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FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, Bo didn’t feel like going to a band rehearsal. Staying home with Eli was nice in a domestic kind of way.
He liked eating dinner with Eli.
He loved the way they fit, snuggled on the sofa, with Eli’s hurt leg propped up.
He adored the way Eli’s eyes lit up when he smiled and the way his dark, brown hair curled around his ears. What did Eli like? Ice cream? Candy? He was a dancer, and being a dancer was kind of like being a skater, wasn’t it? Bo liked to watch men’s gymnastics and ice skating – all in the privacy of his own home and alone – and he noticed the way the skaters went around the ice, picking up bouquets of flowers tossed out by the audience.
He wondered whether Eli would like flowers, or whether they would offend his masculine sensibilities.
An hour later, he opened the door to his own house with a grocery bag tucked against his hip. “I’m home!” He wasn’t sure why, but he expected the house to smell like dinner – except it didn’t.
“Hey,” Eli said distractedly from the dining room table. Boxes were on chairs, strategically arranged around Eli so he didn’t have to walk and stoop to dig. The table was covered with stacks of paper forms, the kind Bo recognized from production.
He came over. “How was your day?”
“Good,” Eli said, finally looking up. “Sorry, but I need to stay on task here. I’m onto something. Go shower and I’ll wrap it up, okay?”
Stung, Bo sauntered to the kitchen. He flipped the overhead light on. It hung off the tall ceiling on a cord and its three bulbs were sparsely decorated by an umbrella-like reflector. The kitchen gleamed in its light, though. Somebody did the dishes and put them away – all of them. Somebody took the time to consolidate and pare down and reorganize, and even though the kitchen hadn’t been terrible before, it was cozy and pleasant now.
Only the antique teapot he inherited from his grandmother sat by the sink. He lifted the lid and sniffed the dark liquid within. Tea – the expensive kind.
His curiosity was piqued, but the environment beckoned to action. Bo transferred half the tray of stuffed cabbage onto a pie plate, stuck it in the oven to heat, and put up rice. Only then did he remember to stick the dessert into the freezer, fish out the bouquet of yellow tulips, and stick them in a drinking glass.
“I’m going up!” he yelled, knowing that he better be done quick or else the rice would burn.
There was no answer. Feeling a bit miffed, Bo ran up the stairs and straight into the shower. Only once he stepped out of the shower, did he notice that his room looked different.
The bed was made with pale green sheets, not the dark green ones he’d been using this winter. The garbage was gone, and not a single piece of laundry spoiled the expanse of freshly vacuumed carpet.
Oh God. Somebody had been here, and it wasn’t his Mom or is sister, because they knew better than to interfere with his affairs. Not Eli – but Eli might know. He thundered downstairs, turned the rice off, and stomped into the dining room.
“Eli.”
Eli was absorbed in whatever he was calculating. “Hold on,” he murmured as he punched few more numbers into his phone’s calculator function and jotted something down. “Huh.”
“Eli!” Bo didn’t bother to hide his irritation.
“What?” Eli’s head snapped up. “I gotta finish this. Is this crucial?”
“I don’t know, Eli,” Bo said, squeezing his name with an ironic twist. “Is someone messing with my house, you know, crucial?” He braced his hands at his waist. “Who was here today?”
“Just me and Mom,” Eli said. “And yeah, it took forever to get her out of here. She went to the museum, and she’s meeting a friend for dinner afterward.” Eli frowned. “What’s wrong?”
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BO LOOKED LIKE A THUNDERCLOUD, if a thundercloud could have striking, sky-blue eyes and pale blond hair and a killer set of cheekbones. Yet he was frowning and his jaw was tight. “I told her not to vacuum,” Eli said. “I expressly told her not to clean. This place looks good the way it is, and it’s your space. Although,” he added with a sheepish smile, “I’m kind of glad she did the laundry.”
“Did she.” Bo’s nostrils widened as he obviously struggled to bring his breathing under control. “Just so you know, there’s a reason why I don’t let anyone touch my stuff-“
The beeper went off. “Shit. Dinner.”
“Let me clear off the table,” Eli said and stood up, balancing on his good leg.
“We’ll eat in the living room,” Bo snapped and turned toward the kitchen. “How hungry are you? I’ll bring it out!”
“Medium,” Eli called out. He took the sofa pillow and lobbed it through the hallway and into the living room. Then he wedged his crutches in his armpits and made is way there. He was just about done repositioning the sofa pillow when Bo came in with two plates, forks, and knives.
