In between crunches, she tossed out one or two words at a time. As her head rose from the mat, she said, “Talk about…”
On the next crunch, she added, “The weather.”
It was followed by, “Underrated.”
By the time she finished thirty more crunches, she’d suggested movies, restaurants, new buildings downtown, and siblings. I agreed they were probably all reasonable conversation starters, but I always forgot at the crucial moment. I wished that I could take a marker and write them on my arms.
As she finished up the set, Maeve asked, “Can I take a break?”
“Five minutes.”
“Damn you!”
I grinned. “Think of my face as the dartboard, and your plank will be a whole handful of darts.”
“Oh, believe me, I have happy little dreams about throwing darts at your face.”
“Such a sweetheart.”
Maeve rose up on her elbows and asked, “So where is the dinner? Is it a steakhouse or something more unique than that? Did you get to choose? Or is that Desmond?”
I suggested Anthony’s for Italian. He’s that chef that had his own TV series, and he’s got a new old-school Italian place downtown.
“Oh, I’ve never heard of him. Is he that good?”
I flashed a wicked grin. “Well, he’s good in more ways than one. I dated him twice a few years back, but it didn’t work. Steaming hot in bed isn’t the only critical attribute.”
Maeve scratched her head. “You’re taking him to a restaurant run by an ex? You live dangerously.”
“Anthony’s married now. I’m not worried at all. If it comes up, I’m sure we’ll all have a big laugh.”
“Well, then that sounds like a fabulous choice, and you’ll be fantastic, Vincent. I predict you’ll sweep him off his feet, but go slow, okay?”
“Do you mean I shouldn’t book the flight to Vegas at the end of the night?”
“Just work hard on getting that second date. Step up to the plate and make sure you score a second chance at bat. If you go home with that on the way, you’ve hit a home run. Oh, and a kiss goodnight. We’re all adults, so he deserves a kiss goodnight.”
“And maybe a little more action from the hands.”
Maeve sighed and shook her head. “Time for the plank.”
12
Desmond
Decked out in a summery yellow short-sleeved shirt and knee-length walking shorts, Jerry stood in the middle of my living room looking first one way and then the other. I paced nervously and said, “Don’t stop now. We’ve only got a couple of hours left, and then I need to get myself ready.”
I watched him rub his chin and still say nothing.
“What’s wrong? You’re worrying me. Is there something major? Did we forget to buy something?” I glanced around. Jerry took down everything I’d haphazardly tossed into my attempt at creating a festive atmosphere and turned my place into one of subtle elegance. I was impressed, and I assumed any guest would feel the same way, but something was nagging at my friend.
He asked, “Do you have any photos of relatives? I mean framed photos. Are there heirloom ones with that nice sepia tone of Great Granny Quackenbush or Grandpa Eskerwise serving in World War I?”
“I’ve got a box of some of those. I’m an only child, and my dad’s an only child son of an only child, so I got a box sent down to me when my great-grandparents passed away. I don’t see what that’s got to do with Christmas.”
“And cotton balls?”
“Who doesn’t have those?”
With only a few minutes of work and a sure hand at design, Jerry created a wintry landscape spread across my fireplace mantel decorated with photos of my ancestors. He nestled the frames in snowy cotton and left tiny little ornaments lying artfully among the pictures.
After shifting one photo slightly to the right, I said, “I like that.”
“It shows that you have a family history, Desmond. Everybody’s happy to see that. You didn’t just drop from the sky someday.”
“Didn’t I tell you that I was immaculately conceived? Never make me think about my parents having sex.”
It was a whirlwind of a day. We started in the morning gathering clothes for Jerry’s grand ship adventure, and we spent most of the afternoon decorating my apartment. He said, “I think we’ve done enough here. Santa would be proud.”
As Jerry relaxed on the sofa, I asked, “Would you like something to drink? Beer, wine, ginger ale, or water?”
