“Yikes,” she said with a sympathetic smile.
It was amazing, Matt thought later that evening, when they had come back to the lake house and Rebecca was in the throes of preparing a gourmet meal, how easily his life story had come tumbling out of him today. He could honestly say he wasn’t the kind of guy to tout his accomplishments or talk about himself. But that wasn’t the half of it—as he talked, he heard himself say things that he had never really, consciously realized before now. For example, how it chafed him that his partner was in it solely for the money. “There are people out there who get used up, and they aren’t smart enough or sophisticated enough or old enough to fend for themselves.”
“There’s your reason to run for DA,” Rebecca observed, and Matt realized instantly that she was right. Not because he had connections, not because he could raise the money, and not because he looked good to voters. Because he’d always looked out for others, as far back as he could remember, beginning with the special-education student he had befriended in the sixth grade, and for whom he received a sound beating from a couple of his classmates when he stood up for the kid.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice full of awe.
Rebecca laughed, shoved a sautéed julienne carrot into his mouth. “Don’t look so astonished.”
He also told her about his family, heard the pride in his voice as he described them. His father, a retired judge, who had been his inspiration to go to law school. His mom, who was in her sixties now and at last free to do as she pleased—which was, apparently, to pester all her children about grandkids. His sister, Bella, his brothers, Mark and Danny, and the summers they had spent in and around Austin, swimming in the springs, watching the bats at night, and exploring old limestone caves.
Dinner was fun and relaxed, with an absolutely delicious salmon and asparagus (which Grayson deemed yucky). Afterward, Matt made a point of spending some one-on-one time with Grayson. Rebecca had told him that Grayson’s adaptation to his parents’ divorce had been rocky; that he was always angry when he came home from seeing Bud, and that he missed his nanny, Lucy, although Rebecca said that he was mentioning her less frequently now. Matt had noticed that when he and Grayson were together, he did not want to share Matt’s attention with anyone else, not even with Tater, his favorite dog. It was also obvious that in spite of how much Rebecca loved her son, Grayson craved a man’s attention.
But Matt also saw a stocky little kid with a great imagination (cool), a great sense of humor (bonus points), and a good throwing arm (which was really good news, because if Matt was going to be around, he had to have someone to play sports with). The kid was great. The only little thing that alarmed him was his room, and what Matt saw as his alarming, Mom-like leanings. Not one toy was out of place. His clothes were hung by color. In his dresser, his underwear was neatly folded and stacked.
“Gray, we can’t have this!” Matt exclaimed, shaking his head in disgust when Grayson obliged him by opening the sock drawer, and they were all lined up in little army formation, and, big surprise, color coordinated.
“What’s wrong?” Grayson asked, looking at his socks with genuine concern.
“Boys don’t line their socks up. Boys shove ‘em in there however they can get them, and when their mom gets mad, they say, ‘Sorry Mom!’ but just keep doing it.”
“Oh,” he said, his brow burrowed in serious concentration.
“Let’s do something about these socks right now!” Matt said, and stuck his hand in the drawer, messed them all up.
With a shout of laughter, Grayson did the same, then asked eagerly, “What about my underwear?”
Matt grinned. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
After the underwear, they rearranged his little closet (“Mom already did that,” Grayson said, which just proved there was something terribly wrong with the kid), and when they were done, Grayson asked him, “Are you going to spend the night again?”
Matt shoved a hand through his hair. “What do you think I should do?”
The kid fingered the hem of his shirt and stared at his feet before muttering, “I wish you’d stay forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit . . .
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Positive Affirmations of My Life:
1.Can now count myself among the sexually liberated. Did I really put up with Bud’s clumsiness all those years? Wondering if his lack of finesse might be part of larger issue – like maybe he’s a closet homosexual, which would really explain a lot.