The door to Lucy Washington’s office swung open a few feet in front of him, and he paused to let whoever it was out instead of cutting them off. But then he noticed who it was.
“Kevin!” said Awais, his voice a little odd. His face was strangely open, his eyes a little wide and wet.
“Hi,” said Kevin, helplessly. “Are you all right?”
“What?” Awais blinked, his expression closing back off. “I’m fine. Just helping a customer out. Good to see you, Kevin.”
“You looked—never mind. And you’re coming out of a doctor’s office. That’s all.”
Awais sighed. “I’m fine,” he said again. “Joe Mitchell was having a little trouble breathing, so I drove him here.”
“That was good of you.”
Awais shrugged. “I wasn’t going to leave him there.”
Kevin looked around. “Where’s your mail truck?”
“At Joe’s.” Awais glanced at the street. “I was going to call a cab to get back over there. Good to see you, Kevin.”
“Wait,” said Kevin. His heart was pounding double-time. Awais looked—he looked really good, even in the postal uniform, his government-issue navy sweater hanging open and his shirt unbuttoned a few buttons to reveal a spray of hair, his forearms tanned and hairy where his sleeves were pushed up in the unseasonably warm weather. Kevin’s skin prickled at the memory of those hands against his belly, his legs, his ass. But he pushed all that aside because—well, because. He wished Awais were wearing a coat. Even in this warm spell, he shouldn’t be showing so much skin. He cleared his throat. “There’s not going to be any cabs around,” he said. “Bruce is on vacation this week visiting his brother out in Phoenix.”
“Of course. Of course there’s only one taxi in this town.” Awais rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Okay. I’ll head back to the post office. Somebody’ll give me a ride. Thanks for the tip.” He turned to go the other way, toward the post office on Main Street.
“No!” Kevin’s hand shot out before he thought about it, catching hold of Awais’s forearm. It was hot under his fingers. “Wait, we’re around the corner from my place. I’ll give you a ride.”
Awais stared at him, skeptical. “You will?”
Kevin nodded. He could feel his face heating. “Yeah. It’s the least I can do. Joe’s practically family, and you’re taking care of him.”
“Ah. For Joe. Okay.”
“I’m right down Washakum,” said Kevin, then winced. “You know that.”
“I do,” said Awais, the tiniest hint of humor creeping into his voice. “I’ve been there, remember?”
The heat of his body, his naked chest on Kevin’s sheets, his breath against Kevin’s thigh—
“I remember,” said Kevin.
“Good,” said Awais as they rounded the corner, his long, slim, muscular legs keeping up easily with Kevin’s shorter steps. Kevin was a few inches taller, but Awais was younger, fitter, and had longer legs. Kevin tried not to look at him. He glowed in the winter sunlight, navy and brown against the red bricks of the buildings and the white snow that dusted the trees and bushes along Washakum Avenue.
“Here’s me,” said Kevin, pointing at his Audi, its charcoal paint glimmering and clean. He was suddenly very glad he’d gotten it detailed earlier in the week. He might not have offered a ride if it had still had mud-stained floor mats and a dingy, salt-streaked exterior. The car was an indulgence: he walked most places he needed to go, and he didn’t need it more than a few times a week. But with his cheap rent, no more kids’ tuition payments, and a healthy retirement account, he’d splurged. And the car made him happy, even if Marianne made fun of him for his lawyer car. He pulled open the driver’s side, feeling a strange little impulse to open Awais’s door for him too. But that would be weird. Even if they were dating—even if Awais were a woman—it would be weird. That didn’t stop the impulse. Some kind of bizarre male conditioning that he couldn’t shake.
“Was Joe all right?”
“I think so,” said Awais. He stared straight out the window, not meeting Kevin’s eyes. “The woman at the desk didn’t seem worried.”
“Heather’s good,” said Kevin absently. “She’ll make sure he’s taken care of until Dr. Washington can get to him.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
An awkward silence descended over the car. Kevin kept stealing glances out of the corner of his eye at Awais. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but then Awais frowned and reached in his pocket, pulling out his buzzing phone.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end was faint and male.
“Yeah, I’m on my way back to the truck now.” A pause. “No, just forty-five minutes or so. Okay. Thanks, Tony. Yeah, I can still do the overtime. See you in a bit.”
“The office?” asked Kevin.
“Tony. The postmaster.”
“Are you supposed to do things like that? I mean, isn’t there mail to be delivered?”
“I wasn’t going to leave him lying in his yard, Kevin,” said Awais sharply.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Kevin turned onto Billerica Drive. He could see the mail truck up ahead, and he slowed down a little, not wanting the conversation to end on this sour note. “I think it’s great you helped Joe.”
“That’s part of my job,” said Awais. “Unofficially, I mean. We check on people.”
“That’s good.”
“Here’s my truck. Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.” Kevin stopped the car right behind the big white truck.
Awais got out quickly, then hesitated and leaned back into the car. “I mean it. Thank you. This would have been a long walk.” His eyes softened as they met Kevin’s. “I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Awais,” said Kevin, his voice just as gentle. “I hope you have a nice Christmas.”
