by Anna Martin
“Shh,” Mark said, waving Steve’s words away. “No more talking. I need to save my brain power.”
“Okay.” Steve played along but reached over to tangle his fingers with Mark’s. It felt like the right thing to do.
Chapter Seven
JAMES HAD started his job at the movie theater the summer before his senior year. It was actually pretty cushy. He got to see movies right when they were released, they gave away free popcorn on breaks, and everyone snuck soda from the fountains even though they weren’t really supposed to. It was a salty, sugary, semilegal delight.
The downsides were a polyester uniform that flattered literally no one and gave James at least a hundred static shocks per shift, the stupid little paper hat he had to wear when he was working the popcorn, and the fact literally every person he knew asked for free tickets.
But mostly he liked it.
He was still surprised when he spotted Dylan on a Sunday afternoon.
Maybe surprised was an understatement. He threw a family-sized bucket of popcorn over a mom and her kids and had to sub her a bunch of ice cream bars to apologize.
When they moved away, James ducked out from behind the counter.
“Hey,” Dylan said, smiling. He had a nice smile. James wanted to kiss it.
“What are you doing here?”
“Knitting classes,” Dylan said, so straight-faced for a moment James almost believed him. Then he hit Dylan’s arm.
“Ass.”
Dylan laughed. “I’m going to spend a couple hours with my dad watching shit get blown up. He’s just gone to get tickets.”
“Did you—were you—are you going to introduce me to him?”
“Do you want me to?”
James twitched. “I will if you want.”
“Another time,” Dylan said, and then his phone chimed with a text message. “I’m supposed to be getting snacks.”
“I can help with that,” James said. He grinned at Dylan, stupidly pleased when Dylan smiled back.
He ducked behind the counter and took up his station again. There wasn’t too much of a line, so he beckoned Dylan to the front of it. Everyone else could just deal.
“What can I get you?” James asked, turning on the charm.
“Uh, Mike and Ike, Junior Mints, M&M’s—peanut M&M’s—large popcorn, and a Coke. Please.”
“For two of you?”
Dylan shrugged. “I’m not hungry. We ate dinner before we came out.”
“Swipe your damn card,” James said, laughing.
Dylan’s dad still hadn’t appeared when they were done, and James wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He did want to meet Dylan’s family, especially since his dad clearly meant so much to him. It all just felt a bit… soon.
“I’ll call you later,” Dylan said softly, and James nodded, watching as Dylan carefully juggled all his junk food and headed back toward the theater screens.
WHEN JAMES finished his shift, Dylan was still in his movie, which was disappointing because James had spent the past hour fantasizing about making out with Dylan in the staff break room. Which was weird, because the break room always smelled like McDonald’s food, and there were old posters and character cut-outs all over the place, and he knew at least two different couples had been caught fucking in there. Gross.
He got changed before he headed out to the truck, knowing he smelled like popcorn and not really caring. Frankie was at rehearsal for a community theater performance of 42nd Street. A lot of high school kids didn’t get cast in the main show, since there was a special track for younger kids. But Frankie was a good dancer, so she’d been picked.
James swung by the gas station to fill up the tank, then headed for the community center. The doors were all thrown open, since it was a nice day, so the sound of raucous tap dancing reached as far as the parking lot.
He was sure he technically wasn’t allowed to go into rehearsals, but that hadn’t stopped him before. It was a largely female crowd, and he’d always been good at flirting a little to get what he wanted. Plus, he’d brought snacks for his sister. He was being a good person. They wouldn’t turn him away for that, right?
Right.
Frankie spotted him almost as soon as James walked into the building. With the big double doors into the rehearsal room open, he saw her, the sole flame-haired dancer, as they bounced through an energetic routine. James leaned back and watched as the routine came to a flourishing finish. Frankie really was talented.
The choreographer called for a break, and all the dancers quickly dispersed to the sides of the room. Frankie came over to where James was still leaning against the doorframe.
“What are you doing here?”
He silently held out the gas station bag with a fancy water, an energy bar, and a banana in it. Frankie smiled as she took it off him.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You looked really good,” James said, bypassing his moment of altruism. “I haven’t seen you dancing like that in ages.”
Frankie nodded, already unwrapping her energy bar. “I’ve been concentrating on ballet and contemporary stuff recently, since that’s what colleges want to see. Skinny hoofers are a dime a dozen.”
“I don’t know what that means.” James put a hand up when she was about to explain. “I don’t want to know what that means.”
“You’re such a muggle,” Frankie said, but there was love in her tone.
“When’s the show?”
“We start the run in six weeks. Are you going to bring your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Frankie raised one sweaty, perfectly sculpted ginger eyebrow.
“I have a boyfriend,” he said, and if he was a little smug, who cared.
“Knew it,” she said around a mouthful of oats and cherries.
“I came out to you ages ago,” James protested.
“I knew you were dating someone.”
He shrugged. “It’s not serious yet.”
“I can get you tickets, if you want.”
