Chapter Eight

Nick

April

 

The sun pries my eyes open and I’m immediately in the kind of panicked state I still associate with oversleeping for school, only half aware of the world around me and failing to slow my racing heart. I should be waking to pale gray silence, not dappled sunlight and birdsong. Several things occur to me at once: I am still wearing my clothes from last night, I have a painfully hard morning erection, and David is not in my bed. Struggling to dislodge myself from the quilt cocoon I’ve wrapped myself in, I also discern two familiar soft voices downstairs and the scent of coffee and something warm and cinnamon. Oatmeal?

Quickly I pad to the bathroom to wash up and change into work clothes. As I’m tugging on jeans, Archie prances into my room and guilt weighs heavy on my chest. Poor guy didn’t go out last night. I always take him out before bed, but last night I conked out. And shit, thinking of last night does very little to deflate my hard-on. The feeling of David on my lap, rocking his hips, the soft brush of his lips on mine, the intoxicating fresh smell of him. Okay, focus. I take a few deep breaths and walk down the stairs.

As I round the corner into the kitchen, I see Jenna and Hector both perched on the metal barstools, sipping coffee and tucking into steaming bowls of oatmeal.

“Hey, guys.” I hope my voice sounds at least somewhat normal as I pour myself a large cup of black coffee. With a small jolt I realize the kitchen is spotless and I feel bad that Hector probably cleaned up the dishes from dinner. Jenna wouldn’t clean up after me. She would sooner blast an air horn in my ear to wake me before she cleaned up my messes. Hector, though, is one of the most considerate human beings I have ever met.

“You’re up late.” Jenna’s voice is singsong, loaded with innuendo. When I glance at her, her amber eyes glint with devious joy.

She’s right. The digital clock on the oven reads 7:22, about three hours later than I normally get up. Usually by this time I’ve worked out, made a big breakfast, played with Archie, and gotten started on answering e-mails or working in the greenhouse.

“Yeah,” I grumble. Unsure of how to explain myself, I go with the truth. “Someone came over last night for dinner.” Conversations are always easier when I have something to do with my hands so I pick a few brown leaves off the sage plant in the windowsill.

“He left you a note.” Hector’s voice is placid as he gestures toward the small whiteboard on my fridge.

My face is red-hot as I read over David’s note. But my legs also get the relaxed jelly feeling I associate with a long run. My mouth stretches into a wide smile.

“Oh shit, Hector. He’s blushing,” Jenna coos without malice. “So delicious, huh? What the fuck happened?”

Hector laughs, shaking his head at both of us.

I start running my fingers through my hair. The back of my neck is tight and itchy.

“Leave him alone,” Hector chides. “It’s none of our business.”

Jenna pouts and her eyes don’t leave mine.

“We talked,” I say as I push up onto the counter and start shoveling food into my mouth. If my mouth is full I can’t be interrogated, right?

“And.” She rolls her hand in a keep going gesture. Hector shoots her a death glare and eyes me sympathetically.

“And, we might have kissed.” My voice is quiet, and I am in that moment very focused on making sure the maple syrup I added to my oatmeal is well incorporated.

“De-lic-ious!” Jenna shouts into her cupped hands. Archie slinks into the living room to settle on the couch.

“Screw you.” I laugh and turn toward Hector. “Hey man, thanks for cleaning up the dishes. You really didn’t have to do that.”

A wide grin illuminates his face. “Dude, that wasn’t me.” I glance at Jenna skeptically but she snorts.

When we finally get outside to begin transplanting the herbs and hardier peppers we started in the greenhouse, the sun is already warm and I immediately strip off the flannel I threw on over my T-shirt. Normally I don’t keep my phone on me while we’re working, but the thought that David might text me has me tucking it into the back pocket of my jeans.

As I pull weeds and lay a mixture of recycled newspaper and hay over the lettuce beds my mind drifts yet again to David. I’m giddy, buzzing with almost uncontainable excitement that he agreed to try again with me. In all the scenarios I’d played out in my head I didn’t think he would end up in my arms, on my lap, grinding against me. Okay, I need to cool it because I do not need to be going about my entire day agonizingly hard.

