“I have to go,” said Awais. “But this was fun, Kevin. Thank you.” He grabbed a pen from beside Kevin’s landline and scribbled something down. “Call me sometime, okay?”
Kevin nodded. It was all he could do as Awais disappeared out the front door, leaving Kevin staring after him.
After a long moment, Kevin picked up his coffee and sat on the couch, savoring the soreness in his body and the heat of the coffee against his lips.
*
Usually, Doris, Natasha, Awais, and occasionally a few other younger Swanley people from the Muslim community in the area got together for Saturday lunch at the Cairo Grill on Main Street. It was a nice little group, and he loved getting a chance to relax with other people from cultures adjacent to his own, even if he didn't usually make it to Friday prayer. He sometimes forgot, spending so much time in the queer community and at work, that he had his guard up. With the Chanthavongsas, he could relax a little. They were queer, and Natasha was Muslim. Doris was Buddhist, but she usually attended services with her wife. Plus Natasha was Black and Doris was Laotian, so they understood what living in Massachusetts was like for somebody who wasn’t white. Swanley was great so far, queer and welcoming, but it was still very white.
This Saturday only Natasha could make it, so the two of them were having a smaller, quieter lunch than usual.
“So,” said Natasha, settling across from him and passing him a plate of kofta kebab. “You look stressed.” She considered his face a moment. “No. That’s not quite right. You look like you’ve got a lot going on, my friend.”
Awais laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Is it that obvious?”
She patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry to say it is,” she said. “You want to talk about it?”
He shook his head. “Not particularly. How’s school?”
“Same as always,” said Natasha. “You know, you’d think winter break coming up would make the kids want to get it over with and finish their work, but every year they drag it out. If they would commit to like, two days of paying attention, we could watch a movie the last day before break. But no, they won’t work, so I have to do more work. How is that fair?”
Awais laughed. “Not fair at all,” he agreed. “I don’t envy you your job.”
“I don’t want yours, either!” she protested. “Out there in the snow and rain and dark of night and all that, getting frozen and bitten by dogs? No sir, I’ll take surly teens who don’t want to learn algebra any day, thank you.” She shook her head. “You know, their drama brings me back thirty years. It’s amazing how it never changes, and at the same time is totally new.”
“Yeah?”
“I have a kid who transitioned a couple years back—nice boy, local family—and apparently he made a video that’s making the rounds about how trans boys can steal your girls. All the interpersonal drama? Exactly like when I was a kid. The format of the trouble they get in? Totally different.”
Awais considered it for a moment. “What do you even do about that kind of thing?”
“Oh, I pretend I’ve heard nothing,” she said, grinning. “Honey, if they knew how much I know about their personal lives they’d be horrified. But they’re just so loud!”
“I remember being sixteen,” said Awais. “Everything was stressful and nothing had any subtlety.” He sighed, sobering. “I guess things don’t change much, because I’m stuck in a high school drama moment right now.”
Natasha leaned forward. “How’s that?”
Awais combed a hand across his beard. “You remember the last time you were somebody’s first queer experience?”
“Not since I was in college, I think,” said Natasha. She chewed her shawarma thoughtfully. “I didn’t particularly enjoy it, although there was something special about welcoming her into the community so personally.”
“Well. Imagine the person you were welcoming personally was sixty or so.”
“Not a great idea when I was twenty-two.”
“I mean.” He sighed and looked at the ground. “I mean, the age you are now.”
Her eyes lit up. “Awais Siddiqui! Don’t tell me you converted a straight man!”
“He’s bi,” he protested. “But he’s never—acted on it, apparently.” He shook his head. “I’m too old to be somebody’s gateway into the community. And I’m way too old for somebody to have a gay panic over.”
“He panicked?”
Awais shook his head reluctantly. “Well. He didn’t. But he might. He will.”
Natasha’s brows rose. “So you’re panicking because he might panic.”
“He’s a sixty-year-old man who’s never acknowledged his gay feelings before, Natasha! Of course he’s going to panic!”
