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Money. The first time Blake invited me over to his house, I didn’t dare touch anything. But now I’m almost used to it.His parents play a vigorous game behind him, their white tennis outfits drawing my eye over his shoulder. The rhythmic thwack of the ball back and forth stops. They argue over a line call, his mom’s voice carrying sharply while his dad tries to abate her.“She’s such a bitch sometimes,” Blake says, more to himself than me. I glance at him and he catches my look. Regret shadows his face momentarily only to be eradicated by defiance.“What?” he says. “I shouldn’t talk about her like that?”I shrug. “She’s your mother. You only get one.”He pulls a face and stands up to stretch. I can see a packet of cigarettes outlined in the pocket of his jeans. The argument is over and the tennis game resumes, but Blake is still frowning. He drops heavily back into his seat.“I feel like I don’t even know her,” he says.I blink at him, surprisedHe talks on hurriedly as though afraid he’ll. Lunch always ended with a hug, but she never held me as long as she did that first time.Although we never spoke about it at the time, sexually speaking, I equated her with my co-workers. She was a good enough looking young woman, but she was twenty years younger that me, and we always kept things polite.In all of that time, we had never spoken about motorcycles either. I am a bit of a fair-weather rider, and I have a fairly long commute. I won't ride the Harley to work unless I am certain it will be sunny and warm the entire day. I have been caught in the rain, but not very often.One day, she asked me to lunch. Of course, I agreed. I had ridden the bike, so at lunch time, I jumped on it and rode over to meet her. Her eyes got big when she saw me pull up, and she shyly asked for a ride. We ate a quick lunch, and then I took her for a twenty minute spin around town.When I pulled up next to her car, she threw her arms around me and held me for a long time. I hugged her arms to my body.
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