Small Wonders

by Courtney Lux

  “Um… cool?” Nate looks between Trip’s eyes again, guarded.

  Trip doesn’t want Nate to get up and go, so he tries to make his expression more teasing. “I knew your name, didn’t I?” Nate nods but says nothing, so Trip tries a new technique. “Let’s make a deal.”

  Nate looks as though he isn’t entirely sure he wants to make a deal with the crazy kid from the park who doesn’t own an umbrella or have the sense to seek shelter when it rains. He drums a finger on the tabletop. “What kind of deal?”

  “I tell you three things I know about you.” Trip holds up three fingers. “And you tell me why you got dumped.”

  Nate eyes him, clearly wary of whatever trick this might be. “You’re not gonna tell me I’ve got brown eyes or I’m drinking coffee or some bullshit like that, are you?”

  “Please.” Trip tries to match Nate’s reproachful frown with one of his own. “I’m better than that.”

  Nate sighs, apparently resigned to indulging Trip’s game. “Fine.”

  Trip sticks out a hand. “Gotta shake on a deal or it’s no good, Nathaniel.”

  Nate reaches for Trip’s hand. His grip is as firm as it had been in the park; his palm is warmed from his coffee mug. “All right, go ahead and read my mind then, I guess.”

  Trip props his elbows on the table and leans close; his gaze flits over Nate’s face. He knits his brow and hums a note under his breath. “Give me a second.”

  “Fine.” Nate lets out a surprised laugh, and the sound of it shakes some of the grayness from his body.

  “You should laugh more. You’ve got a nice laugh.” Trip’s eyes come up to meet Nate’s. “You used to—laugh more, I mean. You were a happy kid.”

  Nate snorts and rolls his eyes. “That’s hardly reading my mind.”

  “Just getting warmed up, pal.” Trip studies him before speak­ing again. “You’ve got a younger sister.”

  Nate shifts in his seat. At first he looks surprised, but then he’s clearly decided it could be a good guess, nothing more. Trip holds his gaze and keeps equally quiet, hoping for some extra detail Nate might provide—where his sister lives or what she does or if she still scowls the way she did as a child. Nate simply responds, “Nora.”

  Trip drums his fingers on the tabletop and makes a show of looking deep in thought. “You’re not from here.”

  “Neither are you.” Nate lifts his coffee mug to his lips. “I’m not a mind-reader, and I can still figure that out. Where are you from?”

  “South of here.” Trip’s not interested in sharing pieces of him­self; he just wants some extra piece of Nate, some added piece for the puzzle of the photograph in his bag. “And you’re from Minnesota. Do you have a white porch? I’m seeing one of them big ol’ white porches with the green floorboards.”

  Nate coughs around his coffee. His knee knocks Trip’s in his sudden surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “I’m right, yeah?” Trip laughs. He is near-giddy to have this particular detail confirmed.

  Nate’s expression softens. “You ought to laugh more, too.”

  Trip’s always found his laugh odd. It’s loud and hoarse and happier than he feels most of the time, but Nate is not the first one to compliment it. “I laugh when things are funny.”

  “So do I.” Nate nudges his toes underneath the table. “You still have one more.”

  Trip is still reeling over the thrill of having the detail of the porch confirmed, so he forgets to maintain the showman aura when he offers his final fact. “You’re a middle child. You got that baby sister and an older brother, yeah?”

  Nate looks suddenly even drearier than he had out in the rain. He shakes his head.

  Trip is oddly panicked that he has made a mistake and he does not know the person across from him after all. “No?”

  “I…” Nate meets Trip’s eyes. He opens his mouth, closes it. He looks down at the tabletop. “I do, kind of.”

  Trip is soothed slightly, but he watches Nate, intent on reading the words that he had decided not to say. He can’t find them.

  “He said I lacked passion.” Nate speaks suddenly, his gaze still on the tabletop.

  Trip blinks, frowns. “Huh?”

  “You named three things and a deal’s a deal.” Nate looks less miserable discussing this particular subject, although not much. “My boyfriend dumped me because he said I lacked passion…or we lacked passion. Something about passion.”

