by Sarina Bowen
“Indeed,” I agree, although I feel as if I’ve been cast in the role of a fifties housewife, somehow.
“He doesn’t know how to cook,” Grandpa continues.
“Actually—” I start to argue.
“If he did know how to cook, I’d’ve been invited for dinner already at your new house in Colebury.”
My jaw snaps shut.
Kieran gives me an amused glance. “You know, Grandpa, we were just thinking you should come over for dinner sometime. Weren’t we?” He nudges my knee under the table.
“Oh, definitely,” I say, nudging his back.
“Do you drink?” Grandpa asks me next. This is starting to sound like a job interview.
“Occasionally,” I admit.
“Do you play poker?”
“Ease up, Grandpa,” Kieran says. “Roddy was invited here to dinner. Not to an interrogation.”
“I know how to play poker,” I answer anyway. “But I’m not very good at it.”
“Excellent!” Grandpa says. “See, I knew you were good company. We’ll have a little game later. Low stakes. Nothing to worry about.”
“Yessir.”
Kieran just shakes his head and serves himself another spoonful of potato salad.
“That wasn’t so bad, right?” I ask on the way home.
“A walk in the park for me,” Kieran says as he accelerates on the highway. “You got all the hard questions.”
“They weren’t so hard. Your grandpa is amusing.”
“That he is.”
“Can I play some loud music on your phone?”
“Knock yourself out.”
I put on an old Phish album and rock out. I’m so into it that I don’t notice the car parked in front of our house, or the man sitting on the front porch in the January chill. Not until Kieran points him out, anyway. “Who is that?”
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper as the man stands up and crosses the yard toward us. “That’s B-Brian,” I stammer, fumbling to turn the music off.
I cannot believe my ex is here in Vermont. He must have some other business in Colebury, Vermont. Because the farthest he ever went out of his way for me before was to swing through a drive-thru Starbucks on his way home from the studio.
Kieran freezes with one foot out of the truck, and one foot still in. “Roddy? That guy looks like Brian Aimsley.”
“Yep.” If Kieran gets all starstruck I will vomit up all the good food I ate tonight. I get out of the truck, feeling wary.
“You’re Brian Aimsley,” Kieran says, walking slowly toward my ex. His voice is hushed with surprise.
“Yeah.” My ex gives him a big smile. “You’re a fan?”
My heart takes a dive toward my shoes.
Kieran stops, and his fingers tease the scruff on his chin. “You know, I was a fan. Until about two seconds ago. You’re the guy who cheated on Roddy? You’re the guy who froze Roddy’s credit cards?”
Brian’s smile fades. “Well, I was angry. That was just an overreaction.”
“Uh-huh,” Kieran says in that low-key way of his. “Did you know your overreaction had Roddy sleeping in his car? In the snow.”
To his credit, Brian looks mildly horrified. “Baby?” he says, turning in my direction. “I’m so sorry. I know we fought. But I’m here now. I came out for you. I can finally be your man.”
“No you can’t,” I say firmly. “I have a better one now. One who listens when I talk.”
Now Brian looks nervous. “I know you’re angry. But I had a lot I needed to work out for myself. And I did that hard work, and now I’m here for you. I brought your guitar and everything.”
“I have a better one of those, too.”
It’s rare to see Brian looking so unsure of himself, and I hate myself for enjoying it. “Look,” he tries. “I got a hotel room. How about we go talk?”
“How about you get off our lawn?” Kieran argues. “Before I call the cops.” He takes a couple of menacing strides in Brian’s direction. “You’re not welcome here. Roddy doesn’t need any more of your gaslighting.” He turns to me. “Wait, is there anything you need from this guy?”
I start to shake my head, but then I realize there is. “Well, just one thing.”
“What’s that?” Brian asks, looking hopeful.
“An unqualified apology.” I’ve been waiting for that for a long time.
“Oh.” He frowns. “Okay. Here goes. Look, I’m sorry—”
“That’ll do,” Kieran says. “Won’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “That covers it.”