“Shit,” he said. “She cleaned in here too?”
“This is where she started,” Eli said, feeling apologetic. “If it makes any difference, we got off easy. I’d have stopped her if I could have.” Eli found an almost-comfortable position on the sofa.
Bo set his plate before him with a clunk.
“Thanks.” His voice seemed small, even to him. He knew how intrusive his mother’s good intentions could be. He picked up his fork, settled his plate in his lap, and waited for Bo to situate himself.
Bo chewed on the food his mother had cooked for them. “I’m the youngest,” he said once he swallowed. “I had the whole family getting into my shit. This house...” He took another bite, and Eli followed his lead. The sickly-green leaf of overcooked cabbage was wrapped around a grey mass of meat filling. Eli cut off a small piece and took an experimental bite.
Ugh.
He swallowed fast.
“I saved up for this house when it was a ruin in a bad neighborhood and bought it just to get out,” Bo said. “This was a major heroin-dealing area for years, and I had to draw some firm boundaries, but at least I didn’t have well-meaning relatives try to civilize me. Nobody has dared.”
“Mom didn’t think you’d notice,” Eli piped up. “She was here for four hours, bustling around. She really misses her studio and her painting, and I really need her to lay off.” He found a clump of rice uncontaminated by cabbage juice and ate it.
“How would you feel if she did that to your place?”
“She will,” Eli said with heavy resignation. “She always does. I just hope she decides not to paint the walls. It’s against the contract.”
Bo’s eyes widened. “You’re shittin’ me!”
“It’s happened before. And I’m sorry you’re upset. I totally get it, just so you know.” Eli dug for another bit of uncontaminated rice.
“You hate stuffed cabbage,” Bo said accusingly. “You don’t like my mother’s cooking!”
“I appreciate her cooking,” Eli said truthfully. It tasted awful, but the gesture was kind. “Listen, I was thinking. My leg’s feeling better, and my presence here is certainly causing issues, so...” Eli didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to go.
“No.” Bo finished his dinner in silence. He eyed Eli’s plate. “I’d usually have seconds. Will you be giving that another try?”
Eli handed the plate over and watched with amazement as Bo polished it off. “You really like it,” he said.
“No need to sound so surprised,” Bo said. “It’s comfort food.” He smirked at Eli. “More for me, if you don’t like it. I’ll nuke something else for you. What do you want?”
Eli thought. “Is there any Thai left?”
“Fancy pants!” Bo rolled his eyes. “Okay. There’s that godawful spicy green stuff. You want that?”
Eli nodded. “The green curry would be great, thanks!” He saw the tension around Bo’s shoulders. Having a stranger mess around your house was bad. Very bad. Yet Bo said “no” to Eli’s unvoiced offer to clear out. Within minutes, Bo brought him a bowl of piping hot curry over rice, and a clean fork.
“How was work?” Eli asked, just to make conversation. Bo’s shoulders tightened again. “O’Donnal was an asshole, and I pissed off Paul.”
“Really? Paul’s hard to piss off. What happened?”
Eli ate as Bo gave him the basics. “So what, they figure I’m gay and it’s catching?”
“Maybe. Not all of them are jerks. Just some.”
“You think that’s why I’m getting stonewalled on Pot 16?” Eli leaned forward, curious to see Bo’s reaction.
“That’s what Paul thinks, but I dunno. I think they figure you don’t know shit about glass, at least the way we make it. The method’s pretty old-fashioned, I hear.”
“Antiquated,” Eli agreed. “But it works for this application. We have small production runs, lots of molds, and lots of glass colors. It’s a job shop - of course it’s pretty much impossible to automate.”
Bo nodded. He looked at Eli so hard, Eli felt pinned to the cushion of the sofa. “So are you out?”
“Yes. Sort of. Like, no need to flaunt it, but yeah. I won’t lie about it.”
“Good,” Bo said with a small, nervous smile. “I might’ve said something that might backfire, just so you know.” Their eyes met. “I said if I play it right, we might be planning a big gay wedding next spring.”
Eli just knew, from the way his face burned, that he blushed like crazy. “Dude!” He flailed around for an answer, not knowing what to say. This wasn’t a proposal, obviously, but even so the idea made his chest swell with warmth.
“Yeah I know. I might’ve screwed up on that. I figured it would go over as a joke, instead of trying to defend, y’know?”