She shook her head. “Do I know this guy? Because I’ve been in Swanley a while. I could probably tell you if he’s the type to panic or not.”
Awais eyed her. “Are you looking for gossip?”
“Excuse me, I’m looking to help a friend. Why so suspicious?”
“Because you love gossip, Tasha. You desperately want to know which of Swanley’s eligible bachelors I lured into my bed.”
“Fine,” she admitted, laughing. “Yes, I am extremely curious who you took home. But! I also want to help you feel better.” She leaned closer. “So tell me.”
“Just because you’re my friend,” he said. “And because you and Doris know everybody in this town. His name is Kevin.”
“Kevin what?”
“McNamara.”
Natasha gasped. “Seriously?”
“What?”
She let out a quick chuckle. “He’s only a notorious flirt and ladies’ man. Ever since Marianne divorced him he’s been dating his way through Swanley’s female population.” She shook her head. “It’s amazing.”
“What’s amazing?”
“Oh, how queer people find each other, even when they don’t know it.” She leaned back. “His ex, Marianne? She owns the bakery next door, Windmere. It’s been in her family for generations, I think.”
“Oh, I’ve had their muffins a few times when the boss has brought them in for us,” said Awais. “And I met her at PJs a few weeks ago. I didn’t realize she was his ex. He said he’d been married to a baker, but I didn’t make the connection.”
She nodded. “They were married for thirty years or so, I believe. They have a few kids. Anyway. She’s been out as bisexual for, oh, decades. Her shop’s a little bit of a queer haven–she took my favorite trans student under her wing, gave him a job. And she knows all the queers in this town. Apparently even the ones who don’t know they’re queer. It’s just funny how we find each other, that’s all.”
Thirty years was a long time to be with someone. Awais had never been with someone more than a few years. He wondered what that was like.
He wasn’t biphobic. He tried very hard not to be. And Kevin had been enthusiastic, sweet, and surprisingly skilled for someone with zero gay experience. But did he want to be an experiment for him? Was this a midlife crisis thing for Kevin before he moved on to the women of another town? Awais didn’t know.
Natasha was giving him a way-too-knowing look. “Don’t overthink this, Awais. Kevin’s a good guy. I’ve known him a long time. Give him a chance, if you’re interested. Don’t sabotage things before they even get started.”
Awais picked up his last bite of kofta and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly to give himself some time to think. “I’ll do my best,” he said finally. “If he wants more, I’ll give him a chance.”
Natasha nodded, satisfied, then smiled up at the plump Egyptian woman who came by with their check. “Thanks, Rana,” she said. “You remember my friend Awais?”
Awais gave her a smile. “This was delicious,” he said. “I didn’t expect to find good Egyptian food out here in the suburbs.”
Rana laughed. “It’s been an adjustment for our neighbors,” she confided. “I have to make white people versions with fewer spices, sometimes. But it’s a good town.”
>
“I’m finding that out,” said Awais, smiling back at her.
Chapter Four
For the first few years after the divorce, Kevin had stayed away from Marianne’s bakery. He hadn’t wanted to make her feel uncomfortable and hadn’t wanted to make himself remember what he’d lost.
It was good that they’d divorced. He knew that now. They were better friends and co-parents to adult children than they’d been as spouses: they loved each other, liked each other, but they were fundamentally mismatched.
Kevin knew he was a pain in the ass. It was one of his best traits. He was persistent and confident and charismatic. His self-esteem was sky-high. He liked things that felt good and people who kept things interesting. He liked great sex and good food and arguing late into the night.
They’d agreed on the food part of it, and they’d both wanted to see Swanley stay the great little town it had always been. But that and forty years of history hadn’t been enough for a marriage. He needed excitement and physical intimacy and spending time outside his house. Marianne was more of a homebody.
Tearing their life together into two separate halves had been excruciatingly painful, and the hurt had lingered. Now, fifteen years after the divorce, they’d finally found an equilibrium. And that meant he was allowed to come eat her pastries again. Her baked ones, anyway.
