by Rick R. Reed
Sullivan rummaged in the cupboards and it made Dan happy to see how familiar and comfortable he now was in the kitchen. He pulled out a box of Mortons. “Heres salt.”
“Its not kosher. Not in any sense of the word.” Dan rolled his eyes.
“But Ill miss the parade.”
“Publixis just down the road and I know theyre open today. You can be there and back in ten minutes. You wont miss much.”
Sullivan frowned, but Dan knew hed do his bidding.
Dan said, “I cant go. I have too much to do here.”
“I offered to help.”
“I know. But I wanted to do this for you—on my own. Youre handling dessert.”
“Pumpkin pie?”
“Something like that. Now, would you do me a big favor and go pick up a box of kosher salt? Youll thank me later.” Dan paused. “I can throw a tape in the VCR and record the parade if you want, so you dont miss a minute of it.”
Sullivan rolled his eyes. “I think I can stand to miss a few minutes. Dont worry about it.” And he was off to change into a Tshirt and shorts for the short trip to the grocery store. “Back in a flash,” Sullivan called over his shoulder as he headed out.
Now, as Dan washed his hands, he heard a tentative knock at the door. He was surprised that Sullivan was back so quickly, but supposed it was possible. He wondered why he didnt just use his key or, for that matter, come on in. They seldom locked the door when they were home.
But maybe his hands were too full. Dan dried his own hands quickly with a dishtowel and hurried to the door. “That has to be the quickest Publix run on record,” he shouted.
He didnt bother to look through the peephole. And when he swung the door open, he wished he had. The smile vanished immediately from his face, to be replaced with a look, Dan supposed, of utter shock. His mouth dropped open.
Mark stood there, his smile firmly in place, and holding a bouquet of cosmos in his hand. He looked like a suitor.
For a moment, Dan was too stunned to say anything. After a few seconds, he managed to close his gaping mouth and get his tongue in position, so it was connected up to his brain again and he was able to ask a coherent question. “Mark! My God, what are you doing here?” Quickly, almost guiltily, he leaned around his former boyfriend and scanned the parking lot, searching for any sign of Sullivan. What would Sullivan think?
“Its been a long journey back to you, Dan. But here I am. These are for you.” Mark held the flowers out, and Dan wasnt sure what to do. He didnt want to take them. He didnt want to ask Mark in. He just wanted him to go away—and fast. In the end, reluctantly, he took the flowers from Marks outstretched hand, breathed a whispered “thanks,” and let the bouquet hang at his side.
“Arent you going to let me in?” Mark cocked his head, the carefully prepared smile fading from his features. Dan looked him over more closely. Mark had changed. It wasnt just the crisp, pressed khakis and blue button-down shirt he wore, but the essence of vitality and health he had about him. His skin glowed. His hair—looking freshly cut—gleamed in the morning light. And his eyes! His dark brown eyes seemed clearer than he had seen them in years. Seeing them this way, with the white pristine and free of red veins or a yellowish cast, shining, made Dan realize how awful Mark had looked most of their time together. It was as though the man had stepped into a time machine and erased years off his features.
He was whole again—as he was when he and Dan had first met.
“If you dont move aside and let me come in, Im going to think you dont want me here.” Mark laughed, but there was a lot of anxiety behind the short bark. “You do want me here, dont you?”
Even though the answer to that question really was, “No, I dont want you here,” Dan simply stepped back, opening the door wider. He allowed Mark to follow him inside. He busied himself finding the tumbler he used for flowers, filling it, and arranging the cosmos within it. Finished, he set it on the breakfast bar. “These look beautiful.” Dan found it nearly impossible to meet Marks gaze, which he could feel had been leveled on him, trained with the intensity of a laser.
Mark moved to stand on the other side of the breakfast bar, facing Dan, who still stood in the kitchen. He refused to meet Marks stare, instead fussing with some of the herbs he had chopped, putting them into small bowls.
“Whats going on?”
Dan laughed. “What do you mean?”
“Do you have company?” Dan did look up then, watching as Mark crossed the short distance to the bedroom door. He peeked inside.
