by Cara Dee
“Yeah,” I heard Adam reply quietly. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, have you thought about getting back out there? You know…dating and shit.”
Christ no.
“Not anytime soon.” I reached for my body wash. “I’m enjoying my freedom. And spending time with you and Bella.” I wanted him to know that last part. He couldn’t possibly understand the impact he’d had on me.
“Yeah?”
I glanced at him quickly, finding him wearing that expression again. The softer one, where he wouldn’t quite make eye contact. Incredible. “Yes.” I lathered up and watched him do the same. And a brick of guilt hit me squarely in the stomach. If he knew how inappropriate I’d been, he wouldn’t spend another minute with me. I wouldn’t know how to explain myself, mostly because I didn’t understand my obsession either. I’d studied objects and people before, though nothing like this. “What about you?” I asked. “Are you seeing anyone?”
He snorted. “Nah. Maybe when Bella’s older.” He rubbed a sudsy hand along his neck and flicked me a hesitant look. “You know I’m queer, right?”
I faced the wall instinctively and nodded once. “Bella mentioned it. It doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t date, though.”
He exhaled a chuckle. “I ain’t interested in spending years in a meat market before I find the first potential date. Been there, done that, and it exhausted me more than Bella did as a baby. Which was pretty much around the time I stopped going to clubs.”
Clubs.
I had this vision of different colored strobe lights hitting Adam as he moved with the music on a crowded dance floor.
“I’ve never been,” I confessed. “To a nightclub, I mean.”
“Ever?” He cocked a brow. “Not even for straight people?”
I shook my head. “Plenty of bars. A couple music festivals when I was young. No clubs.”
“Huh. I almost feel like I should take you to one.”
I almost felt so too, though that was preposterous. What the fuck would I do at a nightclub? I wouldn’t fit in whatsoever, and I wasn’t a very good dancer. Men my age didn’t go to clubs, I was sure.
“There are a couple okay places outside of Boystown that fly the flag but cater to everyone.” He threw that out there. “Just let me know.”
“Perhaps I will,” I responded as nonchalantly as possible.
You’re bad news for me, Uncle Ev.
He was sketching something again. Sitting there in his bed, on top of the duvet, legs crossed at the ankles, and back against the headboard.
The other day when I’d returned to his office for another lunch, he’d told me he was working on blueprints for a youth center on the South Side. And he hadn’t told me it was pro bono; his assistant had shared that tidbit like a proud mother. And a part of me had melted a little. Maybe he’d been asleep for years and years, but his heart had beaten for the right people all along.
When I was in my early twenties, I’d laughed when my buddies—who were gay—fell for straight dudes. It was never gonna be me. I was nowhere near those extremes now either, but I recognized an infatuation when I saw one. When I felt one.
I wasn’t laughing anymore.
I’d genuinely come to care for Ev, and I didn’t wanna fuck that up. He was the only family I had from the Scott clan, and I loved watching him reinvent himself. But it would do me good to get over this attachment before he eventually ventured out and found a new woman.
I kinda hoped Ev wanted to hit up a club. I sure as shit needed a guys’ night out, and if I saw him checking out the women there, perhaps it would give me a reality check.
Tonight, I was totally denying myself. I flicked on the lamp on my nightstand and shed my T-shirt. Sweats stayed on, and I didn’t bother with the TV. I was dead on my feet anyway, and I was tired of secret fantasies.
Everett looked up and saw me.
I smiled tiredly and gave a two-finger wave.
He smiled back.
There. One interaction from my bedroom that’d been completely open and true. I flicked off the light again, and I saw him returning to his sketching. No more peeking. My head landed on my pillows, and I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to claim me.
No watching in the dark. I refused. I’d been good. I’d kept my TV on most nights, the light preventing me from seeing much of anything outside my window.
Tomorrow was a new day. Bella’s fever was mostly gone, and the itching wasn’t as bad. Maybe we could bake some cookies and watch movies together.
Six
Everett
I should have known Grace wasn’t going to answer when I called this time either.
Once I got back to my office from a work lunch, I turned to Facebook instead. I knew she didn’t have classes today, so I wasn’t having her excuses.
I typed out a message to her.
Good morning, Grace. I expect you to call me at your earliest convenience, which will be before the day is over, about your coming home for Thanksgiving. You are not going on a cruise with your mother.
We have a lot to discuss, partly on the matter of your future, but mostly about you and me. This isn’t one of those times you can blow me off. Give me a chance to explain myself, to make things right, and to fix our relationship.
Dad
I read and reread the message, then sent it before I could either take a gentler approach or push harder. With Grace, one had to be careful. She was level-headed until cornered, at which point she switched on attack mode, something I couldn’t fault her for. It was a trait she’d inherited from her mother, a trait I appreciated. It far surpassed my instinct to shut down.
Before closing the window, I saw Adam’s profile picture, and I clicked on our old messages. The last ones were when we’d exchanged numbers.
I scrolled up and skimmed the texts, and one paragraph stood out.