“But baby—”
And now Kieran has had enough. “Get gone,” he says, taking another step.
Brian takes one back. “I’m at the High Hill Inn!” he says, moving back a few more steps as Kieran continues to herd him from our yard. “Text me!”
Yeah, sure. I’ve already deleted his number.
Kieran doesn’t lay a finger on Brian, he just keeps stalking toward him. Brian would never risk his guitar hands to fight for me, so he climbs into his rental car and slams the door.
The taillights glow red as he drives away.
“Jesus,” Kieran says, after he walks back to me. He covers his eyes with his hands. “I lost it a little there. I hope you didn’t really want a lengthy apology, because I might have ruined that.”
“No problemo,” I say. “Good riddance.”
“I’m glad he left so easily. I don’t want to go to jail for punching a country music star. But the man really had it coming.”
“Yeah, I’m really glad you won’t be going to jail,” I say, even though the evilest part of me would really like to see Brian get punched in the kisser. “Jail is bad bad bad.”
“What a tool.”
“Yup,” I agree.
“Brian Aimsley. No wonder you don’t like country music. You never said a word.”
“It’s a matter of principle. And I have principles, even if he doesn’t.”
“I almost can’t wrap my head around it.” Kieran shakes his head. “Must have been an interesting couple of years. Bet you saw some pretty glam things.”
“Sometimes the glam was fun,” I admit, reaching out for his hand. “But you spoil me more than he ever did.”
“How? We still don’t even have a dining room table or chairs.”
“You spoil me in the ways that really matter.” I take Kieran’s other hand in mine. I’ve got both of them now. Our street is quiet, because it’s nine thirty on a weeknight in January. The stars are bright overhead, and the moon is rising to light up the snow. I feel like I’m a million miles from Nashville, and I love it here. “You spoil me by being real. I used to daydream that I’d find a guy who looks at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”
“How’s that?” he asks, humor in his brown eyes.
“Like you’re all in, no matter what happens.”
“I am. That’s true.” He leans down and kisses my cheekbone. “Come inside and I’ll show you how all in I can be.” Then he kisses me for real.
We’re still going at it a minute later when Zara opens her front door. “Get a room, you two!” She cackles and shuts the door.
It’s good advice. So we do.
Two Years Later
Kieran
“Look at that kid.” Roddy nudges me under the table. “That’s ballsy.”
I turn my head and spot a blond kid, maybe twelve years old, riding a unicycle up the brick street, weaving in and out of the Church Street patrons. “Huh,” I say. “Nice reflexes.”
Roddy and I are just finishing dinner at an outdoor table at a Burlington noodle shop. Say what you will about our tiny state, but Burlington—population 42,000—is a great destination on a summer night. The marketplace is closed off to cars, so customers spill from the bars and restaurants onto the brick street. The outdoor tables are full of diners. It’s a nice place for dinner, and also great for people-watching.
Burlington is the closest thing we have to a real
city, and it’s worth an hour's drive from Colebury. I've been coming here two days a week for the last two years for school. That's going pretty well—I’ve liked all my classes, and I've been tapping the alumni network to find freelance design jobs.
I’m on summer break, though, so Roddy and I are here just for the hell of it.
Cash is still tight, but date night happens anyway. Roddy loves to get out, and I love to make him happy. I still pick up Busy Bean shifts sometimes just for pocket money.
At the moment, my date is slyly tucking his credit card into a bill wallet that I never saw arrive at our table. “Sweetheart, did you just trick me into watching a kid on a unicycle so you could grab the check?”
He gives me a cheeky grin. “I’m just using all the resources available to me.”
“But you bought last time,” I argue.
He shrugs. “Can I ask you a serious question? Why do we do this?”
“Why do we argue about the check? Because you’re a conniving troublemaker.”