Dan swallowed. Why did he feel guilty, as though he had been caught at something? He and Mark had broken up months ago. He wasnt doing anything wrong! So why did he feel like a cheater caught red-handed? The impulse was irrational, ridiculous, yet there it was. The heart knows no logic.
“I do. I do have company.” Dan rinsed his hands at the sink, even though they were clean. “He ran out to Publix. Hell be back any minute.”
Mark plopped down on the couch. It felt like an invasion. Dan glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed, but how much longer would it be until Sullivan returned? What would happen then?
“A boyfriend?” There was a hint of a sneer in the query.
Dan sighed. There was no reason for him not to be forthcoming with Mark, yet he remembered, deep down, how awful Marks temper could be, and a part of him didnt want to incur his wrath. He certainly didnt want Sullivan to be a witness to it. But there was nothing else to do but tell the truth and really, no reason on earth not to. “Yes. Yes, a boyfriend. His name is Sullivan. Weve been seeing each other for almost two months now.”
Dan stared at the back of Marks head, noticing how close his hair had been clipped, almost a buzz cut. His neck looked white and his sandy blond hair had faded to a dull brown. Wherever he had been over the past few months, it had not been in the sun. There were, Dan had to admit, a whole lot of questions he wanted to ask Mark, but now was not the time.
“I see,” Mark said, slowly. “Maybe it was a mistake coming here.”
“Well, it would have been nice if you had called first, you know?” Dan laughed, trying to ease the blow of the words. “I mean, youve been gone for months without a single word and then you just show up unannounced on my doorstep.” Dan could feel it—mixed in with the anxiety was a growing, buzzing fury. Mark had no right. But, oh, how he did not want the day to go this way! He felt like he was heading toward some kind of confrontation and the feeling resembled hurtling toward a cliff.
“Your doorstep?” Mark laughed bitterly, standing. “I thought it was ours. We moved down here together and if I recall right, Im the one who found this apartment.”
“What? Do you want it back?”
Mark had been in the midst of crossing the room, presumably, Dan thought, to join him in the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks at the question. “No.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want you back.” Mark bit his lower lip and his brown eyes stared at Dan beseechingly.
Just then, the door opened and Sullivan walked in, carrying a bag from the grocery store. Dan could read what was going on in Sullivans head pretty clearly. If he had to guess, Dan would say Sullivan doubted his own eyes. In the space of a few minutes absence, one man had now multiplied to two. And the two men were frozen in a moment of discomfort and pain. His smile withered from his face. “Whats going on?”
Dan felt bile splash at the back of his throat. Of all the things he might have predicted would happen on this Thanksgiving Day, this was not one of them. He didnt know how to answer Sullivans question because he wasnt sure he knew the answer himself. Once more he would retreat into the last refuge of the unimaginative—the truth.
“Sullivan. This is Mark. Mark—Sullivan.”
The two men, one a former lover, the other current, stared at each other across the room. Neither moved to shake hands. Neither smiled.
“Are you going to close the door?” Dan asked weakly.
Sullivan closed the d
oor and set down the bag on the coffee table. “I got your salt.”
“Thanks.”
For several moments, the room was filled to capacity with an uncomfortable silence, almost like a third presence. Then Sullivan laughed—and Dan could not recall when he had last heard a more uncomfortable or anxious sound. Sullivan said, “So are we having a guest for dinner? You didnt mention it, Dan.”
Mark looked at Dan, almost as if he were expecting an invitation. Fat chance. Dan supposed they needed to talk, but now was not the time.
“Would you mind if I stayed, Dan? I spent the last couple of days driving down here—all the way from Rhode Island.”
Rhode Island? What on earth was Mark doing in Rhode Island? The locale sounded as exotic and strange as if he had said he had been in Fiji.
Mark went on. “Ive got no place else to go.”
This wasnt fair. This absolutely was not fair. Mark was being manipulative, trying to exploit Dans kindness and his distaste for confrontation. But what could he do? Mark had brought flowers. And—as he said—he had nowhere else to go.