“Only water for me.” As I disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, Jerry asked, “Do you know what you’re wearing?”
I returned and said, “I thought I would wear a suit.”
“Isn’t that a little formal?” I watched Jerry size me up as I sat at the opposite end of the couch.
“Too formal? Do you think so? I thought I look my best in a suit.” I heard the tone of my voice start to rise. I didn’t know if I could handle a last-minute shift in my plans. I had everything sorted except the apartment, and I worried that Jerry was ready to lob a grenade into my best-laid plans with only a few hours to go.
“It’s Christmas. Time to loosen up a little. I’m not saying one of those ridiculous sweaters musicians wearing reindeer antlers or scientists baking decorated sugar cookies, but do you have a nice sweater or maybe simply an elegant dress shirt with an overcoat?”
“I’ve got the overcoat. I also have those sweaters I wear to work, but they’re so academic. Please don’t make me wear tweed.” I tried to remember all of the options. “Oh shit, maybe I’d better go check the closet.”
Jerry crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at me with the smuggest of expressions. “Suddenly, new clothes every year isn’t such a bad idea, eh? If you did that, you’d know what’s available.”
I hauled myself up from the sofa. I had no time to waste. I held up a hand and said, “Stay right there. I’m going to try some things on, and then you look it over and let me know.”
Jerry looked so relaxed on the sofa in his cruising clothes. I barely heard his ramblings as I dashed around the bedroom ransacking my closet and my dresser. He said, “Two fashion shows in one day. We must be setting a record. Of course, one was summer wear, and this is winter wear.”
Re-entering the living room, I stepped up close to the couch and executed a slow turn like a perfect runway model. I said, “There is this option. It’s not holiday colors, but you can’t go wrong with subdued earth tones and deep navy blue.”
Jerry sighed. “It wouldn’t be bad if you’re going to a funeral.”
“No, that’s not the vibe I want.”
I returned to the bedroom and tried on another outfit. This time it included a sweater with red plaid, a pink shirt, and charcoal-colored pants.
Jerry wasn’t satisfied with that look either. “That sweater is almost garish. What possessed you to buy that, Desmond? It’s like the lumberjack that crashed the office shindig.”
“Maybe I should show up naked. That’s how I eventually hope to end up with my muscle man. We can skip the formalities and move right to the heart of the matter.”
“And you’re meeting at a bathhouse?”
I smirked. “That’s so twenty years ago, Jerry.” I strutted back to the bedroom with a perfect idea for what to try next.
A shiver raced up my spine as I tried on the next sweater. It was one of the best I owned, but I’d purchased it almost ten years earlier when I was putting together a look for my dissertation defense. I didn’t know whether it would still fit my slowly aging body.
Jerry gasped. “Oh my God, Desmond, that’s it! I love the almost jewel tone of green, and that shirt is perfect underneath. It’s festive for the season, but it doesn’t scream Rudolph!”
I tossed my head to the side and asked, “Would you like to guess how old this sweater is?”
Jerry rubbed his chin. “I thought I saw one today at the menswear shop when we were looking for summer outfits. Did you buy it this fall?”
It was my turn to adopt an air of superiority. “I’ve had it for nearly a decade. One could make an argument that saving the best clothes is a down payment on the wardrobe of the future.”
“It’s a lucky break. How many other sweaters and shirts are in your closets and drawers.”
I pushed my nose higher into the air. Effortlessly unleashing my inner diva, I declared, “I’m not telling.”
Jerry started to laugh. He couldn’t stop himself, and the chortles soon grew louder. I joined in with a snicker at first, then a giggle, and finally a full-fledged belly laugh. We both held our sides in our efforts to quiet down. I sat on the couch and pulled my legs up toward my chest to try and regain control.
“Holy shit, Jerry! We have fun. I wish you all the very best on the ship. I hope you see all sorts of glowing green and yellow and red things in the water.”
