He had to catch his breath before he could nod and say, “I guess that’s all right. This time. But next time, I expect more.”
Bagel End had closed for the day, but the lights in the front of the store were still on, making the raindrops on the front window sparkle. Holding the umbrella angled against the wind, Michael gestured for Kaylee to sit as he tapped on the door, grinning when Josh came into view. Josh jogged across the store and unlocked the door, saying, “Sorry. I was just on the phone. Two minutes?”
“Take your time.” Michael brought Kaylee in as far as the welcome mat, but the floor looked freshly mopped.
Josh made it halfway back to the counter pass-through before he glanced over his shoulder. “You can come in.”
“I forgot Kaylee’s boots,” Michael admitted sheepishly. “Her paws are soaked. Somebody’s getting a bath tonight, if you don’t mind waiting.”
Josh disappeared into the kitchen. “Actually, I have news,” he shouted back.
“And bagels?” Michael called, because he knew Josh by now.
Josh’s laugh rang through the shop. He returned a few seconds later, flipping off the kitchen light. He had his backpack over one shoulder and—as Michael expected—a bag of bagels in his hand. “And bagels, including a fresh batch of dog bagels I made after lunch today, so I hope your girl’s hungry.”
“I think she can manage some taste testing,” Michael said, scratching at Kaylee’s ears. “What’s the news?”
“Let’s get in the car,” Josh said, using his keys to point to the SUV parked outside. “My feet are killing me.” He activated the alarm system, then pushed open the door.
“Want a foot massage when we get home?” Michael offered, leading the way with the umbrella.
“Oh my God, yes. You’re the most wonderful person ever.” Josh locked up, then jogged around the SUV before Michael could offer to walk him there. A few seconds of rain wouldn’t kill him, and Michael had left the SUV unlocked—something he could do here on Hartsbridge Island without worrying about theft.
Michael got Kaylee into the back, then climbed into the driver’s seat and shook off the umbrella. Already, the interior of the SUV smelled like fresh bagels. “Are we stopping anywhere? We still have groceries from yesterday, but do you need to pick up anything for your dad?”
“That’s the news,” Josh said, slouching in his seat as much as the seat belt would allow. “Dad’s staying in Brooklyn an extra week.”
Michael started the engine, glancing over at Josh. The Goldberg family tree was more like a convoluted thicket, with too many repeated names and crosses with other families for Michael to follow, but he knew at least some of those relatives were getting on in years. “Is everything okay?”
“Great Uncle Hal isn’t doing well. Dad wants to be close for Aunt Mitzi, just in case.”
“Do you need to go down there?” Michael asked, thinking of last-minute train tickets and flights. He’d even drive down there with Josh, and to hell with New York traffic. He pulled out into the street and started driving, heading for the barn out of instinct.
“No, it’s okay. The family knows I’ve got the shop to run.”
The shop. Michael bit back a sigh, foreseeing a lot of early mornings and late nights and not a lot of Josh in his future. “If you change your mind, tell me, okay? I can even drive you down.”
Josh glanced over as if surprised. “You’d—” He shook his head and smiled, reaching over to rub his hand up and down Michael’s arm. His fingers were warm and gentle. “No, babe. You have doctors’ appointments, remember?”
“I took care of my physical today, the support group meets every week, and the physical therapist has no openings until next month.” The stoplight was red, so Michael took advantage of the moment to lean over and kiss Josh. “So I’m all yours.”
“Mmm, I hope it didn’t take a doctor for you to figure that out,” Josh teased. “But really, it’s okay. And there’s some good news that’s come out of this.”
“What’s that?” Michael sat back before he could get distracted. Josh’s kisses were addictive.
“Dad and I gave Dee a raise, and she’s officially on opening shift five days a week from now on,” Josh declared as the light went green.
Michael grinned and risked pissing off any nearby cars by leaning over for another quick kiss. “Brunch, every day.”
“Every day,” Josh promised, nudging Michael back to his own side of the SUV. As Michael got it moving again, Josh said, “And when Dad gets back, we’re going to look into hiring or promoting another assistant manager, so we can have actual vacations.”
