Empty Nest

“Nnngh.” I roll to my hands and knees. Seeing the remains of a black and tan ceramic kettle I crawl to it and begin to gather up the shards.

“Elliot!” Heather’s panicked voice shouts from the end of the alley. “Oh my God!” She rushes up to me just in time to help me to my feet. With her eyes full of worry and concern she looks me up and down looking for injury as she dusts off my clothes. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.” I say as I hold out the clay pieces. “The kettle didn’t make it though.”

“The kettle?” She says. “I don’t care about the dang kettle.” To bring that point home she leads me to the nearest dumpster where she has me deposit shattered piece. “You scared the life out of me, Elliot.” She turns me around to face her and yanks me into a big, powerful hug!

“Um…”

“You stupid boy.” Letting me go she carries on cleaning me up, this time running her thumb across a smudge on my cheek.

“Ssss!” I flinch as her thumb hits the sore spot where the guy had bopped me with that first sucker punch.

Ignoring my hiss but easing up on the pressure she continues to berate me. “Men. Boys! More testosterone than brains.” Her tone was tough but her eyes gave away that she was not nearly as upset as she seemed, and I swear she was fighting back a little grin. “That was very stupid of you, Elliot.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The smile breaks through despite her efforts to contain it. “And very courageous.” From her pocket she pulls a white, embroidered handkerchief to wipe off the knuckles of my right hand. “He’ll think twice about trying something like that again.”

As she pulls the hankie away I see the bright crimson of fresh blood staining the white fabric. As far as I knew I wasn’t bleeding so it must have been my opponents blood. Somewhere in that chaotic flurry I must have busted his nose or cut his lip. “Your handkerchief…”

“It’s okay, Elliot.” She says as she folds and pockets it. “A bit of hydrogen peroxide will take it right out.”

“Is he okay?” Calls another voice from the corner. It was one of the old ladies from the shop.

“He’s okay. He’s a tough boy.” Putting her arm around me Heather walks me back up the alley. “He gave that thug a thrashing he won’t soon forget.”

“Clara was going to call the police.”

“No bother. Elliot took care of it.” Heather gives me a squeeze. “My hero.”

Hero!? As we reentering the store I am blushing at her praise. Once inside Heather has me sit down on an arm chair behind the counter where she gets me a drink then takes yet another good look at me, fussing over every bruise and scuff, as the three ladies chatter on about the bit of excitement. They went on and on about how valiant I was and how a lot of the men my age they knew never would have done such a thing, which then lead to griping about ‘so-called men these days’. What they didn’t know was that at any other time in any other place I NEVER would have involved myself like I had. I just keep quiet though and let them carry on. The moment other customers entered the store they were regaled with an account of what had happened. I had a feeling this story would be told and told again over the coming days at the local senior’s home. I thought it was much ado about nothing, especially since the white knight had gotten his butt kicked by the villain AND hadn’t even recovered the treasure for his damsel, but all the attention did feel kind of nice. I felt…brave. It was an emotion was not accustomed to. Even nicer though was the proud way in which Heather looked at me even as she kept insisting on my silliness for risking life and limb for a teapot.

Once I heard the story about as many times as I could handle I get to my feet. “If you’ll excuse me ladies. I’ve gotta get to a hardware store.”

Heather returns to my side, slipping her arm into mine as naturally as anything, and explains to the others. “Elliot’s doing some work for me. He’s a real handy guy to have around. Always tinkering though.” She laughs. “Last night I came upstairs to see my microwave in pieces all over the counter.”

“Oh?” Clara says as the three elders glance back and forth between each other. “He’s…staying at your place?”

“Just for a couple of nights.” She says.

“Oh. How do you two know each other?”

“He’s an old friend of mine.” She says. Of mine? Just yesterday she’d introduced me as a friend of Liam’s. Interesting. “He had some trouble at home, if you take my meaning, and I had a spare room.”

“Ohhh.” The elders all nod in unison as they do take her meaning.

“Mrs. Hutton really came through for me.”

“You weren’t cheatin on your girl I hope!” Clara scowls.

“No, Ma’am.” I chuckle. “No cheating.”

“Elliot isn’t like that.” Heather says, offended on my behalf. “He’s such a sweet man. Dashing, loyal, brave, hard working, and so, so sweet.” She kisses my cheek. “He’s my honey boy.” The suspicious looks return at Heather’s kiss as well as her calling me her ‘honey boy’ but she seemed oblivious to them. “These young girls just can’t appreciate what they have and they sure don’t know how to treat their men.” She turns me to face her, smoothing out my shirt and adjusting my collar in that way she had. I’m not even sure she was aware she was doing it. “Walk me home tonight, Elliot?”

“Um. Yeah. Yes! Definitely.”

“I feel safer already.” She smiles. “I close at 6.”

“I’ll be here.”

She pulls me in for another hug, such a nice, warm, soft hug! Kissing my cheek again she whispers. “You did good today.”

