by Amy Aislin
“Yeah, but I’d do it this time in something totally useless and trivial. Like philosophy.”
Cody wrinkled his nose, making his dad laugh. “You could get your masters in wildlife science or something like that.”
He could say with one hundred percent certainty that he’d never before seen his dad’s entire face light up like a kid’s on Christmas. “That’s a thing?”
Before Cody could answer, their food arrived, his dad’s medium-rare steak with baked potato and vegetables and Cody’s poached salmon in a creamy dill sauce with rice. Man, it was good. The only time he ever ate something other than Mama Jean’s pizza or pasta with sauce out of a can was when his mom or Mitch’s dad or Alex visited and cooked for them. And their visitors had gotten into the habit of cooking enough for a small country and storing it in the freezer for Cody and Mitch to eat later.
They chatted through lunch, and once his dad had paid, they walked west on College Street to Lake Champlain and back to digest and then wandered the shops on Church Street. It was after Cody had picked out a blue-and-black checkered flannel shirt as a belated birthday present for Mitch and they were walking out of The Vermont Flannel Company that his dad said, “So? Got a girlfriend?”
Cody coughed once, the cloth bag housing his purchase hitting him in the knees as they walked. “Uh, no.”
His dad side-eyed him. “Boyfriend?”
“No?”
“You don’t sound so sure about that one.”
“No, no. I’m sure. No boyfriend.”
“Okay.” His dad paused for a second, then, “Because you know it’d be okay, right? If you were gay.”
Oh Jesus. Fuck his life. Of course they were having this conversation on a busy Saturday in the marketplace. What had even made him ask? Maybe his mom had said something?
“I’m not,” Cody said, resigned to his fate. “I’m demisexual.”
“Huh. That’s a new one. What’s it mean?”
A familiar face in the crowd drew his attention. “Roman!” He sounded slightly unhinged.
Roman turned his way and yelled, “Cody!” in the same deranged voice, and Cody laughed more than was strictly necessary.
God help him.
“What are you up to?” Cody asked when he and his dad drew near.
Roman held up both hands, covered in a pair of thick, black gloves. “Finished my winter-gear shopping.” He looked good in his winter gear, in that puffy, black coat he’d bought last weekend and with Cody’s scarf around his neck. A dark-gray beanie covered his head and the tops of his ears. “What brings you out?”
“My dad and I had lunch,” Cody replied and made introductions between his dad and Roman.
“It’s good to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” his dad said. “I was starting to think that Mitch was Cody’s only friend.”
Cody gritted his teeth, feeling judged to the tips of his soles. He had other friends. Just that Mitch was his favorite.
“Do you go to school with Cody?”
They ambled down the street, Cody behind his dad and Roman like the third wheel on a first date. He didn’t notice his shoulders were up to his ears until Roman reached back, grabbed his wrist, and drew him up next to him with a squinty-eyed look that said You belong up here, dummy.
“No,” Roman said, answering his dad’s question while Cody went all gooey inside. “I volunteer at his library.”
They chatted for a few minutes, and when his dad said, “What do you do, Roman?” and Roman said, “I play hockey for the Vermont Trailblazers,” and his dad said, “What’s that?” Cody couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Dad’s not a hockey fan,” Cody informed Roman.
“I prefer football,” his dad said.
Roman said, “Oh,” and silence descended for a few breaths. Then Roman said, “What about golf?” And his dad started talking about his favorite course in his corner of Texas.
Cody’s own gloved hand bumped Roman’s, and it took all of his willpower not to take it in his, to walk hand-in-hand as if they were a couple. That’d be so nice: the two of them, taking a casual afternoon stroll through the marketplace, doing some window shopping, stopping to grab a coffee and a pastry and a quiet chat at one of the coffee shops. Going home afterward to cook dinner together. Watching a movie on the couch, maybe making out like hormonal teenagers during part of it. Not for it to lead to sex, but because they wanted to be close to each other.