He suppressed a grin as he pushed open the familiar, time-worn door to Windmere Bakery. Marianne probably wouldn’t appreciate that joke. She didn’t have much sense of humor about her body, though she was sharply clever and funny about most other things. Sex was a sore spot that would probably never heal between them, which was fine with him. He didn’t particularly want to talk about sex with his ex-wife.
“Hi, Mr. McNamara,” said Zeke behind the register. “Marianne ran out to give some folks directions. She’ll be back any minute.”
“Thanks, Zeke.” Marianne had only one employee, though Kevin had been telling her she needed more help for years. Zeke Mitchell was seventeen and lived with his great-grandfather a few blocks away, and he was, as far as Kevin could tell, a somewhat competent employee. Marianne adored him, and they got along well, and he supposed that was what was important. He’d always held some kind of grudge against Kevin, though, his hackles obviously raised every time Kevin set foot in the bakery. Kevin figured it was some kind of chivalrous defense of Marianne, and he tried to ignore it. “Could I order a coffee for here?”
“Cream and sugar?”
“A little of both.”
Zeke nodded and busied himself with the coffee machine. He was a good-looking kid–short dark hair in little twisted bits that stood up over a wide, round-cheeked face. He towered over his tiny great-grandfather by at least four inches, though they were both short and shared the same deep-brown skin and wide-set eyes.
The door opened behind him, and Kevin turned automatically to look, smiling at Ray as he burst in followed by a swirl of snowflakes.
“It’s getting a little messy out there,” he said, pulling off his hat and rubbing a hand over his balding head. The snowflakes on his mustache were melting quickly, dripping into his sweater. “Hey there, Kev. I hope you don’t have any big plans tonight.”
“No plans at all,” Kevin replied. “The beauty of retirement.”
“You keep saying that,” said Ray. “Are you sure you know what it means? Sure seems like you’re still plenty busy.”
Zeke laughed, handing Kevin his coffee. “Was that a Princess Bride reference?”
Ray blinked at him, baffled. “A what?”
Zeke rolled his eyes. “It’s a movie. A classic!”
“From before he was born,” said Kevin to Ray. “Probably came out when you were in the navy.”
Ray shrugged sheepishly. “I missed a lot of the eighties, kid, sorry.” He took his coffee, grinning at Zeke. “Thanks.”
They both paid, and Kevin settled at a table. Ray glanced out the window, obviously torn.
“What’s up?” asked Kevin.
“I’m trying to decide if this is worth plowing,” Ray admitted. “Public works will probably call me in a couple hours, and if I do a run when there’s just an inch on the ground it’ll make my life a lot easier later.”
“There’s barely a dusting out there,” said Kevin. “Probably not worth it for a while.”
“Who would have thought you’d be the one convincing me not to work?” said Ray, laughing as he settled into the chair across from Kevin. “Remember how you used to give us shit when you were on the council?”
“I do,” said Kevin. “And I stand by that, professionally. But personally, I’m enjoying a nice, lazy retirement coffee with an old friend.”
“Charmer,” said Ray fondly. “Now I see why the ladies love you.”
Kevin froze for a moment, suddenly hit with the vivid, overwhelming sensory memory of Awais’s mouth around his cock. He chugged a gulp of coffee to hide his discomfort, then winced as the far-too-hot liquid burned his throat and mouth and felt some of it splash into his windpipe instead.
“Whoa,” said Ray, leaning forward. “You all right there, Kev?”
“Fine,” gasped Kevin. “Just—fine.”
“Are you sure? You sound like you’re dying, buddy.”
Zeke came around the counter, a glass in his hand, as Kevin coughed. He set it on the table and backed away, eying Kevin.
“Fine!” said Kevin. He swallowed hard and grabbed the water glass, taking a long, careful sip. “Burned my mouth,” he said. “Wrong pipe.”
“Marianne would have my butt if you died in this bakery,” said Zeke.
“I’m not going to die in the bakery.”