“Vacations . . .” Michael nodded, trying—and failing—to picture Josh in a swimsuit on a beach. He was more the hike-in-the-woods type. “Where do you want to go first? We could take a weekend, go up to the mountains . . .”
“I, uh, have to go to Florida. We have about ten Goldbergs down in the Fort Lauderdale area. Places like Margate and Coral Springs?”
Michael shook his head. “I’ve only ever been to Disney World and Eglin Air Force Base.”
“Well, do you . . . want to go to Florida one day?” Josh asked nervously. “Meet a whole pack of random Goldbergs and in-laws?”
Family. Michael couldn’t offer it to Josh, but that didn’t stop Josh from wanting to share his own, without even a hint of hesitation. As if he had absolute faith they’d all accept his gay boyfriend—that they’d welcome Michael with open arms.
Growing up the way he had, he’d never wanted family, until now. He reached out for Josh’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Yeah. I’d love to.”
Josh faked throwing the tennis ball, but Kaylee was too smart for that. He settled for arcing it high over her head to bounce against the front door at the far side of the barn, and she took after it like a shot. “Your dog’s too smart,” he complained to Michael.
“Yeah, she is,” Michael said absently. “Uh, is stir fry supposed to look like this?”
That sounded ominous. Josh took the ball from Kaylee, who was panting and staring at it maniacally. Figuring she was more dangerous than Michael, Josh threw the ball for her, then climbed to his feet, rubbing at his ass. The floor was some sort of fancy, aged wood in desperate need of cushioning.
“Should I not have let you cook?” he asked, sniffing experimentally. Soy sauce, garlic, a hint of spice . . . At least nothing was on fire. Yet.
Michael beckoned Josh over without turning away from the frying pan. “Maybe the wok wasn’t optional?”
“A pan’s a pan, right?” Josh ducked under Michael’s arm to cuddle close, only then looking down into the frying pan. The stir fry was a uniform brown and looked . . . soggy. “Okay, maybe not.”
Sighing, Michael put down the spatula and turned off the burner. “Plan B?”
“Which is what?”
Michael’s answer was interrupted by an unfamiliar ringtone. “Good question,” he muttered, heading for the phone. “See what’s in the fridge?”
Josh went to check, even though he knew exactly what was in there, since he’d gone through it just this morning: eggs, milk, cheese, bacon, a drawer of thawed meat, and the remainder of the vegetables that hadn’t gone to their soggy demise in the stir fry. The bread box—an actual bread box, something Josh had never seen outside antique stores before—held half a loaf of challah bread Josh had made yesterday at the shop, perfect for French toast.
That meant they were having breakfast for dinner, bagels, or takeout. He had the diner’s number in his phone. Burgers didn’t sound like a bad idea. They could even eat there, so the fries would be fresh, though that would mean enduring Betty’s teasing.
A thump made him turn, surprised. Michael was staring down at the table where he’d dropped his phone, dragging in deep breaths. Kaylee abandoned the tennis ball she was systematically shredding and rushed over to him.
“Michael?” Josh followed, heart lurching as Michael took a step back and slid down the wall to the floor, right next to the ki
tchen chairs.
Michael didn’t respond. Kaylee dropped right on top of his lap, ears perked sharply up. Her tail wasn’t wagging. Michael moved his hands to rest on her back, but he wasn’t petting her. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall, and went perfectly still except for fast, deep breaths.
Shit. Josh’s stomach turned, and he slowly lowered himself to a crouch, though he didn’t dare get too close. What was he supposed to do? They’d discussed Michael’s speech problems and his need to escape tense situations, but Josh couldn’t remember this.
“Michael?” he asked quietly, clasping his hands together to keep from reaching out.
Did Michael shake his head, just a little bit, or was it Josh’s imagination? He had no idea, but he took the silence as an answer. And he’d learned to trust Kaylee. She was smart and well trained to provide whatever support Michael needed. Josh shouldn’t interfere.