He was ripped out of his fantasy when Roman said, “Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Evans. I’ll let you two get on with your day.”
Cody made his eyes big and stared at Roman, hoping his expression conveyed S.O.S.!
“Or,” Roman said, drawing the word out. “Can I treat you both to a coffee?”
“I could get out of the cold for a few minutes,” Cody said, turning his big eyes on his dad.
In the end, Cody’s dad treated them. They sat at a small table in front of the window overlooking Church Street, Cody with the smallest of coffees in front of him because it was late enough in the day that even this little bit of caffeine would keep him up until the middle of the night. Roman’s, in contrast, was as big as his face.
When they were down to the last few sips, Cody’s dad excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Cody and Roman alone. Cody leaned his forearms on the table, which brought him closer to Roman, sitting on his left. He smelled, unsurprisingly, like coffee, and there was also an underlying hint of mint.
“Hi,” Cody said.
“Hi.” In the coffee shop’s lighting, Roman’s eyes appeared darker. His eyebrow and nose ring gave him a badass air that made Cody’s palms sweat. “How’s it going with your dad?”
“It doesn’t suck.” He smiled at Roman’s laugh. “Thank you for staying. Really.” He squeezed Roman’s wrist. “I don’t know what to say to him half the time.”
“You’re welcome. But I really am gonna take off when he comes back from the bathroom so you can take advantage of the time you’ve got with him.”
Roman did just that, shaking Cody’s dad’s hand and wishing him a good rest of the day. He put his winter gear back on, including Cody’s scarf—Cody just melted seeing it on him—and squeezed Cody’s shoulder on his way out. “See you Tuesday, Cody.”
Cody’s eyes followed him out the door and down the street. When he focused again on his dad, he was watching Cody with a small smile.
Cody scowled. “What?”
“Tell me more about this demisexual thing.”
Later, they had dinner at a pizza joint, and Cody made a point of getting to know his dad. What’s your favorite thing about Texas? Least favorite thing? Do you golf a lot? Is it really as hot in Texas in the summer as I imagine it is? Are you nervous about retiring? Will you come to my graduation ceremony?
He didn’t ask that last one. Couldn’t bring himself to.
Finally, after dinner and after the game, they stood in the parking garage in front of his dad’s rental car. Cody awkwardly shoved his hands in his pockets.
“It was good to see you, kid.” His dad pulled him into a hug.
“You too, Dad.” Cody held on a moment longer. Despite being nervous about how today would go, despite a small part of him not wanting anything from this man who hadn’t been there for him growing up, he’d had a good time and was now oddly reluctant to part ways. As if, even though his dad was retiring, they’d never see each other again.
His dad pulled back. “I’m glad you had the day free to spend with me.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Listen.” He rubbed his palms together. “My retirement ceremony is in March. I know you’ve got school and work, but if you’re able to make it, I’d love to have you there.”
“Oh.” Wow, really? “Yeah, okay. Maybe email me the details and I’ll see what I can do?”
“Will do.” The car chirped as his dad hit the unlock button on the key fob. “Good luck on your midterms.”
“Thanks. Have a safe flight tomorrow.”
>
I’d ask them why.
Cody didn’t ask, and he was big enough to admit that it was because he was afraid of the answer.
A minute later, he sat in his car, rested his forehead against the steering wheel, and sighed long and deep. Had he ever been this tired after spending a day with his mom?
Pulling his phone out, he sent Roman a text. I’m emotionally exhausted. Thanks again for hanging out with us this afternoon.
Roman: You’re welcome. It was fun to meet your dad. What are you up to now?
Cody: Trying to gather the energy to drive back to Glen Hill.
His phone rang in his hand, Roman’s name on the screen. Stomach flipping, Cody grinned and swiped to answer. “Hey.”
“Come over,” Roman said without preamble.
“What?”
“Come over.”
Pulling the phone away from his ear, Cody checked the time. “It’s after ten.”
“So?”
