by Kim Fielding
“Hi,” Wes said.
“Hi.” Parker wrapped his arms around Wes’s middle but didn’t say anything. His breaths tickled the back of Wes’s neck.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”
When Parker sighed, it tickled even more. “Can we go for a little walk?”
“Sure.”
Wes set down his pencil, Parker took his hand, and they strolled slowly up the lane toward the county road. The sky hovered close overhead, steel gray and gloomy. Although Wes smelled moisture, it wasn’t quite misting.
His grandfather’s old house looked forlorn. No holiday decorations, no lights shining through the windows, no truck parked in front. Wes remembered sitting on that front porch when he was in high school, doing homework and sometimes daydreaming about a mysterious stranger pulling up and whisking him into a life of excitement and adventure. But nobody ever did.
Wes and Parker walked on the weedy shoulder between the paved county road and the neighbors’ fence lines. A few birds swooped and tweeted overhead, horses grazed in the distance, and occasionally a dog barked from a front yard, but there were no other humans. Wes looked at dead thistles and remembered the spines he’d pulled from Parker’s hand. Like Daniel and the lion, only Parker was no vicious beast, and Wes didn’t believe for a moment that he’d tamed him.
They’d walked for about a mile when drizzle started and they agreed to turn back. But when they reached Wes’s property, Parker stopped at the pond. He let go of Wes’s hand and wrapped his arms around himself, his gaze fixed on the ducks. Wes waited.
Finally, without turning to look at Wes, Parker spoke. “I have to go.”
Although Wes had been expecting this, the words hurt worse than anything the Cavellis had done to him. He hoped his face didn’t show it, but he couldn’t stop a waver in his voice. “Why?”
“What am I doing here?”
“Lots of things. You’ve been cooking and cleaning and—”
“Yeah. But you can do those things yourself now.”
Wes’s turn to look away. “I can. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You’re not!” Parker tugged on Wes’s shoulder until they faced each other. “I love doing things for you. But you don’t need me to do them. You don’t need me.”
I do. But Wes couldn’t say that aloud, couldn’t chain Parker to him with greedy words. “I like having you here” was the closest he’d allow himself.
“And I like being here. But you belong here. You’ve created a home, and you make beautiful things. I don’t…. I’m not even running a coffeehouse or babysitting dogs. I’m mostly just taking up space.”
“You’re doing a lot more than that. You’re….” Wes closed his eyes and remembered what he’d been thinking when the Cavellis were torturing him and he believed he was going to die. Now he was Future Wes, and he wanted Parker as desperately as he wanted life. “I love you.”
“Oh God.” Parker impatiently dashed tears away.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for that!” Parker shouted. Then he lowered his voice. “I love you too. I do. You’re wrapped around my heart. More. It’s like bits of you are in all my cells, and it feels good. But God, it hurts too.”
“Why?” Wes was dizzy, as if his soul were zooming around in circles, trapped in a vortex of emotions.
“Because it’s not enough. We love each other, and it’s not enough. I’ve spent my whole life going nowhere. Sort of pinging around with no direction, and that’s partly because I knew I could rely on Rhoda. If I stay with you, I’ll just be relying on you instead.”
“I don’t mind.”
“But I do. I need to be someone—not just this guy who brews coffee. I have to have goals and plans and a sense of where I’m going. I can’t just float around and leech off people I love.”
Wes grabbed Parker and pulled him into an embrace, hoping to steady them both. “You’re not leeching. And you are someone.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Wes knew whatever he said, no matter how persuasive his words, he wouldn’t be able to change Parker’s mind. Even with love in the mix, no human being could force another to see his own worth. That knowledge had to come from within.
“I want you to stay,” Wes said, fighting back tears. “But I won’t ask it of you. Go find your direction, if that’s what you need. I just hope you discover that your direction leads you back to me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
LATE JANUARY always seemed extra busy at P-Town. College students were back from break, swilling coffee as they hit the books, and everyone needed extra caffeine to get through the postholiday rainy gloom. Parker didn’t mind. He’d been putting in long hours since the day after he left Wes. Working hard didn’t get him any closer to finding his path in life, but at least it kept him from wallowing.
