by Con Riley
“I wonder if people here spend more time in coffee shops than they do around their dining tables, sharing food they prepared together.”
His mom interrupted. “I thought Italians loved coffee.”
Marco was quick to agree, nodding enthusiastically. “We do, Mrs. Daly. We make the very best. Only we drink our espresso quickly before getting our work done. The sooner we get finished for the day, the better. Then the real fun can begin. Maybe my family is unusual . . . .” Marco hesitated before continuing. “We are passionate people and take great pleasure from each other’s company, even when we argue. Perhaps some people see our loud conversations and our physicality as”—he frowned before adding a descriptor—“obnoxious? But my family communicates through touch as well as talking.”
Aiden had a moment of almost perfect recall. He’d yelled at Marco only days earlier, describing his habit of sliding into Aiden’s bed with his morning coffee as obnoxious. He’d loudly added that touching someone all the fucking time was obnoxious too—hadn’t Marco been taught any manners as a kid?
Was Marco really the same way with everyone? Aiden hadn’t taken the time to notice.
Marco certainly sounded quieter when he added, “I miss Mamma very much, as well as my idiot brothers. I talk with them often, but it’s not the same without being able to feel their words as well as hearing them.” He looked down at the table. “I’ll never stop missing Ben, but I’m glad he had a happy life here. Different to ours in Milan, but happy all the same.”
Theo, Marco’s de facto brother-in-law, had talked about de Luca family life at one of the few poker nights Aiden had gone to with Evan and Joel. Aiden had been vaguely uncomfortable sitting opposite Theo’s new boyfriend, Morgan, while Theo reminisced about Ben. Talking about the dead still made Aiden’s stomach clench, but Morgan hadn’t seemed to mind at all, listening with obvious interest as Theo described a typical evening in the de Lucas’ Milan home.
Joel had dealt a deck of cards as Theo spoke, flicking them around the table with the kind of practiced skill that sent Aiden’s finely honed trouble sensor screaming into high alert. You didn’t get that good with cards without investing a whole lot of time to practice.
Aiden hated poker. He hated gambling for good reason, and he hated the thought of throwing away the money he worked so hard for even more. But Evan had asked Aiden to come with him and Joel, wanting the three of them to spend time together. So he’d been paying close attention to Joel, rather than to Theo’s words, at the start of their conversation. He paid closer attention when Theo described how lonely Ben must have found life when they first lived together.
Theo had faltered as he described the volume levels around the de Luca dinner table. He recalled how the first time he ate with Ben and Marco’s family in Milan, he thought he’d walked in on a feud. Arguments waged fiercely from one end of the table to the other, while dishes were passed and children were encouraged to eat just a little more. It had been very late to have dinner, according to Theo, but he’d been swamped with kids. Marco had been one of the most vocal, Theo said. He’d been around fifteen then and had spent the evening working his way around the table, talking his older brothers into giving him money for new clothes, pleading poverty and sitting on Theo’s lap until he handed over the contents of his wallet too.
Theo had sounded amused, then sad as he described the way Ben didn’t know how to behave at an American dinner table. His conversation had lapsed, and Aiden had wanted to leave the poker table so badly. He couldn’t imagine how Morgan felt sitting next to the man who was meant to be his partner, watching him wipe his eyes. Morgan had said nothing. Not a single word. He’d just leaned back to let one of Theo’s older friends—someone who’d known Ben well too—rest a hand on his shoulder.
At the time, Aiden had been too shocked at the open discussion of shit that should really stay private to think much about what Theo had said. He’d described Ben’s culture shock and how it wasn’t until he’d died that Theo recognized how lonely his early years in Seattle had been. Ben had talked to complete strangers out of a desperate urge to connect, one that hadn’t been returned by Theo’s family. In hindsight, he could kind of grasp why Theo had suddenly stopped talking. It was pretty damning that he’d been oblivious to his partner’s homesickness for so long.