So even though it broke his heart, he turned away to deal with the disaster congealing in the frying pan. He scraped everything into the garbage disposal but didn’t run it just yet. The pan went into the other half of the sink.
He tried not to look at Michael and gauge what was going on inside him, focusing instead on what Michael would need after . . . after he came back to himself. He remembered Bubbe’s answer to every problem was chicken soup and tea, but they were out of both. French toast was top-notch comfort food, but it didn’t reheat well at all. Quietly, he went to the pantry and looked through the cans and boxes. Mac and cheese, baked beans, condensed soup—no.
Time to improvise.
He took out dried spices, cheese, a jar of spaghetti sauce, and the bagels he’d brought home out of habit. The bag of dog bagels went on the end of the counter, so he’d remember to lavishly reward Kaylee for being so good to Michael. The bagels themselves, he sliced and arranged on a baking tray. He topped each one with a generous spoonful of pasta sauce and some strategic shakes of garlic and oregano, then took out the cheese grater. He should’ve been lazy when they’d gone shopping and insisted on buying pregrated cheese, but live and learn.
Once the bagel pizzas were assembled, he covered them loosely with plastic. They’d cook quickly under the broiler, once Michael was ready to face the world again. After remembering to turn off the water in the sink, Josh crept past Michael and Kaylee, picked up his phone, and went to the couch. When he sat down, he couldn’t see Michael, which meant he wouldn’t be tempted to watch for any sign that the episode was coming to an end.
Shit.
Michael opened his eyes and stared down at Kaylee, focusing on her comforting weight instead of the phone call. Fucking Wilkins. He’d called from an unfamiliar number, so Michael had been entirely unprepared for his voice—and his news.
“I’m sure it’s photoshopped or a case of mistaken identity, but the Hartsbridge Gazette’s website has a picture of you supposedly kissing someone. A man. Can you believe the nerve?”
Hearing Wilkins’s derisive laugh was like biting on tinfoil. Michael could barely remember what came after that—something about confirming the picture was faked, a lawsuit that would shut down the local paper . . . He had no idea if he’d even answered or if he’d just hung up.
At least he did know that he’d hung up, because it was programmed into him. Always confirm that he hung up the phone, turned off the webcam, closed the blinds.
He let out a breath and swallowed, then licked dry lips. His feet were tingling, so he lifted a shaky hand and signaled Kaylee to move off him. She stood and backed away, and the first rush of blood hurt, all the way to his toes.
Only then did he look around, wondering what had happened to Josh. Had he left, thinking Michael needed to be alone, or was this too weird for him? Love only went so far, after all. Besides, Josh deserved someone who didn’t black out because of a damned phone call.
“Josh?” It came out a weak, dry croak.
“Hey. Yeah,” Josh said from the living room, followed by the scrape of furniture being shoved out of the way. He ran into sight, skidding to a halt in his socks, and crouched by Michael’s feet. Kaylee, angel that she was, didn’t try to block Josh. “Do you need anything?”
Michael wanted to answer, but he knew his words would come out all scrambled. Instead, he held out his hand.
When Josh took it and inched closer, he nearly broke down in tears. A gentle tug was all it took to get Josh on the floor right next to him, close enough that he could turn into Josh’s arms and bury his face against Josh’s shoulder.
And Josh was as much an angel as Kaylee was. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask questions or demand an explanation. He sat there and rubbed Michael’s back and held him, offering his silent support and demanding nothing in return.
That helped Michael find the courage to try to say, “I’m okay.”
Josh kissed the top of his head. “I made pizza bagels. All I have to do is throw them under the broiler, anytime you’re hungry. They’ll be ready as soon as the cheese melts.”
Michael nodded, checking in with his body. Pins and needles in his feet, aching butt and spine from sitting on the floor, headache that would become a migraine if he didn’t do something to stop it.
Water. Food. Maybe a hot shower, then bed. He wanted to explain that to Josh, but all that came out was, “Yeah. I’m, um . . .” Hungry, he thought, feeling the empty ache in his gut. “Um. Stomach.”
“Okay.” Josh gave him a quick squeeze. “Can I get up to turn on the oven?”
