She picked up on the first ring, despite the late hour. “Brady! How is LA?” She sounded as perky as if she’d had a double shot of espresso, and I could hear the murmur of voices in the background. Home she definitely was not.
“Not there.” I took a deep breath. “I’m with Ev. Mira died this evening. I’m sorry, sweetheart, because I know you were counting on me—”
Her sobs cut me off, but not for the reason I was thinking. “Poor Ev,” she choked out. “That’s terrible.”
“I know you were counting on the contest—”
“I don’t care about that now,” she sobbed. Someone behind her made soothing noises. For the first time, I was grateful for the infamous Indigo.
“He shouldn’t be alone, Brady. Don’t let him be alone.” Her voice was muffled now, like she was leaning into someone.
“I won’t.” My throat felt like I’d inhaled one of Ev’s sweaters. I knew that, like me, she was flashing back to those first awful days after the accident.
“Should I skip the trip tomorrow? Come help?”
“You go. Get an A in the class. You can help out Sunday when you’re back.” I honestly wasn’t sure I could deal with her grief issues, my own, and still hold Ev up.
“I will. I promise.” She hung up, promising to help more next week and full of apologies for her recent behavior which I gently brushed aside. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on our struggles.
Pocketing my phone, I surveyed the apartment, cleaning up the little things that indicated that Ev had left for the hospital in a rush—dishes in the sink, magazines spread out in the living room, tea still in a cup by Mira’s chair. Eyes burning, I cleaned up that area with a sort of reverence. I carefully folded her shawl and knit blankets, then cleaned up the lines of medicine bottles and water glasses on her special table before moving the table to the side of the room. It didn’t really help—the room still seemed to weep for Mira’s absence, every object seeming stark and lonely.
Finally, the hours awake caught up with me and I returned to Ev’s room. He’d cuddled up to his wall, hunkering under the main comforter at some point. His form looked far smaller than normal, wide shoulders folded inward. Stripping down, I climbed in behind him. How long had it been since I’d slept next to another adult? Watching Ev sleep, I couldn’t get my fuzzy brain to do the math, but it was years. And never with Ev. We’d had this…thing for months now and this was the first time I’d gotten to hear the soft rumble of his snores or see the perfect fan of his eyelashes.
I needed to shut off the light, but I gave myself a moment to memorize this version of Ev. As I flicked the antique bedside lamp off, he rolled into me, arms coming around me to hold me close. My heart literally stuttered in my chest—I felt my muscles contract with the force of the emotion I was struggling to keep in. Ev nuzzled my neck, arranging us like I was his personal furry body pillow.
I sighed, all tension leaving my body. Didn’t matter how crappy my day had been, this was damn nice. Still mainly asleep, Ev’s lips clumsily trailed from my neck to find my mouth. I met him readily, eagerly, and his clumsy kiss became something more urgent, more raw—and more awake.
Blinking, he pulled away. “You’re actually here.”
“Yeah.” I yanked him back, dick more engaged than brain. But I wasn’t so far gone that I missed the moment he came more fully awake, everything hitting him again. He flopped back onto the pillow, a muttered stream of Turkish curses coming from his mouth.
“Hey.” I ran a hand down his chest.
“I am sorry.” He didn’t move my hand, so I continued making long, soothing strokes. “Why are you here? Don’t the children require you?”
You require me. I didn’t say that, though, because I knew he’d protest. “Everyone thinks I’m in LA. I’ve got my cell if there’s an emergency. Tomorrow I’ll straighten everything out.”
“Tomorrow. The arrangements. I should start some lists.…” Ev sat up.
And oh no, we were not having any of that. I shoved him back, straddling his waist to keep him down. “Tomorrow, Ev. Tomorrow is soon enough for everything we’ve both got to do. Right now, we’re going to sleep.”
“This is not sleeping,” Ev pointed out, looking straight down at our dicks, neither of which was the least bit asleep.
