by Roan Parrish
Alex nodded, studying Corbin’s expression. He looked hopeful, purposeful.
“That’s the story, yeah. Do you believe in god?”
Corbin blinked slowly. His eyes were fathomless, the brown almost as dark as his pupils. “I believe in everything.”
For the fourth night in a row, since he’d gotten back from camping, Gareth cooked as if he was back working in a restaurant.
“What the hell happened on that camping trip?” Alex said, as Gareth served him Moroccan chicken tagine with green olives and preserved lemons, coconut rice pilaf, stewed eggplant with yogurt and sesame oil, and a salad of watercress and frisée with poached quail’s eggs.
Gareth looked different. The tightness around his eyes, as if he was always waiting for something to jump out at him, had eased, but in its place was a haunted hopelessness that made Alex nervous.
Gareth put both elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. “Did you know that I had a crush on you? After we slept together?”
Chicken caught in Alex’s throat and he coughed spasmodically. “What?”
Gareth waved him away. “Don’t hurt yourself. Just for a week or so, right after. I knew it’d never turn into anything. We were great as friends, and I knew there was no way we’d be good together, but just for a little while, I couldn’t help but see you differently.”
Alex stared. They’d slept together after a boisterous night out with friends, drunk on cheap vodka and the joy of companionship in the city. It had been fun and a little hot, with a lot of laughter and a clear sense of incompatibility. And Gareth had been the one, after, who had playfully bumped Alex’s shoulder and said, “Don’t be getting any ideas, Barrow. We’re friends, okay?” before going back to his own room to sleep.
Alex had never felt anything romantic for Gareth, but he felt a lot for him. He was the best friend Alex had ever had—almost what he imagined a brother would be like. He felt protective of Gareth and invested in his happiness. The idea that he could have missed something so important was gutting.
“I—what—when did—”
“Seriously, shut it down, Alex. It’s what I do, okay, and then it was done. Four days, five tops. Like a zillion years ago. Eat your food.”
Alex ate because he didn’t know what to say. It was delicious, as Gareth’s food always was. Bold and delicate, balanced and interesting.
“I’m telling you because I was thinking about you when I was camping. You’re like a cast-iron skillet. Incredibly strong and capable of withstanding high heat. Heavy, if someone’s not used to it. And, if properly cared for, things that shouldn’t don’t stick. You don’t even need to be washed, just wiped a little.” Gareth’s gaze was steady, assessing.
“Were you . . . playing a game called Which Kitchen Implement Are Your Friends or something?”
“No, I was playing a game called Why None of Alex Barrow’s Lovers Ever Stick. You’re handsome, charismatic, confident. You treat people with respect. You’re genuinely interested and caring. You listen. You’re occasionally even a little funny.”
“Way to bury the barb, asshole.”
“Look, not everyone’s a comedian, you’ll live. The point is, they don’t stick because you keep yourself nicely seasoned and oiled and on the back burner ready for anything. And completely self-sufficient. You don’t need anyone or anything. Not in a creepy, egomaniacal, broken way,” he said quickly. “You’re just . . . a closed system.”
“Leaving aside for the moment the implicit scorn in what you just said, I actually told Corbin something pretty similar the other day.”
“Do tell.”
“We were making sufganiyot and he asked why it didn’t work out with anyone I’d dated.”
Gareth’s eyes got big and he leaned in. “He’s so into you, Jesus. Okay, sorry.”
“I said that with everyone I’ve ever been with, we wanted each other, but we didn’t need each other. You’re saying I didn’t need them because I’m a pan and, yeah, that’s true. But they didn’t need me, man. I was with Timo for four years, and he didn’t need me. I hadn’t really thought about it until I was standing there, looking at Corbin, and he—” Alex shook his head.
“He needs you.”
Alex shrugged miserably and studied the gourmet food going cold on his mother’s china. “He’s so completely himself. Everything he says or does, he says and does with such total integrity. He’s completely, purely Corbin. He almost seems—this is silly, I know. He seems like he lives in a different world. I don’t just mean his own fantasy world. I mean, he seems like a creature from another place.”
