Chapter Eleven
The flightout of Jackson Hole early the following Friday morning was smooth and short. Bishop chatted the entire two hours. He was still on a natural high from the safe transport of that trike skull and a slew of other smaller bones all neatly and carefully packaged and on their way to the university’s labs where they would meticulously extract, date, study, and try to reconstruct Finch. It had been many a year since I’d last flown, and as we banked to approach San Diego International, I had a rush of trepidation, excitement, and happiness. Yes, I was nervous about meeting his family, and all that it might mean to our relationship.
“…Scripps Beach has some amazing surfing. We can hit the beach early tomorrow then come home, wash the sand out of our cracks, and head to Reseda with Mom tomorrow morning. Armie and Juan are expecting us. We’ll do some touristy things, and we’ll have dinner at Juan’s restaurant. Afterward, we can go back to our hotel, let Mom deal with Alphonse and his constant farting, and then we’ll get all over each other because you need a good fuck by the looks of you.”
“What does that mean?”
He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “You’re tense.” I thought to argue. Instead, I looked out the window to enjoy the sights down below. He dropped a kiss to my shoulder. “My mother will love you. Armie will love you. Juan will love you. Hell, even Alphonse will love you!”
“I’m so much older than you,” I whispered as the wing leveled out to show me a beautiful city of tall buildings, marinas, and lots of ocean. “What will your mother think?”
“She’ll think you’re the perfect age for me just like I do. Oh hey, that’s Mission Beach.” He pointed at the window. “And over there is Fiesta Island. We’ll have to hit there tonight, maybe we can take Mom if she’s up for it. There’s a great bar slash restaurant there called Hankie’s. They have the best, and I mean the best milkshakes. And the blue cheese and bacon burgers are to die for!”
“Sounds great.” And it did but even as we rumbled in for the landing, I couldn’t help but worry over his mother’s face when she first saw me.
Turns out Diane Haney was a great deal like her son. She was blond with huge blue eyes, tall and lean, and talked at breakneck speed. She also loved to hug. The moment she spied her son in the terminal, she pushed through the throngs of travelers to reach her boy. I stood to the side, smiling, as she peppered his cheeks with kisses. Then, she turned her sights to me.
“Is this the good-looking silver fox cowboy who’s stolen your heart?” she asked Bishop, who nodded and grinned.
“Ma’am,” I replied as my sight burrowed into Bishop. What exactly had he told her about me? About us? Good-looking? “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having me.”
“Oh, you are one handsome devil! You remind me of that fellow on Mantracker but when you talk it’s all Sam Elliott! If only you were straight.” She sighed playfully then grabbed me, her arms going around my neck. The kisses followed. Bishop snickered then pried his mother off so I could right myself. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see that Bishop has finally found a mature man he liked enough to bring home.” She took my arm and led me through the airport, talking steadily about boyfriends, sailfish, chocolate cookies, and something about Canadian TV shows that left her with the urge to move north. “Have you ever wanted to just pick up roots and go somewhere you’ve never been before?”
“Yes, ma’am, I have a time or two.”
* * *
Diane’s housewas not far from the airport, only twenty minutes or so, and was part of a small congregation of tiny homes that looked like an old retirement community that had been flipped. The housing park preferred to call them “Sunrise Cottages” but whatever the term was, they were all the same aside from different siding and shutter colors. Each house had a yard. Just.
“We’re not in Wyoming anymore, Toto,” I whispered to Bishop after admiring the palm trees swaying in the ocean breeze. He smiled then tossed my carry-on bag to me.
Still, once we got settled in the charming little home, I could see the appeal. I supposed. According to Diane, everything was included in the rental fees and there was public transportation that whisked her and her friends into San Diego. Still, the homes sitting so close to each other made me feel boxed in.
“You two are in here,” she led us to a sunny back bedroom with bunkbeds. One wall was covered with dinosaur posters and the other had the Pussycat Dolls from ceiling to floor. It was obvious who had grown up in this room. “We’ll do a light lunch. I’m sure Bishop wants to hit the beach.”
“She knows me so well,” he said, grabbing her to hug her close. They were so demonstrative. It was alien to me. My family was not at all like this even before my gayness was an issue. Diane laughed then bussed us on the cheek before scurrying off to the kitchen.
“In case you didn’t notice this side of the room was mine.” He motioned to the dino wall coverings. “And that wall was Armie’s. He still has a thing for the Pussycat Dolls. Wanted to be one when he was fourteen. Knew all the lyrics to all the songs. I don’t know how many letters he wrote begging to allow him to be the lone male member.”
“Did they ever call?”
“No, never. Poor boy was crushed, but his love of girl bands and makeup lives on. I’m on top.”
“I assumed that much,” I tossed out.
“You know me well too,” he replied then chucked his bag to the floor under the window.
I placed my bag on the end of the bed and unzipped it. Bishop chattered nonstop, mostly about the beach, the waves, the sun, and the sand. We changed into swimsuits, his lower lip coming out when he saw my baggy trunks instead of a Speedo. Over those we tugged on tank tops and slid sandals on. Lunch was a chef salad. I ate and listened. Diane and Bishop talked enough for all three of us. I wasn’t sure how to wedge a word in, so I simply chewed and nodded.
After the meal, Bishop bounded into the garage, slipping around his mother’s tiny Subaru, to where there were several surfboards resting on racks. He shimmied up onto the hood of the car, removed two boards, one yellow and one white, and handed them to me. Then we spent a few minutes waxing the long boards, which seemed dangerous to me. I mean, how were we to stand on waxy, slippery boards? Bishop explained that waxing a board was not like waxing a car. Surfboard waxing applied an anti-slip surface for your feet.
“The beach is only a short walk,” he stated after the waxing was completed. Boards under our arms, our noses white with sunscreen, we set off for the beach. “This isn’t what the whole of La Jolla looks like,” he explained as we made our way through the weaving roads of El Destiny Cottage Community. “There are places like Bird Rock with mansions that cost millions sitting right on the beach.”
As we left his old neighborhood behind, I could pick up the smell of the sea. The sun was hot, the wind strong, and the man at my side was thrumming with excitement. Once our feet were on the sand, Bishop sat down and patted the sand beside him. I took a deep breath and let my eyes touch on the soft yellow sand and sapphire water rolling to shore.
“Aren’t we supposed to be in the water?” I asked, balancing my yellow board as the roar of the surf and shouts of people washed over me.
“Dude, sit. We’re going to watch the surf for a bit while I relay some things to you that you’ll need to know.”