interested in a nice lawyer from Zuzu? Because William is apparently going to throw away opportunities."
"Ma!"
"What?"
William groaned into his hand. Did she also think Shane was gay? Could she sense something else too? That maybe it was not just William's wishful thinking, but a kernel of truth?
"I'm uh, good, thanks," Shane mumbled, before taking a hard swallow of iced tea.
No defensiveness. No saying he didn't like guys. Just that he was good without Henry The Lawyer tossed at him like an out-of-season handbag.
It doesn't mean anything.
"He's good," William snapped, irritated at his errant thoughts. "Leave him be."
She lowered her eyes to her plate and with false contriteness said, "My apologies, Shane."
"No need." Shane gave a small, uncomfortable shrug. As if grasping for a lifeline, he nodded at the food. "This is really good. Thanks."
She paused, caught off guard by the compliment. Probably, William thought, because unlike some of the idiots she liked to surround herself with, Shane's sincerity was obvious.
Defeated at last, she shoved her chair back from the table. Her heels clicked a frustrated staccato into the kitchen with the empty roll plate.
Was is possible? Was she done?
William glanced sideways at Shane, then turned back to his food and rubbed his forehead. He was almost finished. Soon he could wash the dishes and pack her into the car—
"Cameron asked about you Sunday."
Ice hit his chest. He felt the creeping fingers of that name tighten around his throat.
"Thank goodness his divorce is almost finalized," Ma said, scraping leftovers into a tupperware. "Poor dear. It's been very hard on him."
That was an understatement. His ex-fiancé had nearly been beaten black and blue by his then-husband Roy.
When William had gone home last Wintersday, Cam had been staying at his parent's place while the beginnings of his divorce went through. The last few months had been strange between them. It was clear that Cam was looking for a damn rebound, yet William's feelings about his ex were…complicated.
Could Shane see that Cam's name was like a damn knife?
William flicked his eyes over, but Shane was looking away.
"Cameron is an old friend of ours, Shane," Ma continued, opening aluminum foil over the pie tins. "It's so sad when these things don't work out."
William let out a slow breath, packing all that shit back into the damn box his mother kept trying to kick. He smoothed his face, pushed back his plate, and asked the one question that nagged him.
"Did that restraining order go through?"
"I believe so. He's getting most of the estate."
"Good," he said. Cam deserved it after putting up with Roy's bullshit. "Good for him."
William glanced over at Shane again. He was clearly uncomfortable, his back hunched as if trying to put space between himself and the table, all without moving his chair.
Ma swept back in, laying out pie; a tiny piece on her plate, versus the huge chunks that she'd cut for both himself and Shane. An idea hit William as she sat down.
"You should introduce Cam to Henry," he said. "Lawyers are good for divorced guys."
Ma cocked her head, thoughtful.
"Huh," she said. "Maybe you're right." Then she pointed her fork at him. "You know, you don't call enough, William."
The argument was familiar, the complaint as common as gripes about the weather.
"Sorry," he said.
She turned to Shane now, as if looking for an ally in her exasperation. "I swear. He just goes off for days and no one can find him! What is a mother supposed to do?"
William ignored her and figured Shane would too. Except apparently not. The fucking Sadsack, who couldn't do more than grunt most days, finished chewing his bite of pie and bit the inside of his cheek, the hollow visible. He caught William's eye, saying, "Call your mom, William."
He said it casually. Mr. Didn't Want to Bond, except for willingly hanging out and doing shots after work. Mr. Not Going to Let You Catch Me Looking, except William knew he totally did. Mr. It's All Just Business, except here he was, teasing and sucking up to his mom. And it was starting to bother William, how the small things were making him so drawn to Mr. Never Gonna Happen.
He shivered as Shane looked back down.
Ma beamed, and William resisted the urge to drive his foot into Shane's chair to knock him over.
"You? You I like," Ma declared. "Bring him with you next time you come home, William."
He and Shane both choked on their pie.
"Boys," she chided. "Small bites."
William swallowed, eyes watering from near death-by-pie.
"Sure! Sounds great." He raised an evil eyebrow at Shane. "Doesn't it sound just peachy Daniels?"
Shane, the little shit, ignored him.
"This is really good pie," he said.
Ma was thrilled to have a new ally. "Well good. That's settled." She turned her wrist to the side, the mother-of-pearl in her delicate watch flashing. "I've got bridge tonight or I'd stay longer."
