Page 63 of Big Britches

“The town is all abuzz about you and your landscaper friend. Not all bad, but some. It wouldn’t surprise me if word has reached the Barksdales by now.”

Gotta love small-town gossip chains, Titus thought.

“Anyway,” Truman continued. “Just wanted you to be aware. I’ll do whatever I can to help you out should you need me. I’m not the enemy here, son.”

“I know. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll keep my ear to the ground. You do the same.”

“Yes, sir.”

Truman stood with a small grunt. Titus instinctively went to help him, but his father waved him off again, making his way toward the study door. “Your mother and I would like to get together with you two.”

“I’d like that. We both would.”

“Let’s say dinner. Tomorrow night.”

“Oh.”

“Is that too soon? You probably need more time.”

“No. It’s fine,” Titus said, contemplating, yet still relieved. Dinner as a couple with his parents would be stressful for Pedro, he knew. But Titus had just taken a gigantic step. His instinct said to maintain the momentum. “We’ll make it work.”

“Good.” Truman glanced back. “Oh, and I’ll have Tuttle get those papers together for the house.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll look for them.”

When Truman reached the doorway, he turned back again, surprised to find Titus so close behind him. Titus opened his arms and engulfed his father, squeezing him tight, tears brimming.

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you so much.”

When they parted, Truman gave him a small, mischievous grin.

“You really need to get out of this house more often.”

Fourteen

At five-thirty, the following Friday evening, Titus opened the porch door for Pedro, who hurried past him in a whirlwind of nervous energy. Along with his usual overnight bag, he was carrying clothing from the dry cleaners on hangers, the ghosts of plastic coverings trailing behind.

“You are not wearing that.”

“Why not?” Titus asked, following him into the bedroom.

Pedro tossed his bag on the bed and then lifted the wrap from his dry cleaning. There were two button-down shirts and a pair of slacks on three separate hangers. He held the shirts up for Titus to see. “Which one?”

“I like the blue one. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Pedro hung the shirts on the closet doorknob and toed off his athletic shoes, pulling his shirt over his head and off.

“Shorts and a T-shirt? Really? That’s what you want to wear for dinner with the mayor?”

“They’re my parents. We don’t have to dress up, you know.”

“We’re not dressing up. We’re dressing casual, but nice. No Hootie and the Blowfish.”

Titus looked down at his t-shirt, lifting it with pinched fingers. “But it’s my favorite,” he said, resembling Tucker so much at the moment that Pedro was compelled to hug him. He stood on his tiptoes and Titus leaned in for a kiss, receiving only a peck on the nose. “It’s adorable,” Pedro said. “–and so are you. But you’re not wearing it.”

“Fine.” Titus sighed, hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll wear jeans and a polo.”