I could tell you all his favorite foods, music, movies, and shows. I knew how he interacted with his friends, with their wives, and with the kids, as well as all the gathered animals around the house. I knew that he was a light sleeper and that he was one of those rare people who didn't just tell their dentists that they flossed twice a day, but actually did it. I'd seen him lend a hand without being asked, and double down on one of the younger guys when he thought they were being disrespectful. For goodness sakes, I knew that the man still bought into the idea of separating his whites and colors when he did laundry.
"What?" McCoy asked, making me realize I'd been smiling at my own thoughts.
"I was just remembering how horrified you'd been when I'd tossed all my clothes into one wash load," I told him. "Panties, bras, towels, and all."
"That's not how it is supposed to be done," he insisted, shaking his head, still not over the event.
McCoy had oddly particular, almost anal, methods of doing things at times. Like laundry. Like working out. Like keeping his room clean. Like making his bed.
Curious, I decided to finally ask about something I'd wondered about since the laundry day.
"Was it your mom who taught you to do laundry that way?"
"No. Barely remember my mom," he told me, making my heart ache for him, but realizing that losing his mother young might have explained why he wasn't as in touch with his feelings as those of us who had our moms for longer.
"I'm sorry."
"No, babe, she didn't die," he said, letting out a humorless laugh. "She walked out."
"That's almost... is it insensitive to say that that's almost worse?"
"No," he said, shrugging. "It is worse. At least if you lose your mom, you know she most likely didn't want to go. But knowing your ma just... didn't want anything to do with you, that shit doesn't feel great."
"Aww," I said, leaning in, wrapping my arms around him. "I'm sorry, McCoy."
"Really, it had less to do with me, honestly. My old man was a real dick. She got tired of it. She knew he'd never let her take me, so she did what she had to do not to be stuck and miserable for the rest of her life."
"But she left you with someone she herself couldn't stand to be with."
"Figure it was likely worse for her," he said.
"Still. I can't imagine walking away from your child."
"Don't know if I would want the weight of her unhappiness on my shoulders either."
"What about yours, though?" I pressed.
"My father was a hard man. Joined the military at seventeen with a note from his dick of a dad who didn't want to deal with him anymore. He was in that life for a long time. And he let it turn him cold. Then he knocked my ma up. Had to do the family shit that never really agreed with him. He took that frustration out on my ma. Then when she was gone, on me."
"How?"
"He was... he was particular."
"The laundry. Making your bed," I said, catching on.
"Yeah, that shit. And literally everything else about the house, about my clothes, about my grades and my friends. It was relentless."
"So you did what any normal kid does when they have too many rules," I guessed. "You acted out."
"Christ, I got my back whipped raw for it, but yeah. I met Huck and the guys back then. We started getting into trouble. Eventually, shit got... uncomfortable enough to just leave."
"How old were you?"
"I don't know? Sixteen, maybe a little bit before."
"You left home at fifteen? How?"
"Huck's family had a repair shop with a set of apartments overhead. No one even knew I was around."
"Have you seen him since?"
"Saw him a few times after. He told me I was a disgrace and all the typical shit. I heard he died about six years back."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It wasn't really a loss."
"I mean I'm sorry you didn't get to have a happy childhood, and that you would rather be a runaway than stay home, and that your father couldn't see what a good man you've become. But I'm really glad you found your family here," I added, giving him a squeeze.
"It's good here," he said, pressing the side of his head to mine.
"Yeah," I agreed. "It's actually impressive how well you all get along. You're all so different. And now with the kids and stuff. Do you like the kids?" I asked, knowing why I was asking, but hoping he didn't pick up on it.
"Yeah. Was fucking terrified of them at first. You know they're small. But up close, they're really fucking small. But once I got used to that, they're nice to have around. Gotta admit, it's been fucking hilarious to watch Huck fret over them, and clash with Che who has a much more laid-back parenting style."
"Do the others plan on settling down?" I asked, adding silently Do you?
"I don't think any of us planned on it. Life just threw the right women in our path."
Our.
He was including himself in that.
And there was that heart-squeeze thing again.
"The way I see it, given enough time, all of us will be settled down in whatever way feels right for us."
"What way feels right for you?" I asked.
"Dunno. Never really given it a lot of thought since there had never been a woman to picture a future with before."
"I've always been a bit of a daydreamer," I admitted. "I am always thinking about what the future might hold."
"Yeah?" he asked, his fingers stroking up and down my side. "What do you see in your future?"
"A nail salon. I know it is really unrealistic, but maybe even a chain of them."
"That's not unrealistic."
"Belle and I were raised very modestly," I told him. "And then when our mom passed, we were even more strapped. So even one salon feels pretty ambitious to me. But the ultimate goal would be a chain."
"What about for home instead of work?"
"A house would be nice. I've always, all my life, lived in an apartment. I don't think I ever realized how nice a house would be until I came here. But I would like a house with a center kitchen so I can see almost the whole house while I make big breakfasts on Sundays for my loved ones. Including maybe a couple kids."
"Just maybe?"
"Okay. Definitely," I admitted.
"Center kitchen and pancakes and sticky faces that look a lot like you sounds pretty good," McCoy said, and this time it wasn't just a little squeeze in my chest, it was a big one. "But first, we've got to figure this shit out," he said.
We never really expected for the answers to come right through the front door...
Chapter Thirteen
McCoy
"I'm getting sick of hearing that we don't have any answers," Huck grumbled at everyone gathered in the kitchen, picking at the food Eddie had put out.
The man had put out a spread like it was a holiday instead of our usual church meeting. From nachos to queso to a giant pile of chicken wings and, inexplicably, a plate of egg noodles with what looked like butter on them.