William stood. "Well, thanks for the food, Ma."
"Yeah," Shane echoed. "Thanks a lot."
Oh, so now you're on my side.
Ma walked past them to retrieve her purse from the kitchen. She looked dubiously at the food she'd brought him to last the week.
"I could at least—"
"Nope!" William stepped in to cut off that line of thought. "Nope. I'll clean up."
She smiled, and pulled an apple pie out of the box, handing it to Shane. "There you are. I hope to see you again!" She leaned over and, to William's complete surprise, kissed his cheek.
Shane froze underneath the gesture.
Great Ma, William thought without any amusement. You broke my farmhand.
She headed for the door. Shane remained a statue, holding the pie with the same befuddlement as if someone had handed him a baby.
Ma approved. She had Shane marked as an easy target for the future—of that, he was sure.
"Be good boys!" she said, breezing out.
William followed her through the door. So quietly that he didn't think she could hear, he muttered, "Call before you drop in next time."
Turning, she raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "What is the point of calling when you don't answer your phone?" She pressed a farewell kiss to his cheek, and with a hmm of pleasure swanned down the steps.
William stood at the top of the porch and watched her go. When satisfied that she was far enough down the road, he went inside, letting the door swing shut and beelining to the fridge. If anything would drive him to drink, it was his mother and her fucking surprises.
He pulled out two beers, tossing one to Shane without looking.
"We. Survived." He cracked the top off on the handle of the fridge. "Thank fuck."
Shane popped the cap with his bare thumb. "And I thought Marnie was bad." He paused with the beer halfway to his mouth, as if rethinking the statement. "Not like—not that your mom's bad or anything. She seems nice..."
He drank to cover up the lie.
"Dude. She's a terror. It's fine." William leaned a hip against the counter while he drank, regarding the mountain of food she'd left. He let the buzz of carbonation and alcohol settle in his system, and scrubbed his face with his free hand. "I didn't think she'd just appear like that."
"Yeah," Shane agreed quietly, rolling his neck from side to side.
For one moment, the thoughts William had been suppressing surged up. The way Shane's shirt clung to him, hard labor already hardening his chest and shoulders. His jeans, cheap as they were, hung looser on his hips, and…that was exactly where he needed to end that particular line of thought.
He looked away, taking a long swallow of beer before beginning to gather his leftovers.
This was all so stupid. It could have been avoided completely.
"Should have just gone Sunday," he muttered, stacking tupperware and crumpling up the tin foil.
Shane sank back down at the table with his beer. "Why'd you ghost on her?"
William froze.
Did he really want to know? Since Friday's quarrel, William had kept all conversation strictly on work or sports. They'd talked a few times about what needing doing the next day, while unwinding on the porch. But this? It felt dangerously close to bonding.
Yet, as quickly as the offer was extended, Shane pulled it away. "Nevermind. Not my business."
Yup, William decided. Dangerously close to bonding.
"After you finish that, go ahead and start cleaning up the dairy equipment," he said, letting the subject drop like a hot potato.
Shane hesitated. "You want any help in here?"
"I got this." William focused on separating out the sides from the main courses.
"Okay."
Shane shotgunned the final two thirds of his beer before walking out, closing the door softly behind him. A few seconds later there was a hollow bang on the porch, when he dropped his empty bottle into the bucket.
William stared down at the plastic tubs, then let out a breath and opened the fridge.
He rolled his eyes.
His mom had pushed his beers to the back, moved the condiments, and thrown out perfectly good leftovers from last week. He grimly stacked the rest of her meals, and because he couldn't stand it, rearranged the condiments the way he liked: most frequently used at the front, less common ones in the back.
Why'd you ghost on her? Shane had asked, as if it were a simple question with simple answers.
Because, he thought. I was too busy feeling like a spurned asshole after you threw your goddamned temper tantrum.
Which was part of the truth.
Out of habit, he snapped on the weather channel, letting the forecast of sunny days and high temperatures sooth him as he worked. Stacking plates. Putting trays and serving spoons in the dishwasher. Wiping down surfaces. Once everything was done and the lights turned off, he stared for a moment through the front window, his eyes resting on a tree in the distance.
Pulling what was left of his beer, he put on his boots and went outside—where he saw the bottle that Shane had dropped.
He could still hear the ring of glass as he took the steps down, back to work.