I can’t stop thinking about him, can’t stop my mind from picturing David moving through his day. Wondering what he would think if he could somehow see me moving through mine. As I work, I imagine David waking up in his old bedroom, the sage green walls covered in his amazing art and less amazing emo band posters. His hair would probably be even more mussed than usual, the auburn waves on top soft and rumpled. I picture him making coffee, squeezing in a gross amount of honey and pouring in milk. Would he be checking his phone, seeing if I called him, or was he busy with his dad first thing? Quickly I extract my phone from my pocket and check the time. It’s only nine and I know David never was an early riser. Although maybe that has changed. I should probably wait until at least noon to call him though.

At exactly noon I call David. Jenna and Hector have gone inside to eat some lunch. My footsteps sound weirdly loud as I pace the porch. The phone rings, once, twice—shit, he’s not going to answer. He’s probably busy.

“Hey.” David sounds out of breath and heat travels down my body. I picture him on the other end of the phone, his lips parted as he breathes heavily. It sounds like he’s outside, birds chirping in the background.

“Hi,” I say and my throat feels thick. Pull it together, Patras. It’s just a phone call. Okay, a phone call with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen who is giving you a second chance you totally do not deserve. But still, just a phone call right?

“Sleep well?” His voice is teasing and I’m embarrassed.

“Yeah. Sorry for passing out like that. I get up early so I’m not usually up late.” I pause and sink into one of the wooden deck chairs I built. Idly I notice it’s a little wobbly. “Hey, did you clean up the dishes? Because you didn’t have to do that.”

David laughs, a light, contagious sound. He always blinks a lot and covers his mouth when he finds something funny. Again I can’t stop myself from visualizing it. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone and with a mess to clean up. Well, not that kind of mess anyway.” He drops his voice. Is he flirting? I think of the painful erection I woke up with and my cock twitches slightly.

“Yeah, I have kind of a bad case of blue balls this morning.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Jesus Christ. I want to punch myself in the face.

That light laugh again. “Okay, I definitely jerked off when I got home last night,” David deadpans.

And if I can’t help visualizing his laugh or him going through the motions of his morning, I absolutely cannot stop my mind from conjuring the image of David stroking himself, the soft sounds he makes, the way his eyes clamp tight as he comes. Great. Now I’m fully hard. Again.

I clear my throat and quickly get up from the chair. Sitting is not very comfortable at the moment. “So are you free at all this week?”

“Well, I’ll have to check my social calendar…” he teases. “But yeah, my dad has an important check-in with his doctor this afternoon so probably not tonight. Does Thursday or Friday work for you?”

I almost want to jump up and down the way Cassie used to when she and her friends would talk on the phone with boys in middle school. But I pull it together and do my weird low voice. “Uh, yeah. Thursday is better. I get up super early on Saturdays for the farmers’ market and I’d rather not disappoint you by going to bed so early.”

“Not unless I can go with you, no.” David’s tone is teasing. Was he always so flirty? I kind of love his confidence.

I clear my throat again and throw my head back with a dramatic groan. “You’re going to make me miss lunch.”

“What?” David’s confusion registers in his voice.

“I can’t go inside and eat with Jenna and Hector with this fucking erection.”

David’s laugh is distinctly triumphant. “Okay, I’ll stop. Do you want to go out to eat on Thursday? Anna took me to this awesome restaurant a few weeks ago. Diana’s Kitchen, I think?”

My smile slides off my face and the lightness in my chest is swiftly replaced by hot guilt. I can’t take him out. If someone sees us together, eating dinner, that would look too weird, right? Plus I basically can’t keep my hands off him for more than about five seconds. And Diana’s Kitchen isn’t far from the diner. “Um…” I hedge, and David, perceptive as ever, immediately knows what I’m doing.

“Right. No dinners out in town. And you probably don’t want to come over to my dad’s either, living across from your parents and all that.”

“Yeah.” I feel like an asshole. “You want to come over again? We’re going to harvest the artichokes tomorrow, so I can do a pasta?” This artichoke pasta better be pretty fucking delicious. Should I tell him I’m sorry? That I would love nothing more than to take him on an actual date.

David’s voice is flat. “Sure. That sounds great. Around seven?”

We confirm and quickly end the conversation after that. And seeing as self-hatred and guilt have eclipsed my arousal, I have no problem dragging myself inside for lunch.

