Recipe for Two Page 12

  “Are we rich?” he’d asked Dad that night, his voice small.

  “We’re very lucky,” Dad had told him.

  It had been enough of an answer, when he’d been eight. Because Wyatt knew now that he hadn’t been spoiled, not exactly, but that he was privileged. He knew other people didn’t live in houses like this one, and didn’t get the same opportunities that he did, and that the world really wasn’t very fair at all. And he knew that Justin had always been acutely aware of that, and that was why he felt so strongly about helping people.

  Wyatt couldn’t remember going hungry, but Justin certainly could, and the experience had shaped his life’s work. And seeing how they’d lived back then had shaped Dad’s life’s work as well. He’d come to Oregon to write a fancy fusion cookbook. Instead, he’d written one filled with family recipes, showing people how to cook easy, cheap, and healthy meals.

  And Wyatt…well, if Wyatt’s life had been shaped by the deprivation he’d known when he was too small to properly remember it, it hadn’t done him any favors, had it? All it had done was left him still scared, after all these years.

  Mostly scared. Because maybe he was terrified of the thought of going to Paris, and maybe he hadn’t known what to do today at the greenhouse, but Wyatt had at least been brave on Saturday night, hadn’t he? He’d been brave as hell when he’d told Izzy he wanted to see his ink, and then walked into his bedroom.

  Still, not being a total coward in every aspect of his life wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.

  “Dad, can I use the studio kitchen tonight?” he asked. “I’ve got those baby shower cakes to get started on.”

  “Of course,” Dad said. “Just—”

  “Just clean up after myself,” Wyatt said, rolling his eyes. “I know!”

  * * * *

  The next morning Wyatt delivered the baby shower cupcakes to a delighted Jimmy and then, checking that nobody was watching him, instead of going home again he headed for the staff trailers. Sam was at work, so it was Izzy who opened the door to him. He looked okay, except for the shadows under his eyes that were dark as bruises.

  “I made you a cake,” Wyatt said.

  Izzy grinned and stepped back to allow him inside the trailer.

  Wyatt thrust the container into his hands, and Izzy didn’t even look down at it.

  “What?” Wyatt asked, suddenly self-conscious.

  And then he remembered that he’d woken up today feeling decidedly not a boy, and his hair was out, and he was wearing a shirt that was definitely one of Harper’s hand-me-downs. It was a tunic, with flowers embroidered around the yoke. He’d worn it before and Patty had told him he looked like a flower child—she would know—but now, looking at Izzy, Wyatt knew he wasn’t seeing a boy pushing back against gender norms. Izzy wasn’t seeing a boy at all. He was seeing Wyatt.

  “Do you like it?” Wyatt asked, feeling that same rush of courage he had on Saturday night.

  Izzy set the container down on the coffee table. “You’re so pretty.” He hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Wyatt’s jeans and pulled him closer. Kissed him softly, barely a brush of his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

  Wyatt chased his mouth for another fleeting kiss. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m mostly tired,” Izzy said. “A fucking bumblebee wiped the floor with me, can you believe that?” He grinned. “But yeah, I’m just tired. Justin said I can take tomorrow off too if I want. He also came over this morning and gave me two of those pen things.”

  “EpiPens,” Wyatt said.

  “Yeah. He wants me to keep one here and carry one with me. And he said that there’s always gonna be some in the first aid kits at work too.” Izzy snorted. “Your brother is a pretty good guy, you know?”

  He said it like he was surprised, and Wyatt thought that there hadn’t been too many good guys in Izzy’s life before. He thought of how Izzy didn’t have anyone listed as his emergency contact, and his chest ached.

  “Yeah,” he said. “He is.”

  Izzy held his gaze. “I told you that you look pretty already, right?”

  Wyatt felt his face burning. “You mentioned it.”

  “Is that okay for me to say that?”

  Wyatt swallowed and nodded. “I like it.”

  “What if…” Izzy cupped Wyatt’s cheek and stroked a thumb over his cheekbone. “What if today I told you that you were a pretty girl? Would that be okay?”