When he wasn’t at P-Town, he put in some volunteer time with Bright Hope, a group that Nevin, Jeremy, and their husbands occasionally worked for. Mostly he delivered food to LGBT elders, but he also stayed and visited with them for a while. That didn’t give him any career goals either, but it felt good to help others—and he enjoyed their stories.
He wandered city streets aimlessly, scrolled through college websites without finding anything that spoke to him, and hunted job postings. But none of them appealed. None even provided ideas to strive for.
He spoke to his mom and a few other people about moving back to Seattle, but each time he let that notion fade. Seattle was too full of bittersweet memories, and anyway, he knew he’d be just as clueless there as he was everywhere else.
Once every week or so, he found strange solace in poking around hardware stores and architectural salvage shops. Everything there reminded him of Wes, and sometimes Parker found a small item he could afford. An ornate old doorknob. A chunk of pretty wood reclaimed from a house or barn. A ceiling medallion that might have once decorated a mansion or saloon. Parker kept these items in a bin in his closet, hoping to someday give them to Wes.
As for Wes, he seemed to be doing okay. They texted each other daily, and once in a while they FaceTimed instead. Wes had fully recovered and was now back to making furniture. If Parker asked, which he often did, Wes sent photos of whatever he was working on. It wasn’t the same as being there. Parker couldn’t smell the freshly cut wood or hear the buzz of Wes’s tools. And God, he couldn’t hold Wes in his arms. But it was better than nothing.
“Gonzo, you’re going to rub a hole right through that glass.”
Parker stopped wiping the top of the pastry case. “Sorry. Spacing.”
“I noticed. You’re due for a break anyway. Grab a cup and come sit with me.”
Shit. Rhoda had her patented Intervention Expression on, the one that meant she was going to offer forceful advice whether the other person wanted it or not. Even Nevin quailed when he saw that look, but at least he could manufacture a work emergency and manage a quick escape. Parker was stuck.
Since he couldn’t fully defend himself, he decided to reinforce instead. He made himself an extra-large cup of coffee and grabbed an oversize chocolate-butterscotch-oatmeal cookie. Then he joined Rhoda at her preferred table, the one closest to the cash register. She had her laptop set up and a thick manila folder nearby, which meant she’d probably been working on something related to taxes. No wonder she’d decided to coach Parker instead.
“You have tomorrow off, don’t you, honey?”
“I can come in if you need me. It’s no problem.”
“I don’t. Do you have plans?”
He shrugged. “I was thinking about dyeing my hair.” The blue had faded away, leaving it bleached with dark roots. Maybe he’d switch to bright red this time.
“Well, if that’s all you have going on, maybe you should go out tonight. Gather some friends and hit a club or two. You haven’t been out dancing in…. Well, I can’t remember.”
“Meh. Don’t feel like it.”
She gav
e him a long look over the rim of her teacup. “You haven’t been very social lately.”
“I spend all day interacting with people here at P-Town. I think it’s reasonable to want a little downtime at the end of the day.”
“Of course it’s reasonable. I just want to make sure it’s what you’re comfortable with and not because I’m overworking you. Or because you’re distressed.”
Ugh. He wasn’t distressed. He was more… numb. Like when the dentist shot you up with novocaine and your lips felt all big and rubbery and in the way. His entire body felt like that now. Hell, his mind did too.
“I’m fine, Mom. But if you want me out of your house tonight, I can go see a movie or something.”
She clucked. “Why would I want you out of the house?”
“I dunno. So you and Bob can have some alone time.”
“We can have that at his place,” she replied. “The house is your home, Parker. Always.”
“I know.” And that knowledge both comforted and confined him.
