I want it again. Need it again. I want all those thoughts hestirred about my past to dissolve and be replaced with the hot steamy passionbetween us.
The fuck is as good as the first time, and when we finish, heshowers off and then throws on his clothes. I offer him a ride back to his car,but he insists on taking an Uber home and just getting another to take him tohis car tomorrow.
I’m appreciative that he didn’t want to stick around. I wasworried I’d need to find a way to get rid of him. But he obviously understandswhat this is. And as long as that’s the case, I wouldn’t mind making this a regularthing. What the fuck am I thinking? Fucking one of my employees?
But as many arguments as there are against what I’m doing, ashard as I’ve worked to get where I am, something about Jay breaks down mydefenses. Maybe because he’s already seen mine. And because he reminds me of myfriend. A good guy who pushed a lot of people away, but was one of the best menI ever knew. A guy who deserved better than the hand he was dealt. Maybe I’mjust kidding myself that Jay’s the same way, but considering the way he actedwith me today, I don’t think I am.
As long as no one at work finds out, it won’t be a big deal.
I head into the backyard, into my garden. It’s dark out, but Ineed to make sure I’ve tended to all my plants.
It’s a small garden in a fifty-by-thirty-foot space. It’s areminder of what I’ve lost. A reminder of what I’m trying to hold on to.
And typically a relief when I start working the land.
I approach the security light I’ve rigged on the shed so that itilluminates the backyard at night. Then I check on my tomatoes, fixing a few ofthe plants where they’ve grown off the trellises. They’re looking reallyhealthy. I’ll probably be able to pick a few by this weekend.
While I’m on my knees, tying a piece of yarn around a vine tobind it to the trellis, I glance around at the plants that are growing somehealthy fruits—peppers, cucumbers, squash, bush beans. I’ve done a good jobthis year. Much better than the previous ones. It doesn’t feel like all thatlong ago when I couldn’t make anything grow. I never had a green thumb. But myobsession with this project has improved my gardening skills. And there’s somerelief in it, especially as that dreaded anniversary nears—Caleb’sanniversary—the day that is the real reason I can’t sleep. The reason I’m so onedge right now. The reason I’ve thrown myself into the inventory more than everbefore.
Because I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to hurt.
9
Jay
I’m listening to a Rita Rudner comedy special on my iPhone whenI enter the kitchen and see my landlord and housemate Charlie. He sits at thetable, a bowl of cereal before him as he reads the morning paper.
When I pull out my earbuds, I realize I’m fucking whistling. Istop, but it’s too late. Charlie says, “Someone’s in a chipper mood thismorning…”
A retired man in his seventies with a few gray hairs left on hisotherwise bare head, he’s usually around the house because he doesn’t get outtoo much. When I first interviewed for the place, he openly admitted my rentcovers the mortgage, but he bought the place twenty years ago, so this is thecheapest option available to me, and I was appreciative to have the opportunityto stay somewhere that costs less than five hundred a month. He stays out of myway, and I stay out of his, but we’ve had a few sit-down chats in the kitchensince I got here. He doesn’t press. Never asks too many questions. Just cracksjokes and tells some stories from his youth.
He’s the ideal living situation. Never invades my privacy butalso not so quiet that it becomes awkward.
“Just had a good week at work,” I say. He chuckles, as though heknows better.
I open the pantry and retrieve a chocolate Pop Tart.
“Another healthy meal?” he asks.
I eye his Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch. “Really, Charlie? Yougonna judge me?”
“I’m old. I can do whatever I want to this body. You gotta takecare of yours a little bit, at least.”
I tear the Pop Tart wrapper open and flex my bicep so that itstretches the sleeve of my shirt. “That’s how I take care of this body,” Ijoke.
He laughs. “Ooh…now you’re just trying to get me all worked up,”he says with a wicked smile.
Charlie was quick to call me out on being gay when I came overhere to see about renting. At first, I was defensive. Guys never notice, and Ithought he was trying to say I was some kind of flitty thing, but Charlierelaxed me with his friendly smile and a laugh, telling me, “Don’t get yourmasc ass in a bind. I just have the world’s best gaydar. Only way I could getthe boys when I was younger.” He had spent his youth in San Diego and would goprowling for guys around the naval base—something I’ve heard some fun storiesabout since I started staying with him.
We chat a bit more before I toss out my trash and start to headout.
“Don’t forget your comics,” he says. He has the comics sectionof the paper sitting on the table beside his bowl. He apparently picked it outfor me since I’ve asked for them pretty much every morning that I’ve seen himfrom the time I moved in.
I retrieve them from the table. “Thank you, Charlie,” I saybefore heading off.
I feel alive. It wasn’t just the sex with Reese. Hell, fuckingis nothing to me. The sort I’m used to can’t hold a candle to what Reese and Ishared.
I could tell he wanted me to leave his place after we fuckedagain, and I was cool with that.