He thought Gareth might laugh, but Gareth nodded.
“There’s something about him that just . . . it calls out to me. I’ve never felt that about anyone before. It’s like a place inside him is screaming my name, and I just want to answer it with everything.”
“Jesus.”
Alex cringed and shook his head.
“No, sorry. I mean, damn, that’s . . . that’s something. You have to tell him, man.”
“What if I ruin it? I’m so happy when I get to be around him. Everything feels fresh and new and fucking magical. What if I’m wrong and he never wants to see me again? The stakes feel high.”
“Yeah, they should feel high, because you care a lot.”
“I don’t know if he’s even interested in sex.”
“You should tell him how you feel and you can ask him. Is it a deal breaker if he’s not?”
Alex considered it. There were a lot of ways relationships could go. Infinite options for each element. “No. Not a deal breaker.”
“Alex. If you tell him and he bolts, that will be awful. But . . . sorry to break it to you: you’re an absolute horror to be around right now. You’re kicking off pheromones like last call at the only bar in town, and you don’t pay attention to anything but the kid when he’s in the room.”
“He’s not a kid.”
Gareth raised one eyebrow as if that had just made his point. “Talk to him. Soon. You owe him a chance to tell you how he feels.”
And though Alex knew Gareth was playing on his sense of honor, he couldn’t help but respond to it. It wasn’t until he was lying in bed later, dreaming up how he might confess feelings to a wild thing, that Alex realized Gareth had never answered his question about what had happened on his camping trip.
The weather had turned the corner on winter overnight, and Alex’s teeth chattered as he let himself into And Son early the next morning. Though it wasn’t quite five yet, when he got into the kitchen, Corbin was already there and the smell of oil and fried dough hung in the air.
He said good morning, and Corbin just smiled at him, a sweet, preoccupied smile that made Alex forget anything he might’ve prepared to say.
The next day, Corbin was there before him again, and the day after, and each time, he looked at Alex with an uncharacteristic happiness, a hopefulness that took Alex’s breath away.
A few days later, Corbin wasn’t scheduled to come in until noon. As Alex stirred batters, whipped cream, and kneaded bread, he felt an unfamiliar sensation. Working on his own in kitchens had always filled him with an intense peace—a calm rivaled only by long walks in the woods before anyone was awake. It was one of the reasons he’d gravitated toward baking in the first place, rather than cooking. When your job began in the dark, it carried with it the stillness and joy of the rising sun, the waking city. For the first time, though, Alex felt lonely. He wished Corbin were there.
A little before noon, Corbin came into the kitchen with the wild smell of the wind and the trees on him. He moved like a sleepwalker and his eyes were hazy. He drifted closer and closer to Alex until there was no distance between them at all. Then he leaned in and kissed Alex on the cheek.
Electricity shot through Alex’s body at the press of Corbin’s lips, but was quieted by the fuzz of comfort at the feel of Corbin’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. Alex stayed perfectly still, afraid he might scare Corbin
away. But Corbin eased backward with a hand on Alex’s shoulder and continued on his path, taking off his coat and dropping his bag in the corner, before tying on his apron as if nothing had happened.
“A pop-up Chanukah dinner!” Gareth said excitedly to Corbin as Alex mixed walnut bread.
“Pop up,” Corbin echoed uncomprehendingly.
“It’s when you set up a temporary restaurant for just a night or two,” Alex explained.
Alex and Gareth had hatched the plan the night before, after Alex came home to find Gareth deboning a chicken to make chicken ballotine with pancetta, sage, and cornbread stuffing. Gareth clearly had some demons he was sublimating into his cooking, and Alex wanted to do something in And Son to thank everyone who’d welcomed him, and get to know the other local business owners outside the auspices of Mac’s color-coded better business binders. So he would put Gareth’s manic food energy to good use, and have a Chanukah dinner.
“Gareth can cook and I can do dessert. We can bring some of the old tables and chairs out of storage and set up in the café. We’ll invite my mom and Lou, Lou’s son, my employees, and some of the local business owners.”
