Marianne sat with a groan, leaning back in the chair to consider him from half-lidded eyes. Her gray hair was pulled back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and her long apron hugged her ample figure. She looked familiar and warm, and he really did love her, still. Just in a different way than he used to, or than he thought he did. It all seemed more confusing and more clear at the same time after a passionate night with someone totally unexpected. Even if that night could never be repeated, now that he knew who his paramour had been.
“You look good, Kevin,” she said softly.
He smiled at her. “Do I?”
“Except the bags under your eyes from what looks like a late night, yes. You could have told me, you know. If anyone wasn’t going to judge you for being interested in men, it’d be me.”
Kevin sighed, tapping his fingers on the coffee mug. “I know that.”
“So why didn’t you say anything? I mean, other than it being none of my business after we got divorced, I mean.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Marianne. I guess I wasn’t ever sure. I had you, and I’d always been with women, and being with men seemed—I don’t know, unnecessary. Complicated. Difficult. I didn’t need anyone else because there were plenty of women in my life. It never came up, I guess.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “I was at PJ’s last night. I started talking about the Patriots with a guy I didn’t know. Things just happened from there.”
“You had fun, though?”
He thought about it for a moment—Awais’s hands, his wide shoulders, the feel of his beard rasping against Kevin’s hips. He tried not to shift in his seat, but he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. “Yes,” he said simply.
“Well.” She patted his hand. “I’m glad. Only took you sixty years, but I’m glad.”
“It was good,” he said. “But it’s complicated.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Complicated?”
He hesitated. “He’s young.”
Her other eyebrow joined the first. “How young? Please tell me he’s not our kids’ age.”
Kevin ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that he’d tried to break himself of for decades, since it sent his hair into unfixable disarray, the curls he carefully managed popping back out in the front and at the top of his head. “Not that young, but still. You babysat him. I helped.”
“I didn’t do much babysitting, and you weren’t there for much of it. If it were somebody we saw a lot of, you’d have known right away who they were. So—” Marianne narrowed her eyes, thinking, then smiled. “Wait, you’re not talking about Fatima’s brother’s son, are you?”
Something weird and hot flared in Kevin’s belly, something out of control that he tried to tamp down. She couldn’t know. How did she know? How did Marianne, and Ray, and all the people in this town always think they knew him?
“I thought so,” said Marianne. She looked smug. “I met him at PJ’s the other night. He seemed nice, and he certainly grew up good-looking.”
“I have to go,” said Kevin, finishing his coffee and shoving his chair backward. “I’ll see you later, Marianne.”
“Wait.” She caught his arm as he stood. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He didn’t want to tell her his chest felt tight and his throat was hot and he was moments away from either screaming or crying to let out the wild animal that had somehow taken up residence under his ribs.
“Kevin?” asked Marianne. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he gritted out, opening his eyes to meet hers. “I’m fine, I just have to go.”
“Okay.” She didn’t let go of his arm, and her voice had taken on a wheedling tone he recognized from when they were married—the voice she used with him when she thought he was being unreasonable but knew better than to say it and escalate things. “Do you need me to close down? Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’m fine,” he said again, forcing his face to relax a little bit. “I promise. It’s been…a weird day, all right?”
“Okay,” she said, obviously dubious. “If you’re sure.”
The bell over the door jingled, and Kevin looked up to see Carol Ramirez from the Lucky Dog closing the door behind herself. He smiled at her, feeling the expression shade a little more natural as Marianne’s attention was pulled from him.
“Am I interrupting?” asked Carol, hesitant, looking from Marianne to Kevin and back again. “I can come back. I wanted to talk about our cookie order.”
Marianne glanced at Kevin, who shrugged helplessly and pushed himself out of his chair. “I was on my way out. Good to see you, Carol.”
She clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, reaching up from her barely five foot height. “Come by the pub someday, all right? I know you’re usually a PJs man these days, but I promise, we’ve totally redone the beer menu. We’ve got our own homebrew on tap now.”
“I will,” said Kevin as he edged toward the door. He may have to start going to the Dog, he realized. If PJs was Awais’s bar, he didn’t want to kick the guy out of his favored bar just because they’d fooled around. What was he saying? They weren’t seventeen. He could say it. They’d had sex.
He took the walk home slowly, breathing in the cold, crisp Massachusetts air. He wasn’t sure why he’d gotten so angry at Marianne. He’d told her about Awais, told her he’d met someone and slept with them and that it had been a man, but the idea of her knowing him? The idea of her knowing who he’d been with? Knowing his family, his history, remembering him when he was a child and apparently knowing him now? And what did Awais see in him, a guy nearly fifteen years older than him? It was all a fucking mess. He was used to this when dating women. Everyone knew him. People gossiped about his relationships with women. It hadn’t occurred to him the same thing would happen with Awais.
He didn’t want to think about it anymore.
Kevin settled at his desk to check his email, losing himself in the little projects people sent him that filled his retirement hours: small consultations with former clients, introductions and letters of recommendation, and occasional city planning projects that needed that extra little oomph he’d always been good at.
