Randy and Kent make it back to Cleveland. Liam rejoins Matt.
Thanks to LarryInSeattle.
Enjoy (I hope).
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As we got closer and closer to home, the idea of sleeping on a bed shoved into the middle of the room and surrounded by other furniture had become progressively agonizing. I'm beat. Kent looks exhausted, too and we still have the ordeal of the evening dressing change ahead of us. I damn near cry when we get there and I see that Liam's finished painting my bedroom. Not only that, he's put all the furniture back in place.
I drop our two small bags on the floor of the bedroom and return to the kitchen. Kent is sitting at the table and Liam is pouring him a glass of what looks like lemonade.
"Liam, buddy, thank you so much for finishing up in the bedroom. I can't tell you how much I was dreading having to deal with that when we got home. Thank you."
As I'm speaking, Kent is sampling his lemonade. He takes a sip, then a gulp. He nearly drains the glass before setting it down. He lowers his head to the table so quickly I start toward him.
"That is the best limeade I have ever tasted in my life. Liam, your dad may be in ecstasy about the bedroom but he hasn't tasted this yet."
"Thanks, but you're just thirsty from the drive," Liam says. He's blushing.
"I am thirsty but that's beside the point. This is delicious."
"It's just plain old limeade with a little ginger, honey, mint, and some fizzy water."
"Yeah, plain old limeade," Kent scoffs. "Pour your dad a glass."
He does. I take a drink. And drain the glass.
"Glenna had better hire you and branch out. Between the two of you, we'll all be rich," I tell him, shaking my hand and holding out the glass.
"Sit down. I figured you guys would be hungry." He's still blushing.
He re-fills our glasses and I take a seat.
"How you holding up?"
"I've been better," Kent admits. "But I've been worse." He takes a drink and stares at the glass. "Liam," he calls over his shoulder. "You didn't put oxy or anything in this, did you? I swear my hands aren't hurting as much."
"No, but I have tried it with vodka. Would that work?"
"Probably, but not on an empty stomach."
"Where'd you get vodka? You aren't twenty-one."
He looks at me in mock horror. "Oh, my God. You're right. What was I thinking? Don't send me back to the reformatory, father, please. It's horrible there. I can't stand the thought of it."
Kent snickers.
"Ha-ha. Be careful though." I shake my head. I know he's a good kid, actually a great kid but I'm a father and I worry. That's what fathers do.
"Sir! Yessir!" He throws his shoulders back and snaps his heels together, giving me a palm-forward British salute. The effect is diminished, given he's bare-footed.
Kent snickers again. I look at him out of the corner of my eye. "Encouraging mutiny among the crew will get you a hundred lashes and keel-hauled."
"Lashes? Really? How exciting." He flutters his eyes at me. It's Liam's turn to snicker, except he laughs out loud instead. "Besides, mon capitaine, Liam said, 'yessir' not 'aye aye, sir' making your nautical reference nonsensical. Nonsensical but cute and your point is valid." Kent leans over and kisses the back of my hand.
He starts to say something else but is quieted by the platters Liam sets on the table.
"I had to get limes anyway, so I made ceviche. I didn't think you'd want anything too heavy in the heat and after driving most of the day." He points to the other platter. "This is just a cucumber and watermelon salad."
"'Just a cucumber and watermelon salad', he says." Kent shakes his head at me.
I stare at my son.
"When did you learn to cook like this?"
"I took a couple classes in high school, remember? There's nothing very complicated about either of these. If you have fresh fish and good watermelon, you're home free."
While he's talking, he grabs plates and forks and sets them in front of us
Kent scoops up a forkful of ceviche and pops it in his mouth. He closes his eyes. Chews. Swallows. "Randy, I officially love your son," he mutters, eyes still closed.
Liam beams.
Me? I beam, too.
Liam claims he's full from sampling the food as he prepared it and excuses himself to call Matt. I can't hear what he's saying but it's clear he's excited. I don't blame him.
"You heading out in the morning?"
"Yeah, if that's okay?"
"No, that's fine. Although, maybe I should pull parental rank and demand you stay and cook." I put a hand on his arm. "Liam, seriously, all this was simply unbelievable. Thank you. I want you to make both dishes and the limeade for Glenna and Leon when you get back."
"They won't want to serve this, pop. It's a snack bar."
"The limeade would fit right in, other than selling faster than you can probably make it. Plus, I think that place could become something more than just a snack bar."
He nods, but it's clear from the look on his face that I have not convinced him.
"Kent, you want to take a shower while I do the dishes and then we'll tackle the dressings?"
"I can do the dishes," Liam says, reaching for my plate.
"No, you did all of this. I'll do dishes."
"C'mon, Liam," Kent offers, rising from the table. "I might need help with the faucet but it'll be okay if the dressings get a little wet since they need to be changed anyway."
They disappear down the hall and I get started on the small stack of dishes. Liam is a clean-up-as-you-go cook, so there's not much other than the plates and silverware.
I'm done in only a few minutes and wander down the hallway.
Kent is bent over at the waist; Liam is washing his hair. He stands, water streaming off his hair and over his body. Damn, he looks good, even with those silly billowy bandages around his hands.
"That must feel good. That's the first time getting your hair washed, isn't it?" I ask, leaning against the sink.
Kent turns, leans backward, letting the water wash his hair, what's left of it, back over his head. When he stands, he automatically reaches up to push the water out of his hair. He hesitates, remembering the bandages.
"I gotcha," Liam offers. He uses a hand towel to gently start drying Kent's hair, avoiding the angry looking burns along the top of his forehead.
When he's done, I offer Kent a hand out of the tub. Liam drapes another towel over his shoulder and then walks past us.
I feel like a total dick for doing it but I glance at the front of my son's shorts. They're flat and I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief.
Kent's dick looks as lovely as always but it's also nice and unaroused. Another inward sigh, another silent,
God you're such an insecure dick
and I help him dry off.
"Thank you," he tells me, as I tuck the towel around his waist.
"My pleasure," I tell him truthfully. "Let's see if I can brush your hair into some sort of shape."