I don’t have anyone left of my immediate family, but I’ve heard stories about you. And if they’re true, I thought, here’s a guy who will be able to relate, and I wouldn’t feel the way I do anymore.
I’d forgotten to ask what he’d meant by that. What did he feel about…what, exactly?
I’d learned his departure from our family was about as anticlimactic as mine had been. Little things had piled up over time, and he’d never formed connections to anyone aside from my brother and sister-in-law. But even that relationship had been strained, and for the longest time, Adam had felt pressured into pleasing his parents because they’d been “kind enough” to adopt him.
The situation had deteriorated quicker once Kane had died, after which Lena, Adam’s mother, had turned to alcohol. Something I hadn’t known.
Every little anecdote Adam shared with me brought us closer together in a way I hadn’t expected to love so thoroughly.
“Apparently we’re not close enough to be friends…” Huh. I’d completely missed the fact that we’d never friended each other on the site. I was going to fix that right now. I clicked on his profile and sent a friend request.
I smiled when I saw his latest status update. It was a picture of him and Bella on the couch, where she was holding up a plate of cookies. The caption read, “No fever today! DT and I celebrate with cookies and a Netflix marathon.” They were all cuddled up and looked very cute together in comfortable clothes and bed heads.
My chest squeezed.
An alert popped up, saying Adam had approved my friend request, and I typed in a comment on his picture.
This picture is offensive to everyone who is stuck at work without cookies. (Princess, I mean it. It’s so offensive, you can’t even fathom.)
Their response flooded me with warmth, and I couldn’t stop smiling. A picture had popped up below my comment. They’d stuck cookies in their mouths, and they had their eyes crossed.
I chuckled to myself and took a sip of my coffee—oh hell. Cold coffee.
Was it okay to save the photo? I pulled it up again and loved the coziness of their early afternoon. And the amusement in thei
r eyes. Two lovely goofballs.
On the other hand, I hadn’t asked Bella’s father if I could draw him naked. I didn’t see why I would ask about this. In fact, I decided to merely inform him. I grabbed my phone and texted him.
The picture you replied with will go on my fridge. I hope you’re enjoying your day.
His response appeared seconds later.
Shit, I haven’t done my makeup!
There was a blue-faced scream emoji and one with a wink and a kiss.
I puffed out my chest slightly and sent back a wink.
It wasn’t my daughter who called me at the end of the day when I was ready to leave my office and hit the gym. It was my ex-wife, meaning Grace had at least read my message. She’d just opted to call her mother instead of me.
“You have no right to change our plans,” she told me angrily. “You think you’re the only one she’s been avoiding? Think again! There’s been a rift between us for years, and you’re robbing me of the chance to spend more time with her.”
“Then you can do that on your own dime,” I said. And as comatose as I’d been for the better part of the last decade, I had noticed Grace pulling away from both of us. But she spent more time with Melinda than me, and I didn’t want to bribe our daughter with a cruise to fix things. “I assume you heard from your lawyer?”
“Yes, and don’t think for a second I won’t take you to court, Everett. I want what’s mine.”
“Good luck,” I answered. “Don’t forget, the value of the house is already more than fifty percent of my assets.” I’d made the last mortgage payment on it two years ago, and I wasn’t thrilled about walking away from it. But since she didn’t have a job anymore, I figured the house would be a cushion for her while she established a new career. And I could wash my hands of everything and walk away.
Melinda turned to seething. “I’ve taken care of our family for as long as—”
“You haven’t done shit,” I snapped. “We have receipts that date back to the very first time you hired a fucking maid to clean our house. You think a judge is going to give you alimony for sitting around doing nothing?” I heard her gasp sharply, and I continued before she could interrupt. “You didn’t want to work. You didn’t want to take care of the house. Your card will be frozen within the next few weeks, and there is no guarantee I will let you keep whatever you use it for—the cruise is out of the question. Spend my money wisely while you can. We’re done here.”
I ended the call and sent Grace a quick message, fully aware that I was pushing her into a corner now.
You have three hours to confirm that I will see you in Chicago at Thanksgiving, Grace.
Two hours and fifty minutes later, her response dinged on my phone.
There’s no point, but fine. Mom and I are having dinner on Thanksgiving. I can see you the day before or the day after.
Minutes later, I received an email from the credit card company about her purchasing airline tickets.
Good.
Not tonight again.
More often than not lately, Adam turned off the lights as well as the TV before bed, and I was growing agitated.
Did he know I’d been watching? I’d been so careful, making sure to turn off the light in my bedroom a solid hour or two before bedtime. Except for the first night. After we’d come back from the gym, I hadn’t been able to get to my sketchbook fast enough, and I’d spent hours drawing him from my memory.
I needed to see him.
Why did I need to see him so badly?
I paced the floor in my living room, frustrated and confused.
Grabbing my drawings from the coffee table, I flipped through them and brushed my fingers over his body. One drawing was of only his chest and shoulders. Another one was of his hands. He had beautiful hands.
I was a fucking stalker at this point.
It wasn’t enough material. I wanted to see him in another setting, which immediately made me think of his offer.
I retrieved my phone and messaged him.