*
When his days off rotated to get him a whole weekend off, Awais never knew what to do with himself. There was only so much time he could spend with his grandmother before she kicked him out, and his friends back in Providence mostly worked overtime and never took their weekends. Back there, he never got more than one day off a week: the office always asked him in for overtime, and if he said no, he was junior enough they’d make him come in anyway. But Swanley was different. There were a few overtime hogs, just like every office, but all the routes were covered and they had two assistant carriers—Maurice and Maya—to cover any sick calls or vacations that came up. Most of the carriers whose routes he was assigned usually came in for overtime on their days off, so he got to do new routes every day and sometimes just packages or whatever mail was left over. He never had to work a holiday or a Sunday or even a day off, if he didn’t want to. It was weird. It was nice.
And since he was staying in his aunt Fatima’s spare room, it wasn’t like he needed the overtime to pay his rent. He covered groceries, out of a sense of obligation, but she flat out refused to let him pay anything else.
So he did his best to earn his way in other ways. Which is how he found himself with his head stuck up through the attic trapdoor, shining a flashlight around in search of evidence of animals. He’d heard something moving around up there the last few nights, and he’d mentioned it to Fatima, asking if she’d heard them. She’d given him a look, and signed, “I’m deaf, Awais. What would I have heard?”
He’d snorted and conceded the point. But they both knew animal infestations were bigger than just noise problems, so he’d gotten the ladder and hoisted himself up to peer around the dusty space. The insulation all looked good, clean and solid, and the beams se
emed free of debris and animal poop. That was probably a good sign. He took one last sweep through the space before carefully stepping down the ladder until his head cleared the trapdoor.
“I don’t see anything,” he signed.
“Good,” replied Fatima emphatically. “I don’t want any animals besides humans living here.”
“No cats? No fish?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got enough to worry about with you.” She smiled to soften the words. “Now come on, you’ve done your good deed for the day. Come have lunch.”
“Thanks, Auntie,” he replied and followed her into the kitchen. He gathered silverware and water glasses, then sat at the table while she busied herself at the stove. The scent of garam masala filled the air as she heated up leftovers, tossing naan in the toaster and stirring leftover chicken in a pot. She scooped it onto two plates and handed him one, settling with the other.
“Hey,” he said. “You know everyone in this town, right?”
She laughed. “Not everyone. But most people, yes, if they have children who’ve passed through the school district. Why?”
He sighed. “I met a guy,” he said aloud.
“A guy?”
“I sort of—went on a date.”
“I’m not your mother, Awais. You don’t have to pull your punches. A date?”
“Fine. I met a guy at a bar.”
“A bar in town?”
“PJ’s. And I was wondering if you knew him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Kevin McNamara,” he spelled out. “Someone you know?”
Fatima laughed. “I’ve known Kevin McNamara since before you were born,” she signed. “You slept with Kevin?”
He slumped. “For goodness sakes. Does everybody in this town know everyone? Or are they just extra nosy here?”
She watched his face closely, then laughed again once she parsed what he’d said aloud. “I know everyone around my age, Awais. We went to high school together. He’s a good friend of Ray’s. So’s his ex-wife.”
“I met her too.” He switched back to signing. Fatima was good enough at reading his lips that she could generally get about 80 percent of what he said, but he’d always thought it was rude to rely on a method of communication that was so easy for him and so much more difficult for her. Plus, he’d gotten out of practice with sign language. He could use the work. “She seemed nice.”
“She is. But she’s also a woman, as you noticed. Which is generally Kevin’s type. At least for the last forty years.”
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “I guess he’d never been with a man before.”
Fatima made an involuntary face of disgust. “I don’t want to know what you and Kevin did.”
“I don’t want to tell you!”
“But you had a nice time? He’s a good man. A little bit of a temper, and he’s a flirt, and he’s a little bit too used to getting his way, but a good man nevertheless.”
“I did. I liked him.”
“But?”
Awais sighed, dropping his hands into his lap. “But he thought he was straight, Auntie.”
“So?”
“So I don’t want him to think it was a mistake, or a fluke, that he enjoyed himself.”
Fatima reached over and patted his hand. “I don’t think he’d do that. Kevin’s always been one to jump into things with both feet. He doesn’t look before he leaps, but he doesn’t back down.”
He switched back to signing. “But what if he decides he’s straight? Or not bisexual enough? Or that he likes women enough that he doesn’t need to sleep with men?”
“If he’s gone out on a limb with you after all this time, he obviously wanted it. People don’t just change like that overnight. His ex is bisexual. Maybe he got tired of hiding.” She shook her head. “I’ve known Kevin a long time. I think he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose like that.”
“So you think I should call him?”
She nodded. “If you think you want to see him again, yes. What harm could it do?”
“I could make it really awkward when I deliver his mail?”
Laughing, Fatima shook her head. “You don’t even have a regular route yet, Awais. I think it’s worth it for the possibilities. I’ve known Kevin a long time. He’ll be honest with you, when you ask him point blank. He’ll tell you how he feels, if he’s figured it out himself.”
