Page 34 of Bone Deep
She ruffled his hair. “Will do. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Tyler.”
He stayed silent as she walked away.
“Right,Tyler?” she shouted over her shoulder.
He looked down at the table. “Yes, ma'am.”
That was a year ago. Flo's kept her word, keeping eyes on him. After he showed up consistently for a month, I leased a small apartment for him nearby. I had two conditions for him: he had to start taking classes; and he had to use the second bedroom to design clothes. I got him enrolled at Phoenix College to pursue an AAS in Fashion Design and I provided all the equipment and supplies he needed for his design studio in that second bedroom.
He has not let me down once and selfishly, it feels good to give someone the leg up I never had. I busted my ass to get through college, graduate early, get into law school, pass the bar at twenty-three, and make Junior Partner in two years. It wasn’t easy and I had a rough go of it.
Don’t get me wrong. I want Tyler to work hard—to feel the struggle. It will make him appreciate his accomplishments more. I’m just making sure it’s not a losing battle for him.
I make him come by the office weekly to check in, talk fashion trends, make sure he's safe. I pay for his phone, got him a laptop, and pay for design apps so he can create and sell his apparel online. His creations…they’re brilliant.
I'm proud of him. It took time to get him to open up to me, though. He was wary, hackles up, trust earned in millimeters—but once he knew I wasn't going anywhere, he started showing his real, unguarded self. And he's a pretty great kid.
Speaking of.
The little menace walks through my door, Dita herding him in. He's wearing all black, per usual, and they're already laughing.
“Oh, my God,” Dita says, “this is my favorite new person!”
They dissolve into giggles. I roll my eyes. “Kill me now.”
But inside, I'm fucking stoked that Tyler will have another person in his corner.
Dita gives Tyler a quick squeeze goodbye and slips out, the door snicking shut behind her. Tyler collapses into the chair opposite the desk, backpack flung onto the other. The fabric of his shirt is matte-black on matte-black, but I catch the faint silhouette—an enormous tree whose leaves are tiny words:love, acceptance, hope, empathy.
“Did you design that?” I ask.
He grins, teeth bright against the dark. “Yeah. Screen-printed it last week in the spare room.”
“It's really cool,” I tell him, and his ears turn red. “You selling them anywhere?”
“Instagram. I have ten-k followers now.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “My shop is linked on my page. But you’d know that if you had an account, old man.”
I laugh because I’m used to it by now. He knows damn well I’m not old.
“I even did a collab cover for a queer romance novel dropping next month,” he continues, and I smile at his excited energy. His words tumble over each other like puppies. “I have sketches—”
“Send me the link when it comes out. I want one for you to sign the cover.”
His throat bobs. “Spence…thanks. For everything.”
“Keep going with the designs,” I encourage. “You need anything, you ask.”
“I could do filing here,” he says, voice more timid than usual. “Pay you back somehow—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I want you focused on your passion.”
Over the next hour, we talk about his classes, his dream of designing his first full collection, boys at school he thinks are cute. Our Tuesday sessions have become my favorite hour of the week.
I walk him out of my office and Dita corners him for his social media handle so they can dish about “the office grump.” Then she demands he go to lunch with her later in the week.
Tyler smirks, typing his Instagram handle into her phone. “Don’t worry,” he stage-whispers to me, “we’ll bring back some senior citizen oatmeal for you.”
I shake my head. “Bye, Tyler.”
