by Ana Ashley
I was a year older than Isaac, and even at eighteen, it was on rare occasions that my aunt and uncle would visit my apartment. I’d been self-sufficient and spent so much time at the café they hadn’t felt the need to do any extra checking up on me. That meant Isaac had been able to live with me while he finished school and got a job to support himself. Alexandre was also a good friend, but being younger than Isaac, it meant he’d been afraid to stick by his brother and become a burden because he knew what the likely outcome would be.
However, Alexandre did stay by Isaac’s side throughout and showed all the support he had been able to until he was old enough to tell their parents where they could stuff their homophobia.
Alexandre visited his brother as often as he could, and their relationship had only become stronger. It sometimes made me a little jealous to see them together. How close they were and the past they shared, as well as the promise of a future full of love and support for each other. I had once thought I had that with Joel, even before I realized my feelings ran deeper.
My aunt didn't know I was gay. When I realized I had feelings for Joel, it took me a whole year of trying to make sense of it all, and I hoped to see Joel the following summer. He didn't return to Portugal, and then when I decided to come out as gay to my mom, she became ill, so it didn't seem like it was an important thing to do at the time. I didn't have a boyfriend, and the person I wanted to be with was across the Atlantic. My priority then was to look after Mom and hold on to her for as long as I could.
My uncle knew, or at least he had witnessed an event and had come to his own conclusions. They weren't far from the truth, but his reaction to what he’d seen made it impossible for me to come out. I wouldn't be kicked out of my house, and my business was my own, but while it seemed as though I had the power to control my life and how I lived it, I was also afraid I would lose the relationship with my only remaining blood relative, my aunt. My uncle knew that, so for now, the status quo had shifted very much to his side.
I did wonder how my aunt would react if she found out. Deep down, I wanted to believe she would be supportive and almost felt it with every bit of love she showed me, but not having had a chance to tell my mom made me so much more reluctant to take the chance.
With my exercise session finished, I grabbed a quick shower and walked back to the café. During my shower, I’d tried hard not to let my thoughts go where they had gone the night before. I had to make a decision that I would settle with being friends with Joel and nothing more. Let's face it, even if I was out, there was a substantial possibility he wouldn't be interested in me. Who knew what kind of guys he was into, and he may already have a boyfriend. He had mentioned his friend Max, and while it sounded as though they were just good friends like Isaac and me, I didn't know enough about their relationship to put my mind at ease that it was nothing more.
It was just before six when I got to the café. I pulled the set of keys out of my pocket, feeling their comforting weight and the jingling sound as familiar as the door they opened.
This had been my mom’s set of keys. I had no idea what half of them opened, but my mom had carried them everywhere, so I did too. Holding all the keys together was a keyring with the Heart of Viana, an intricate design that my mom had always loved.
I looked for the key that opened the back door of the café leading to the kitchen, and my eyes landed on an odd key that didn’t look like any of the others in the bunch.
I’d once gone around my apartment and the café trying to open everything that had a lock in an attempt to find out what it was that particular key unlocked, but that had turned out to be a fruitless search.
Maybe one day I’d find out. I held up the correct key and opened the café door.
I loved the smell of my kitchen in the morning. It was warm before I turned on the air conditioning, and it always smelled of baked goods, almost as though there was permanently something just ready to come out of the oven.
First thing in the morning, before the scent of my baking took over the space, I could also smell my mom. It was something that hit me every day, and I rejoiced in it, allowing myself to wallow in the warmth and smell of the kitchen. For those first few minutes of the day, I felt as though my mom was near me, enveloping me in her arms with the best hug a son could ask for.
I loved her so much and missed her like crazy, and I was so lucky to experience this every day. This feeling got me up every morning and made me look forward to going to work. I knew many people who’d lost loved ones wouldn't be lucky enough to have what I had, a daily dose of comfort, and I also knew people who wouldn’t even have that from their living relatives.
“Time to get to work, David,” I muttered as I made a cup of coffee and got started.
For all my uncle's shortcomings when it came to me, I couldn't fault his thoroughness when it came to keeping the kitchen spotless after my shift. It was a pleasure to have a kitchen that was ready for use first thing. We served light snacks throughout the day, which required the use of the kitchen and some of the equipment, but I always left it clean.
Sometimes I could swear my uncle recleaned some of the implements that I already had, even stuff that wouldn’t have been used during his shift after I left.
I started making the filling for the custard tarts, getting the ingredients from the pantry and lining them up on the counter in order of use. I always worked on the pastry throughout the day as it was all handmade and had to rest in the fridge in between being worked and folded to get the crispy flakes the tarts were known for.
I loved this part of the production: mixing ingredients, making sure the sugar was at the right point of boiling, and trying not to get any lumps in the flour-and-milk mix. Then there was the delicate balance of the lemon and cinnamon flavors. Leaving the cinnamon sticks in the milk too long would make the tarts taste too spicy. Not long enough and you couldn't taste it. I felt like an alchemist.