Marco wasn’t Ben—their likeness seemed only skin-deep—and Aiden wasn’t Theo, but sitting on the lawn he’d cut for years and years, in the city where he’d always lived, Aiden wondered how he’d feel if he were transplanted to Milan. That dagger in his side twisted for a moment as the heat of shame crawled slowly up his neck.
He hadn’t guessed that Marco might be lonely too.
He got up and joined them at the patio table.
“In Italy everything is different,” Marco continued, glancing over at Aiden and smiling. “But there are many things in America that I like very much.” His foot nudged Aiden’s ankle, and his wink was subtle. “I enjoy going to coffee with my friends here, and if I get there early by an hour or two, I go ahead and make some new ones. I haven’t been here long enough to know for certain, but it seems as if people build their own families from friends and choose to spend their free time with them.”
His mother wondered out loud if that were true, and Marco shrugged again. “Maybe that’s only the people I’ve gotten to know. I have a lot of time to think of what I left behind. Maybe too much time.” When she asked how long he planned to stay in the States, Marco was noncommittal, his gaze returning to Aiden. His visa related to the business his brother had established in Seattle, so he was under no pressure to hurry. His mom suggested he should find an American girl to marry, and Marco roared with laughter so heartfelt that Aiden almost joined in. But when Marco started to answer her, saying, “I’m not interested in gir—” Aiden kicked his ankle hard, his heart suddenly failing before beating fast again.
It was so easy to tip his mom into anxiety. One moment she would seem fine; the next she’d be shaking with fretful apprehension. He had no idea if she’d make the mental leap between Marco’s sexuality and his own. He had no idea if that would be something she’d flip out over, either.
He simply couldn’t take the chance.
He wouldn’t.
It wasn’t worth the risk to her mental wellbeing.
Aiden hustled his mother inside, citing that it was late and he had plans early the next morning. As he helped her tidy the kitchen, she remarked on what a fun guy Marco seemed. A glance out the kitchen window revealed his housemate bent over the broken mower. He hoped Marco wasn’t attempting to repair it in the dim late-evening light. It could wait until tomorrow. Besides, he still had several screws in his pocket.
His head was full of logistics, rather than paying too much attention to his mom, as he mulled over whether Marco might really be able to repair the mower. If not, he decided he’d load it into his pickup and find somewhere reasonable to take a look at it in the morning. It had to get fixed—there was no way he could afford to purchase a new one right now. He only realized that his mom had been outside with Marco again when the door closed on her return. The thought of his housemate talking with her alone made his stomach lurch. Fuck knows what Marco might let slip, like how he’d crawl into Aiden’s bed every chance he got, or how he might be wearing pink silk panties.
Agitation overwhelmed him. Aiden sounded rude, even to himself. “What were you doing out there? Were you talking with Marco?” His mom blinked across at him, her expression blank before she answered.
“Your friend asked where I kept my tools. I gave him the keys to the storage shed and told him that his guess was as good as mine. Marco’s a lovely man, Aiden. It’s so nice to see you with a friend.” His mom reached up to smooth his mussed hair. “I didn’t realize that he was helping you house-sit. Does your brother like him? Evan must miss you, Aiden. If there’s room, you should ask him to stay with you too. He must be bored silly rattling around on his own in your apartment.”
Sh
e talked and talked and talked, not really expecting any answers beyond his quietly voiced, “Evan’s fine, Mom.” Aiden strongly doubted that Evan was bored, not with an empty apartment to play house in and with Joel for constant company. Honestly, it was as if those two were joined at the hip. His mom’s conversation moved on as he deflected her questions, smiling blankly in return whenever she asked about things he wasn’t about to discuss. That was a trick he’d learned from Dad: as long as he smiled, his mother didn’t question him too much.
Time to go home.
His mom approached with a dampened paper towel. “Stand still, sweetie.”
Aiden did, his cheeks heating as he realized she was wiping away smears of the engine grease that Marco had pressed onto his skin before kissing him. She chatted as she wiped, telling him how handsome he was, just like always. Then she asked when he was going to get around to finding a nice girl. As usual, Aiden said nothing and smiled.