“Yeah, the ones we don’t despise,” Gareth muttered.
“Do you want me to help with dessert,” Corbin asked.
“Sure, but really, Gareth was trying to tell you that we want you to come to the dinner.”
Corbin froze. “I don’t really do that.”
“I know you don’t. But would you want to come anyway?”
“Okay,” Corbin said to the ground, and Gareth shot him a pointed look.
“Great, that’s great. We’re going to do it for the first night of Chanukah. It’s early enough this year that it won’t bump into Christmas, so people should be free.”
Gareth left a few minutes later, and Corbin seemed out of sorts all day. He bumped into things and nearly spilled things, and he kept rubbing at his eyes, leaving streaks of flour and chocolate on his face.
Finally, worried he’d burn or cut himself, Alex caught Corbin’s wrist. “What’s wrong today?” He forced his voice to be gentle. Up close, he could see the dark circles under Corbin’s eyes.
“I’ve just been working something out,” Corbin murmured.
“Can you tell me what?”
Corbin trembled and his eyes slid shut for a moment.
“No. Not right now.”
“Will you ever?” Alex found he wanted to know what Corbin was thinking about, what he was worried about or struggling with, more than he’d thought possible. He wanted to open Corbin up and pluck the thoughts from his brain. He wanted to help.
A tip of Corbin’s head, a swallow. Then Corbin breathed, “I hope so.”
Over the next week, as Gareth poured his fidgety energy into menu planning and recipe testing, Alex went up and down Main Street, inviting people to Chanukah dinner.
His mother was thrilled about the idea, and when he asked her to invite Lou, her eyes went soft and she squeezed his arm.
“I’m going to move in with him, Alex. Not right away, but soonish. We’ll have to talk about what we’re going to do with the house.”
Alex’s throat tightened like he’d swallowed too much of something very cold. Scraps of grief drifted up, sometimes, and he cleared his throat around them. His father had been a joyful man, and happiness had been what he’d wanted most for those he cared about. Alex had always known it. One of the reasons he’d felt ashamed it had taken him so long to tell his parents he was gay was that he knew his father would, in retrospect, see evidence that he’d been less than happy.
“I’m so glad for you, Mom,” Alex said. “I’m glad you’re happy. Just let me know what you want to do about the house. It’s your call. Whenever you’re ready.” Her eyes welled up at the idea of leaving the house, but she nodded and hugged him tight.
The next day, Alex went to the Art Association to invite Lou’s son to the Chanukah dinner. He’d meant to stop by and visit Orin before then, but with Gareth coming to town and Corbin eclipsing most everything else, he’d never found the time.
Downstairs in the gallery to the left, artists from across the state showcased their work. Paintings, silk scarves, felted tapestries, birdhouses of reclaimed wood, and jewelry made of every imaginable material. To the right was an empty studio space, the scattered drop cloths and can lights suggesting a show was in the middle of being put up.
The steep, wooden staircase between the two spaces was what Alex remembered from a long time ago. When he’d climbed it before, it had been the peeling slate blue of a beach house porch. Now it was painted a glossy teal.
Upstairs, a horseshoe-shaped attic space was organized into sections: easels and paints, pottery wheels and kiln, mixed materials and tools. There was a group of five or six kids who looked about ten years old in the painting section, for what must have been an after-school class, and a young woman with long brown hair was walking among the easels, helping them.
There were two men in worn clothing with packs at their feet, sitting on a carpet-covered ledge by the arched window that had a view onto Liberty Street. One seemed almost asleep sitting up and the other was turning a hand-rolled cigarette over and over in his fingers, knee bouncing.
Alex found Orin in the cluttered office in the back corner of the space. Papers were on every available surface, and he looked up from wrestling with a printer cable when Alex knocked.
Alex sketched a wave. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by.”
“Yeah, sure.” Orin clambered to his feet and shook Alex’s hand. He looked hassled and tired, and there was an awkward beat where they stood there staring at each other.
