Almost Totally Hetero Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Eight

Marcy opened the door a crack. "Ronny?"
"Hi, Mrs. McMercy," Ronny smiled, "I brought your plate back," he explained, holding it up. The pink flowered pattern was now visible, and it looked freshly washed.
"Oh, Ronny, thank you," she replied, taking it. "You really didn't have to."
"I figure you would you would want it back, it's a nice plate."
"Why don't you come in, Ronny? Dinner's almost ready," she explained, leading the way into the living room.
"You don't have to do that, Mrs. McMercy, I should be going anyway."
"Oh, nonsense! We'd love to have you. Pudge should be home any minute. "I'll be right back."
Marcy set the plate on the kitchen counter, checked the shrimp Alfredo, and returned, taking a chair across from the old couch where Ronny sat.
"He still working at the grocery store?" Ronny asked.
"He's pretty content there, he says. He doesn't know exactly what he wants to do long-term, but I keep telling him that he's got plenty of time."
"Yeah, I've been pretty lucky, with my job," he said. "I'm pretty popular, now, too, thanks to your brownies," he smiled.
"Glad I could help."
"You're still working at the bank, then?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm still working there. I'm a manager now," she added, after a moment's  hesitation. She had not mentioned it to her church, and avoided the members as much as possible when at work, because she did not know how they would feel about her supervising men.
"That's great, Mrs. McMercy," Ronny smiled. "Good for you. About time they promoted you, right?"
"Um...yes. Yes, it is about time." She had been passed over a few times over the years, while men with about the same, or even less, experience, had been promoted. She was only a manager now because the previous (male) manager had made a mess of things, and she was one of the only ones who knew how to clean up. She was not a domesticate servant, and yet still found herself cleaning up after a man.
She had thought the more liberal and worldly people would not have the same problems as believers. She had been a little timid about mentioning her accomplishments, abilities, and ambitions too, but she had a feeling that that was not the only reason she had not been promoted. If she had been a man, would her (mostly male) bosses have seen her potential sooner? She would probably never know.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Ronny started speaking again.

Pudge's breath caught as he turned the corner and saw the truck. Ronny was here? Was the really his truck? What would Ronny be doing here? He had not visited much with Ronny since they were kids, and the last time he remembered Ronny being at his house was when they were about twelve and all of Pudge's friends were away at Bible camp.
Ronny (he thought) had parked on the street beside his house. Pudge pulled up behind the old black Ford (from the seventies, he guessed), certain that it was Ronny's truck.
Pudge's heart raced as he exited his car, wondering if Ronny would be...difficult, again, if his newfound pleasantness was all just an act, maybe for work. But would even Ronny go out of his way to harass someone's mom?
Unless his mother had called Ronny about his grandpa's truck? He passed it in the driveway, a rusty pink 1964 Chevrolet. It had been unable to start for a few months now. He ran his hand along the side of it, sighing, before strengthening his resolve and smoothing down his uniform shirt in honor of having company.
Ronny was sitting on the couch, talking to his mother, when Pudge came in.
"Ronny! I thought that was your truck out there!" Pudge exclaimed.
"Yeah, it's not Santa Claus," Ronny snorted, though his smile was warm and friendly.
Pudge didn't know what to think, or what to say. Ronny didn't seem to be laughing at him, but still...
"Well, I mean, um..." Ronny started awkwardly.
"It's okay, Ronny," his mother interrupted, with a gracious smile. "We know what you meant."
"Yeah...so, Pudge, you mom says that truck out there isn't running. I'd be happy to take a look at it sometime."
"Really? Oh, um, how much would that cost?" Pudge asked, wondering briefly if Ace was right about Ronny's business motives.
Ronny shrugged. "Just keep feeding me and take me for a ride in it when it's all fixed. It looks like a fun truck to drive."
"Wow, that's...that's really nice of you, Ronny," Pudge stammered, a little taken aback by Ronny's generosity.
"Dinner should be ready, boys," Marcy announced, leading the way into the kitchen.
"Your mom invited me to stay," Ronny explained to Pudge.