Michael sighed, relieved. He could handle questions that only needed a yes or no. He nodded again, shivering when Josh let go of him to go deal with cooking. A twitch of fingers signaled Kaylee to Michael’s side, so he could hug her close, but she was a poor substitute for Josh.
For a few seconds—maybe a few minutes—Michael listened to Josh moving around the kitchen. Then things got quiet, until Kaylee lifted her head at the hiss of fabric. Curious, Michael looked up and saw Josh coming back into the kitchen, holding the quilt that had been tossed onto one of the armchairs up front.
“Here. It’s cold on the floor,” Josh said, crouching to pile the quilt on Michael’s legs. “You need more carpets around here.”
It was such an innocuous thing to say—such a Josh thing—Michael let out a quick little laugh. “Thanks.” Keeping Kaylee close, he tugged at the quilt with one hand, and Josh helped to spread it over Michael’s feet.
“Think you can make it to a chair?” Josh asked. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
Michael shook his head. He wasn’t ready to walk—not by a long shot—and he didn’t want Josh struggling to help him to his feet.
“Okay. I’m going to get plates and stuff. Want a glass of water?”
“Yes.” Better a verbal answer than a nod.
“Two minutes,” Josh said, going back into the kitchen.
Michael closed his eyes and leaned against the wall again, concentrating on each part of his body, from his toes up to his head. It was a relaxation exercise that didn’t actually relax him but helped him focus on the here and now.
Josh came back with two glasses of water, which he set on the floor. Then he went back for a plate with four pizza bagels precariously balanced on it, hanging off the edges. He sat down, setting the plate on the quilt, and said, “I was going to make Kaylee dinner, but I didn’t know what she gets tonight.”
Michael couldn’t hide his groan. He had zero energy to put together Kaylee’s meal, but she was his responsibility. His therapist had said caring for her would help to keep him focused, help him adjust to civilian life, but his therapist was a pain in the ass.
“Hey. I’ll take care of it,” Josh said, nudging Michael’s legs. “Eat your bagel.”
Michael huffed a laugh and picked up one of the bagels. “Bet you sound like Bubbe.”
Either he said it right or he got close, because Josh laughed. “Yeah, but she would’ve said it half in Yiddish. And don’t feel bad telling me if it tastes like shit. I can always make F
rench toast or run to the diner to pick up burgers or something.”
“It’s fine, I’m sure.” Michael had no idea how long he’d been out, but it had to have been at least an hour, judging by how loudly his stomach was growling. He took a bite, only then remembering how dry his mouth was, and he had to work to swallow. At least his hand wasn’t shaking too badly to pick up the glass of water. He drank without ending up wearing it, and he was able to finish off the rest of the pizza bagel in a few quick bites.
“I made plenty, so eat all you want,” Josh said, gesturing back to the kitchen. “I figured there was no need to save them, because tomorrow morning, we’re having French toast.”
Tomorrow morning. Josh still wanted to stay tonight, despite . . . this. Even without the aphasia, Michael didn’t have the words to express everything he was feeling. But there was something he could say, so he caught Josh’s hand before he could pick up another bagel and said, “Love you.”
Josh smiled, squeezing Michael’s hand. “I love you too, babe.”
What happened last night?
All through the night, Josh had hoped Michael would open up to him, but Michael had stayed silent, and Josh hadn’t pushed. Last night wasn’t like what had happened at the diner on their first date. Michael had stayed, even if he’d shut down for a while. He’d stayed, and they’d eaten dinner, and they’d showered and gone to bed together. And even if Josh hadn’t understood more than half the words Michael had used, they’d been together. Not once had Josh felt abandoned or unwanted—if anything, it was the opposite.
So Josh kept his mouth shut, talking only about the most innocent, immediate concerns, and he fell asleep with Michael curled up at his side. And best of all, Michael was still there the following morning, when Josh rolled over and opened his eyes.
“Morning,” Michael said with a faint, almost undetectable smile.
“Hey.” Josh leaned over for a quick kiss, morning breath and all. “How’d you sleep?”
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