Once I had the custard prepared, I let it rest while I prepared the pastry. This part was a bit more automatic. I got the pre-made pastry dough out of the fridge and lined up the individual cases onto the trays. Then I stretched it, rolled it into a sausage shape, and cut the individual slices that would go in the cases. The best addition to my kitchen was a machine that helped shape the pastry dough. Before I had this equipment, the preparation stage of the custard tarts took me a whole hour longer as each piece of dough had to be pressed into the cases individually.
With the cases now ready, I added the custard and got them in the oven. I’d need to make two batches of one hundred and twenty-four each. Though this seemed like a lot, they were sure to sell out before the day was done.
With the tarts baking in one of the ovens, it was time to get the bread ready. I loved homemade bread and often made it for myself at home. In the café, however, we didn't have the capacity to make our own, so we sourced the best available from a company that sold it frozen. We only had to finish the baking stage in the oven. It was mainly used for sandwiches and to serve with other snacks, so I wasn't too particular about not making it myself.
At seven-thirty, we were ready to open. I usually did the first hour and a half on my own as we didn't quite have a rush of customers, but those that came in the morning for their espresso were fiercely loyal and deserved the early opening time.
On and off during the morning, I'd thought about the text I needed to send Joel, but I didn't have a chance to do it until midmorning.
David: “Hi, Joel, this is David. I forgot to mention yesterday that I have something to show you. If you want, we could grab a bite at some point, and I could tell you about it?”
As soon as I sent the text, I put the phone in my pocket and cleaned up the kitchen counters. Then I started preparing the pastry for tomorrow's custard tarts, followed by an order I had for a birthday cake.
It didn't take too long until I felt the phone vibrating in my pocket. My heart beat a little faster with the anticipation of seeing Joel's reply, assuming that was,
in fact, a text message from Joel. It could also be Isaac asking for some help at the LGBTQ youth center he ran, but I wouldn't find out for a few more minutes as I had my hands in the dough.
I pulled my phone out as soon as I was able to wash my hands, and I couldn’t contain the wide smile that spread across my face when I saw the incoming text was from Joel.
Joel: “Hi, David. Wow, you got me curious. I've got nothing planned today, so if you like, I can meet you after work. How about a drink and snack at Pedro's? Are they still in business?”
Pedro's was a small snack bar on the beach. It was more accurately described as a shed, but Pedro, the owner, was a local man who knew everybody and had always shown a particular preference for the two of us since he had gone to school with our moms. I always thought he’d been that friendly so we would hang around there more often, which would allow him to report back to our moms. I still went there occasionally for a drink if I happened to do a run at the beach in the afternoon.
DAVID: “Pedro's is still there, as is Pedro. Meet me in the café at three?”
JOEL: “Sure, see you later! :-)”
Chapter Six
Joel
I woke up reasonably early, familiar fresh air coming in from the small bedroom thanks to the open balcony door. In New York, I couldn't afford to keep the windows open because of the noise. The day was likely to be a hot one, but for now, the crisp bed sheets felt like heaven.
I didn't have a plan for today; it was my first full day back, so I was going to take it easy, have a lazy morning, and maybe go to the beach in the afternoon.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by the amount of food my grandmother had left for me, but I still chuckled when I opened the fridge to find it brimming with three different types of ham, sliced cheese, yogurt, and an assortment of vegetables and meats. There was also sweet bread and jam in the cupboard, so I made myself a light breakfast and sat on the balcony off the living room drinking my coffee and watching the people go by down below.
I had to admit I’d never really paid much attention to how people in New York presented themselves, but it was striking how different the people were here. Men and women walked past, going about their lives, some going to work, some running errands, and a few people carrying shopping bags full to the brim with fresh produce from the local market. One thing they all had in common was how they dressed. Men all wore shirts and women walked the uneven sidewalks in their best clothes and high-heeled sandals.
The warmth and brightness of the weather were reflected in the colors they wore: whites, bright pinks, lime greens, yellows. There were no season colors or trends, as I’d heard my friends discuss so many times. This was just how they were. They liked to present the best of themselves every day. Very few people wore casual clothes, and those that did were mostly young people or students. I wondered if social media had as much influence here as it did in America where people wore clothes and followed trends just because some allegedly famous person had done it on Instagram or Facebook.
A group of people walked by, talking loudly about someone’s wedding. It made me think of family and yesterday evening. It had been surprisingly easy to talk to my cousins. Despite the close proximity of our ages, we hadn’t been close growing up because they weren't immediately local like David, so I was pleased that we’d found some common topics of discussion.
One of my cousins, Tânia, who was also a teacher at a school in Almada, told me about the student summer exchange programs they run. Students who wanted to improve their English language would usually go to London, but Tânia would like to explore some options in America.
I never considered working with other schools abroad, but it would make sense to try and connect with Portuguese schools now that my program was likely to be made official. It was an exciting prospect for the students, and I could see myself enjoying running the program. Especially if I had the opportunity to work with my cousin. I would have to arrange to meet up with her soon and then contact my principal at the school.