“I’ll be there,” James promised.
Frankie looked at him for a long moment while she chugged her bottle of water. “So,” she said, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before continuing. “Are you going to tell me about him?”
James snorted and rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything,” Frankie said easily.
“He’s kind of intimidating at first. I think he uses his scowly face to keep people away. But when you get to know him, he’s really sweet.”
Someone inside the room started yelling. “Chorus for ‘Lullaby of Broadway,’ five-minute call.”
“He sounds great, but that’s my cue,” Frankie said, leaning forward to kiss James on the cheek. “I’ll be home around seven. You can tell me more about him then.”
“Okay. Have fun.”
“I do!” she called over her shoulder, already heading back into the room, her tap shoes clicking on the wooden floor.
The drive home was weird. James hadn’t gone out expecting to tell Frankie about Dylan; it had all just… come out. Telling other people about their relationship made it feel more real, somehow, not that James had ever needed external validation before.
Maybe that was okay. Maybe he could talk to Frankie about Dylan and have it not be weird. There was someone else who definitely needed to know, and James had been putting off telling him. He vowed to talk to Anthony first thing on Monday.
FIRST THING on Monday was not a good time to talk to Anthony. He was tired and grumpy, and apparently pissed at James because James had forgotten they’d made plans to study for an English test together. James had forgotten about the test too, and he really had been a shitty friend because he usually coached Anthony for English because Anthony hated it and he didn’t.
His bout of forgetfulness wasn’t going to affect James much, but it would probably mean Anthony had w
orked late to cram. The lingering guilt lasted through the morning and still hung like a fog between them when they met in the cafeteria for lunch.
Anthony had brought his own lunch since they were kids; he had a bunch of food intolerances that were not compliant with cafeteria food.
Anthony was waiting at their usual table when James walked over with a tray loaded with chili fries, an apple, and a carton of milk. The only thing on there Anthony could eat was the apple, so James held it out, a peace offering.
Anthony snorted as he took it. “Thanks.”
“How was it?”
Anthony shrugged. “I dunno. Okay, I think. I don’t think I failed it, at least.”
James nodded. “I really am sorry. I promise I’ll be there for the next one.”
“Whatever,” Anthony muttered. “Where were you anyway?”
“I… uh….” It was a now or never moment. “I was actually with Dylan.”
“The guy from the garage?”
“Yeah. I guess we’re dating.”
“Huh.”
James watched as Anthony dug into a Tupperware tub of gluten-free pasta.
“He’s a nice guy,” James continued. “He’s been through some fucked-up shit in his life, but he’s still really sweet.”
“Uh-huh.” Anthony wouldn’t even look at him.
James frowned. “I’m trying to figure out what your problem is,” he said, not hiding the fact that he was pissed. “Are you still not over the studying thing? Or do you not like Dylan? Or do you not like that I’m gay?”
“I don’t like that since you started hooking up with a college guy you’ve turned into an asshole,” Anthony snapped. “I never thought you’d be like that.”
“It’s not that at all,” James said. “I’m dating someone. Of course I’m gonna be hanging out with him. Just because I’m not at your beck and call all the time now—”
“Hey, no,” Anthony interrupted. “We had plans, and you broke them so you could hang out with your boyfriend. That’s not cool, James.”
“And I apologized for that! You know that if it was the other way around and you were dating Mary Anne or some other girl, you’d totally be ditching me to hang out with her.”
“But I’m not dating Mary Anne. She’s not interested in me. And now neither are you.” Anthony shoved his Tupperware back into his backpack and pushed away from the table. “I never thought you’d be that asshole, James. You need to figure out what your priorities are.”
James watched, his face hot with shame and embarrassment, as Anthony stormed out of the cafeteria. A few people were looking his way. James ducked his head and viciously stabbed at his pile of fries with his fork.
JAMES TURNED his phone over in his hands for a moment before sending the text.
You around tonight?
It took at least twenty minutes for Dylan to answer, but that happened sometimes. Dylan didn’t always keep his phone on him when he was working.
Yeah. Wanna come over?
Oh, God, yes. Sure. I can bring food?
Nah I can cook. Steve is working late. Will b home by 6 x
OK
James hesitated, then sent a kiss too. He wondered if Dylan making him dinner meant this was going to be a date. But they both needed to eat dinner; it probably wasn’t a big thing. He shouldn’t turn it into a big thing.
For the next hour, James worked on his homework, not wanting to let his grades slip now that he was finally in most of his teachers’ good books. If he took a shower, it would look suspicious, so he washed up instead and put a clean shirt and socks on. He didn’t want to go visit Dylan in the clothes he’d been wearing all day. Just in case.
He knocked on Frankie’s door before he left.
“Come in.”
James pushed open the door enough to stick his head around.
“I’m going out, so I won’t be around for dinner.”
She spun around on her desk chair and frowned at him. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m….” He hesitated, not wanting to dig into the fresh wound. “I’m going to see Dylan.”
“Dylan is your boyfriend.”