“Did I mention one other thing about Andrew?”
“You did mention one thing. He’s an expert in bioluminescence. Damn, what a big word. Is there something else?”
Jerry looked exactly like the cat who swallowed a huge canary. “We’re sharing a cabin.”
My jaw dropped. “He’s your date?”
Jerry held a finger up to his lips. “Shh. If anyone asks, you don’t know anything else about this. We had a little fling at our last biology conference. I might have even skipped out on a few days of meetings.”
“You didn’t!” We both laughed again, and I said, “You’re such a wolf, Jerry. I’m proud.”
“And I’m proud of you, Desmond.”
“This calls for a round of spiked eggnog with an extra splash of rum.”
“I’m in!”
13
Vincent
I paced back and forth one step inside the door of Anthony’s restaurant. Glancing at my watch every thirty seconds or so, I waited impatiently for Desmond to appear. Anthony breezed by momentarily, hugged me and offered to buy me a drink on the house. “It will calm the nerves, Vincent. I’m honored that you chose us for your first date.”
I considered the drink for a moment. I knew that it might calm my nerves, but I didn’t want a drink in my hand when I offered Desmond a hug. I looked forward to holding him close to my body with both arms.
Anthony said, “Okay, then, but I’ve got something special planned for you tonight. Let me know if your date has any dietary concerns. Otherwise, I’ll cook for you like you’re guests in my own home. I’ve got a couple of recipes from my mom that she cooked when I was growing up.”
One minute before our scheduled time to meet, Desmond stepped through the door. A blast of cold air followed him inside, but I couldn’t feel it. I was too excited by Desmond’s arrival. I’d positioned myself so that I was the first thing he saw when he walked through the door.
We spread our arms wide for hugs simultaneously, but we both aimed slightly wrong. His fingertips stabbed me in the gut, and one of my hands nearly slapped his ear, but we got it together on the second try. I laughed and murmured, “It’s so good to see you. We need a little practice with the hugs.”
Desmond said something in response, but the words were lost in the flesh of my shoulder. Anthony’s host for the evening showed us to the closest table to the kitchen. Desmond gasped, “How did you score this? Tables near the kitchen are the choicest seating spots in the entire restaurant. I’ve only had a restaurant kitchen seat one time before.”
I said, “I have a full confession about that. Anthony and I dated long ago. We’ve known each other for a long time, and we’ve remained friends.”
Desmond raised an eyebrow, “You brought me to the place run by your ex?”
I remained calm and smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Anthony is married, and we were awful as a couple.” I held up two fingers. “Two dates—count ‘em one and two, and the second ended after only fifteen minutes.”
Desmond held the palm of his hand up to his face and chuckled into it. “I’ve had a few dating disasters, too. I also need to apologize. I’m usually extremely punctual. I planned to be here ten minutes early but there was heavier traffic than normal on the bridge, I had a hard time finding a place to park, and I stopped along the way to get out of the car and help a turtle cross the road.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Do you have a soft spot for turtles?”
Desmond chuckled. “Okay, I made up the part about the turtle, but I thought it was a fun story. I wanted to see what you would think.”
Desmond fiddled with his glasses and asked, “Do we get to see a menu?”
“We won’t have one tonight. Anthony is cooking a menu he created specifically for us. He did want to know if you have any particular dietary restrictions.”
“None that I’m aware of other than a very rare anchovy allergy.”
“I’m not biting on that one.”
Desmond rubbed his forearm and said, “And I only say things like that when I’m incredibly nervous. I don’t do it on purpose.”
“Why would you be nervous. Relax and enjoy the evening.”
The server appeared at the table to rescue us from an uncomfortable conversation. He asked, “Have you talked about any special restrictions or food allergies?”
I said, “None here. We’re all clear, except we hope he can do without anchovies.”
Desmond grinned, but the server didn’t crack a smile. He said, “I’ll convey your concerns to Chef Anthony. I’ll be back shortly with a bite to start the meal and our first wine pairing.”