Cody opened his mouth to decline . . . and then paused to consider why he should decline when he didn’t want to in the first place. Besides, the coffee he’d drunk this afternoon would keep him up for another four hours anyway, so it wasn’t like his exhaustion would transfer to actual sleep.
“I’ll feed you,” Roman added.
“You say the prettiest words. I’ll be there in two minutes.” He went to hang up, then hurriedly put the phone back to his ear only to hear Roman chuckling. “How do I get to your place?”
Less than ten minutes after hanging up with Cody, Roman had leftover potatoes and cheese-stuffed chicken breasts warming in the oven and freshly chopped carrots steaming on the stove when there was a knock at his door. He had no earthly idea what had possessed him to invite Cody over; he just knew he hadn’t seen enough of him this afternoon and he’d wanted more.
He was smiling before he reached the door.
Cody stood there, nose pink from the cold. His glasses had fogged up, and he held them in one hand and was running a finger over the lenses to clear them. He slipped them back onto his nose, his lips curving upward, color rising in his cheeks to match his nose.
“Hi.”
“Hey, Cody. Come in.”
Despite the late hour, Cody bounced inside. “Wow. It smells amazing in here,” he said while taking off his coat and slipping out of his boots. “What are you making?”
“Chicken and potatoes.”
“Wait, seriously?” Cody followed him into the kitchen and sat on a barstool at the counter. “When you said you’d feed me, I expected something easy, like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
Poking the carrots with a fork to test their readiness, Roman surveyed Cody across the counter. “Do you want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”
“No way. I want real food.”
“Then real food you shall have.” He drained the carrots and added butter, crushed parsley, and maple syrup. Then he put the lid back on the pot to keep them warm until the rest of the food was ready.
“Um, Roman?”
Cody’s bewildered tone made him smile. “Um, Cody?”
“What’s this?” Cody waved a hand at this, which was a counter covered with flour, which, in turn, was topped with squares of dough.
“I’m making apple turnovers.” He’d never had them, but Cody liked them, so he’d found a recipe online.
“From scratch?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Okay, I just had a thought,” Cody said, slamming one hand on the counter, flour exploding everywhere. “You know how I’ve been trying to get speakers to the library? I think you should teach a cooking class.”
Roman passed him a couple of apples, a knife, a cutting board, and a bowl. “You want me to do what?”
“Teach a cooking class.”
“I’m no expert.”
“Roman, you’re making apple turnovers.”
“This is easy,” Roman said, slicing apples.
“Not for everyone. Come on, please? Oh, except I can’t really pay you.”
He shot Cody a look. “As if I’d ask to be paid to help save the library.”
“And that,” Cody said, brandishing the knife in his direction, “is exactly the right answer. How’s some time next month? That way I’ve got time to run it by Eileen and set some space aside and put together some flyers and get attendees.”
Roman squinted at him. “I didn’t say yes.”
“Except you kind of did, though.”
Had he? “Can’t I talk about . . . I don’t know. The skills you need to be a hockey player?”
“You should definitely talk about hockey too! Just not at the same time. Obviously. We’ll do a separate night for that.”
Roman set his knife down and stared at Cody. How had he found himself leading two speaker sessions when he didn’t even want one?
Cody was exhausting. In the best way possible.
Before Roman could get suckered into doing a song and dance, he changed the subject. “How was your day with your dad?”
They sliced apples as they talked. Where previously Cody had sounded foreboding when speaking about his father, now there was a hopeful lilt to his voice, like maybe their relationship wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. He didn’t sound upbeat per se, more contemplative and tentatively optimistic about the future.
Once the apples were mixed with cinnamon and sugar and deposited onto squares of dough and the squares were folded and ready to go in the oven, Cody’s meal was ready to come out.
“Man, this is good,” Cody said through a full mouth, spearing a second bite of chicken. “I don’t think you took Mitch’s suggestion seriously enough when he asked you to move in. Also, what’s on these potatoes?”
“Paprika and chili powder,” Roman said, wiping the counter clean.