  Trip wants to know about that older brother, but, for now, he can let it be. He studies Nate’s drooped shoulders and perfectly kept dirty-blond hair. “I guess I can kind of get that.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Nate mumbles.

  A shiver works its way up Trip’s spine even in the relative warmth of the café. He wraps his hands around his coffee mug. “What’s the ex-boyfriend’s name?”

  Nate sips his coffee before responding. “Lovett.”

  Trip laughs. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Nate looks at him, reproachful. “I thought you only laughed when something was funny.”

  “Hell, if that’s how the guy introduces himself, that is goddamn funny.” Trip takes a drink of his coffee, still grinning at Nate over the rim of his mug. “That’s his honest-to-God name?”

  “It’s not that weird. It’s just waspy. Like yours.”

  “I can promise you, Nathaniel, my name ain’t the product of Park Avenue parents.” Trip gives Nate a once-over. “A full-grown man, you’d think he’d change it or something… Unless he’s not a grown-up. You’re not one of those creepy kiddie-fuckers, are you?”

  Nate looks at him sharply, but then relaxes. “He’s twenty-four.”

  Trip shakes his head in a continued show of disgust. The name doesn’t actually bother him, but it’s fun to get Nate riled up.

  “How old are you?” Nate looks Trip over. “You go to college around here?”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  Judging by Nate’s expression, he can’t quite make up his mind. “Christ, you’re not like some high school kid or something, are you?”

  Trip cocks his head to the side. “Why? You have plans for me, Nathaniel?”

  Nate blushes scarlet. “It would just—that’d be weird, ya know? I mean, like, I’m—”

  “Twenty-six.”

  Nate is apparently too flustered to ask how Trip knows another detail about him. He fiddles with his coffee mug. “So you’re how old then?”

  “Does it matter?” Trip nudges the handle of the coffee spoon beside Nate’s mug.

  Nate reaches out to straighten the spoon. “You know how old I am.”

  Trip waves him off. Nate seems like a good guy, but nineteen might seem too young to him, and Trip’s not ready to cut him loose just yet. “Hush, I wanna hear more about this Lovett thing. How long were you with him?”

  Nate shifts in his seat as though unsettled at being put off, but he responds all the same. “Four and a half months.”

  “Where’d you find him?” Trip asks.

  Nate hesitates for a beat. “Um, eHarmony?”

  Trip laughs again. It’s been a long time since he laughed so much. “Not even Grindr? You met this guy through eHarmony?”

  “You’re a dick.” Nate folds his arms and his posture grows stiff.

  “You’re absolutely right, I am,” Trip agrees. “So you met Lovett—the boyfriend of four and a half months—on eHarmony, went on some lovely coffee-shop and museum-touring dates, and then this guy dumped you over the phone at work because you’re as dry as day-old toast. Am I following this right?”

  Nate’s shoulders droop. He turns Trip’s empty plate in a slow circle on the tabletop. “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “Jesus.” Trip pushes his hair off of his forehead and out of his eyes. “Sugar, you need a shot of whiskey, not a cup of coffee.”
<
br />   Nate looks up, clearly charmed, but by what, Trip’s not entirely sure. “He called me when he was about to get on the subway.”

  Trip is pleased and surprised Nate has offered this small piece of information without prompting. “Of course he did. Do you think he’s fucking somebody else?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Nate keeps spinning the plate in slow circles.

  Trip’s never been in any sort of relationship, but he’s fairly certain that people are supposed to seem more upset when they get abruptly dumped, especially when the dumping happens over the phone in the middle of a Tuesday. He reaches across the table to close a hand around Nate’s arm. “Nathaniel, calm down. Try to put a cap on all that boiling jealousy and rage.”

  Nate stares down at Trip’s hand until he tucks it back into his lap. “I wasn’t in love with the guy or, like, planning on marrying him or anything.”

  “If you’re not jealous, maybe you should be pissed that he was such a dick about the whole thing. Seek revenge or some­thing, ya know?” Trip flaps his hands. “Go put laxatives in his coffee or fuck up his place or tell all his people he’s got herpes or something.”