After the server headed for a different table, I leaned forward and said, “I think you’re handsome.”
I said it with all the subtlety of a man poking his date with a stick. Desmond looked back at me, and said, “You look good, too—if I forgot to say that.”
“I hope you do like Italian food. I guess I didn’t discuss it with you, but almost everyone likes Italian. Anthony is a genius in the kitchen.”
Desmond said, “I do like Italian.” His words tumbled out of his mouth in a deadpan tone with a complete lack of emotion. If a meter were running on our date, I knew that I’d barely moved the needle from the starting point. I didn’t want it to fail. I already knew that I wanted to follow Maeve’s advice and end the evening with a second date on the calendar.
Desmond looked up and peered across the table. I watched as his gaze softened, and I looked admiringly into his eyes. I thought I saw him start to open his mouth to speak, and I stopped myself from talking over top of his words.
After another sixty seconds of staring across the table at each other, I realized that he wasn’t planning to talk. I started to ask a question, “What…” and Desmond spoke at the same time.
I laughed nervously and said, “You go right ahead.”
“No, you go.”
“Okay, so what do you think about the weather? Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas this year?”
Desmond chuckled softly. “That’s what I was going to ask. I suppose great minds think alike.”
I waited a few more seconds. “Well?”
“Oh! I didn’t answer the question, did I? I’ll give us 50/50 odds on snow for Christmas.”
It was possible to cut the awkwardness lingering in the air with a butter knife. Fortunately, the server returned with glasses of wine and a small bite to eat. He said, “This is pan-seared spiced shrimp and a white wine that was specifically chosen to go along with the bite. The first course will be here in a few minutes.”
We each popped the shrimp into our mouths, and suddenly Desmond’s eyes opened wide. “I know who Anthony is! He had that TV show about the shrimp wagon, right?”
“It was a food truck, but yeah. That’s how he met his future husband. They worked together on the truck.”
“Oh, my God. He’s a celebrity. I used to watch his show on TV with my…” Desmond gulped.
I grinned. “Your ex?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I guess we’ve both got a few of those.”
We each si
pped our wine and eyed each other over the rims of the glasses. Something snapped in my head, and I’d had enough of the awkward, halting conversation. I said, “Look, Desmond. I feel uncomfortable and nervous as hell, and I don’t want the evening to go that way. I said you looked good because you do. I’ve thought that since the moment I saw the man with his face crushed into my arm. I hope I’m not too forward about this, but hell, I thought you should know.”
A huge smile filled Desmond’s face, and the glow made him more handsome than ever before. He said, “I want to applaud you because that’s the best opening monologue I’ve heard from any date—ever.”
“And it’s all the truth. You don’t mind that I was so direct?”
“The world would be better off with more men like you. I don’t have to tell you what an excellent man you are. I think that deafening applause at the extravaganza was more than enough to let you know.”
I asked, “So what do you do for fun? I hope you enjoy playing your instrument, but I mean beyond that.”
Desmond told me about his love for long walks along the Lake Michigan shore and his addiction to shopping for clothes. I smiled and nodded and responded with my interest in travel. Desmond asked, “Have you ever been to Rome?”
I said, “Yes, three years ago. It was such a beautiful city, and I loved the food. “
“Did you toss coins into the fountain?”
I smiled and said, “I tossed in a little of both Italian and U.S. change. I wanted to give myself the best chance for making the wish come true.”
“Did it?”
“The jury’s still out. What about you?”
Desmond said, “You might be the answer to mine.”
We broke the ice. At first, it felt like we were chipping away, but soon we smashed through the surface, and the rest of the evening unfolded smoothly. Anthony’s food was masterful.
The chef visited our table as we enjoyed homemade ravioli for the pasta course. Desmond asked, “What did you stuff into these? It’s fantastic. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”
Regifted Page 7