Rhoda picked at the chipped magenta polish on one fingernail. “Speaking of Bob….”
That perked him up. “Yes?”
“His son Gabriel is coming to Portland next month. Would you be willing to join us for dinner?”
“Is that the gay one?” Parker asked, narrow-eyed. Bob had four sons, three of whom were straight.
“Yes.”
He crossed his arms. “Tell me you’re not trying to set me up with your boyfriend’s kid.”
Rhoda thinned her lips and furrowed her brow. Shit. She didn’t often get angry, but when she did, the earth shook. “No,” she snapped. “How about we assume that just for once, it isn’t all about you, Parker Herschel Levin. Maybe this is about me meeting a boyfriend’s family for the first time since the last millennium, and maybe I’m a little nervous about it.”
Oh. “Sorry, Mom.” He hung his head.
“And Gabriel has been going through a tough time lately and could use a little distraction and support, not a date with a boy who’s already in love with someone else.”
Parker snapped his head up so fast his neck cracked. “I never said I was—”
“I’m not stupid. And I know you, kiddo. I changed your diapers, went through four rounds of pinkeye and one bout of fifth disease with you. I survived the seven months when you wouldn’t eat anything that wasn’t beige. I can tell when my son is in love.” Miraculously her anger had melted away, replaced by the fond concern that always made him want to sniffle.
“Augh.” He buried his face in his hands and waited for her advice.
But she didn’t give any. She remained silent, in fact, until he finally peeled his hands away to look at her. “You’re not going to tell me what to do?”
“Honey, this is something you’re going to have to work out for yourself.”
“What if I can’t?”
“When it comes to figuring out love, you are no less qualified than the rest of us. Which means you might screw things up—or everything could work out beautifully. There’s no right way to do love. It’s custom-made, not off-the-rack. People need to tailor it to their particular needs.”
Although she was obviously being careful not to give him false confidence, he found her words reassuring. Other people struggled with this too—even people who were smart and capable, like Jeremy. And many of those people succeeded, even if, like Nevin, they’d completely lacked competence to begin with.
A few tables away, the cat ladies were loudly arguing over whether a raw diet for felines was beneficial enough to be worth the hassle and expense. Over in the corner, Drew and Travis had their heads bent over a piece of paper on the table, maybe Drew’s playlist for next Tuesday. A group of high-school girls sat at the next table, discussing a project for their history class. The prime window spot was taken by a newer regular, a guy named Mauricio who’d recently quit his job to spend more time caring for his preschool-aged daughter. She was a serious kid who liked to draw; right now she was digging into a plastic box full of crayon stubs.
P-Town was Parker’s home too, and it always would be. No matter where he went, or with whom.
Rhoda reached across to take his hands in hers. “I do have a suggestion about Wes, if you’d like to hear it. It has nothing to do with romance.”
“Lay it on me.”
“I know he’s doing well selling his larger pieces, but do you think he’d be interested in selling some smaller pieces here? I have people ask me every day if that shelf is for sale.” She pointed at her Hanukkah gift, which hung on the wall behind the counter. “When I tell them no way, they ask where they can buy something similar.”
“Huh. I can ask him.”
“Good. He won’t make as much as he does on his big furniture, but I bet he can turn out a fair number of small pieces quickly, and his profit margin will likely be larger. I’ve had people offer me eight hundred dollars for that shelf!”
“And you turned them down?”
She tsked at him. “No amount of money will get me to part with that.”
A bunch of people all entered the shop at once, forming a long line at the register. Parker gave Rhoda’s hands a quick squeeze, then let go and stood. “Back to the grindstone,” he said with a wink.
“I THINK she’s getting serious about Bob.”
On Parker’s phone screen, the corner of Wes’s mouth hitched up. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Hopeful. She’s great on her own, but I think she’ll be happier with a partner.”
“That could be a motto for a lot of people.”