 

BEADS OF SWEAT slide down the back of my neck as I drive to the Saturday market, the branches of the newly green trees stretching out to cast flickering shadows over the road. The weather has taken a turn from breezy and cool to worryingly hot for spring. I really should take the Jeep in to get the AC fixed.

The drive, sweltering as it is, gives me an idea. While Saugerties, where my sprawling extended family and my parents’ even bigger, nosier church community loom large, wouldn’t be the ideal spot for a date with David, that doesn’t mean I couldn’t take him out a few towns over. As the Jeep crawls through the traffic in town, I notice a ton of quaint restaurants and file their names away to ask Jenna about. She seems to know every chef in the county, so I’m sure she’ll be able to give me some recommendations.

Last Thursday’s dinner with David was nice, if not a bit awkward at first. When he loped up to my door wearing very slim-fitting blue pants and an expensive-looking cream-colored sweater it was hard to keep myself from pushing him up against the door and dropping to my knees. He was just so damn cute.

Growing up he’d always been pretty into fashion, reading those thick glossy magazines that Cassie said were for rich people with weird taste. But David must have learned a lot from them because he puts clothes together in a creative way that reflects who he really is. Like he could express some indefinable David-ness when he got dressed every day. Personally, I basically only care about comfort. Most of my T-shirts, if they don’t come in a three-pack, are ancient relics from high school sports or less ancient leftovers from races I’d run when I’d been obsessed with training for a triathlon. But David, with his sculpted cheekbones and full lips and slightly delicate features, looks like an actual model. He makes simple things like sweaters and button-down shirts look somehow interesting and cool.

Because I’d still been consumed with guilt over the whole ‘not taking him on a real date’ thing, I tried hard to make dinner at my place seem at least somewhat special. Once Jenna and Hector left for the day I quickly cleaned the house, vacuuming thoroughly and mopping the floors since Archie sheds constantly and coats everything in his fur. I set the table with the blue and green striped runner I made, an assortment of tapered beeswax candles from the market, and a few sprigs of forsythia arranged in a weird ceramic jug Uncle Gus had left behind in the house. It looked good. Not wanting to get caught again listening to the Dixie Chicks, I shuffled through my music library until I found something David might like. Did he still listen to The Cranberries? I knew my little sister Doria was pretty into them, so maybe David liked their music too?

Thankfully the pasta had turned out great. I made fresh tagliatelle and tossed the noodles with the most delicate artichokes we harvested, even though they definitely should have gone to the market. But that didn’t matter. David loved it, even saying he could tell I made an effort and that he understood about dinner out.

This time we kept it together long enough to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen before retreating to the couch to make out for what felt like hours. When I pulled him on top of me, this time lying down so every inch of our bodies pressed together, I had been worried I would lose it. I wanted, needed to go further. I wanted to pull his sweater over his head and lick every inch of his creamy, freckled skin. I wanted to wrap my lips around his shaft and taste his release. And I really, really wanted to be inside him. But I needed to figure out how to broach…what? There were things I wasn’t ready to tell him. How could I possibly bring up what happened last year? Whenever I thought of that night in the city, my head buzzed so loud and my heart hammered so unevenly it was difficult to even put the words together.

By the time Saturday morning’s market rolled around I had jerked off quickly and unsatisfyingly in the shower a grand total of three times and pushed my body to the absolute limit lifting weights every morning. I was exhausted and horny and far too eager to see David again. We hadn’t made any firm plans to get together, and aside from some lighthearted texting, we hadn’t spoken much.

So when David breezes into the market dressed in yet another pair of his adorably sexy slim-fitting pants, this time olive green, a navy and maroon sweater, and a pair of gray high-top sneakers, I can’t hide the grin that breaks across my face. Jenna must notice me staring at him because she follows my gaze and gives me an approving nod. “Is that David?” she asks, watching as he scans the vendor tents and the crowd. “He’s so…” She shakes her curls. “Pretty. Seriously, is he like an actor or something?”

“No,” I reply, still looking at David. Thank god for Hector and his ability to focus on actual tasks like helping customers. “He used to work at a museum in Chicago. Something with education? I think it was a pretty fancy job. He’s insanely smart. He moved up here to help his dad.” I can’t keep the pride out of my voice. Whatever—David is awesome and everyone should know that.