  “I’m a little old for revenge plots.” Nate rubs at a water spot on the handle of his spoon with one of the napkins from the table. “It just kind of ‘is what it is’ at this point. It’s fine.”

  “‘Fine’ is what people say when they don’t wanna say what they’re actually feeling.” Trip lifts his cup and is disappointed to find it nearly empty. He finishes off what little there is.

  Nate looks into Trip’s mug and then his own. He fidgets with the handle, talks down toward his empty cup. “You want another cup of coffee?”

  Trip wants five more cups of coffee, ten more cups of coffee, twenty more cups of coffee, and whatever time that buys him in this corner of a café with Nathaniel. He shakes his head. He has rent to pay and Liam waiting at home to tear him apart for being late. Normally these things would not bother him. What makes him uncomfortable is how much he wants that second cup of coffee. “Can’t. Places to be.”

  “All right.” Nate looks vaguely disappointed, but he pushes himself upright and waits at the edge of the table while Trip gathers his things.

  They walk outside together to discover the rain has abated but has not gone entirely. Nate pops open his umbrella and holds it over both of their heads.

  Nate shows no signs of leaving, so Trip rifles through his bag before coming up with a slightly soggy cigarette. “You got a light?”

  Nate reaches into his pocket and offers a silver Zippo.

  Trip accepts the lighter. “Good man.”

  Nate glances out toward the rain. “You taking the train home?”

  The lighter flares orange and warms Trip’s face with its small flame as he lights his cigarette. He inhales deeply, then blows smoke toward the street as he offers back the lighter. “Nah, I’m gonna walk.”

  Nate accepts the lighter and returns it to his pocket. “You live around here?”

  Trip blows a stream of smoke in Nate’s direction. “Why? You looking to come home with me?”

  “I’m just asking a question,” Nate snaps.

  Trip lowers the cigarette. “Yeah, I live around here. You Upper West or Upper East?”

  “Who said I was either?”

  Trip takes another drag on his cigarette and doesn’t say anything. He knows Nate’s type. If it’s not the Upper East Side or the Upper West Side, it’s Gramercy Park.

  “Fine.” Nate speaks after a brief silence. “Upper East.”

  Trip flicks ash toward his shoes. “Doorman and that whole bit?”

  Nate shrugs. “It’s got a decent lobby.”

  Trip hums a thoughtful note. “Sounds nice.”

  If Nate wants to take him home, this will be when he decides to do it. It wouldn’t be hard even for someone as bumbling as Nathaniel Mackey, and it wouldn’t be totally unexpected. Nate’s having a bad day, he’s just been dumped and he has the lonely, put-out look of an abandoned puppy. Trip might even like going home with Nate. He’s handsome, broad-shouldered and tall. His eyes are a warm honey brown and his nose is just a little crooked. Besides that, Nate does not seem like the type to send Trip home with injuries that won’t heal themselves within a day or two.

  Nate looks at him as if he’s considering the same thing. His eyes drift from Trip’s slim hips to the wiry muscles of his arms to his hair and then back down to his wet T-shirt. He holds out his umbrella toward Trip’s unoccupied hand. “Here.”

  Trip assesses the umbrella in Nate’s hand, confused about what it is Nate wants from him.

  “Take it. I’ve got another at home and I’m taking a cab anyway.” Nate tucks the umbrella into Trip’s hand. “Consider it a thank-you for getting my wallet back to me.”

  Trip startles at the contact, but he holds on to the umbrella. He stretches his arm so they can both stay underneath. It’s not an easy task. Nate’s a good half-foot taller than him. “I thought that’s what the coffee was for.”

  Nate shakes his head when Trip offers his cigarette. “Coffee’s just coffee.”

  Trip studies him, perturbed. Nate apparently doesn’t want to take him home, nor does he want so much as a drag from his cigarette. It’s strange and amusing all at once, so Trip offers him a smile. “Thank you, Nathaniel.”