“Nope.” I let him pull me down for a long, searching kiss. Right when I could feel the doubts gathering in his brain again, I kissed my way south, mouthing a tender trail down his lightly furred chest and stomach. I loved the softness of his stomach—for all Ev was slim and polished, his stomach retained an endearing realness that I enjoyed far more than any six-pack abs.
“It is wrong,” Ev whispered. “To want you so much…now.” His hand sifted through my hair, pulling it loose from the ponytail.
“No, it’s absolutely, perfectly right.” I dropped two kisses near his belly button. “This is what we both need right now.”
“Perhaps, but it still feels…off.”
I gave his stomach a little lick before answering him. I knew exactly what he meant. The air felt sharper, my senses magnified, like someone had stripped away the top layer of my skin, and I knew whatever he was feeling was a thousand times worse. But I could also tell from the tension in Ev’s muscles that he wasn’t falling back to sleep any time soon. I couldn’t care less about coming myself, but I wanted Ev to rest, and orgasm was the surest way I knew to make him boneless and sleepy and get him out of his head for a bit. He needed that.
“Do you want me to stop?” I gave him another kiss before he could answer.
He yawned. One hand came to rest on my bare shoulder. “Yes. No. Yes. How have I never seen you fully naked before now?”
I laughed. “Because you’re a kinky devil.” I didn’t mention how we’d both been too busy with life for happy naked time to happen very often. “How about you think of me as your human-size sleeping pill and just let me do this for you?”
“Fuck.” Another, very rare Ev curse. “I do not wish to think right now.”
“Then don’t.” I scooted backward and swallowed his dick all the way to the root.
“Fuck.” His voice was more guttural. “I love your mouth.”
I knew he did and I exploited that knowledge, working him with my tongue as I held him deep. Ev was usually in charge of whatever fucking we did. He would set the pace and depth for me, controlling how much I got to taste in that bossy way of his I loved so very much, but this freedom to go as deep as I wanted was rather heady, too. I loved the way his foreskin slid against my tongue, loved the tang of his pre-cum, loved the thick weight of him on my tongue.
Doing this for him was better than a shower, washing away the yuck of the last few days—the stupid argument with him, the hospital, the helplessness over not being able to do more for him. I could do this; I could remind him how wonderful our bodies could be, even on days that our hearts broke. He did need this, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He needed the deep, cleansing power of orgasm, and I could give him that.
He panted and gasped—he wasn’t a loud moaner, even freed of the need for quiet, but the hitch in his breath, the tension in his thighs, the clench of his hand in my hair all told me that he was getting close.
“Turn around,” he commanded. It was so good to hear the firmness back in his voice that I complied, moving so that we were both on our sides. Sixty-nine wasn’t one of my favorite things—I preferred to go into a zenlike state giving oral, where everything shrank to my mouth and what I could make it do for another person—but Ev latched onto my dick with an almost feverish enthusiasm, and I reconsidered my stance.
Energy flowed between us. It wasn’t just about dicks and mouths, it was about what we could give to each other, even in the darkest hours of the night, what we could be for each other. And it didn’t matter who came first or second, or that my own orgasm felt warm and soft, not the usual tidal wave
of gasping moans as I got thrown up onto some rocky shore. No, this was a fluid ballet, let by Ev’s quiet murmurs and graceful hands on my body, and it gently deposited me on a featherbed of good feelings. As I came back to earth, I scooted back around, wrapping myself around him.
“Sleep,” I whispered, only to discover that he already was.
Please let me be enough for him, I prayed instead. I wanted more than to be here for Ev in his grief. I wanted a real future together, and for the first time, I was 100 percent ready to fight for that.