“So, I think my mom and your dad are going to shack up,” Alex said.
Orin raised an eyebrow at shack up but nodded. He clearly wasn’t going to say anything else on the matter, so Alex cut to the chase and extended the invitation to Chanukah dinner.
“My friend Gareth will be cooking and I’ll be doing dessert. Corbin will help.”
Alex felt his cheeks heat at the realization that there had been no need to offer that detail about Corbin. He’d said Corbin’s name just to hear it, just to feel connected to him.
“Corbin Wale?” Alex nodded. “I’m glad.”
“Glad?”
Orin crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the cluttered desk, considering Alex. Finally, he said, “Two years ago or so, I was walking to the Potters Guild sale on the weekend. There was a little store across the street, then. It’s closed now, but it used to sell jam and honey and little jars of other expensive crap.”
Alex smiled.
“I saw this kid—I thought he was real young, anyway—standing just inside the door that was propped open. The lady who owned the shop was screaming at him, and there was broken glass and globs of jam all around his feet. And the kid—Corbin—was staring into space like he didn’t even hear her.”
Alex’s stomach lurched at the thought of someone yelling at Corbin, of that aggression ruffling his delicate senses.
“I stopped because I swear I thought that lady might do him harm with the broom or something, but Corbin turned in the doorway and walked out, like he’d heard his mama calling him home for dinner. And she just kept hollering at him as he walked away, calling him useless and crazy.”
Alex gritted his teeth. The word crazy was starting to make him flinch.
“At the end of the block, he stopped and stood there like he wasn’t sure which way to go. I went over to him and asked if he was okay, if he needed help.” Orin shrugged. “I used to work with folks who had some mental health stuff going on, and I thought maybe . . . Anyway, he gazed at me like he couldn’t figure out what I was saying. Then he snapped back into focus so quickly. He seemed embarrassed and he said, ‘I’m probably fired, right.’” Orin chuckled. “I laughed and said, ‘Yeah, I think you’re done,’ and he cracked a grin and said, ‘Good. Her jam tasted like Fruit Loops.’”
Alex was flooded with fondness for this
years-ago version of Corbin he’d never known.
“I walked with him a ways and we exchanged names and I told him I was going to the Potters Guild sale and he said . . .” Orin looked down self-consciously. “He pointed at my hands and said, ‘You seem like a potter. Your hands change whatever they touch.’ And then he walked away.”
Orin was staring at his own hands, as if seeing whatever Corbin saw. They were large and graceful, with the suggestion of an easy strength.
“People aren’t kind to him,” Alex said, but found he could hardly get the words out around a lump in his throat. It was such a simple truth and it hit Alex with a wallop. “They haven’t ever been kind to him.”
“No,” Orin agreed. “It leaves a mark, all that unkindness. I think that’s part of what I saw in him.”
Alex thought perhaps Orin himself had known a great deal of unkindness, and knew equally well that he wouldn’t wish to have it mentioned.
“You worked with people who . . .” Alex trailed off. He wasn’t sure what question he was trying to form. “Corbin’s not . . . He sees the world differently but—”
Orin held out a quelling hand. “I know. It’s good he has people to be kind to him now. I’m glad of it.” He paused, jaw working for a moment. “If someone is living their life the way they wish, and the way they wish doesn’t harm anyone, there’s nothing to say. It’s easier to see if someone is causing harm, or can’t function. The tricky situations are when people themselves don’t know that their lives could be different. When they don’t have the information to make the choice. I don’t know Corbin. It seems like maybe you do, a little. He’s the only one who can answer that question. I’m glad you know to ask it, rather than to tell him the answers.”
The moment was sown between them, the seed of accord that could blossom into friendship.
“Thank you,” Alex said. “For your thoughts, and for helping Corbin back then. I . . .” He shook his head, amazed that he could say to a near-stranger what Gareth had practically had to drag out of him. “I care for Corbin a lot. I don’t want to do anything to hurt him, and I don’t want to take advantage because I don’t understand. This helped.”