“If the ladies could see you like this, they might not be so enthusiastic,” said Ray, laughing now that he was sure Kevin was all right.
“Probably not,” said Kevin.
“This is nice,” said Ray. “I don’t get to just sit and give you shit these days.”
“I can’t say I missed it,” said Kevin dryly.
“You did. You know you did.” Ray nudged him with a shoulder.
Kevin smiled reluctantly. “Fine. Maybe.”
“What’ve you been up to lately?”
Kevin shifted a little, that soreness in his hips still lingering, and felt his cheeks heat a little bit. “Not much. Nothing new.”
“Really? Because Tish said she saw you making a new friend over at PJs the other night.”
Kevin groaned, feeling his face pink even further. “Why do I even stay in this town?” he asked. “Can’t a man have a drink with a friend without the world hearing about it?”
“Because you love Swanley,” said Ray promptly. “And Fatima was thrilled to hear that her nephew is making friends. She was worried when he moved back that he’d struggle. He’s a grown man, I tried to tell her, but—”
“Wait. Awais is Fatima’s nephew?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I had no idea.” Kevin shifted again, uncomfortable for a different reason, and drained the last of his coffee. “I remember him now, I think. He’s the kid who lived with her family when we were in high school? That kid?”
“Yeah, why? I figured you would have talked about it.”
“I helped Marianne babysit him,” said Kevin, a little horrified.
“I mean, that was forty years ago, Kev. What difference does it make? You’re friends with lots of people young enough to be your kids. Lila Shapiro’s younger than him.”
“But I didn’t—” Kevin swallowed. “That’s different.”
Ray leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve got that look in your eye, Kevin. I don’t like that look.”
“What look is that?”
“That look that says you put your bits somewhere without thinking it through.”
“Hey!” said Kevin, offended. “Ray!”
Ray laughed. “I gotta go, Kev. Looks like the snow’s starting to pile up, and I don’t want to be stuck with six inches in the
morning.”
Kevin suddenly had the wild impulse to make a snide, filthy joke, but he resisted. He saluted Ray with his coffee cup and watched him push upright and out of the chair.
“Getting harder every year,” he commented. “I’ll be seeing you on the shuffleboard court soon enough. I don’t think I have another winter left in me.”
“You say that every year,” said Kevin.
“This year I mean it.” Ray straightened with a groan and left the shop, holding the door for Marianne on her way in. She waved at Kevin before going to check in with Zeke, who traded places with her and pulled off his apron, apparently done with his shift. Kevin picked up a copy of the Swanley Minuteman from the table next to him, flipping through it as he waited for Marianne. He remembered Awais now, realized why those dimples had been familiar: Fatima’s older brother had had dimples just like them. Probably still did. Kevin hadn’t seen him in decades. But the last time he’d seen Awais, when Marianne had babysat him in the seventies, he’d been a cute kid with a fixation on garbage trucks. And now—
Kevin shuddered. This was weird. For so many reasons, this was weird.
Marianne set a mug down in front of him gently, the steam rising fragrantly. She always made the best coffee, and he appreciated that about her. He probably didn’t need a third cup, but he wasn’t going to turn it down.
“It’s decaf,” she said, apparently reading his mind. “You look like you’ve got enough anxiety without the caffeine giving it a boost.”
It didn’t take her long to update him on her court case—her father’s new will, Lila’s legal help, her long-standing feud with the owner of the other side of her building. It was strange how oddly sad he was about referring her to another lawyer, even one as good as Lila Shapiro. He liked being useful, liked having a goal, and liked helping her. Even though they weren’t married anymore—even though that was absolutely a good thing, because they hadn’t really been happy or compatible for years, if ever—he wanted to be part of her life. He knew he had a problem: his need to always be useful. Marianne had told him it was a man problem, and a him problem specifically, and he knew she was right. That didn’t stop him from feeling if he wasn’t being useful, he didn’t have any value. Marianne blamed his father, and society, and toxic masculinity. All Kevin knew was that he wanted to help. That’s what made him happy.
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