  Wyatt jolted at the word; a fearful, visceral reaction. He waited for the sting to come after, like it always had when he’d thought it. Not a boy, he always told himself, because he somehow couldn’t bring himself to call himself a girl. Except the sting didn’t come, because when Izzy said the word it didn’t hurt at all.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered, clutching at Izzy’s sides like he was afraid of drowning. “Say it.”

  “You’re so pretty,” Izzy whispered. “Such a pretty girl. My pretty girl.”

  And Wyatt’s heart tumbled over a few beats before it swelled. “I like it.”

  And they kissed again.

  * * * *

  Wyatt didn’t stay as long as he wanted with Izzy in his trailer. He left after a few more kisses, his head spinning with how good they felt, and how right it sounded when Izzy called him a pretty girl. When Izzy called Wyatt his pretty girl. There was nothing degrading in those words, not the way that Izzy said them, and Wyatt had felt himself unfurl toward Izzy like a flower seeking sunlight, warmth flooding through him.

  “I might be a boy again tomorrow,” he’d said when he left, biting his lip.

  “Yeah?” Izzy had shown him that sharp grin of his. “Hottest fucking boy I ever saw too.”

  And Wyatt had laughed, because he’d shown Izzy all the parts of himself that he’d kept hidden for so long, and Izzy still wanted him, and how crazy was that? How amazing was that?

  Wyatt could hardly keep the skip out of his step when he headed home.

  Patty threw him an apple as he passed her, and a knowing smile that made his face burn and wonder just how much she knew.

  “That smile suits you, starshine!”

  And Wyatt flushed and laughed, because whatever these feelings were inside of him—happiness, and hope, and maybe even love—they were too big to hold inside his body.

  Chapter 14

  Who knew that you could be allergic to bees without knowing it? Apparently it took one sting first for most people to have the next one be horribly dangerous. Izzy didn’t want to think what would’ve happened if he’d been alone somewhere in nature or something. He would’ve never made it out before his airways swelled and he died.

  He’d felt fine a few days after, but now he always carried an EpiPen in his pocket, just in case. He felt horrible for having put Justin through the extra expense of ordering more EpiPens as he made sure all that they had on site were still good. Apparently the things expired, too and were expensive.

  Justin had told him they needed epinephrine anyway because the bees and other potential allergic reactions. He’d said all it would take is a worker having a nut allergy and touching or accidentally eating a cookie or a piece of chocolate with nuts in it. It wasn’t just Izzy, was the point.

  He tried not to feel guilty, but it was a process.

  He also hated that he’d worried Wyatt so much. He could tell it in every touch and kiss now. Wyatt was scared of losing him. Izzy guessed that the urgency and fear would lessen over time, when Wyatt relearned that he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Speaking of that, Justin had also sat him down and told him that they were slowly going to introduce even more bees to the greenhouses so they didn’t have to manually pollinate the plants, and what that might mean for Izzy.

  Even if Izzy himself was ready to take the risk of being stung, he knew Justin wouldn’t play with anyone’s health like that. So they needed to figure out a way to make working there safe for Izzy or…yeah, no more job here.

  It wasn’t that urgent yet, though, Justin had said it
would probably be at least six months if not more until that would become an issue, and that they would revisit the conversation when the time came.

  Cutely enough, new signs with big, black and yellow bumblebees were now on every door leading to the greenhouses that had the things buzzing around inside. Apparently, Patty had wanted to make sure nobody went in unaware, and Izzy could appreciate that.

  * * * *

  One night, maybe two weeks after the bee incident, Izzy and Wyatt met in that spot where they’d met first. They had a blanket to put on the ground and a camping lantern. They sat there together, listening to the nature around them, watching stars and just being together.

  “As nice as this is, I wish we didn’t have to hide,” Izzy said quietly after they lay down together, just cuddling there and soaking in the closeness.

  “Yeah.” Wyatt’s tone was a bit weird. It wasn’t the first time Izzy had heard it, either.