He hands the bill wallet off to the waitress before turning back to me with a thoughtful expression. “Why do we have separate accounts at all? Why don’t we just make a joint bank account and stop dividing all the bills in half? Isn’t it time?”
Whoa. I pick up my beer and drain it, readying my arguments. We can’t do that. Well, really we could. It’s too complicated… Eh. It would actually be simpler.
When you get right down to it, I really have only one true objection. “But I don’t make as much money as you do. How will I know if I’m paying my way?”
He shakes his head at me. “You pay your way every day. That’s the point. I don’t really care if your bank deposits aren’t as regular as mine.” Since Roddy has continued to grow in usefulness to Zara’s and Audrey’s various businesses, his paycheck is rock solid.
Mine ebb and flow with my freelance business, and school takes up a lot of my time. “I’m broke sometimes,” I point out.
“Yeah, and I remember how that feels.” He shrugs. “But it’s only a temporary condition. Nobody works harder than you. And we share everything else. The groceries. The heat. The cable bill. I love you, Kieran. We’re only going to share more things, right? Why not the bank account?”
He’s right—there’s no rational reason. But I’m struggling with this idea.
“Just think about it,” he says. “In the meantime, I have plans to get you drunk right now.”
“You do? At home?”
He shakes his head. “Remember when you told me there weren’t any gay bars in Vermont?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“There’s a brand-new one up the street, and I think we should check it out.”
“Wait, really?”
“Really. We don’t have to go now, but I heard there's live music tonight.”
“Yeah? Okay. That’s an easier decision. Although you’re probably right about the bank-account thing, too.”
He grins. “Of course I am.”
“We both know I’d go anywhere with you, or do anything you asked me to. Sometimes I just need a minute to get used to the idea.”
“You don’t say.”
I give him a gentle kick under the table. “Be grateful. And now tell me about this new place,” I demand. “How’d you hear about it?”
“On VPR. It’s called Vino and Veritas. One side is an LGBTQ friendly bar, specializing in wine. Or what I’d call a gay bar. And the other side is an inclusive bookstore.”
“Huh. Isn’t that kind of a strange combo?” But let’s face it, I rarely leave Vermont. And I’ve never been near a gay bar. “And what makes a gay bookstore gay?” I have to ask.
“Oh, not much,” he admits. “The difference probably comes down to this—the LGBTQ books are in the front of the store instead of in back. And there will probably be rainbows all over the kids’ section.”
“Fair enough. And the bar?”
“Eye candy and a comfortable space. Those are the parameters.”
“I like it already.”
“See? You’re a cheap date,” Roderick says, reaching over to squeeze my thigh.
“Get a few drinks in me, and I’ll be even cheaper.”
“I like the sound of that,” Roddy says. “Let’s do this.”
Roderick
We stroll up the marketplace a few minutes later. “See? There’s the place.” I point at a large brick building with a Vino and Veritas sign in neon outside. And then I reach for Kieran’s hand.
Holding Kieran’s hand is something I do as often as possible. Although my reason for doing so right now is a little shallow. Maybe Kieran hasn’t been to a gay bar before, but I have. And anyone with eyes will be checking out my guy the moment we set foot in that place.
“Place looks nice,” he says, oblivious to my machinations. “And you were right about one thing—there are lots of rainbows in the window on the bookstore. But check it out—farming books, too.”
He’s right. One of the window displays is dedicated to chicken farming. Go figure.
When we reach the door, Kieran holds it open for me. Inside, the bar is to the left and the bookstore to the right. The store is just closing, though, so we'll have to check that out another time.
But the bar is just heating up. The tables and stools are maybe three quarters full. There's a guy on the stage playing his guitar and singing, with a bass player and a percussionist accompanying him.
I like the place already.
I scan the room and then nudge Kieran toward two open seats at the end of the bar. As soon as I sit down, a very hot, tattooed bartender slides a drink menu between us. “Evening, boys. Is this your first time to Vino and Veritas?”
“Why, yes it is,” Kieran says quietly. “What do you recommend?”