Dan! Dan. Thats not your problem. You didnt create this situation, sweetheart. He brought this all on. He did not call you first. He arrived on a holiday without a word of warning. The hell with him. Dont you dare tell him he can stay. If youre even considering it, just think how horrible and uncomfortable that dinner is going to be, with the three of you gathered around the table. Thankful?! Youll be praying, all right, but not with gratitude, but for deliverance.
Dan listened to the thoughts in his head, knuckles whitened, gripping the counter for support. The curious thing about those thoughts was that they did not sound like his own internal voice, but Adams.
Sullivan simply looked from Mark to Dan and back again. Dan couldnt quite read what was going through his head, but was willing to bet one of the thoughts was not that Mark should stay.
Dan felt sick, really sick, to his stomach, wondering if he would have to run into the bathroom and throw up. Sullivan noticed it.
“Honey? Are you feeling okay? You look pale.”
Dans mouth was dry. He had to work to summon up enough spit to respond to Sullivan. “You know, I am feeling a little under the weather.” He tried to summon a smile and failed. “Came on all of a sudden. I think Im gonna go lie down for a bit.” He moved from the kitchen toward the bedroom, stopping in front of Mark. “Im sorry, but Im gonna have to ask you to go.”
“What?” Mark seemed flabbergasted. Didnt he get it? This was so wrong! Dan knew he understood perfectly well. Mark was many things, but stupid had never been one of them.
Sullivan piped up. “Hes not feeling well, Mark.”
Mark nodded, but made no move to leave.
“Please,” Dan whispered, getting closer to him, close enough to smell the Fahrenheit cologne he had splashed himself with. “Can we talk some other time? I do want to hear whats been going on with you. But nows not good. Not today. Im sorry.”
Dan expected Mark to react with anger, but he only lowered his head and stared at the floor. He looked hurt. “Ill go,” he said softly, with little inflection. He moved toward the door. Dan worried that Sullivan might not like what he was about to say to Mark, but Dan was trapped—the old rock and a hard place. He moved toward Mark and touched him gently on the arm. “I really do want to know how youre doing, whats been going on with you. Can you give me a call? We can make a time to meet.”
Marks eyes lit up a bit and he grinned, more at Sullivan than at Dan.
This means you won nothing, honey, so dont so look so pleased with yourself. Again his thoughts sounded as though they were couched in Adams voice.
Once more, Dan expected a snarky reply, something along the lines of “What? Now I need to make an appointment to see you?” But Mark only said, “Okay. I assume the numbers still the same?”
“Still the same.” Dan opened the door. He looked into his exlovers dark eyes and could clearly read the pain there. Part of him wanted to talk more to him, to invite him back in, but he just couldnt do that to Sullivan. Yet here was a man he had once loved, and it wasnt as easy as Dan would have liked to just shove him out the door and go on again blithely with his day.
Mark walked by him, without a word. Dan called after him, “Try to have a nice holiday!” and then realized how inane and futile it sounded. He closed the door.
Sullivan had gone into the kitchen, and Dan saw he had set the box of kosher salt out on the counter. He was balling up the Publix bag to throw in the trashcan under the sink. He didnt look at Dan.
Dan felt marginally better now that the immediate threat and tension had departed. But he worried how Marks visit might have affected Sullivan, so the cloying nausea remained, only not as strong.
“That was weird.” Dan tried to laugh, but it came out more as a hiccup.
“Yeah. Weird.” Sullivan came out of the kitchen and returned to his spot on the couch.
When he didnt move to turn the TV on, Dan asked, “Arent you going to finish watching the parade?”
Sullivan shook his head. “Ah. Im not really in the mood for a parade anymore.”
Dan sighed and sat down next to him. He scratched his head and rubbed the skin on the back of his neck. Tentatively, he placed a hand on Sullivans arm.
“Youre not mad, are you? Sullivan, I swear, I had no idea he was even back in town, let alone—”
“I know you didnt know. That was obvious.” Sullivan toyed with a loose thread at the bottom of his shorts, then looked up at Dan. “But what else was obvious was that theres still something between the two of you.” Dan watched his throat muscles contract as he swallowed. “That was also obvious.”