"Cool. Good. I'm glad you're staying," Pudge said hastily, still nervous. Ace's words still echoed in his mind, and for some reason he still expected any moment that Ronny would drop the facade and curl his lip up in disgust at something: Their house, their old furniture, his mother's dress, the crucifix hanging on their wall (which was Catholic, and very much frowned upon, but it was his father's). Pudge noticed that Ronny discretely avoided looking at it.
Pudge grabbed three plates and some silverware, and Ronny helped him set the table, as his mother set the pot of pasta on the table.
"Pudge, why don't you..." Marcy began absently as she served the food, then trailed off. "Well, we don't have to pray tonight..."
"It's, um, it's all right," Ronny said awkwardly. "I'm, uh, I'm fine with it."
Ronny folded his hands in his lap at first, as Pudge and his mother joined hands. Pudge reached for Ronny's hand, before he realized what he was doing.
A few seconds of awkwardness ensued, as Ronny reached for Pudge's hand, just as Pudge took it back, then the reverse, until Ronny finally grasped Pudge's hand decisively.
Though Pudge had held hands while praying with many people before, of both sexes, this felt strange to him. Like a heart attack, he thought, thinking of the way his heart raced and his left arm tingled, for Ronny sat at his left.
Pudge closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Lord, thank you for the food we're about to enjoy," he began, stealing squinting, sidelong glances at Ronny. Ronny was closing his eyes, mostly, though he sometimes looked down at the table or his lap, appearing to be lost in thought.
Ronny's hand in his appeared to be sweating, and shaking slightly. 
"Thank you for Ronny being able to join us..."
Suddenly Ronny's elbow came down hard on the edge of Pudge's plate, causing a pile of pasta and shrimp to flip over into Pudge's lap.
"Ah!" Pudge's eyes flew open even more as he pulled his hands away from Ronny and his mother, the plate clattering to the floor as he tried to jump up, but apparently prevented by the table.
"Oh!" Marcy gasped, "Pudge!"
"Oh, fuck!" flew out of Ronny's before he could stop himself. Instinctively he reached for the pile of pasta and shrimp on Pudge's lap. 
Pudge gasped and brought his knees up suddenly, hitting them painfully and violently on the underside of the table.
Ronny jerked his hand away as though burned. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Pudge!" he apologized, seeming to be genuinely upset. I didn't mean to do that, I don't know what happened.
"I...um...it's..." Pudge flustered, slumping over the table.He was ashen, and looked about ready to burst a blood vessel.
"Pudge?" Marcy asked.
"I have to change!" he said with surprising vehemence, slinking away quickly.
He returned a few awkward minutes later, tucking his shirt into a new pair of pants, seeming to still compose himself.
He was still sweating, and still breathing rapidly, as he sat down and they resumed eating, silently.
"I didn't mean to, Pudge, I'm so sorry..." Ronny began.
"It's okay," Pudge said quickly. "I know it was an accident, Ronny. It's not your fault."
Ronny left soon after dinner, handing them his phone number. Pudge reached out and took it.
"I can come by Sunday--if it's okay with both of you," he added quickly, seeming to suddenly realize that they would be at church.
"Maybe in the afternoon," Marcy answered, eager to see Pudge's truck fixed. Pudge nodded, quietly.
"Thanks for dinner, Mrs. McMercy. It was delicious," Ronny smiled, holding up a hand in a little wave.
"I'll...I'll walk you out," Pudge spoke up, finally, following him. Pudge seemed to want to say something, but didn't--or couldn't.
"Um...bye, Ronny," he said as Ronny got back in his truck.
"I'll see you this weekend, Pudge," Ronny answered, before driving off.
"Ronny didn't mean to, honey," Marcy said as Pudge returned. "He told me he hurt his hand at work today."
"I know, Mom," Pudge replied. "I don't feel so good; I think I'm going to go lay down."
Pudge went into his room and closed the door, sitting sadly on his bed. He sighed, tears spilling from his eyes as he thought of what had happened that night, when Ronny had touched his lap. He had not given in to temptation in many difficult months. Tonight he had, and his thoughts confirmed his worst fears.
"I have to change," he whispered. "Please, Lord...I have to change."