“Okay.” Awais swallowed hard. “I will. I’ll call him.” He turned and gathered the lunch dishes, rinsing them in the sink before stacking them in the dishwasher and turning back to his aunt. “I hope you’re right.”
She patted his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re putting yourself out there. When you moved here, I was nervous you’d be lonely.” Her eyes glinted wickedly. “Seems like you’re not so lonely after all.”
He felt his face heat. He hugged her quickly, then changed the subject. “Are you going to see Grandmother today?”
Fatima nodded. “I promised I’d bring her groceries. She doesn’t trust the helper I hired, to pick the right produce.”
“Tell her I’ll spend tomorrow over there, all right?”
Fatima patted his shoulder one more time, squeezed it, then disappeared into the living room.
Awais sighed and pulled out his phone, contemplating the contacts list. Kevin had put his number in Awais’s phone. The sight of his name made Awais’s throat tighten.
Should he call Kevin? The last time he’d slept with a straight man, it had ended poorly. And the time before that. He had a type, and that type was repressed. It wasn’t his proudest trait.
But Kevin wasn’t straight. And neither were the other guys who’d left after a gay moment. And Awais had to stop it with the biphobia. He was working on it, but he was struggling.
Before he could think about it too much, he tapped Kevin’s name. The phone rang twice before he picked up.
“This is Kevin,” said a familiar voice, and something eased in Awais’s chest. He didn’t think Kevin would have given him a fake number, but he’d had it happen before.
“Hi,” he said. “It’s Awais. From last night.”
“Oh!” Kevin’s voice warmed. “Hi.” He cleared his throat.
“I had a good time last night,” said Awais.
Kevin was silent for a long moment. Awais’s fingers were damp around the plastic of his phone case. “Me too,” he admitted finally. “But maybe—maybe it’s better if we get to know each other a little better first.”
“I thought we got to know each other pretty well last night,” said Awais. “Don’t you?”
“Maybe,” said Kevin. “It was—really nice, Awais. I didn’t expect it to be that nice. But—” he paused again.
“But what?” He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of Kevin breathing on the other end of the phone call.
“I don’t think I can do that again right now,” said Kevin. “But I had a really good night, Awais, thank you. I just—I need some time to think.”
“Okay,” said Awais numbly. “That’s—of course, that’s fine. But I’ll see you around?”
Kevin laughed, but it sounded forced. “It’s a small town. I’m sure we’ll run into each other.” He hesitated, then said, with his voice low and a little thick, “Take care, Awais.”
And then the phone went silent.
“What the fuck?” said Awais out loud.
Chapter Five
It took Kevin an hour to calm his heart rate and breathing down enough to go back to work. He could hear Kathy and Lucy Washington in his head, chiding him about deep breaths and blood pressure, so he forced himself to close his eyes and focus on the in and out of air through his nose. He knew it had been necessary—he couldn’t date somebody he’d known as a toddler. He couldn’t. It was weird, and wrong, and he was Ahmad’s son, Fatima’s nephew. He couldn’t date the nephew of someone he’d gone to high school with. That wasn’t right. He’d been a freshman when Ahmad had been in college, but he�
��d known him from a few parties at the houses of mutual friends, and he’d been at Ray and Kathy’s wedding. God, had Awais been there as a preteen? Kevin had picked Marianne up from Ahmad’s house after she’d babysat him enough times that Awais had known his name back then. Kevin suddenly recalled that he’d given Awais a toy dump truck. He’d forgotten that.
He wasn’t going to think about it. He had prided himself on not being a creep. He worked hard at it. Awais was young. Kevin was old, too old to be hitting on someone who could almost be his child. Awais didn’t need someone like him.
He swallowed hard and focused on the computer screen.
When his phone rang again, it shocked him out of the steady rhythm he’d finally managed to recapture.
He picked it up, panic turning to a smile when he saw who it was. Not Awais, calling him back. Not anybody who was likely to badger him. Nobody currently in Swanley, as much as he wished his children would move back. “Hey, Anna,” he said, moving to his armchair as he greeted his older daughter. “How are you, honey?”
“I’m great,” she said. “Did you see the plans I sent you for the museum?”
He stood up with a groan, moving to the computer. His thighs still ached, and his back had a twinge he didn’t like. It made him want to remember—no. He’d already told himself he wasn’t going to think about last night.
He pulled up his email. Sure enough, he’d received her message moments earlier. He opened the attachment.
He loved architectural drawings. Deep down, he wondered if he’d have had a better life as a city planner or architect than the one he’d worked for as a lawyer who played at city government in his free time. But Anna had lived one of those dreams, and now he got to live vicariously through her. It was one of the many benefits of children, especially adult ones who were thriving. He got to give his kids everything he never had, all the freedom and opportunity he’d had to fight and work for, putting himself through law school while helping Marianne deal with her father’s decline and being newlyweds with kids on the way. His kids could have easier lives, reach higher than he had. It’s all he wanted for them, to be happy and fulfilled. But it was nice when the fulfillment of their dreams was something he found fascinating. Janie saved lives every day as a nurse. Jacob wanted to build computer programs. But Anna built new places, and that’s where his heart was: in the spaces around him and how they kept people connected and happy and safe.
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