A joke? Damn, that was no joke. Eli was halfway in love with Bo already, and he wanted to be with that special someone. Bo would fit the bill. Gorgeous, handsome, considerate, smart... the music was a sweet, juicy cherry on top. He was going to do something stupid, like declare his undying love right now. He just knew it, and the best thing to do would be to leave. Except Eli couldn’t leave. Bo could, though. “You have band today?”
There was a question in Bo’s eyes. “Maybe?”
“Okay, then. I have to finish this for work. When you get back, or maybe tomorrow, I want to run something by you, but I need to be absolutely sure first.
“Yeah?” Another monosyllabic answer, but Eli wasn’t discouraged. He knew quiet water runs deep.
“Yeah. I think I might’ve found the cause of our problems with Pot 16.”
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RALPH’S DAD’S GARAGE was a two-car affair, mostly empty, and separated from the house by a ten-foot concrete walkway. It wasn’t much, but it was enough not to irritate Ralph’s parents when they were off-key. The interior was lit with the dim overhead fluorescents, but they had their own clip-on lamps on their music stands and could actually see. It wasn’t cold yet, the gang looked happy, and the music was coming along at the expected back-and-forward syncopation of a piece in progress.
So why was he frowning?
They took another break. “Hey, man,” Jay said, handing Bo a bottle of blue Gatorade. “What’s doin’?”
Bo shrugged. “The usual, I guess..” Unless you counted a house cleaned by a virtual stranger, a potential boyfriend who kept looking for excuses to leave, and the potential boyfriend’s revulsion at his mom’s cooking. And that didn’t even account for the bullshit at work.
Allison bracketed Bo from the other side. They sat on an old plaid sofa that was pushed all the way to the wall for band practice. “Okay, my friend. Trouble in paradise?” She leaned into him, not making any effort at eye contact. Just... chatting.
“Huh.”
“Stop talking in grunts. You wanna rehearse today, or not? ‘Cause if you do, you need to get your ass in gear and play like you mean it.” Allison didn’t mince words this time.
“I’m playing.”
“Nah, jackass, you’re just going through the motions!” Ralph put his cigarette out in an old, 1950’s style aluminum ashtray that must’ve been an antique by now. He sauntered over and pulled on his can of beer. “What gives, man? The little cutie won’t put out?”
Bo felt his spine lengthen. His thighs bunched, his jaw clenched, and his eyes bugged out. He drew the acrid air in and out through his widened nostrils. Suddenly he realized he was halfway standing, aimed at Ralph, his friend and band buddy, and he did so with mean intent.
“Hey, hey, settle down, both of you!” Tugs on his elbows settled Bo back. His butt got stuck in the ancient foam pillow. He was wedged in, Allison pressing into him on one side and Jay throwing his arm around his shoulders on the other.
Ralph grabbed a decommissioned office chair on casters from the junk pile in the corner, pulled it over. He sat on it backward, folding his arms on the chair’s back rest. His fuzzy beard squished over his forearm as he peered at Bo with an expression of concern. “Sorry, bud. Didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
“Okay.” Bo shrugged. His life was shit. Nothing was going right.
“What was the first thing that pissed you off today?” Ralph asked.
Bo started with the rain, moved on to the O’Donnal jackass comments, then to Paul taking it all wrong, then to getting a bunch of tulips for Eli, since he’d loved his flowering bulbs so much. “And I didn’t even give him the stupid flowers,” he said. “They’re still there, on the kitchen counter.”
“What else?” Allison prodded.
Bo groaned. “The kitchen was clean!”
“And this is a problem why?” Jay took his turn, like a good cog in the big interrogation machine.
“His mom cleaned the whole fucking house, is why!” Bo’s shout of anguish reverberated through the open space, and to his relief, nobody said anything for a while.
“That sucks, man. I know how you feel about that kind of stuff.” Ralph pulled out another cigarette and let it hang off his lip, but didn’t light up. “That’s... man. I’d have thrown a fit.”
“I sort of did,” Bo admitted sheepishly. “I was gonna blow off rehearsal and spend time with Eli if his mom was gone, but the way things ended, he apologized for her, and I tried to explain, and... shit.” Bo thought back to the way Eli was all to eager to get back to work. “He sent me here. Out of the house.”
Silence.
“I’m such a fuckup. No wonder he’d be better off with someone his caliber.” Bo drained his beer, shook his can to make sure it was empty, then glanced at Ralph. “Do you have anything higher octane?”