His Temporary Assistant

I jerked a shoulder, feeling like a class-A jerk.

“You want me to tell my mom I’m fucking an esquire?”

“You just can’t quit that, can you?” I scooped up ketchup-laden hash browns—and man, did she have a way with the broiler—and shoved the fork between her lips. “Here. Keep your mouth busy.”

She laughed and chewed, swallowing it down with a mouthful of iced tea. I’d bought her a jug of the stuff, intending to keep some in my fridge for her.

Not that I hoped she’d keep coming over. That would be foolish.

Tomorrow was her last day of work.

Tomorrow already.

“She won’t get it.” She set down her glass. “How it is with us.”

My heart started beating way too fast. I wanted her to say more, but this was Ryan. I should be grateful she’d even said that much. And with a mother like the one she was describing, how could I blame her? It wasn’t as if she’d had a good example of healthy relationships.

Nor had I, but I hadn’t known that fact until this week. Until a week ago, I’d believed for over thirty years that my parents were happy and in love and faithful. They’d never argued, not even over petty stuff like who was going to drive that day. Everything between them was seamless—and loveless, apparently.

Whereas Ryan and I fought over even the smallest things. I had no doubt that would continue to be true.

“What direction is your toilet paper?”

She tilted her head as if I was an unknown life form. “Did I run out at home? I didn’t have to go before we left.”

“No. I mean, the direction. Do you tear off from the top or bottom?”

“I don’t look, dude. I just use it how it hangs.” She didn’t add weirdo, but she might as well have.

I leaned across the table to cup her cheeks. “Thank God for you.”

“Goddess,” she corrected, turning her head to nip my fingers.

We finished the rest of the food, and Ryan went in to the bathroom while I checked on the cat. He was sleeping on the pillows in the guest room bedroom, stretched out like a king. I didn’t have the heart to move him.

Any future guests would just have to deal with cat hair on the sheets.

I found Ryan walking barefoot over the dim paw lights outside, stepping over them as if she was playing hopscotch.

“They don’t work properly yet.”

“No kidding, Obvious One. The sun tomorrow will charge them. But they’re so cute, right?”

I grunted noncommittally.

“They go with the solar lights over there.” She gestured to the neatly manicured bushes and ornamental trees. “Your yard is so pretty.”

“Thanks. True Green Home appreciates your praise. They’re the ones who did all that stuff.”

“Oh. I should’ve known Mister Grumpy Pants wouldn’t have time to dig in the dirt.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“You can learn.”

“Or you could come over and commune with the dirt whatever you want.” I came up behind her and gathered her long, loose waves in my hands. “I love when you take your hair down. I’m going to hide all your rubber bands.”

“You are such a male, PMS. I don’t use rubber bands.”