Chapter 14
Dearest friends, I am going to share a beloved memory, one I keep close to my heart. When I was fourteen and my Hala Mira didn’t know what to do with this tall, gangly kid eating her out of house and home, she put me to work on the yarn swift, making balls with the ball winder for her and customers. She had me putting price tags on merchandise and keeping the store well swept, but I grumbled. Oh, how I grumbled, friends. Knitting was women’s work. Fanciful women’s work at that. I was surrounded by a king’s buffet of fibers, but all I could think was that real men didn’t knit. And they certainly didn’t fondle the yarn when they thought no one was looking. You see, I was already a bit sensitive about what real men did and did not do. Being gay had already gotten me rejected from the only family I’d ever known. Here I was in a strange city with two eccentric women and no friends. Knitting? I scoffed every time she offered to teach me, instead going outside to kick a soccer ball against the house or for a run in the park. Manly things, I thought. I turned her down over and over, but she never stopped offering to teach me.
“I see you,” she teased me. “I see you touching that merino. It wants to be a hat.”
“It does not,” I retorted, shocking myself. “It wants to be a pair of gloves.”
“Oh my, aşkim, that’s ambitious. No one does gloves as their first project.”
“I will draw you a picture. You will knit them for me,” I said with all the imperiousness of my father commanding his tea.
“I will not.” Hala Mira laughed at me. She laughed in the face of thousands of years of gender norms in our culture a lot. My father and uncles didn’t intimidate her in the least, so it was no wonder my attempt at a commanding tone failed miserably. “But you are right to be afraid. Gloves are too hard for even some longtime knitters. I dislike them immensely. A lot of fiddly bits. You probably couldn’t manage a scarf out of that chunky blend over there.”
She had me. She knew it of course. A little bit of reverse psychology and a little bit of dare, and I finally took her bait and let her show me how to cast on. And thus, dear friends, when you write and ask me what someone’s very first project should be, let me be clear that I speak from experience when I say: anything but gloves.
Today I send Hala Mira on her final journey—the one I can’t accompany her on—and I put those gloves in her pocket, even though they are old and moth-eaten, with more dropped stitches than I’d ever admit to you, dear friends. You see, my Hala Mira didn’t just show me how to knit—she taught me how to embrace life. How to love it, stitch by stitch, as we made something beautiful from the broken ruins of childhood. And now, friends, I must figure out how to do that alone. I do not know if I can.—Evren’s Yarnings
Early in the morning, I went with Ev to the funeral home to make the sort of arrangements no one wants to think about. I was far less shell-shocked than I had been with Mom and Greg, far more able to help Ev make choices. It’s funny how life forces us to make a series of trivial decisions at a time when we are faced with some of our biggest dilemmas. I’d been reeling from social worker visits and an officious man in a bad suit wanted me to pick a color of urn? Hah. I tried to shield Ev from the silly stuff, but mainly I just held his hand and dared anyone to object to that.
And then, even as it wrings us out, life grants us some of its greatest kindnesses at the same time. When we returned to the store after the funeral home, Ev went in through the front because he wanted to tell Adele, the clerk, about the arrangements and to make sure she was coping okay. He’d offered her the day off and to close the store that day, but she’d insisted on coming in to open it.
“Ev.” She ran across the store to give him a huge hug. And then she had one for me, too, despite our barely being acquainted. Her dreadlocks bounced with her movements and her long, elegant pink nails fussed with our collars. Luckily, I’d had a dress shirt in the bag I’d packed for LA. The day seemed to demand more than a People’s Cup T-shirt.
“Things are going okay, yes?” Ev asked Adele.
“I tried texting, but uh, Ev, where do you want all the food?” Adele made a gesture toward the rear of the store.
“Food?” Ev’s eyebrows wrinkled.
“It’s been a steady of stream of casseroles since we opened at nine. I think I’ve seen all our regular customers and it’s not even eleven yet.” She led us to the classroom at the rear of the store, where all three tables were covered with flowers and food. In true Northwest fashion, most were labeled with their ingredients, proudly proclaiming which allergens they’d managed to leave out.
“But…” Ev stuttered. “It is just me.”
My heart winced that he hadn’t said us. But I didn’t correct him on that front right then. “Ev, you said how Mira deserved to be surrounded by family—she was. This was her family. Her village. And look how loved she was.”
Ev’s voice had broken a lot last night and his hands had trembled and there had been a fair amount of face scrubbing, but I hadn’t actually seen him cry until that moment. Tears spilled down his face and I shoved him into a nearby chair, crouching in front of him, not saying anything, just holding his hands and letting him grieve.
