I hand Ty my keys. “You have some stuff in my place you need to get. I’ll just talk to your mother for a minute.”
Ty knows perfectly well he doesn’t have anything at my place. He takes the keys and scoots up the stairs.
“Are you going out for the night?” I ask calmly.
“Just for an hour or two to meet up with my man.” Her eyes dart right and left and don’t meet mine.
“Come knock on my door when you get back. I’m serious about Ty not being left alone after ten at night.”
She nods and continues down the stairs, brushing past me.
“And that doesn’t mean kicking him out to sit on the stairs, Cerise. I know you made him give my key back, but I’m giving him another one. He’ll be using it or you and I will have a discussion about how much rent you owe.”
I feel like a bully saying it, and I hate seeing the way Cerise bows her head under the weight of my words. But she’s neglecting her kid and I’ve had enough of it.
When she hits the landing below me, she turns her unnaturally blonde head and snarls up at me. “I outta report you. Fucking pedophile.”
That tips me over the edge. “You really wanna go down that road, Cerise? I’ve been in care. I know exactly what lands a kid init. If you want to lose custody of Ty and end up homeless when I punt you out for late rent payment, make that call. See what happens.”
She stomps down the rest of the stairs but doesn’t mutter anything further at me.
I pace up to my apartment, taking long, calming breaths the way I was taught in the Navy. But I still feel my pulse thundering when I reach my door. I put my hand against it and lean my forehead against the cool wood.
I’m not a pedophile. Brenna said I wasn’t and I’m not. I don’t want to fuck kids, girls or boys. I want Ty to have what I had—an Uncle Max who was always there for him. It’s not Ty’s fault his mom’s angry at the world, just like mine was. It’s not his fault that I drew her fire tonight. But I’m going to need to be careful, and put some contingencies in place, in case she carries through with her threat.
Resolved, I push through the door and find Ty standing right on the other side of it.
“What’d she say?” he asks, lower lip trembling.
“She’s going out for a couple of hours so you’re going to hang with me. C’mon, my man, Dutiful awaits.”
His whole demeanor shifts, back straightening, face brightening.
Guess the pedophile got that right.
Ty falls asleep in one of the beanbags a little after midnight. I bring him down a couple of blankets, turn off the gaming system and leave him to sleep. The beanbags are comfortable enough to sleep in, although I wake up with pins and needles in my feet when I do.
I set the apartment security. If Cerise bangs on the door, the alarm’ll wake me up, and probably sober her the hell up. But I’m guessing she won’t return tonight. My mom never did after a dressing down by Uncle Max. She’d creep off with her tailbetween her legs and come back a few days later with a bag of the cheapest candy the truck stop sold and fake promises of how it wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t leave me alone with Greg again. She wouldn’t let the electricity get turned off again. She wouldn’t lose her job again. All lies.
I keep my T-shirt and shorts on when I climb into bed, in case I have to get up to answer the door. I don’t want to give Cerise any ammunition. Checking my phone, I see that Pixie’s online. I turn the phone face down and put it on the night table. It’s tempting. Ty probably won’t wake up. But it’s a risk and I can get to sleep one night without jacking off with Pixie. Particularly since I have the promise of meeting real littles tomorrow.
When Logan called it a “playgroup,” I pictured one of those places with cartoon animals on the walls and a ball pool, like at some McDonalds. I didn’t picture the upstairs function room of “All the Cheese, Please,” a pizza parlor on East Sixth. I get there a half-hour early, because I always arrive a half-hour early to anything new. It gives me time to scope out the place and make sure I know where the exits are.
The group organizer, a motherly woman in her thirties who introduces herself as Miss Ginger, immediately enlists my help stacking chairs and moving tables to create a large, open space. Then I help her little bring armfuls of games, a huge box of hats, and grocery bags up from their car. People start arriving as I’m setting out the games: Scrabble, Clue, Monopoly, Sorry, Candyland, Twister, Chutes and Ladders. Ginger introduces me to a few people, but they quickly become a blur of names and faces. They all seem to know each other—I’m the outsider, again—and the noise volume in the room as people greet each other,talk, and laugh, prevents me from having real conversation with anyone.
At least until Emily arrives. She makes a beeline across the room to where I’m semi-hiding, pretending to sort the Monopoly money. She squeals my name and I catch her up in a hug, then release her to hug Logan, who looks a hell of a lot better after a full night’s sleep, although his eye has darkened to an impressive shade of purple. As soon as Logan and I thump each other on the back and move apart, Emily demands to know all about my dinner with Brenna. I guess there aren’t many secrets in the circle of Logan’s club.
I give Emily the highlights while Logan moves around the room, collecting several couples and bringing them over to meet me. There’s “Warrin with an i” and his purple-haired wife, Aggie. Jack, a guy who would look right at home in a gangster movie with his slicked-back, black hair and swarthy skin, who is daddy to Sammi. And Bravo, who Logan introduces as ex-Air Force and who I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, with his little, Yumiko. Sammi and Yumiko have both changed since they arrived. Sammi’s put on a blue and white sailor suit, while Yumiko’s wearing a yellow, red, and purple dragon romper, complete with horned hood, that’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. She’s got those dark eyes I could get lost in and I have to keep tearing my own eyes away from her.
While I’m meeting the three couples, two other women gravitate to our group and, after hugs all around, are introduced as Mary Lisa and Amy. Mary Lisa’s wearing the same kind of short, frilly dress that Pixie wears, with a matching handbag and high-heeled Mary Janes, all in coordinating shades of yellow. Amy’s a cute, green-eyed brunette in jean shorts and a T-shirt that says “give me a minute while I overthink this” which immediately endears me to her.
We stand around talking for a while, and I join Logan in the usual Air Force/Navy ribbing of Bravo, until Ginger comes over and encourages us towards a pair of plastic-covered tables where there are bowls and bags set out. Twenty bowls. Eight bags. Sixteen bottles. Six saltshakers?—
I tear my eyes away before I make a complete inventory. Fucking OCD.
As I’m following Logan and Emily, colorful acrylics curl around my forearm. I pause and glance at the owner.
“Max, will you make pizza with me?” Mary Lisa asks in a high, baby-girl voice that sets my teeth on edge. Emily never talks like that and Pixie doesn’t when she’s talking with me, although I’ve heard her do it in the main chat room. I hated it then, too.