Well! As I walk out of The Hive I am feeling ten feet tall. My chin up, chest out, and a big smile on my face I strut with invincible confidence. My smiles seem contagious as I found most folks I met smiling right back at me. A few of them even give me a friendly ‘Good afternoon’, which felt pretty great. So this is what I’d been missing staring down at my phone all the time.

Speaking of my phone…I stop to pull it out and stare at it for a time. I had a job, I was looking good, I had found a new confidence, and I had done something heroic that no ‘loser’ would ever do. Maybe I could call Blair and see if we could patch things up. “Nah!” I put the phone away and keep on walking.

I am in and out of the hardware store in a couple of minutes. With a couple of hours yet to kill I head back to the library where my day had started. The librarian Myles asks me how my search was going and I was only too happy to report my success. He gives me a thumbs up before returning to his work. Damn I liked this neighborhood! Everyone was so nice here. Or maybe it was just me getting my head out of my own ass to notice.

I log onto one of the computers and do some looking into the things I needed to know to work construction. I figured it couldn’t hurt to be a step ahead in the morning. The very first thing I learn however was something called OSHA and the certificates I would need before taking a job on a construction site. I’d gotten the impression from the foreman that I’d be swinging a hammer right away. Only then does it hit me that I might be working under the table. Damn. I’m not sure I liked that. But beggars can’t be choosers. I’d show up tomorrow and do what I was told. If they didn’t get me working on these certificates and I liked the work maybe they were something I’d have to pursue on my own time and my own dime.

Though concerning it hardly spoils my good mood. I find myself constantly checking the time and urging it to pass quicker so I could go meet Heather. With her on my mind my research takes a sharp turn. ‘Addictive honey’, ‘woman honey’, ‘pussy drug’, ‘vaginal addictive properties’, and other such search terms are all dead ends, if they aren’t blocked outright by the library’s filter. No matter which way I thought to come at it I simply could find no reference to women with secretions that did the things that Heather’s ‘honey’ did to me. Heather swore to me that she hadn’t fed me drugs, and I believed her, but the mystery around what happened last night only deepened with each failed search.

At long last it was time to go. YES!

I am surprised when I turn the corner onto the street with the little business area to see Heather already waiting outside of her shop with her purse looped over one shoulder already ready to go. I jog the fifty feet to meet her. “You said 6!”

She turns, her face brightening as she sees me. “There he is.”

“You said 6.” I say again as I arrive. “It’s only 10 to.”

“I closed early.” She shrugs. In one smooth motion she loops her arms through mine and begins to walk. “It’s good to be the boss sometimes.”

“I bet.” I grin.

Pressing up close against my arm Heather walks at my side as pleased as could be, her skirt swishing back and forth to her swaying hips. To any passerby we must have looked like mother and son. To those who knew her though there would surely be questions raised on who this young man was on her arm. If such thoughts concerned her she showed no sign of it. I knew I shouldn’t keep comparing her to Blair but I couldn’t help but think about how just holding hands was considered such an embarrassment to my ex. It made me happy that I hadn’t called her. A slim figure and pretty face just wasn’t enough for me anymore. It was way past time that I really put some real reflection into what I was after and what I could offer in a relationship.

“I have a confession.” She says as we stroll through the quaint and quiet neighborhood.

“Oh?”

“I tricked you.” She giggles. I steal a peak at her big bouncing bosom as she does. Nice! “I had you meet me so that you could carry the groceries home.”

I smile, again. I kept finding that I just couldn’t help smiling around her! “I suppose there’s no point in arguing.”

“Nope.”

“It’s good to be the boss.”

She laughs and squeezes my arm. “What’s your favorite food, Elliot?”

“Um…honey?”

“Ha!” She bumps me hip to hip. “Cheeky. My honey boy wants more, does he?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I confess.

“I did promise you one more taste if you listened good, didn’t I?”

“Yes, ma’am, you did.” It was weird talking like this. On the surface it sounded so wholesome until I remembered what it actually was we were talking about.

“He he he. Well you’ve more than earned your honey tonight, handsome man, but I mean real food. Home cooking.”

Handsome man. God, what a wonderful thing to say to someone. The way those compliments flowed so freely from her lips made them easy to believe. “Um. You really don’t have to…”

“You keep saying that.” She gives me a shake. “I want to! You did real good today and you deserve something special. Now, what’s your favorite? Nothing too pricey.”

“Uh…” Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it. “…chicken…pot pie?” Fuck.

“Ooo! That I can do. I haven’t made one of those in forever.” She says excitedly. “Chicken pot pie it is.”

“It’s too much trouble.” I hurry to say. “Let’s just have something quick and easy.”

“Quick and easy? Where’s the fun in that?” She says. “Cooking is half the enjoyment. Come on.” She pushes her shoulder into my mine to steer me around the corner and toward the local independent grocery.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shopping turns out to be a real pleasure as I push the cart while she chats with me and gathers the supplies for our supper that evening. Doing it together as friends turned what was usually a humdrum chore into something more. It brought back many fond memories of a time before my last chicken pot pie.