Page 13 of Rock Bottom Girl

“Attack, Homer,” I said, opening the front door. He launched his curly-furred self at the man on my doorstep. Uncle Lewis made quite the statement with just his existence in Central Pennsylvania. He was black, gay, and, worst of all, painfully trendy. Lewis wore shiny shoes and he specially ordered fancy cheeses from the grocery store. But even the most conservative in our community couldn’t help but love him. He was the VP of community outreach for a local bank. And outreach he did.

He’d married my mom’s brother, Max, in a before-it-was-legal ceremony when I was a teenager. After my dad died and my mom decided she couldn’t handle the mess I was, she carted me off to Uncle Max and Lewis’s house in Lancaster County. And my life had changed for the better.

Lewis leaned down to give the enthusiastic Homer a big kiss on the cheek, and then he did the same to me.

“Jake, when are you going to turn this flea market find into a home?” he asked, marching inside and eyeing the mess of the living room with hands on hips.

I was a little messy in general and a lot lazy during the summers.

“I’m gonna clean up before poker,” I promised.

“You better because I don’t want Max to come home complaining about you needing a wife or a husband to keep you in line again,” he reminded me.

Uncle Max joined my poker game most weeks. And Lewis used the husband-free time to host Book and Wine Club, a unisex social event, at their place. My uncles’ house, it should be noted, was always immaculate. Even when my cousin, their adopted daughter, Adeline, and I lived under their roof.

“Want a drink?” I offered, guiltily stacking some of the papers into a neater pile.

“White wine?”

“I’ve got that grig you like.” I may have been a disaster at housekeeping, but I kept my guests’ favorites on hand. He followed me back to the kitchen, which was in worse shape than the living room. I’d gotten takeout four nights in a row. Even I knew a rut when I saw it.

“Jake,” he groaned.

“I know. I know. Do better. I will. I promise.”

I dug out a clean glass and poured.

“It’s just this kind of living doesn’t look…happy,” he said, eyeing the mess of Chinese cartons on the counter. I kicked an empty case of beer in the direction of the recycling bin.

“I’m happy,” I argued.

“You’re comfortable. That’s different.”

“Potato poh-tah-toh.”

“It’s like you’re living in some kind of limbo,” he observed. “Like you’re waiting for something.”

“What am I waiting for?”

Lewis shrugged his slim shoulders under his grape purple button down. His tie had flecks of yellow and green in it. “That’s what I want to know.” He sipped, eyeing me over the glass.

“Okay. Okay. You didn’t come here to tell me to get my act together again.”

“Your mother’s coming to town for her birthday,” he announced. “Good thing she’s staying with us since you live like a fraternity. You’ll be available for dinner.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I will be available,” I promised, grabbing the back of an envelope and scratching out a note to get Mom a birthday present.

“Excellent. Max and I will cook. You will dress like not a mess. Bring the wine. A few bottles of red and white,” he rattled off instructions.

“Got it. Wine. Yep.” I added it to the list. “Anything else, oh captain, my captain?”

Lewis cupped my cheek and patted it gently. “Next time I come by, I want to see counter top and curtains.”

7

Marley