  “What’s on your mind? I know something’s been bothering you.” He didn’t let go of Wyatt when he tried to get up. “No, stay. Talk to me just like this.”

  Don’t turn away from me, even if it’s a hard thing to talk about.

  Wyatt stopped moving and rested against his side tensely again. Eventually, he mumbled, “I just…we never talk about why you were in prison.”

  Oh.

  “I thought Justin would’ve told you.”

  “He doesn’t talk about anyone’s stuff. Maybe he consults Dad, I don’t know, but he has people vetted and, you know. He says it’s not for him to tell.”

  “Okay.” Izzy shrugged. Well, I was in prison because back then I used a lot of drugs.”

  The way Wyatt jerked at the admission scared Izzy a lot. “Oh…”

  “I didn’t sell, and I didn’t directly do anything wrong, other than well, destroy my body and brain with the stuff.”

  “But you were arrested.”

  “Yeah. The guys I hung out with then, one of them was giving me a ride and I knew the car was stolen. He did that stuff, got money from it, all the time. I was high, really, really high. And then I guess he lost control of the car or something. We hit a woman who was pregnant.”

  Wyatt gasped, and this time Izzy didn’t hold him back when he scrambled away from him.

  “Izzy, that’s—”

  “Horrible. I know. There were drugs in the car. Not mine, but there was no way to prove that. And I guess…I guess I just…” Izzy sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He’d never spoken these words out loud.

  “What?” Wyatt whispered.

  “I guess I deserved the sentence I got. I know I wasn’t driving, and I couldn’t have done anything to prevent it other than make that guy not drive a car while high. It’s just…I was stupid. I could have got out. It wouldn’t have saved that woman’s life, but it would have saved me. But I didn’t. I deserved what I got.”

  They were quiet for a while, then Wyatt moved back to rest against Izzy. It felt like absolution.

  “You don’t do drugs now, though, do you?”

  “Just weed.” Izzy hated the way Wyatt flinched a little. “I got sober in prison. It wasn’t easy. You’d think there are no drugs inside.” Izzy huffed. “I actually knew some guys who got hooked in the prison instead of outside. Like, whatever gets you through, I guess.”

  “What got you through it?” Wyatt traced patterns on Izzy’s stomach with his fingertips. Even through his hoodie he could feel them clearly and held onto the connection with everything he had.

  “I worked out, I read, I kept my head down and stayed out of trouble. They let me out on good behavior after four years.”

  “How much did you have left?”

  “Two. But the overpopulation and all…I don’t know. I never want to go back inside and I don’t want anything to do with the guys I ran with before.” Izzy swallowed hard and blinked back some emotion that bubbled up from his chest. “I want to have a future. A good one. A family, maybe, one day.”

  Suddenly a coyote bark-howled somewhere surprisingly nearby, and both of them jumped.

  “Holy shit!” Izzy gasped, and they both started to laugh.

  “That was close. Maybe we should go?” Wyatt sounded reluctant.

  “Yeah, I think so.” As they got to their feet, Izzy asked, “Are we okay?”

  Wyatt picked up the lantern while Izzy folded the blanket.

  They started to walk toward the path when Wyatt finally spoke. “Yeah. I’m not going to lie and say I like that you used drugs. That’s…that’s such a big deal in my family. Like, it’s a huge thing for us. I get weed for anxiety, but anything more than that…”

  “It’s a deal breaker for you,” Izzy stated, not even making it a question.

  “Yes,” Wyatt replied anyway, as he reached to take Izzy’s hand.

  Something that had been trying to squeeze his chest eased at the touch.

  “I would never do anything to jeopardize this,” he said, squeezing Wyatt’s fingers. “Not that I’d do drugs even if you weren’t in the picture. I’m done with that life.”

  “Okay,” Wyatt said quietly. “I believe you.”

  It meant more than Izzy could ever express.

  “I think we should find a way to figure out how to tell your family about us,” Izzy found himself saying.

  Wyatt stopped walking and turned to him, watching him carefully. “Oh?” With the shadows and the light of the lantern dancing so much, Izzy couldn’t read his expression at all.

