“Geez, Mom! No. Gabe and I aren’t breaking up.” Ugh. Just the thought made me queasy. “He’s dancing with his teammate’s girlfriend. Her name is—”
She held up a manicured hand like a stop sign and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. This is obviously not a good time, and you are obviously ill-prepared. Call me later, Derek.”
“Mom, wait!” I threw my red cup in the trash next to the door and hurried after her, grabbing the strap on her purse before she stormed down the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. We must have had a miscommunication. Let’s try again next weekend. I don’t know what state the store will be in. The contractor indicated this will take six to eight weeks.”
Mom crossed her arms and fixed me with a sharp look. “And then what?”
“We’ll open in December.” When she didn’t reply right away, I started babbling. Not a good look on me. Especially after a couple of mimosas. I tended to get kind of animated with liquid courage. My hands moved so fast, you’d think I was the grand marshal on a Pride float. I waved that flag like my life fucking depended on it, and I couldn’t seem to stop. “We’ll have a holiday party, then a soft launch before we open full-scale on January first and—”
“So you’re planning another party.”
I barreled on unthinking. “Definitely. Second street is pretty festive during the holidays, so it’ll be a good way to draw interest.”
“I see.” She enunciated the two words with cutting precision until they took on a life of their own.
“You seem…angry. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” she repeated, clearly exasperated. “I’m worried sick about you. That’s what’s wrong. You’ve spent critical post-college years on a culinary adventure culminating in a café you appear to not take seriously. You’re opening a business, Derek. Throwing parties isn’t going to get the job done. Where is your business plan? Your action items? Your five-year vision? I’d hoped to have a mature conversation with my adult son about his future today, but instead he’s drinking champagne, waving a gay flag, and hosting a raven!”
“Um, I think you mean rave. And no, I’m not hosting a party. Or maybe I am, but…” I took a deep breath and tried to choose my words carefully. “Mom, I am an adult. I haven’t gone into any of this lightly. Ask Gabe. I’ve overthought every little detail for months. This is just a case of getting our dates wrong.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She fished her keys from her designer bag and slipped a pair of large sunglasses onto her nose before leveling me with the dreaded, “I’m disappointed.”
“Mom…”
“I am. I’ve been worried about you for years. I hoped you were finally serious about your future. I never cared if you were gay or bisexual. I like Gabe and I thought he might even be a good influence. I’m not so sure anymore, and it scares me.”
“Because we had some friends over to help pre-demo the place?” I sputtered incredulously. “Mom, you’re getting worked up over a misunderstanding. And my relationship with Gabe has nothing to do with it.”
“Hmph. I don’t know what kind of establishment you’re really opening. Is this a queer place? Are you hanging that flag in the window? And if so, am I going to feel comfortable here? It’s a lot to process. And…you’re inebriated at noon, dear. We’ll speak another time.”
She set her mouth in a tight line and pivoted on her stylish boots.
“Hang on.” I jumped in front of her on the sidewalk and spread my hands wide like a vigilant security guard. “That’s totally and completely unfair. I’ve been working my ass off—”
“Language.”
“For months. No, years. There is no part of my so-called ‘culinary adventure’ that hasn’t been meticulously planned. I furthered my education, apprenticed at top-tier restaurants for experience, applied for and got my own small-business loan, drew plans, hired a contractor. Is it a risk? Absolutely! I may bomb. This could be a disaster. Or…it might be the beginning of something special. I’m not blind or stupid. I live in the real world, and I know that success doesn’t happen overnight. But that’s not going to keep me from trying.
“As for Gabe…he’s the best thing that ever happened to me, Mom. He loves me and he believes in me.” I gestured toward the bistro. “Everyone in there believes in me. And they don’t care if I’m straight or bi or gay or whatever. They don’t care if I put one flag in the window or ten. They just want me to do well.”
“So do I. But I want you to do things the right way.”
I huffed in annoyance. “You mean your way. I guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.”
“As an investor, I hope you do, but—”
“I don’t want your money.”
She pulled her sunglasses off in a flourish. “Don’t be foolish, Derek. You obviously need help.”
“No, I don’t. I’m going to do this myself. My way.”
I held her razor-sharp gaze for a long moment before moving toward the door. I pulled it open and paused, wedging Phoenix’s scarf in the plastic slot where the former occupant used to hang an “open” sign. When we opened this bistro, we’d be out and proud with it, dammit.
Chapter Four
Gabe
Christmas lights twinkled merrily from almost every house on the street. Including ours. Derek had a thing about decorating on December first. It didn’t matter what day of the week it fell on or what else we had going on in our lives. He made a point of pulling out the neatly labeled holiday bins from the garage the day before and setting them in the general area they were going to be displayed.
Not that we did a ton of decorating inside. We put up a tree in the living room near the window and a few nutcrackers we’d been given as gifts. Hanging the lights was the biggest chore by far. And Derek freaking loved lights. It wasn’t enough to string them across the eaves. He liked to wrap the huge olive tree in the front yard, the hedges, and even the potted topiaries flanking the front door. It was a pain in the ass, but I had to admit, it looked amazing.
I hiked my water polo bag onto my shoulder, smiling as I stared up at our California Christmas wonderland. A couple of our neighbors had blow-up lawn decorations and rainbow-colored lighting strung around impossibly tall palm trees in their yards. But I liked ours best. It was sophisticated and elegant. Two things I never aspired to be, but hey…I didn’t mind it so much, I mused, admiring the thick red-velvet ribbon on the wreath as I opened the front door.
“Hey, Der, I’m home,” I called out, dropping my bag in the foyer. I rounded the corner and stopped short when I spotted him on the sofa, surrounded by cards, photos, and his restaurant binder. “Whatcha doin’?”
Derek grinned as he glanced up at me. And I swear, that smile got me every time. My pulse skittered and my heart revved up a notch. God, I had it bad.
“I’m sending holiday cards, approving photos Mitch wants to use for marketing, and going over details for the party.”