Awais laughed. “I don’t celebrate it, but it’ll be nice for it to be over.”
“Neither do I,” said Kevin. He smiled helplessly. “It’ll be nice to stop seeing it everywhere.”
Awais smiled back. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you around, Kevin.”
“Yeah. See you.”
Awais closed the door firmly and walked back to his truck, not looking back. Kevin watched him go, watched him unlock the door and hop up into the drivers’ seat, the truck rumbling to life under him as he drove away.
He’d forgotten how competent Awais seemed in everything he did. Joe had taken a few falls lately, and Kevin didn’t know how long he might have been there before someone else came along. Awais was a good man. He’d known that already. And he wasn’t a child, not the way Kevin remembered him.
That didn’t mean sleeping with him again was a good idea.
Kevin snapped from the daze he’d fallen into, made a U-turn, and headed home.
*
Awais finally made it home a few minutes past eight. Fatima was sitting in the living room with her laptop, typing furiously. She looked up when he closed the door, likely feeling the vibration of the slam, and gave him a wave in greeting.
“How was work?”
He sighed. “It was long,” he said over his shoulder as he hung his coat up, then switched to signing. “Had to drive a customer to a doctor, so that slowed me down.”
“I heard you rescued Joe Mitchell,” said Fatima. “Zeke told me when I stopped by the bakery this afternoon. There are muffins for breakfast in the kitchen, by the way.”
“This town is so weird,” he said. “Everybody knows everything about everybody. It’s freaky.”
“It’s nice,” said Fatima with a grin. “I know what’s going on with you.”
“I’m not a kid, Auntie. I’m living my own life. I’ve got to have a little privacy.”
She gave him a look. “You’re living in my house, Awais. No privacy until you get your own place.”
Awais considered responding that he was a grown man—almost fifty—and he was only staying with her to hel
p out his grandmother, but he figured that wouldn’t be productive. “Kevin gave me a ride back to my truck,” he admitted. “We ran into each other downtown.”
She sipped her tea, then set it down carefully. “That’s going well?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with that, Auntie. I called him last week and he was weird about it. He said he wanted to be friends.”
Fatima winced. “That’s never good to hear, sweetheart. I’m sorry. But you spoke today?”
“Not really.” He slumped on the couch, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “It’s been a long day,” he said aloud.
She reached over and tapped his shoulder. He opened his eyes to look at her. “I can’t understand you if you’re not looking at me, Awais. You know that.”
“Sorry, Aunt Fatima. I’m just frustrated. I had a good time with him, and he blew me off.”
“That’s more detail than I want, Awais.”
“No! Jeez, not like that.” Although he would have liked a chance at something more. Seeing Kevin on his knees, seeing him unzipping Awais’s pants? That was an image to save for later, after the sting of rejection wore off and Kevin was nothing but a hot memory.
“There’s more men in town than Kevin McNamara,” said Fatima and patted his knee. “You know his ex-wife used to babysit you, right?”
“That’s what she said.” He didn’t know how to feel about it. Had he and Kevin met, forty years ago? That would be weird as hell. “You’re right. There are other men. I need to get myself out there.” He sighed, suddenly exhausted. “After the Christmas season is over. I need a break.”
Fatima laughed. “You deserve one. Dinner with Mom tomorrow?”
He nodded. “I’ll probably be late. Christmas Eve is always a scramble, and I like to stay late to let the people who celebrate it sneak out early.”
“You’re a big softie, you know that?”
He smiled, pushing himself upright. “I do know that, thanks. Good night, Auntie.”
*
When they’d been married, Kevin and Marianne had had a Christmas Eve tradition. After the kids had all gone to sleep, grousing about not getting presents the next day, they’d always stayed up late with cocktails and talked for hours. Since neither of them had to work until Marianne opened the bakery late the next day, they could spend as long as they liked reminiscing. They’d fallen out of the habit after the divorce, but ten years later they’d picked it up again in a modified form: every Christmas morning one of them called the other, and they spent hours on the phone. It was easier, somehow, than seeing each other in person—Kevin could close his eyes and tell her things he’d never tell her when she was watching him from across a table.
He woke up early on the twenty-fifth, barely past six a.m., and made himself a pot of coffee while catching up on the news on his computer. Then he went to the window and threw open the blinds, before raising the sash to stick his head out into the crisp December air. Outside, the world was silent: no cars, no shouting, just the blanketing silence of fresh-fallen snow. He felt a little like Mr. Scrooge when he went to the window, almost not sure of what day it was and ready to ask an urchin to fetch him the biggest turkey on offer.
Finally, at eight a.m., his phone rang. He picked it up quickly.
“Another year almost done,” said Marianne. “Kevin, when did we get old?”
He smiled and sat on the couch. “We’ve been old a while, Marianne. But it’s been a pretty good year, I think.”
“This month’s been rough.”
He sighed. “It has been. How’s the case?”
“It’s coming along. Lila says she’s optimistic.”
“Lila’s a good lawyer. A better one than me. I’d trust her opinion on that.”
