He left Regan under the twisted, old oak and headed to his new home. Roy gave him the afternoon off to “get settled,” but there wasn’t much settling to do. He had a duffle bag and a book bag. That was it. He wasn’t sure where he would sleep tonight. He had no bed. No couch. He didn’t even own a sleeping bag. It was tossed out when he was young.
Roy handed over the apartment key and watched Jeremy climb the staircase that hugged the outer wall of the auto garage. He paused on the tiny porch that was recently swept. There was a welcome mat and a plant stand. With a plant on it. Jeremy looked down at his employer.
“Is this my responsibility?” he asked.
Roy smirked. “I told Carol not to bother, but she wanted the place to feel homey.”
Jeremy thought a moment. “Sooo, is this my responsibility?”
Roy rolled his eyes. “It’s a plant, Jer. You water it every now and then and let it do its thing.”
Jeremy nodded. “Thanks again,” he said softly, averting his eyes.
“Look at me like a man. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.”
That was debatable.
Jeremy turned his face and looked at Roy straight on. “Thank you.”
“Much better.”
Surrogate grandfather. Employer. Now landlord. Roy was certainly racking up the titles—becoming inextricably connected to this lonely kid. And he didn’t mind it at all. He’d do anything for Jeremy because he loved him.
Jeremy stopped cold inside the apartment. And then his mouth dropped open. He wasn’t expecting any of it. Roy never once mentioned the place came furnished. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he and Carol stayed up all last night fixing up the space just for him. He was flattered at the same time that crackling shame licked his skin. It burned bright on his face, and he was happy Roy wasn’t there to see it. He’d say something like, “Stop blushing like a girl. Be a man. It’s only a couch.”
He took an inventory of the room. The apartment was tiny: a living room dining room combo that housed a round table with four chairs—who would he invite over?—brown couch and matching club chair, and a flat screen TV. A TV! He never watched TV because he never had the opportunity. It was always glued to some fishing show, and one particularly brutal fight with his father taught him to never change the channel.
He walked over to the TV and reached out his hand, letting it glide slowly over the smooth plastic. He smiled, showing his teeth. He rarely smiled so big, and thought in that moment that an electronic device had way too much power over him. An unhealthy attachment was born, and he wondered how much damage forty-two inches of plastic pixels could inflict. He backed away reluctantly and turned around.
He noticed a throw blanket folded at the corner of the couch. Couch pillows. A compact coffee table with a candle in the center. Generic pictures of mountain ranges hung on the walls. Sheer curtains draped the window.
The excitement built despite his effort to control his emotions. He sprang to the kitchen and tore open the cupboards. Plates, bowls, glasses, pots, and pans. Utensils and potholders. Tea towels, for Christ’s sake! Carol even stocked the cabinet under the sink with dish detergent and other cleaning products. He paused in front of the fridge, hand poised.
“Just maybe,” he whispered, and opened the door.
Food. And lots of it. Tupperware containers marked with the days of the week. His dinners, courtesy of Carol. Milk. So much milk! He grabbed a carton and drank greedily, then carried the milk with him down a narrow hallway to his bedroom and bath. A bed. A nightstand with an ancient alarm clock. Bath towels and soap and a new razor. He felt spoiled in that moment. He felt what other kids must feel who get everything they want. He was one of them for the first time.
Roy cleared his throat. Jeremy whirled around.
“I won’t be coming in unannounced after today,” he said. “Just wanted to see that you’re settled.”
Jeremy bit his lip.
“Carol made you dinners for the rest of the week,” Roy went on. “To help with the transition.”
Jeremy nodded.
“Don’t get used to it, though. You’re responsible for all your utilities and food expenses.”
More nodding.
“You should have all the basics, though.”
Still more nodding.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jeremy! Use your damn words!” Roy cried.
“You . . . you didn’t have to do all this,” Jeremy whispered.
“Do what?”
“You know.” It was impossible for him to look at Roy. He hung his head and kicked at the carpet.
“Do what?” Roy repeated. “And stand up straight when you’re talking to me.”
Jeremy sighed. “Furnish this place,” he said, forcing his eyes to meet Roy’s. He knew his face was beet red.
“It’s been furnished,” Roy replied. “That’s how we’ve always rented it.”
Bullshit. Jeremy saw the latest tenants move out. They had a moving truck, and he watched them load piece after piece of large furniture items. He smiled then. Roy noticed.
“Go put that milk away,” Roy ordered. “Keep food in the kitchen and dining room, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I don’t want dishes piling up in that sink. You’ve got hands and detergent. Use ’em.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I expect a ‘thank you’ to my wife for all that cooking.”
“You got it.”
Roy hovered near the front door, his face registering an awkward pain as he battled the statements in his head. They were all emotional and sappy and unwarranted, and yet he felt justified in delivering at least one of them. The problem was deciding which would embarrass Jeremy the least.
Please don’t, Jeremy thought desperately. He didn’t want to hear “Jeremy, you’re like a son to me” or “I love you, kid” or “What else do you need?” He couldn’t possibly need anything else. He was filled to the brim with all of Roy and Carol’s kindnesses—feeling drunk on a foreign feeling he could only identify as real love. But he did not need Roy to voice it. Those words would ruin everything.
“Well, you’re home now,” Roy said finally. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s good, then,” Roy mumbled. He turned the doorknob, then paused. “There’s no Sunday dinner in there.” He pointed toward the kitchen.
“I know.”
“We eat at seven. Sharp.”