“I grew up here,” he said shakily. “But I didn’t see it as home until it was too late. I stayed gone in New York too long. Lost track—”
“You never lost her. Never. Not when it counted.”
“But I didn’t see this…family before.”
“Maybe you weren’t ready.” My own voice was none too steady. I thought of the little gifts Mira had given me for the girls. Thought how hard I’d worked not to tell many people about what I went through to keep custody of the kids. Maybe I’d been oblivious to this community, too. Maybe, like Ev, I’d been scared to embrace it fully.
Ev and I sat there a long time until finally he blinked and looked around, like he’d finally gotten recentered in his body. “Brady? What are we going to do with this food?”
“I have an idea,” I said and got up to summon Adele to make it happen. Then I did what I always tried to avoid doing and called my boss to ask for a favor.
They started trickling into People’s Cup at five thirty. First Violet, with flowers for the tables and a huge hug for Ev. She set me to rearranging tables and chairs. Because of course whatever arrangement Audrey and I had done thirty minutes earlier wasn’t good enough. A few minutes later the triplets trailed in after Adele, helping her carry the casseroles over. Behind her, Jonas pulled our old wagon, loaded down with more of the food. Slowly, the rest of the Knit Night family showed up, most a little dressier than usual, many in unseasonal cardigans and knit socks. Rarely seen spouses and children made appearances, too, something the twins and Jonas celebrated by claiming a back table for their new friends. Randy was there, helping to arrange the food along the coffee bar. To my surprise, he’d readily agreed to my plan to close for usual business. I hadn’t even told him or Chris when Mom died because I’d been so afraid of losing the job. Maybe that had been a mistake. A few other business owners had also shut early and shown up with food and condolences for Ev, including both stationery store owners, who were managing to stand near each other without flames darting from their eyes. Perhaps Mira’s legacy could bring them some peace as well.
It was an impromptu wake for the heart and soul of our neighborhood and community, and it was more heartfelt than anything formal could have been. People
shared Mira stories and showed off projects she’d helped with. Ev was surrounded by love—and he wasn’t the only one who’d insisted on being an island of self-reliance for far too long. He hadn’t needed to go through Mira’s end by himself and I hadn’t needed to be so alone with the kids. This community had always been here and we’d both refused to see it for our own silly reasons. Two years I’d trudged alone, and maybe I didn’t have to any longer. Maybe it was okay to wrap myself in the fabric of community and to knit my life to Ev’s.
Despite my newfound resolve, I wasn’t sure if Ev really felt the same way, and I had to work hard not to let doubts ruin this nice, fuzzy feeling.
He was mobbed by a constant stream of people, so I went and fixed him a plate, being careful to avoid anything that might have pork, and then I made him a coffee, extra sweet, and brought both over to him.
“Ev needs to eat,” I told the ladies surrounding him, pushing in so I could hand him the plate.
“I am not hungry,” Ev said wearily.
“And you’ve been on your feet too long.” I ignored his protests and steered him into a chair near Violet and the triplets. “Now eat.”
Ev’s sigh was weightier than our weekly delivery of coffee beans. “She would have loved this.” He gestured at the gathering around us.
“And she would have loved you eating, too,” I urged.
“She couldn’t taste anything at the end.” Ev ignored my pleas.
“You did so good by her,” Violet butted in. “You need to keep up your strength.”
“You’ll need it,” added the pink triplet, who had brought a quinoa and edamame casserole. “Did I hear you’re taking over the store? Not going back to New York?”
Ev paused, swallowing hard, and I found myself holding my breath. This was a moment of truth. Whatever he’d told me in the throes of grief at the hospital, no one could hold him to that. But what did Ev really want? Finally, he spoke.
“Yes. Iplik will continue as she would have wanted. My life is here now.” He glanced at me, and sunshine spiked me straight through the heart. It should have been the most somber of days, yet that one look had me ready to dance.
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