Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

But there’s something different about tonight …

“We are okay,” I tell him. “What more do you want?”

“You know it’s more than that.”

“I’m just having a beer, blowing off steam … and now my tired ass is headed home. You and I are okay. Don’t stay up too late. The morning is always on its way. Night.” I turn to go again.

He slips from the counter and steps in front of me. “C’mon.”

I sigh. “What is it, Hoyt?”

His foot taps the floor with impatience as his frustrated eyes search mine. He licks his lips, which I notice he does whenever he thinks about something troubling him. It pulls all of my focus. I can’t look away from his lips as he licks them in thought.

“I was just …” he starts. I watch his lips as he talks. “I was just hopin’ you and I could … get past that first day. And I mean really get past it. I want a clean slate with you, Harrison. Dunno why, but your opinion of me really fuckin’ matters, excuse my language.”

I give him a look. “You want me to like you or something?”

“I mean, you don’t gotta fall in love with me or nothin’,” he teases, going for charming. Then he quickly turns serious again. “I just want us to be alright with each other. Like, really alright. None of that ‘just saying you’re alright, but really hating me in secret’ crap. Can’t stand that. I feel like that’s what my mom and stepdad do, and I hate it. I don’t ever want that for myself.”

“Your parents are like that?”

“Pretty much. I mean, not all the time. Maybe it’s normal. Are your parents like that?” he asks suddenly, adopting an interested tone of voice. He crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Or not?”

I stare at him for a moment before deciding to answer. “Nah, the opposite. They … sorta gush with adoration for one another every chance they get.” I shrug. “It’s kinda gross, actually.”

He chuckles. “I prefer gross parents over … whatever kind of song and dance mine do. You close with yours?”

Are we actually talking? Are we getting to know each other? “We’re fairly close, but don’t talk as often now. I used to visit them every weekend for a huge Sunday dinner. Between my Bahamian dad’s peas and rice—not the lil’ green things you’re probably thinking—and my Texan mom’s southern cooking, I always had an eclectic spread of food to enjoy growing up. Mmm, damn, I can taste my dad’s chicken souse now. Trust me, we always ate good at my house.”

“What’s chicken souse?”

“Spicy as hell is what it is. Basically a chicken soup with lime and chilis.”

“Hmm, sounds tasty.”

I laugh. “Anyway, they moved to Houston a few years back for my dad’s job. That’s where all of my mom’s relatives are from.” It suddenly hits me. “I haven’t visited them since before Christmas. Kinda tough to get away from the farm for very long.”

“Hey, you can still be close without seein’ them,” says Hoyt. “No rules about that. I’m sure they understand. All of the animals here depend on you.”

“On all of us,” I amend. “I’m just one in a team. A cog in the machine, spokes on a wheel.”

“Yeah, but you’re driving that machine n’ steering that wheel. Don’t sell yourself short.”

I give him a look. “This ass-kissing gets you nowhere with me, Hoyt, except your lips on my ass and nothing more.”

He shrugs. “I’m just speaking the truth, not blowing smoke.”

I down the rest of my beer, then set the bottle on the counter with the other empties. “I’m heading out. Get your sleep, Hoyt … wherever they got you sleeping in here.”

“On the couch,” he says. “But I share Turtle’s trunk.”

I didn’t ask, but alright, good to know. “Night, Hoyt.” I turn.

“I’m gonna get better,” he says to my back.

I glance at him over my shoulder.

“Still got lots I can get better at. Lots to learn. I’m gonna put in that effort you want. I’ll show you, Harrison. I’ll work my dang ass off, day in and day out.” He crosses his arms. “If it’s sweat you want, sweat I can give you.”

I stop at the door to the mudroom, staring at him.

Thinking about the way he looked in the field today when he peeled off his shirt and got to digging in the dirt.

His peachy skin, glossy and wet.

His determination, red-hot like his cheeks.

I don’t answer him. I just leave the bunkhouse before I have a total mental collapse. I cross the yard, push into the cabin, then peel off all of my clothes and go straight for the shower. I crank it as hot as I can bear and let the water pour over the back of my head as the steam fills my eyes.