Wes was sitting under the tarp. Behind him Parker could make out something bulky on the workbench. Part of a dresser, maybe. Wes wore his Bigfoot jacket and the hat Parker had bought him, and the scars on his face were healing nicely, just two red lines without any residual puffiness. Parker tried to gauge whether Wes was happy, miserable, or somewhere in between, but it was hard to tell. He wasn’t a guy who showed much emotion.
“I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about you,” said Parker.
“Is that good?”
“Yeah.” Parker lay back against his pillow. Although he had a comfortable bed, it wasn’t as nice as Wes’s. “Do you think I’m qualified to make decisions about love?”
Wes chuckled. “I don’t think I’m qualified to tell. Why?”
“Just something my mom said the other day.” He rubbed his chin, which needed a shave. “Hey, Wes, would you agree that a person could get a reasonable table at IKEA?”
“Um, sure.”
“I mean, an IKEA table can look good. And it’ll hold a bowl of cereal and glass of OJ just fine.”
“I’m sure it will,” Wes said. “But if you need a new table I’ll make you one.”
“No, I’m good. Okay, so an IKEA dining table will run you, what? Maybe four hundred bucks tops?” That wasn’t entirely a wild guess; he’d shopped there with more than one roommate in the past.
“I guess.”
“And how much do yours cost?”
Wes appeared to think for a moment. “I think Miri sold the last one for sixteen grand.”
Parker almost choked. “Really? Holy shit. So tell me. Why would somebody buy your table for a shit-ton of money when they can get one at IKEA for a few hundred bucks?”
“Good question. Mine will last a lifetime—generations, if it’s well cared for. Mine’s handcrafted instead of mass-produced. I think some people like to know that time and care went directly into their individual piece. And mine’s unique. Nobody in the world will ever have that same table—which also means certain buyers are more likely to find one that uniquely fits them. IKEA tables might be adequate, but mine could be ideal.”
Parker had been nodding while Wes spoke, and now Wes paused and looked at him quizzically. “I’m guessing there’s a point to this?”
“It’s a metaphor. Sometimes the perfect thing is unique—not like anybody else’s perfect thing. And maybe a person shouldn’t for
ce himself into an IKEA life if what he really needs is a Wes Anker custom piece.”
“I don’t understand your metaphor.”
Parker smiled. “I’m not sure I do either. Give me some time to think about it.” It was weird, but saying it out loud to Wes helped anchor the idea in his brain. Parker couldn’t fully grasp that idea, not yet. But he believed it was possible.
Anyway, time to shift the conversation before he lost Wes completely. “Are you still planning your workshop?”
“Yeah. Got some cost estimates. I’ve been replenishing my savings after missing so much work, but I’ll get there sooner or later.”
“Rhoda has a plan that could make it sooner.” Parker shared Rhoda’s idea for Wes to sell smaller pieces at P-Town, and Wes listened with apparent interest.
“But why would she do that?” Wes asked after Parker finished. “She runs a coffeehouse, not a furniture store.”
“True, but she sells paintings all the time. P-Town makes a good place to display stuff, plus people seem to get into a spending mood after they’ve filled up with mochas and almond-peach scones.”
Wes’s gaze turned inward as if he were deep in thought. “Maybe…,” he murmured.
“It wouldn’t be a replacement for the big pieces you make. A supplement. Sort of a palate cleanser in between larger projects? And dude, you have enough hardware bits and bobs to make about a thousand little things.”
“Hmm.” Wes stood. “Want to visit your friends?”
“Yeah.”
The two of them chatted while Wes walked to the pond. Then he turned the phone around so Parker could see the ducks paddling around. “Hi, ducks!” Parker called. They didn’t answer, but that was okay. Maybe waterfowl didn’t like to FaceTime.
After a minute or so, Wes appeared back on screen. “Thank Rhoda for the offer. I’ll give it serious consideration.”
“Good. I love you, Wes. And not in an IKEA way.”
“Me too. Even when I don’t understand you.”