We went right to his house. When we pulled up, his mom saw us out the kitchen window. She called out, over her shoulder and came out the side door to meet my mom, wiping her hands on her apron.
"You're on your own, honey. Lay it on thick. You will remember this moment for the rest of your life."
She got out of the car and went to where Paul's mom stood. They spoke a few low words and went back in through the side door.
I got out of the car, squared my shoulders and started up the walk, clutching the flowers. Paul appeared behind the storm door, perfectly still, watching me and just staring. It was the longest walk of my life and I couldn't stop the tears flowing. Didn't even want to.
He opened the door and just looked at me, his expression soft, unreadable. I pressed the flowers into his hands and it felt like a piece of me tore loose and went with them.
His face softened and the corners of his lips began to curve... Down.
The look of love in his eyes was unmistakable. Love and... dismay. His eyes welled. "I wanted to tell you first," he cried, holding the flowers to the side and reaching to hold me.
"I love you," I declared, into his warm neck. "I love you, Paul."
"I wanted to tell you first." He sniffled and then gave a huge smile. "Let's go put our roses in a vase."
Entering the kitchen, he paused and handed the roses back to me.
"Um. I'm in love with a boy, Mom."
"I love you, son. I admire your courage. And I think you have excellent taste."
"I knew it when I saw him."
He turned to me: "I knew it the moment I saw you. When you first moved here. When I saw you, I just knew."
Naturally, this called for a celebration. He raided his mom's larder, grabbed a few things from the fridge and we headed to my place. Paul took half a bottle of his mom's Chardonnay that was by the stove. The moms were instructed to arrive at 7 o'clock and to bring more white, if they wanted wine with dinner. Or before dinner.
Paul was a whirlwind and a kind taskmaster.
"This is shit simple," he assured me. And really it was, it was just the speed. And Paul pounding on the chicken with a hammer. That was a little weird. I washed dishes like a maniac, until Paul ordered me into the shower. I hurried and returned with my hair all combed and a collared shirt on. Paul showed me how to supervise the chicken until he got back.
"You look good," I told him, as he slid back behind the controls, so to speak.
"Thanks. Recognize the clothes? I raided your room pretty bad. Had to hurry. Sorry." He must have ransacked the place, if he thought I'd be able to see any difference in that pig pen.
"Those are mine?" I had to ask. "Hunh. They sure look better on you. Since when'd you get so fucking cute?"
I had my hand on his ass. I wanted him. Now. Here, right on the kitchen floor. Fuck dinner.
He wiggled lasciviously. "I'm wearing your undies, too."
"Cool! The ones with the little brown and yellow accents?"
"No, I checked. Just Big Brown."
"That's good, I worked real hard on that. You know it's weird, though. I ran my hand over your ass and... " He cut me off.
"I noticed. And made me want you to fuck me tonight." He looked me up and down and smiled. "So you ran your hand over my ass and? Besides making me want you in it?"
"Oh, umm... " I squirmed around my boner. "Oh! That's what I was gonna say. So those are my pants. So I guess I noticed that without really noticing. And it was like some incest thing. You know, like You can't want him, he's your... you." I laughed.
He looked at me and said, "I want your you. I always want your you."
"Shit. Aw shucks, you always know the right thing to say."
I leaned in and kissed him, just as the front door opened and our guests arrived.
The ladies entered. They'd freshened up a bit and brought a chilled bottle. Paul opened and served it with some cheese and crackers he had pulled together from nowhere.
"Dinner will be served in 20 minutes," he said, "In the salon." He motioned to our dining room.
"What are you making, may I ask?" My mom asked.
"Yeah, what are we making, may I ask?" I asked, making everyone laugh. (I can't help it: something involving chicken and a hammer is all I knew.)
"Chicken Cordon Bleu, Madames," he bowed, mocking the pretentiousness of it.
My mom turned to his mom. "Kind of you to share him."
"You are quite welcome," I said graciously, pulling him to my side, beaming my affection and pride.