He was about to leave when she asked him to wait a moment, heading for his father’s study. Aiden silently prayed that she wouldn’t return with another bill he’d need to pay. This month was already a financial disaster.
He didn’t look closely at the envelope she returned with. He didn’t need to. It had the same return address as the one he’d avoided opening for weeks at the store. He tucked it in his back pocket, thanking God that she’d gotten used to passing over official-looking mail to him without question. The contents of this particular letter might push her too far to come back from. Another risk he wasn’t prepared to take.
They said good night. Aiden blew her a kiss, just like usual, that she caught as she waved good-bye through the screen door. He walked backward across the lawn waving too, only turning—grim faced—toward the garage when the kitchen lights finally went out.
Finding Marco gone from where he last saw him didn’t worry Aiden. But seeing the garage lights flicker a few times before they came on did. The shock of realizing that Marco was inside looking for tools made the ground feel as if it were moving under Aiden’s feet. Only instead of steadying once Aiden figured out what had happened, he lurched, his arms spread wide for balance. Jesus. His heart pounded and his head spun as he staggered over the grass, conscious only of the way his lips felt suddenly numb as they tried to form Marco’s name. He tried over and over to yell as he got closer, but no sound escaped his mouth.
Rounding the corner from the backyard to the open garage doors seemed to take forever. Once he made it there and stood in the open space where for five years the doors had remained firmly locked, his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
That’s how his mom had sounded too, for days after his dad died. She tried to speak, no matter how often Aiden told her to take it easy. It didn’t matter that he promised her things would be fine and that he’d take care of everything from now on. His mom could only whisper the same word over and over again.
She’d asked, “David?” so many times, as if she might get a different answer. Aiden wished he could forget how she’d sounded, or how she’d crumple each time after waking, when he’d have to tell her all over again that Dad was really gone. She’d only finally stopped after nearly a week’s psychiatric evaluation.
But this evening, when the Seattle sky behind him was getting dark, Aiden stood bathed in bright-white fluorescent garage light and called out for someone other than his father. Marco heard him and stood, holding a screwdriver and a wrench, his lips lifting into his ridiculous, beautiful signature smile before his expression shifted into shocked confusion.
Marco dropped the tools with a clang and clatter, crossing the garage floor before Aiden could get another hoarse-sounding word out. His own words were a mix of fast-paced Italian and English as he asked what was wrong. “Is it your mamma? Did something happen?”
Aiden shook his head as Marco’s hands cupped his face, forcing him to meet his gaze. Aiden shook his head again as Marco cursed, wiping under Aiden’s eyes with his thumbs, then showing him how they came away wet. He asked again what was wrong, and then he pulled Aiden into a fast, fierce hug.
Aiden couldn’t answer. He stood and closed his eyes as Marco held him, but it didn’t make any difference. Even with his eyes tightly closed, he could still see the garage wall over Marco’s shoulder. Although it had been repainted white and was currently spotless, Aiden still saw it stained bloodred.
Chapter Four
Aiden didn’t recall any of the drive home. Not a single minute. One moment he was standing inside his parents’ garage, feeling as if he were drowning on dry land. The next, Marco told him that they were home. He used the same tone of voice then as he had when he’d held onto Aiden in the garage. Marco’s calm “I’ve got you now, I’ve got you” was all that Aiden heard.
His voice sounded different than usual. Pitched lower. It seemed slower too, as if he were weighing each word before speaking.
“Open your eyes, Aiden. See? I brought you home.”
Marco was telling the truth. The porch light illuminated the pile of lumber that Paul Morse—father of Peter, who owned the house—had delivered the week before. The older man had been a regular visitor, gradually renovating Peter’s property around them, arriving with tools and lumber for a new project almost every week. Yup, this was Peter’s place all right. Aiden nodded as Marco repeated that they were home.
“Aiden?” Marco still sounded weird—reserved and cautious. “Are you ready to come inside yet?”
Aiden shook his head. Going inside would mean talking. He wasn’t ready to talk about what happened to his father.
