What Happened at East Houston Street

Chapter 25

After the break up, Brent didn't have much to fill his time. He called a few of his buddies to invite them out for drinks at the Club, but they already had other plans. His Saturday night was not turning out as he had expected. Not wanting to stay home, he got in his BMW, blasted a techno album at full volume, and drove the ten miles to his parents' house in Newton.

Meanwhile, in Cambridge, Lauren paced the length of her living room, a mix of desperation and excitement pulsing through her veins. She had finally done it. After six long years, she had ended things with Brent. She couldn't wait to tell Stephanie. She couldn't wait to hold her in her arms, to kiss her, to give her the best orgasm of her life in celebration of her newfound freedom. She couldn't wait to share her euphoria with the girl she loved. She looked at her phone and saw that she still had a half composed text message to Stephanie that she had started earlier in the day, before Brent came over. She scanned the incomplete message.

Please, baby. I'm begging you. You have shattered my

Lauren's heart sank at the message. She deleted its contents and started typing a new one. She was having difficulty finding the right words for such a momentous occasion. How could she tell her over a text? She knew Stephanie wouldn't answer her call. She thought for a moment. She looked over at the living room closet door that Brent had searched earlier and had left ajar. She spotted her small suitcase that was stowed at the bottom of the closet.

Beaming with an idea, she ran into her bedroom and opened her laptop on her desk. She searched for the earliest train departures to New York City and booked a 9:30pm seat on the Acela leaving from South Station. She ran back into the hallway and lifted her suitcase from the bottom of the closet, dragging it back into her bedroom. She packed a week's worth of clothing, expecting that their glorious reunion was going to take at least five days. She decided she would text her boss later in the night and tell him that she was coming down with the flu.

After she had finished packing the last of her sweaters, she opened the top drawer of her bureau where she stored her accessories. She sifted through her collection, choosing various pieces to wear throughout the week. She rummaged through a small jewelry box that her grandmother had given her and spotted a simple diamond ring that used to belong to her mother, before she upgraded once her father had started making his own money at the firm. She stuffed the ring into her front pocket and closed the drawer. She called a taxi and, 20 minutes later, was on her way to South Station.

Brent steered his BMW up the long driveway of his parents' home, music pumping loudly from his speakers. Linda, who was sitting on the sofa in the front room, heard the commotion and went to the window to peer out. A moment later she saw headlights and watched her oldest son get out of his car. A frown set on her face, she rushed to the side door where she met Brent.

"What on earth are you doing blasting that God awful trance music in our neighborhood? All of the dogs out there are barking now!" She scolded him like he was ten years old. He looked down at the ground and didn't respond.

His father came down the stairs, tying a bathrobe over his pajamas. "What the hell, Brent!" he yelled. "I thought we were under attack when I heard the sound of that bass! What will the neighbors say?" He was incredulous.

Brent shrugged, holding his gaze at the black and white tiled floor, getting lost in its alternating pattern.

"Why are you here at this hour on a Saturday night? Don't you have a party to go to?"  His father sat down at the kitchen table, a tired look of concern on his face.

"No," Brent responded. "I was supposed to go out with Lauren, butshebrokeupwithme," he rushed through the last part, hoping his parents didn't hear what he said.

His parents exchanged looks of confusion. "What, honey?" his mother asked, prodding him for more information.

Brent pulled out a chair and sat down, resting his head on the table, burying his face in his arms. His parents looked to each other again, this time with concern for their son. Roland put his hand on Brent's shoulder.
"Talk to me. What happened tonight," his father asked.

A moment passed. Brent didn't speak. His parents shared another look. Roland shrugged at his wife. Linda approached the table and ran her hand up and down her son's back. "Brent, honey, tell mommy what's wrong." Still no response.

"What the hell happened?" Roland whispered to his wife.

Linda shook her head and tried again. "Brent, listen to me. I am your mother and I demand to know what happened. If you did something wrong, we can fix it, but you have to tell me and daddy what happened." She leaned her ear closer to her son's head. A look of annoyance appeared on her face. She turned away and started to walk out of the room.

Roland, confused, whispered again. "Where are you going? Your son is upset! He needs his mother!"

Linda folded her arms and said, "Your son fell asleep. Come to bed."

Roland looked over at Brent just as a snore sounded throughout the room. He shook his head in disappointment.

Once Roland and Linda were settled in bed, they recapped the events that happened in the kitchen.

"Did he say that he and Lauren broke up?" Roland asked, looking over at his wife. She was propped against her pillow, applying lotion to her hands.

"Yes, it seems that is, indeed, what he said," she responded, uninterested.

Roland shook his head. "What do you think happened? They've been together for so long!"

Linda replaced the lid to the jar of lotion and sighed. She leaned over to her husband and said, "Our son happened, that's what happened. Lauren is a smart and beautiful well-bred girl. It was only a matter of time before she got tired of Brent."

"Linda!" Roland said, shocked by his wife's candor.

She turned off the lamp on the bedside table and snuggled up to her husband in the dark. "Honey, we both know that what I'm saying is the truth." She soothingly ran her hand up and down his arm.

Roland silently agreed, nodding at her words. He lay in bed that night, restless, thinking about his sons. David was smart with a good mind for business. He knew that he could leave the properties in his hands and he would have no problem managing their empire, but David was gay. He had known it early on and he had come to accept it. When he thought about the legacy he wanted to leave, he pictured teaching his grandsons about business. He envisioned touring them around to all of the properties, sharing tricks of the trade that he picked up over the years. His only hope to fulfill his dream was Brent. He needed Brent to get married. He needed Brent to have children, He wasn't getting any younger and neither was his son.

Roland turned over to Linda and whispered into the dark. "Honey, are you awake?"

"No," she immediately replied.

"Honey," he persisted.

"What, Roland?" she answered.

He draped his arm over his wife's waist and said, "I want grandkids. I want all of this to continue. The more money I make, the more I realize that it's not about the money. It's about my legacy." He was desperate for advice.

Linda turned her face to his cheek and said, "Then call Cal tomorrow. You know he wants our help with that Cambridge deal. Make him an offer, one that includes Lauren taking Brent's last name."