Dan considered denying it, but realized, even before the words left his mouth, that Sullivan was right. With Mark leaving the way he did, there had never been any closure, and Dan realized he wanted— no, he needed—to at least talk to Mark, to see where things stood and what had happened to him when he was away.
Dan said softly, “Youre right.” He waited a few seconds, then added, “But it doesnt change how I feel about you.”
Sullivan nodded, but didnt say anything in response. He picked up the remote and turned the TV on. The sounds of the parade, weird and overly cheerful, filled the room. Dan sat there next to Sullivan, staring at the TV screen but not seeing. After a while, he said, “I better get back to work on our dinner.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
IT HAD been a quiet Thanksgiving dinner, and not in that companionable manner that Dan had relished between him and Sullivan, but in a tense, ill-at-ease way. Both men made approving sounds about the dinner Dan had prepared and both ate well, indulging in second helpings of everything and even eating a big slice of the pumpkin pie Sullivan had brought over, topped with Dans homemade whipped cream. They even made the usual comments about being stuffed and how the turkey had made each sleepy.
A football game came on in the living room, not out of any interest in sports, but because it was traditional. It also helped to fill the silence.
Both of them, Dan knew, were preoccupied with thoughts of Mark, who might as well have stayed, as much as his presence remained stamped on the day. Dan hoped Sullivan was not thinking he still carried a torch for Mark. It was true there was unfinished business between them, but he didnt think that carried over to still having feelings for the man.
Who are you trying to kid, kid? Even you dont buy that malarkey about no longer caring. Youve got yourself in a real pickle here. Admit it. Adams voice in Dans head was getting irritating, reverence for the recently dead or not.
As the holiday night wound down to a close, Sullivan stretched on the couch, throwing his arms above his head and yawning.
“Tired?”
Sullivan nodded. “Dont take this the wrong way, but I think Ill go sleep in my own bed tonight.” He grinned. “Im just too stuffed. A little drive and the fresh air will do me good.” He looked pointedly at Dan. “And with my belly this full, I doubt Id be any fun.”
He paused. “Is that okay?”
Dan wanted to say, No, its not okay. Youre punishing me. We both knew that all along you would spend the night here and your excuses are feeble and about as transparent as those sliding glass doors in front of us. You could still stay over. We dont have to have sex. We no longer, in fact, have sex each and every time we sleep together. I was looking forward to falling asleep next to you with the hopes that sleep and a night beside each other would bring us into a morning free of the tension that has dogged us all day. But what Dan really said was, “Sure. I understand.”
Dan spent a restless night, alone, yet not alone, in his bed. Ghosts of three other men, two living and one dead, taunted him throughout the long night with their different and opposite positions and opinions.
Dan rose before the sun, exhausted. He went into the kitchen to make coffee in hopes that a jolt of caffeine would make him feel a tad closer to normal, if not exactly energetic.
At around ten, the phone rang. Dan hurried to answer it, hoping it was Sullivan, calling to confess hed spent an equally miserable night without Dan and was on his way over.
“Hello?” Dan could not keep the hope out of his voice.
“Hey, its me.”
“Hi Mark.” Dan went into the living room with the phone and sat down. “Whats up?”
“I was hoping I could see you today. You dont have to work, do you?”
“No, Im off.” Dan cursed himself for being honest when a perfect excuse stared him right in the face. But he would have to deal with Mark sooner or later. He hoped Sullivan would see it the same way.
“Good.” Mark didnt say anything for a few seconds. “So, can I come over?”
Dan thought about that. Having Mark here just seemed somehow wrong. It had once been their home, and even though there were bad memories associated with that time, there were good ones as well. Dan didnt have any idea of what was about to happen or what they would talk about, but instinct told him it would be better if they met on neutral ground.
“Actually,” Dan said, standing to peer out through the glass sliding doors. “Im craving a Cuban sandwich. Maybe we could meet for lunch. Le Teresita?” Dan suggested one of Tampas cheapest, best, and most established Cuban eateries.