Marco’s hand was warm over his. “Please come into the house now. You will be more comfortable indoors. Please, Aiden.”
Wow. Marco said please. Twice. If he weren’t so tired, Aiden would take note of the date and time. Marco never said please, not to him at least. Instead he’d issue demands, saying things like “Kiss me good morning,” or “Rub sunscreen on my back,” his bossy requests escalating the more Aiden ignored him.
Aiden took in his own ghostly, blank-faced reflection in the dashboard-lit windshield as Marco got out of the truck. Then he watched as Marco stood in a puddle of bright porch light making a phone call, his free hand gesticulating before tightening into a white-knuckled fist. Marco frowned as he spoke, looking deadly serious. That expression seemed foreign on his face too, and yet somehow familiar. Aiden tried to figure out where he’d seen it before as Marco opened the passenger door.
“Aiden. Look at me.”
Aiden felt his seatbelt unfasten and a firm hand grip his elbow. “Look at me right now.” Marco’s face was shadowed. He looked terrible. “Come with me.” He tugged at Aiden’s elbow, holding on tight when Aiden tried to shake him off. His grip tightened further, and his lips thinned. “Now, Aiden.”
Aiden did as he was told. He got out of the truck, his back stiff and his movements weary, as if he were an injured soldier finally home after deployment. Marco’s tone changed as soon as he shut the truck door. He spoke constantly, softly, praising Aiden for every step he took. That soothing tone—so different from his usual teasing or the stern orders he’d just issued—reminded Aiden of someone else. Was it Joel he’d heard speaking the same way to homeless men at the shelter where he volunteered with Evan?
Did that mean Marco now saw him as someone who was helpless? That thought made him try to pull away.
“Oh no you don’t. I don’t know what just happened, but you must talk about it. Right now, Aiden. You must.” His grip on Aiden’s arm tightened, making Aiden feel off center, so used to dealing with things alone.
He stumbled, and Marco, who was much smaller than him, wedged himself under Aiden’s shoulder and took his weight like it was nothing of consequence. Marco guided him into the house, walking at a slow pace until they sat on the soft leather couch in the living room.
“What happened to you, Aiden?”
Aiden leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Nothing had happened to him.
N
othing at all.
Marco shifted next to him, reaching out to turn on a lamp.
“No, leave it.” Aiden’s own voice sounded strange too, hoarse and low. “Please, leave it off.” He didn’t want to be seen. Not now.
Marco turned sideways to face him, his hand resting lightly over Aiden’s for a moment before he began to move away.
Aiden sat in the dim and shadowed living room of his borrowed home and felt as if the whole house tilted when Marco got up from the couch. He reached out and grabbed his left hand.
“Stop. Don’t . . . .” What was he trying to say? Talking still seemed far too difficult. Sitting forward, he held Marco’s right wrist too, squeezing it some, feeling its pulse, strong and steady, under his fingers.
“Tell me how I can help you, Aiden. Do you need a drink? Let me get you some water. Or maybe something stronger?” Marco took a step backward, but Aiden held on tighter, pulling him until Marco stood between his legs. He sounded hesitant. “Aiden—”
Aiden pulled Marco even closer, pressing his forehead against the back of Marco’s hand. The thought of Marco leaving him right then, even to go to the kitchen, seemed like a terrible idea. Aiden squeezed his eyes shut. He was being ridiculous. This whole situation was crazy. He needed to get a grip. What the hell was wrong with him? He let go, braced his elbows on his knees, and bowed his head.
Marco knelt, his hands resting on Aiden’s shoulders. “Tell me what happened. You will feel better if you do, I promise you.”
Aiden’s sigh gusted from him with a powerful huff. When it had been just him, Evan, and Mom, Aiden had felt as if he could hold things together. He had held things together.
But now?
Nothing felt the same. It hadn’t for a while now, especially since those letters had started coming. This out-of-control feeling destroyed him.
“Is this about your papà?”
Aiden nodded. Everything was about his dad. Every single fucking thing.