  “Yes. This is real. We might be new, Wyatt, but this is real.”

  The smile that lit up Wyatt’s features then couldn’t have been missed, dark woods or not. He leaned up to kiss Izzy soundly, then smiled again. “We’ll figure out how. Soon.”

  “Okay. That’s a deal.”

  * * * *

  Couple of days later, Izzy had felt weird as he lay in bed. He didn’t have problems with falling asleep these days, but something kept him awake now.

  He watched an old episode of Buffy, then tried again. This time, he woke up with a start to an old, familiar feeling. Panic was clawing at his throat, and he knew he’d had a nightmare, even though he couldn’t remember it.

  He got up, trying to breathe as normally as he could while he was still in control, and went to get his old backpack from his closet. With shaking hands, he got out the tin where he had his weed and rolling papers, and his old lighter.

  He pulled on a hoodie and sneaked out of the trailer, rounding the corner to sit on a nearby boulder. He could do this in his sleep, shaky as he felt. He quickly rolled a joint, wondering how much of the feeling of relief was about the routine, the feeling of the paper and the dried plant in his fingers.

  He finally lit his joint and took in a deep puff, then held it in, trying his best to think past his burning lungs. The longer he went without, the more it hurt, but there was still a grounding effect in that hurt too, he supposed.

  Eventually, he’d smoked about half of his joint and felt the tension start to melt away. His heart was beating a normal rhythm, and he could breathe again. It wasn’t always that easy, but tonight it had been, and he was grateful for it.

  If he got that medical marijuana license, maybe he could get edibles instead? Just to keep the smoke from lingering. The sweet scent stuck to everything from his hair to his clothing, and he disliked it a lot.

  The stuff helped, but it also held its own memories that weren’t quite as pleasant as he would’ve liked.

  He stubbed the rest of the joint and put it into the tin with the rest of the stuff. Then he went inside as quietly as possible and managed to get to sleep again.

  * * * *

  He felt disoriented as fuck where he woke up to a pounding sound.

  There were angry words, and then someone wrenched open his bedroom door.

  “What the fuck did you do?”

  The angry yelling made no sense, and he rolled out of bed, trying to understand what was going on.

  The lights came on, and he saw Justin stand
ing in his doorway, steaming with rage.

  “W-what?” Izzy was so, so lost. “I don’t understand.”

  Justin crossed the distance and stood over him. “We got a visit from your fucking friends, Izzy!” He took in a deep breath, then something changed in his expression. “Are you high?”

  “Justin, come out of there. Give him room and let him come out here so we can all talk,” someone, probably Del, said from the common area.

  Justin twitched, as if he was holding himself together by a thread, then marched out.

  “You have one minute!” he tossed over his shoulder.

  Izzy was still wearing his hoodie and his tin was on the bedside table. He had been wearing his ratty sweats, and probably had red eyes. Fuck. He looked like a fucking stoner.

  Taking in a deep breath, he got to his feet and walked out of his bedroom to figure out what the fuck was going on. His friends? Wasn’t that what Justin had said? What time was it?

  “Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” he asked, looking from Justin to Del and then Sam.

  The front door opened and Wyatt came in, closed the door behind himself, and leaned on it. He looked upset, and if Justin hadn’t said something about “friends” Izzy would’ve thought this was about him and Wyatt.

  “What exactly do you think is going on?” Justin spat at him.

  “I don’t know. You barged in here, accusing me of something, saying something about my friends?” Izzy spread his hands, starting to feel pissed off.

  “We had a break in tonight,” Del said calmly from where he stood next to Sam, who seemed like he didn’t want to be there at all.

  “Some guys who told the cops that ‘Izzy said there was no security here,’” Justin growled, somehow looming over Izzy even though neither of them had moved.

  “Wait, what? Is everyone okay?” He did quick math on the people present. “Oh my God, is Lettie okay? The dogs?” He still didn’t understand what was going on, but the thought of something happening to Lettie or her pack was making him feel choked up.