“Depends what you're in the mood for. Our wine list is second to none. We have Goldenpour on tap, as well as a full selection of other Vermont craft beers. There’s also Shipley cider and…” The tattooed hottie frowns at my boyfriend. “Now, hang on. You’re a Shipley, right? You look familiar. I went to high school in Colebury for a year.”
“Oh, of course,” Kieran says slowly. I’m getting the feeling that he doesn’t quite remember the guy, but he doesn’t want to sound impolite. “How’ve you been?”
And now that I’m paying attention, this dude’s face does look familiar. “I went there for two years, too, and I think maybe you were in my class. Is your name Tanner? And didn’t you have a brother?”
Kieran shoots me a look of relief, happy that one of us knew the guy’s name.
“Yeah.” A smile appears on his rugged face and then disappears just as quickly. “My brother and I didn’t have the best attendance record, though. Water under the bridge, right?” He offers me his hand to shake. “And you’re—?”
“Roderick Waites.” We shake.
“What can I get you both to drink?” Tanner asks when all the introductions are through.
“How’s this Prosecco?” I tap the menu. “Is it on the dry side, or sweet?”
“It’s, uh…” Tanner scowls. “Okay—confession time. I’m a great bar manager but I’m new to wine. So why don’t I pour you a glass on the house, and you can tell me how to describe it.”
“That’s a deal I can’t refuse.” I can only have one drink, though, since I’m the driver tonight.
Tanner pours me a glass of bubbly, and taps a beer for Kieran. He serves a few more customers, while I taste the wine and look around. “So this is the Vermont edition of a gay bar. Fascinating. Not much leather. Lots of technical fabrics. Rugged. Kinda on the wholesome side. It's a lot like how I’d picture a gay bar in Iceland.”
Kieran glances around. “Nice place.”
“Absolutely.” The singer does a unique, acoustic cover of an old Cranberries song, and I dig it.
“That could be you up there,” Kieran says suddenly. “On your guitar. You’d sound amazing.”
“Nah.” I swat that idea away. “I only play for you. I like
music, but I’m not ambitious about it. I’d rather sit next to you than be up on the stage.”
He gives me a warm look that’s only interrupted when Tanner returns. “Okay, Colebury contingent, let’s have those tasting notes.” He taps a notepad with a pen. “Save me from my ignorance.”
I take a taste of the wine and hold it on my tongue. Then I hold up the glass. “The color is straw-yellow with hints of green. The nose is fragrant with notes of citron and honey.”
Tanner blinks. “Something tells me you’ve done this before.”
“I went to culinary school.”
“Around here?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nashville. Long story. I stayed away from Colebury for eight years.”
“Huh.” Tanner rubs his chin. “I got away from this place, too. But it called me back.”
“I guess it called me, too,” I admit.
“Some of us never left,” Kieran says, resting his burly elbow on the bar.
“How’s Colebury holding up?” Tanner asks. “There’s some new bars, right?”
“Yeah, two of them,” Kieran says. “The Gin Mill and Speakeasy. Plus the coffee shop where Roddy runs the kitchen.”
“Nice. You guys still in touch with anyone from high school?” Tanner asks.
“Just him.” I point at Kieran. “Not that we knew each other back then.”
“Not, uh, well, anyway,” Kieran says, flashing me a secretive smile. He glances at Tanner again. “Do you still have friends in Colebury?”
“Not so much, because I only lived there one year. But there’s a Facebook group for every graduation year. My brother sent it to me. See?” He puts his phone down on the bar in front of me. “Two hundred members.”
“Huh,” I say. “High school wasn’t a great time for me, so I don’t have much urge to relive it. Except…” I squint down at the phone. “Is that—?” I stop myself just in time. Because it’s not cool to bring up your old hookups with your boyfriend sitting beside you.
It’s too late, though. Kieran has leaned over to squint at Tanner’s phone. “Jared Harvey,” he says. “What’s he up to?”