Even though I feel a like a creep, it’s nice to watch David from afar. He moves gracefully through the crowd and the morning sun catches in the reddish golden strands of his perfectly messy hair. A few women and men cast lingering glances in his direction and I realize my grip on my coffee cup has tightened considerably. The cup crumples and searing hot coffee sloshes onto my wrist and the sleeve of my shirt.

Glancing back up from my stupid jealousy spill, I realize David is talking to Will from the pizza truck. And—are they flirting? David is gesticulating wildly like he always does and Will is laughing, standing awfully close to him. Instead of jealousy though, now I only feel sadness.

That’s what David deserves. A man who can flirt with him, touch him, be with him in public without looking over his shoulder and trying to cover his tracks. A moment later Anna walks up behind David and gestures in the direction of our stand. Ripping my gaze away I start to actually help customers, trying to focus all my attention on bagging vegetables and making correct change.

When Anna and David start in our direction Anna is beaming and David is shooting her a death glare. The pink flush on David’s cheeks undoes me and my shoulders drop. Knowing he’s nervous too makes me feel so much better.

“Hey.” He’s breathless.

“Hey.” I know I’m smiling like a total fool at him. But the fact that he’s here to see me makes my stomach do a somersault.

“Hi!” Anna says loudly and David and I both laugh. “So I joined your CSA. I’m confused though. Do we pick up here at the market or at Bluebird Café on Sunday?”

I’m grateful for the distraction. Although most of the time I’ve known Anna she’s seemed to hate me, she’s also always struck me as keenly observant and sensitive to others when she wants to be. If she hadn’t said anything, David and I might have stared at each other like awkward morons for hours.

I explain to her that she can choose the option that is most convenient for her and ask if she thinks we should send a follow-up e-mail to clear up any confusion. David is eyeing the piles of produce in the fixed way he looks at things sometimes. It’s almost like all his senses except his vision shut off and he’s taking things in with this clear, focused intensity. Of course the moment I can actually talk to him is the time a huge line forms, and Jenna, Hector and I hurry to answer questions, weigh produce, and handle transactions. Finally the line dies down and I’m unreasonably happy to see that Anna and David are still standing off to the side of the tent.

“So you’re David?” Hector asks and stretches out his hand. He never seems uncomfortable around new people. He’s just friendly.

“Yeah. Yes. Hi.” David shakes his hand. He’s blinking a lot. Is he nervous?

Hector introduces himself warmly and then Jenna shakes David’s hand too. But she’s way more subdued than usual. It’s possible she doesn’t like him? But no, I realize her gaze keeps darting to Anna. Interesting. We’re all chatting about stupid stuff like the weather and how many people from the city are starting to stay in town since the new hotel opened, when I spot my dad and Jason. Thankfully everyone in our family is tall, so I see them coming from a ways off.

I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of David all week that the dread of seeing my family didn’t even get to me much this morning. Something in my body language must change though, because Anna and David exchange an unreadable look before glancing over their shoulders. When David sees my dad a dark look crosses his face. He never liked my dad at all. Not that I can blame him. My dad treated David’s family coldly even before he found out David was gay and banned him from our house.

When my dad and Jason stop by our stand, I can tell my father is not happy to see David. Not happy at all. His bushy eyebrows pull together and his weathered face is coldly impassive. He doesn’t acknowledge David though, just glares at me as if I conjured my gay friend into existence. I don’t even let myself look at David. Shit—my breathing is coming in shallow again, like something’s stuck in the bottom of my throat that refuses to let any air into my chest. Tiny black dots buzz at the edges of my vision.

“Hey, Mr. Patras. Hey, Jason.” David’s voice is so warm and friendly you would think the three of them got together every week to drink beer and shoot the shit. Jason grunts hello but my dad keeps looking at me. “Um, well anyway, Nick, it was nice to see you.”

David hurries away, not even looking at me while Anna quickly buys a few vegetables before rushing after him. I want to put my fist through the table but the warm, strong weight of hand on my shoulder grounds me. Jenna shoots me a soft smile, then starts restocking a depleted pile of Swiss chard.