“I hope she’s right. If Rana loses the shop because of me, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“She won’t. You’ll figure it out.” He cleared his throat. Marianne had a thing for her neighbor. She’d started off hating her, and that had quickly turned into something else. Kevin didn’t know the details, but he thought maybe he was getting a little taste of what she’d felt like when he talked about his dates for all these years. He didn’t love it, but he probably deserved it. And she certainly deserved to be happy. “How’s Rana?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to her since her lease wasn’t renewed. I don’t know if she’s avoiding me, or I’m avoiding her.” She was silent for a moment. “I wanted to apologize for when we last talked.”
He blinked, confused. “Apologize? For what?”
“For pushing you about your date.”
“It wasn’t a date, Marianne,” he said, suddenly tired. “And you don’t have to apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I lost my temper, a little bit.”
“You didn’t though.” She sighed. “Kevin, you were obviously not ready to talk about it and you panicked. Anyone could see that. I shouldn’t have teased you about it.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not going to happen again.” He swallowed hard. “It’s too weird.”
Marianne snorted. It wasn’t an attractive sound. “What, because of something almost fifty years ago?”
“Because he was a kid when I met him, and I’m fifteen years older than he is.”
“You barely met him, Kevin! You didn’t even recognize his name. He didn’t recognize you, and he’s older than some of the women you’ve dated. I don’t see what the problem is.”
Kevin ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know either, Marianne, I’m just— I’m just—” The words burst out of him. “I’m scared, all right?”
It took her a moment to respond. He considered throwing the phone across the room, then decided that would be childish. “Kevin,” she said, and her voice was that gentle tone again. “What are you scared of?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and he knew his voice was weak and whiny but he couldn’t stop it. “I don’t know what I’m afraid of.”
“Because Awais is a good guy, as far as I can tell. And you seemed so happy after that night. What’s the harm in giving it a chance?”
“What if it doesn’t work out? What if I’m leading him on? What if I hurt him?”
“That’s the risk you have to take if you want to be close to people. You know that.”
“I don’t like taking risks.” He was pacing, he realized. He hadn’t even noticed getting up, but he was pacing back and forth across his living room, bare feet slapping on the wood. He forced himself to still, staring out the window. In the distance, he could see the sunlight glinting off the frozen reservoir, refracting against the snowdrifts and bare ice.
“I know you don’t.” In the background, he could hear her moving around, and he pictured her in the kitchen, cracking eggs and sliding bread in the toaster. That clang was the sound of her putting a frying pan down on the stove, and that creak was the refrigerator door he’d been meaning to fix since before the divorce. “But that’s tough, honey, unless you want to spend your life alone with one-night-stands and your ex-wife for company.”
“You’re good company,” he said.
“But I’m not what you need. That’s why we’re divorced,” she said gently. “It’s not my call, but I think you should give him another chance.”
“I don’t think he wants to give me another chance,” said Kevin.
“You don’t know until you try.”
Kevin groaned. “Can we go back to talking about your problems?”
*
Awais needed to get his mind off Kevin. That was what he needed: to get himself out there and forget about the night they’d had, about Kevin’s soft, pale skin and his blue eyes hazy with desire. Fatima and Maurice both said that Swanley was a haven for queer people. Maybe he’d give finding love—or just a distraction—another try.
He’d had a dating app on his phone for a few years, but he rarely used it. He generally had no tro
uble picking men up: he was somewhat charismatic, and his job kept him fit. But in Providence or any of the other bigger cities he’d lived he knew where the gay bars and queer nights were, where he could be pretty assured of people’s preferences. In a place like this, where he was more than likely to run into customers or friends of his aunt and grandmother anywhere he tried to cruise for dates, it was probably smart to vet people online first.
“What are you doing, sweetie?” asked his grandmother as she came out of the bedroom. “Are you playing games on your phone again?”
He smiled up at her. His grandmother Jamila was a force of nature at eighty-six years old, still living on her own and going out weekly with her friends to bingo nights and concerts and the theater. She’d taught linguistics, Arabic, and Farsi at the college in Framingham for decades before retiring and had raised five children in Swanley along with a dozen grandchildren. Fatima was the only one who’d stayed in town, and now Awais had moved back. Everyone else was scattered: Awais’s parents in Paris, two uncles in Michigan, his aunt and her children in New York. He knew she missed them, wished they’d stayed close. But it had been good getting to know her again as an adult these past six weeks.
“Not a game, Nan. I’m trying to meet people.”
She shook her head. “In my day, we went out to meet people. We didn’t need phones.”
“I know, Nan. But where am I going to meet a nice man?”
She smiled, her face folding into a thousand wrinkles. “You don’t want him to be too nice.”
Awais laughed and wondered if she knew Joe Mitchell. The two of them had the same indomitable energy. He figured she probably did know him. Swanley was like that.
“And don’t you go out to bars? Isn’t that where people are meeting these days?” She shook her head. “You need to get out more. Stop working so much! Stop spending so much time with an old lady. I promise, my nurses aren’t cute enough for you.”
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