“Yeah.”
“Will you be home before Dad?”
Their dad had parent-teacher conferences all evening. He sometimes didn’t get home until after ten when they were going on, so James had at least a few hours.
“That’s the idea, yeah. If I’m not, though….”
“I’ll cover for you,” Frankie said with a nod.
James watched as she pulled an elastic from her wrist and twisted her hair into a bun on the top of her head. He had a sudden, intense desire to hug her.
“I’ll see you later,” he said instead and shut the door on his way out.
James played Kings of Leon on the stereo on his way to Dylan’s, wanting to just listen and not think for a while. Dylan greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and pulled him through to the kitchen, where he’d made, like, actual food.
“I thought you were gonna cook chicken nuggets and mac ’n’ cheese,” James said, poking at the dish of pasta with chicken and veggies in some kind of tomato sauce, with melted cheese on top. “This looks amazing.”
“I can make that next time,” Dylan said, clearly amused.
“No! You really don’t have to. I’m just impressed.”
Dylan shrugged. “I like cooking. Steve sometimes has to work late, so I make dinner for both of us.”
“Is he working late tonight?”
“No, he went to meet one of his buddies to watch the Lakers game. They’re going to drink beer and eat chicken wings and discuss politics. They invited me, but I decided not to go.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Dylan took James’s wrist and pulled him in gently. “Are you okay?”
James wrapped his arms around Dylan’s neck and let himself take the comfort, breathing in deep as Dylan hugged him tight.
“Yeah,” he mumbled into Dylan’s neck. “I just wanted to see you.”
“You don’t need an excuse,” Dylan said softly. “You’re welcome here anytime.”
“Thanks.”
James pulled away then, the smell of dinner making him hungry.
Dylan shrugged off any of James’s attempts to tell him just how amazing the food was. James was pretty sure there were vegetables he’d never eaten before in the dish. And a couple he refused to eat at home. But the whole thing was smoky-sweet with burned edges and rich tomatoes and cheese on top, which made everything better. They ate in the family room, with some dumb game show on the TV. Yelling at the dumb contestants on the dumb show turned into its own sort of game, and by the time he was done eating, James felt a hundred pounds lighter.
Dylan took their empty bowls back to the kitchen, and when he came back, he took them upstairs to keep watching the show on his laptop in his room. James was okay with that, especially when Dylan lifted his arm, offering James the chance to curl into his side. It wasn’t something James was about to turn down.
He’d never been held like this before, not by someone who was a little older and a little bigger and a—well, a lot stronger. It was nice. When Dylan tipped his head and pressed his lips to James’s temple, that was nice too.
During the commercial break, James got up to pee and maybe look at the house some more. It was sort of strange, not having any pictures of Dylan and his dad on the walls. At James’s house, the walls were covered in photos of James and Frankie throughout their childhood, including a few with their mom and a lot more with their dad. Every year their school pictures got hung up on the staircase; James on the left, Frankie on the right, all the way from kindergarten to their junior year.
Dylan’s dad liked paintings instead of photographs. They were really nice paintings, but James kind of wanted to know what Dylan looked like when he was younger.
When he got back, Dylan had muted the commercials and was flicking through Facebook on his phone.
“You want t
o talk about why you were upset earlier?” Dylan asked when James flopped onto the bed.
“Ugh.”
He huffed a laugh. “I know that feeling.”
“I told my sister about you. In vague terms, not, you know….” He waved his hand around demonstratively, and Dylan nodded, like he understood. “And she was really cool about it. So I told Anthony. And it got weird.”
“Oh. That sucks. You reckon he needs time, or…?”
“I don’t know,” James said honestly. “It wasn’t like, outright homophobic or anything. He just got weird.”
“Is he jealous? That you’re dating someone and he’s not?”
“No… I don’t think so? He’s trying to get this girl to notice him.”
“Oh.”
Dylan grabbed James’s feet and swung them onto his lap. James was pleased he’d put clean socks on. He slouched back and let Dylan pet at him.
“Are you out to your dad?”
“To Steve?” Dylan grinned. “Yeah.”
“So he’s going to be okay with us… you know… dating?”
“He’s gay, James.”
James sat up. “What… what?”
Dylan laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “He’s gay. I think he figured out that I was too before I did.”
“Is it weird his knowing you’re gay?”
“No. Why would it be? Most straight kids have straight parents. I’m a gay guy with a gay parent who knows I’m gay.” He shrugged.
“Oh. I guess I never thought of it like that. I’ve never really talked about my sexuality with my dad.”
Dylan pressed a quick kiss to James’s cheek and gently pushed at him to lie back again. “Steve’s, like, not even twenty years older than me too, so he kind of gets it. What it’s like.”
James reminded himself that plenty of kids had parents who were less than twenty years older than themselves. It wasn’t weird. Just because his dad was old….
“You must think I’m really close-minded.”
“No, not at all. I think you probably haven’t met a lot of kids who have different backgrounds from you in this incredibly white suburb.”