If you don’t have any plans this weekend and if Kell and Teresa can watch Bella, I wouldn’t mind going out.
Given the hour, and the fact that it was dark in his condo, I didn’t expect an answer today. So, I turned off the lights and got ready for bed too.
I’d just brushed my teeth and settled into bed when a faint light from across the alleyway filtered through my window. My gaze snapped up. Adam had turned on the TV.
The relief was so immense it nearly bowled me over. I was out of bed in a second, and then I waited. I stood there, like the creep I’d turned into, and I waited.
“Let me see you,” I whispered.
Adam kicked off his covers and scrubbed his hands over his face. Judging by his body language, he was frustrated.
I hoped nothing was wrong, but I made a mental note to ask tomorrow. Maybe there was something I could do.
A bolt of excitement shot through me when he eventually reached for the lotion.
Finally. It’d been too long since I’d gotten to watch him.
I studiously ignored the arousal flooding through me.
You can say it. He’s attractive. He’s hot.
Oh God.
I rubbed a hand over my mouth and glanced at Adam out of the corner of my eye.
It was Saturday night, and we were in an Uber heading toward a nightclub at an hour when, if it’d been just another weekend, I would’ve been getting ready for bed. But going out at eleven was apparently early, according to Adam. He’d explained the club we were going to was sort of an in-between place. There was a bar crowd and a club crowd, and they started earlier.
I was already in way over my head, and we hadn’t even arrived. All it’d taken was a nephew dressed up in a nice button-down. Black, sleeves folded up, fitted, one button undone. Dress shoes. The jeans were still there, as was a bracelet Bella had made him using pink and purple beads, and it worked. It worked too well. He was always going to be a father first, and he was never going to hide it. He wore the bracelet with pride, and I adored it.
I envied him.
Grace once painted my nails when she was little, and she’d been devastated when I removed it before work.
Jesus Christ, Adam was striking tonight. I turned my head and faced the window.
I wasn’t getting past my obsession one bit. It was growing and beginning to scare me. The past two nights, I’d watched him through the window with an increasing urge to get closer. To touch him.
I hadn’t masturbated in weeks, and I was starting to believe my subconscious had made the decision out of self-preservation. Because part of me knew I’d think about him. Well, all of me knew it now, and I’d woken up hard as a rock this morning with the hazy images of him getting off at the forefront of my mind.
Shifting uncomfortably, I undid a button on my shirt and tried to breathe easier.
I wasn’t gay.
I wasn’t.
And it was insane that we were out in Chicago in November without coats.
It was the reason Adam had ordered us an Uber. There wasn’t going to be a line at this place, he’d said, and this way, we didn’t have to worry about our “shit gettin’ stolen in coat check.”
Additionally, I wasn’t gay.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Adam noted. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, sorry, just been a long week,” I said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “I need tonight.” Also not a lie.
“That makes two of us.” He drummed his fingers along his leg. Fingers I’d drawn, fingers I’d studied.
“Everything okay with you?” I asked carefully. He’d been somewhat distant as well.
His mouth twisted up some, and he bobbed his head. If it was to the awful music the driver was playing or as a nod, I wasn’t sure. “Long week here too,” he said eventually. “Bella’s been a pig in shit, though. She hated being at home when she was sick.”
I could imagine. Grace had been similar. Restless and agitated. Which reminded me,
Bella would be home from preschool again soon. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you have any Thanksgiving plans?”
Adam faced me more fully. “Not really. Kell used to organize a Thanksgiving lunch at the bar, but then he and the wife became snowbirds. They head down to Florida right around the time Americans sit down to eat.”
That made me more hopeful than it probably should. “Would you like to have dinner together? I solemnly swear to stay away from the stove and only do what you tell me to.”
He grinned. “Count us in. We’ll do it at your place, though. You’ve seen my kitchen.”
True. He had a nice condo, one that was actually a good investment, but his kitchen was even smaller than mine.
“Write me a grocery list, and I’ll go to the store,” I requested. I racked my brain for snacks and side dishes I liked but hadn’t had in years. “If I buy a deep fryer, can you make fried pickles?”
What a wonderful idea. If I bought appliances he wanted, he and Bella could take over my kitchen more often. I’d have them there with me.
“You don’t need a deep fryer for that,” he replied. “I’ve got’chu. I’ll blow your mind.”
I believe you.
This could’ve been worse. I wasn’t in my element, but it was better than I’d feared. The place was huge, with a bar on the third floor and dance floors on the first and the second. Well, there were bars in the club areas too, but I discovered the third floor hosted more of a bar crowd where the music was a tad quieter and people could actually engage with one another.
My age was showing, I knew that. So I wasn’t surprised to see the age difference here either. Adam and I ordered drinks on the third floor where more people were of my generation, as opposed to the twentysomethings we’d seen below.
“They change the theme every year,” Adam told me.
He’d seen me eyeing the interior, I assumed. A disco from the eighties met jungle fever, and the ceiling was filled with disco balls and enough greenery for me to expect a monkey to jump down. Red, pink, green, and blue lights flashed across the vast floor.