More by Sloan Parker (best ebook reader for chromebook .txt) 📕

determine if it meant she didn't like us. I threw Richard a concerned glance.

He smiled at me then spoke. “Now I know where Matthew learned how to cook. This is excellent.”

“I can see you have a sense of humor. My son has to be the worst cook. I remember one Mother's Day when he made macaroni and cheese from a box. It came out a dark brown color. I had to smile and swallow and try not to gag.”

The tension in my chest eased as everyone around the table laughed. I liked hearing about Matthew from someone who'd known him all his life. Someone who knew all his secrets. Someone who loved him.

“Well, he's come a long way,” I said. “He makes the best dishes.”

“Really?” She set her fork down. “Matty?”

“I... uh... ” Matthew placed his napkin on the table. He slid it under the edge of his plate and back out, repeating the action several times until he lowered his hands in his lap. “I took a cooking class.”

“When?” she asked.

He dipped his head again and ran a hand through his dark waves. “Um... I started it the Monday after Richard asked us to move in. I wanted to be able to do something... for them.”

Richard's mouth dropped open.

I couldn't help myself; I beamed at Matthew. “You're a quick study. I've never had such good food.”

Matthew smiled back. It was a nervous and embarrassed smile, but it relaxed me nonetheless.

Richard kissed Matthew's cheek. “You're something else, kid.”

Lydia stood and shifted on her feet. She carried empty plates to the kitchen counter. “Why don't you boys head out to the living room? I'll bring in coffee and cookies.”

Matthew jumped up. “Mom, let me do the dishes.”

She shooed him away. “Nonsense. It doesn't take much work. That's why you bought me the dishwasher last Mother's Day, right? This is my day to treat you and your friends.” She patted his ass and pushed him toward the doorway.

Richard made a move to help her, but Matthew gave him a look warning him not to try.

The living room was a treat. Framed pictures of a young Matthew covered every table and shelf in the small room. Matthew in a baseball uniform, a soccer uniform, holding a puppy, dressed in a Star Wars Chewbacca costume, wearing a graduation cap and gown for what had to be a kindergarten ceremony.

Richard and I sat on the couch, pointing out various photos to each other.

“Thanks for coming, guys.” Matthew settled in an armchair across from us.

“She seems okay with things so far,” Richard said. “Maybe she'll have you over next week and everything'll be back to normal.”

Matthew's smile faded. He shook his head. “She's still upset. She doesn't like to be rude.”

I wanted to ask him what else we could do, but she stepped into the room carrying a tray piled high with cookies, brownies, and coffee cups.

Matthew relieved her of the tray and set it on the coffee table. He passed out the cups and desserts and returned to his seat, munching a cookie. “Thanks, Mom. These are good.”

She didn't respond. She stood at the threshold between rooms.

“Mom, come sit and talk with us.”

Lydia tucked her hair behind her ear and slid into a chair by her son. She spoke in a quiet voice. “I just don't understand.”

“This is what I want, Mom. They're good to me.”

She glanced at Richard and me. “My Matty doesn't always make the best decisions.” She spoke more to herself than us. “He was with a boy in college who got him into all sorts of trouble.”

“Mom!” Matthew shrieked.

She jerked her head in his direction. “That boy used you. You don't always know who to trust.”

Richard perched on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together. “I assure you he can trust us. We are not using him.”

“Mom, they're good for me. It's not like Jake.”

She shook her head, her curly hair swaying in waves. “I want you to be happy. I want you to be loved. But, Matty, why does it have to be both? Why can't you make a choice?”

“I couldn't choose, even if I wanted to. It isn't about one of them. It's about all of us. I'm happy right now, and it's because of that. Because of them.” He looked our way before continuing. “When Richard looks at me, I know there isn't anything he wouldn't do for me. I can feel how much he wants me to be with him, live in his home, spend time with him. He needs me. And Luke. He's a strong person. The strongest person I think I've ever met. He's quiet. He holds a lot in. But when he does say something, it means so much more. He's passionate. He always, always tries to make me feel good. About me.”

My jaw dropped.

Richard reached for my hand and held it on his lap. He smiled like Matthew had given him keys to a new luxury convertible.

Lydia stared at Matthew for a brief moment, her mouth open, her dark eyes wide. She glanced at a high school graduation picture of him on the table beside her. She picked it up, wiped the spotless glass with a napkin, and set it down again. “How does it work? How do three men live together, communicate with each other?”

Richard didn't give Matthew a chance to answer. “We handle it pretty good, I'd say. At least two of us do.” I got a pointed look. “And we're working on Luke. We're not giving up on him.”

Matthew nodded. “That's what we're doing, Mom. We're trying to make this work. All of us.”

“I care for your son, ma'am.” Richard squeezed my hand. “A great deal. I won't hurt him.”

She looked my way. “And you?”

I hesitated, but when I settled on the words, I said them to Matthew more than her. “I care about him, and Richard, more than I've let myself care for anybody in a long time. I'll try my best