  “Nate.” There’s a cab with its light on coming down the street. Nate steps toward the curb and sticks out a hand. “Nobody calls me Nathaniel.”

  The cab pulls over. Nate and Trip stare at one another.

  “Thanks again for the coffee.” Trip spins the umbrella. “And this.”

  “Not a problem.” Nate nods. “So, um…” He looks at Trip, as if waiting for him to fill in the silence.

  The cab driver opens his window. “Buddy, you wanna ride somewhere or what?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Nate looks from Trip to the cab driver and back to Trip. “Maybe I could give you my—”

  Trip steps forward before he can think about what it is he’s going to do. He lifts the umbrella higher, pushes himself up onto his toes.

  The kiss is so sudden and so brief, Trip’s not sure either he or Nate fully register that it’s happening. It’s not passionate; it doesn’t taste like coffee or spring or fate or whatever the hell it is people think kisses taste like. It’s quick and light, and Nate smells like cologne, something woodsy. Trip has barely had the thought before he’s stepping back and away from Nathaniel and his cab.

  Nate appears slightly stunned but not altogether unhappy.

  Trip watches him from beneath the shelter of the umbrella. “Goodbye, Nathaniel.”

  Nate pulls open the cab door, hesitates. “So maybe I’ll see you around?”

  “Maybe,” Trip agrees.

  It’s not too late for Trip to just get in the cab. Nate could reach for him and pull him in for a better kiss. Trip could change his mind about that second cup of coffee. Nate could suggest they make plans for drinks and a meal better than a day-old croissant. The next few moments could play out in a million possible ways.

  Trip takes another step back.

  Nate slips into his cab and waves an awkward goodbye through the window.

  Trip winks and waves back. He walks south. The cab takes Nate north.

  Trip spins his umbrella as he walks and ponders what might have come of one more cup of coffee.

  ii.

  I never saw a baby being born before last week, and it just so happens that baby and me now share a birthday.

  Funny things, babies. People always think they’re so fragile, but after seeing the way they force themselves into the world, I’m not sure we give them enough credit. June Noelle came a few weeks early and scared the hell out of all of us. Well, scared the hell out of me anyhow.

  Scarlett had been waiting tables at night since she wasn�
��t exactly the best material for the strip club with the whole pregnant thing. Drove Liam half-crazy that she was on her feet all day, then kept it up at night. He kept saying if she thought she needed the extra income, she ought to get a job manning a hotel lobby or something like that where she could at least sit at a desk and answer phones. Jobs like that are hard to come by, and since working was gonna have to be put off after the baby showed up and she’d still need to be able to pay rent, Scarlett switched her waitressing job from day shifts to nights and—since Liam’s always Mr. Fuckin’ Optimist and insisted—she gave the hotel thing a shot. Didn’t get the front desk gig, but they needed an extra set of hands making beds and folding towels for people a hell of a lot fancier than us for a solid nine bucks an hour.

  I don’t worry about Scarlett. She’s a tough girl and she can hold her own, but Jesus did she scare us when she came home from the diner looking as if she could just about drop dead she was hurting so bad. She didn’t want to go to the hospital, something about fake contractions that come early and unnecessary hos­pital bills and that sort of thing, so she paced the apartment back and forth in that ugly green polo with her nametag still on, sweating up a storm. Hell, she brought me home a damn piece of cake from the diner and just that once made jokes about liking the cold weather. Girls and babies, man, I’m telling you. They’re made of tougher stuff than what we give them credit for.

  Things just got crazier from there. Jude was doing his method-acting thing and wouldn’t stop with his goddamn southern accent that he’s been modeling after mine; Scarlett was just about taking a knee the baby was hurting her so bad; Liam was driv­ing us all crazy trying to capture the moment with his art or some­thing. I just about knocked his lights out when he asked Scarlett to hold still for a second so he could paint her. Not that I was any more help than he was. I sat and watched and waited with Li and Devon and Jude. Bunch of useless boys, the whole lot of us; we all knew that damn baby was coming and all we could do was sit and stare and hope it changed its mind and stayed in Scarlett’s belly.