As I thought of work back in New York, I remembered I hadn't texted Max yet to let him know I arrived safely and also to check that all was okay at the apartment.
By my calculations, Max would be just about finishing a shift, so I texted, and his reply came through almost immediately, letting me know that all was fine at the apartment. Apparently, I’d just got a new hunky bear of a neighbor, and then I was ordered to start having fun right the fuck now.
I laughed at Max's text and hoped for one of two things: that my neighbor was gay and open to Max's interest or that he had a great sense of humor and tolerance.
I was putting the phone down again when a text from David came through. My heart did a little summersault at David's request to meet up at some point.
Would I sound too desperate if I suggested meeting today?
Screw it. I didn't have anything else to do.
I made myself another coffee as I waited for David's reply, which felt like forever. I wanted to see him again sooner rather than later. We got along so well last night, and I hoped I would have the chance to get closer to him.
Just thinking of David got my heart beating a little faster, or maybe it was the caffeine. Regardless, I was looking forward to more time with him. I was also curious to know what it was he had to show me.
When the reply came to meet up this afternoon, I nearly jumped out of my seat with anticipation. I decided to get ready and see my grandparents before heading to the café.
I had a brief catch-up with them, which also included a detailed account of what I had for breakfast. I had a feeling it would take my grandmother a while to remember I'd been living on my own for a number of years and my mom had made sure I was able to cook for myself.
I also understood that now that her daughter was no longer with us, she felt she needed to make sure I was really here with them, healthy and happy. I was more than okay giving her that reassurance. I had missed them, and even though I had only just arrived, I knew it was going to be very hard when I had to leave in a few weeks. I needed to make more of an effort to visit them in the future. If I was really honest with myself, there hadn’t been any reason for me not to have come back for so long. Why had I allowed myself to get so busy with my studies and work that I almost forgot about my family?
Deciding not to focus on something I couldn't change, I headed to the café to meet David.
Teresa was behind the counter, filling the chiller with drinks when I arrived, and gave me the biggest smile when she saw me.
“Joel! How nice to see you again. How are you? Can I get you a coffee?”
“Hi, Teresa, I'm good, thanks. I'll have to decline the coffee, but thanks for the offer. I'm here to meet David. Is he around?”
“He's just finishing up in the kitchen. We had a last-minute change on a cake order, so he's been working on that. How about a custard tart? I bet you don't get them this good in America. David's custard tarts are the best.”
Teresa spoke so proudly of her nephew I could hardly resist accepting one of the delicious-looking pastries. Not that anyone would have to twist my arm very hard.
“Now you're talking. How can I resist when they look so appetizing and I can smell the cinnamon all the way from over here?” They looked delicious all lined up on the tray. “By the way, thank you so much for yesterday's dinner. It was superb.” I took a bite of the custard tart, letting the delicious flavor of the custard filling and the flaky pastry fill my mouth.
“Wow, this tastes amazing,” I said.
“I'm happy you like it. David altered the original recipe. He won't tell anyone what his secret is and hasn't even written it down. I keep telling him he needs to make a recipe book. It would be a success.”
“I'm sure it would, but wouldn't that mean people would stop buying them here?”
“I suppose. Well, what do I know, hey? I was never any good at that stuff. I can run the café with my eyes closed and hands tied behind my back, but that marketing stuff
is not for me.”
I couldn't help but laugh at Teresa's self-deprecating comment. She was a great businesswoman. My granddad had told me how she had single-handedly kept the café afloat until David was old enough to take over the business.
“My ears are red, which can only mean one thing. My aunt is talking about me being a genius in the kitchen, and she's giving out custard tarts for free,” David said, coming out of the kitchen and giving Teresa a big kiss on the cheek. The petite woman leaned in to put her arm around her nephew with one hand resting on his chest.
“Guilty as charged," Teresa said. "But I'm not lying, and Joel has never had one of your custard tarts. It would be a sin to let him miss out.”
David gave a hearty laugh that went straight to my groin. Fuck.
He said his goodbyes, and we walked out toward the beach and Pedro's.
“Busy morning?” I asked.
“It was as expected until someone decided to change their order on a birthday cake, and I had to redo the whole decoration. Fortunately, the customer didn't change the actual cake itself as baking it all over again would have kept me in the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon.”
“In that case, I consider myself very lucky that we were still able to meet. You got my curiosity piqued with that text. I hope it wasn't a ruse to get the Superman doll back,” I said.
David winked and conspicuously tapped his nose, but then his smile left his face.
“I do have something to show you. Something that my mom left me, but used to belong to both our moms. I haven’t looked at it yet. I was hoping we could do it together.”
At the mention of our moms, I immediately understood why he became somber, but I was also quite intrigued. It couldn't be a bad thing, or he wouldn't have come to talk about it in a public place.