“So you just . . .” Cody waved his fork. “Slice the potatoes, douse them in paprika and chili powder, and then bake them?”
“Yup. First I boil them to soften them.”
“I could do that at home.”
“You could.”
“But first you have to tell me your paprika to chili powder ratio.” He paused. Then, “And I need to borrow some paprika and chili powder.”
Cody ended up having a double helping of chicken, potatoes, and carrots. For a skinny guy, he sure could pack it away. Afterwards, he roamed the apartment while Roman cleaned, inspecting knickknacks and checking out the view and taking a thorough tour of the hallway bathroom for some reason.
“I’m guessing this place came furnished,” Cody eventually said.
Roman handed him a glass of water. “What makes you say that?”
“I’m not sure.” Cody pursed his lips, taking in Roman’s living room. “I don’t know why, but I wouldn’t expect you to have white leather couches.”
“I wouldn’t have leather at all.” Roman checked the time on the microwave. Seeing as he still had a few minutes for the apple turnovers to finish baking, he rounded the counter out of his little kitchen and joined Cody in the living room. “All I wanna do is relax and watch TV or read a book, but I keep slipping off the damn thing.”
Taking a seat on said leather couch, Cody popped his feet onto the coffee table. “What made you choose this place?”
“I didn’t.” Roman sat on the other end of the couch. “It belongs to the Trailblazers. They set me up here when I got traded.”
“Have you looked for your own place yet?”
“No.” Elbow on the back of the couch, Roman turned toward Cody and rested his head in his hand. “No point. Not with the NHL talking about moving the team to a different city.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. What’s your take on it?”
All loose-limbed and relaxed, lashes shadowing his cheeks every time he blinked, Cody was the perfect way to end a quiet Saturday. The way his eyes sparkled in the light of the living room lamp made Roman think of lazy Sunday mornings in bed and slow kisses in the moonlight.
“Roman?”
He blink
ed, shaking his head. “Huh? Oh, uh . . .” The NHL. Trailblazers. New city. “My take is that the NHL wouldn’t be considering it if we sold more tickets to our games. And one of the things that’s going to sell more tickets is winning more.”
“One thing that might help you win is—”
“Being on the same line as Ritz.” He gave Cody’s thigh a nudge with his foot. “Yes, so you’ve said.”
“Actually, I was gonna say you guys still need more shots on goal.”
Standing before he could get lost in Cody’s grin, he went into the kitchen. “I’m gonna make some coffee. Want some?”
“God, no. Are you kidding? I won’t sleep again till Wednesday. You should consider a healthier alternative to coffee when you need a smoke,” Cody tacked on, following a train of thought only he understood.
Roman set the coffee maker, then leaned against the counter. “Like what?”
“Cheez Whiz-covered celery sticks.”
Ew. He shuddered.
Cody cackled. “I just wanted to make you squirm.”
The timer went off, and Roman donned oven mitts to pull the tray out of the oven.
“Oh, man,” Cody said from where he’d moved to the other side of the counter. “That looks amazing.” He said amazing on a moan, and Roman paused for a second, heat hotter than that of the oven flushing his cheeks.
“Got ice cream to go with these?”
Closing the oven door, Roman cleared his throat and opened the freezer, the frigid air doing nothing to cool his runaway libido. “Of course. What do you take me for?”
“Whoa.” Cody came around the counter, hip-bumped Roman out of the way, and stared into the freezer. “Are you preparing for the zombie apocalypse?”
Roman inspected his stacks of Tupperware containers, neatly labeled with their contents, and refused to be embarrassed. “I cook extra so I can have leftovers.”
Unimpressed with that answer, Cody closed the freezer and pulled open the fridge door. “Holy. Crap. You are prepping for the zombie apocalypse!”
The fridge held yet more Tupperware containers, rows and rows of it, also labeled. It was so much easier to label things than spend five minutes opening containers to find what he wanted. “I like food. And variety.”