Jason snorts out a laugh and lets his wrist go limp as he pushes one hip out to the side. “Bye, Nick.” His voice is exaggerated and girlish and he bats his eyelashes. “Bro, I can’t believe you used to hang out with that guy. He seriously walks around like that? That fucking sweater.” He shakes his head as if David’s sweater deeply offended his sensibilities. But I know it’s not the clothes.

I’m used to hearing my brother and dad, and even sometimes Cassie’s husband talk that way. Sure it always makes me mad, always makes me clench my fist and change the subject. But now I actually want to punch Jason. I want to tell him David is a far better man than he could ever hope to be.

“Nick.” My dad’s voice is sharp, the same rebuking tone he used to tell me my ideas at the restaurant were foolish or that my grades weren’t high enough. “I don’t want you hanging around with that kind of man.” Now his eyes, so much like my own but so much colder, bore into me. “The last thing you need is for people to get the wrong idea and think you’re…messed up too.”

An all-too-familiar toxic mix of rage and shame detonates in my chest. I’m shaking and hot and now I can’t breathe well. But then I look at the two of them. Jason is once again hungover, slouching and sullen in his tight black T-shirt and elaborate designer jeans. Jason, who has probably spent less time with his own son than I have. Jason, who gets to mess up and goof off and get away with every last thing. And then there’s my dad. I know I resemble him. We’re both tall and broad. We’re both athletic. My father boxed and played baseball. We share the same wide nose and heavy brows. But the similarities end there.

I want to build a responsible business that gives back to our community, not fight the town board over any and all progressive policies. My father is cruel. Belittling my mother’s cooking anytime she tries something new. Always telling Cassie she needs to quit her job and have babies if she wants to keep her husband happy. Complaining that Doria should grow out her hair to look more feminine. In that moment I’m desperate to come out. The words are ready in my mind but they falter in my dry throat. I shouldn’t do it out of spite. Instead I shrug and turn away to help a waiting customer.

Thankfully the rest of the market goes smoothly and quickly. We sell out of everything. Jenna even chats with Asha, a sweet and hilarious Somali woman who runs a private catering business and is hoping to open her own restaurant next year, about supplying her with produce. So, aside from my family being awful, overall it’s a good day. Neither Jenna nor Hector says anything about the interaction with my dad and brother until we’re loading up the cars.

“Your dad is a fucking asshole.” Hector’s words startle me. Not only because I have never once heard the man swear but also because his normally relaxed voice has gone hard and sharp. “Sorry if that offends you, but man.”

His outrage sets Jenna off and she wheels on me. She looks angry, but I know it’s misdirected rage. “I don’t get why you let him talk to you like that. Why you have anything to do with those jerks. When my dad freaked out, I told him he could deal with it or not see me again. So he dealt with it.”

I know Jenna means well. She cares about me and wants me to be happy. But she also doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. Jenna’s dad, a minister at a fairly prominent African-American Baptist church in South Carolina, is a thoughtful, well-educated man. When Jenna came out, he talked it through with his daughter and reached out to members of their church for support. He read books about being a queer Christian and now works to help gay youth in their church community.

But my father is small-minded. He wouldn’t research or talk. In fact, I’ve wondered from time to time if he wouldn’t be violent if I told him the truth. Would he blame my mother like he did for anything else that went wrong in his life? Although I’m not sure why, I can’t walk away from them. I’m already so distant. I miss things when I avoid family parties or bow out of events at the church. The tightness returns to my chest and I can tell Jenna knows she pushed too much.

“Sorry, Nick,” she mutters. “I think you deserve better than them. And I want you to know we’ve got your back.” There’s a long pause then her expression shifts from thoughtful to cheerful. “So David’s gorgeous.”

I grin, again feeling weirdly proud of him.

Jenna’s cheeks darken. There’s something else. When she speaks her voice is overly breezy. “So what do you know about his friend? Anna, right? The redhead who always buys a ton of kale. She’s cute.”

Aha. “You mean do I know if she likes women?” I cut right to the chase, not wanting to torture Jenna the way she always insists on torturing me. “I think you’re in luck. I remember in high school she and David helped start the gay alliance at our school. And she had a girlfriend for a while, I think? I don’t know that much about her because she hated my guts. Rightfully so because I used to be a dick.”

“You still are,” Jenna jokes. But I hope it’s not the truth.