His cheeks, rough with late-night stubble, flushed a deep pink, and his lips curved upward in a smile. “Poor baby. Maybe you should join a gym.”
“I hate being cooped up in a small space with a bunch of grunting men in tight shorts.”
Presley’s smile faded. “Yeah, okay, strike that.”
The real reason was something Presley didn’t need to hear. I’d met Carson at the gym by Columbus and 80th. He was a personal trainer, and when I joined, he gave me a free assessment. We were at dinner by six and naked by nine. He was different from the usual lawyers and bankers, who only thought about their jobs and making money. My hookups were simply a means to an end since I remained hyperfocused on demonstrating to my father I was tough enough, smart enough…enough of a man to be part of the firm. But Carson was a free spirit, cheerful and insistent on looking at the bright side of life. He and I had good times, until my father’s death, which proved to be the catalyst for our breakup. Carson couldn’t deal with the blackness I fell into, and I pushed him away so often that one day he didn’t bother to come back.
Roberta came and poured our coffees. “What’ll it be, guys? The usual? Brownie for you, Nate, and apple pie, Presley?”
“I’m hungry,” Press said, studying the menu. “I skipped lunch today. Can I have a tuna sandwich deluxe and the apple pie with vanilla ice cream after?”
“Of course, honey.”
“And I’ll have the strawberry shortcake.”
“Mixing it up on me tonight, huh? You want to wait until Presley finishes his food so you can have dessert?”
“Yes, please.” I handed her back the menu.
“You got it.”
“Why’d you skip lunch?” I sipped my coffee. “Were you busy?”
His smile vanished, and he dropped his gaze to study his coffee cup. “No, I had to go somewhere, and it took longer than I expected.”
When he didn’t say anything further and kept his focus on his cup instead of me, I figured the hell with it. We’d been seeing each other for close to two months. That gave me enough of a stake to ask.
“I know their coffee is good, but you’re not going to discover the secrets to the universe by staring into your cup. Everything okay?”
The fidgeting didn’t put my mind at ease, and the only thing I could think of was that he’d decided to move on. I steeled myself for the rejection and decided to quit the group if we broke up. It would be too painful to see him every time.
“I…uh…” A flush rose on his cheeks, and he still refused to meet my eyes. “You’ll think it’s silly, but once a month I go to my parents’ graves and put flowers on their headstones and talk to them about my life. I took the afternoon off to go there, and it always remains with me afterward.”
Somehow that meshed perfectly with Presley’s sweet personality. I hadn’t been to my father’s grave since he died. My anger didn’t fit in with the peace and sorrowful thoughts you’re supposed to bring with you to a cemetery.
“Why would I think it silly? That’s part of what makes you a special person.” It wasn’t a lie. Visiting his parents’ gravesite would be exactly what I expected from Presley, especially since they died when he was so young. I wondered what happened, but he seemed so lost in thought and sad, I didn’t want that to remain the theme for the night.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s been so long. I should be stronger about it, but we were really close.” He smiled up at Roberta, who’d arrived with his food and set the plate down with athump. “Thanks.”
The fries were crispy and golden brown, and I couldn’t resist. I snatched one and crunched on it. Presley stared at me in horror.
“What?” I swiped a few more.
“You’re eating them without ketchup? That’s almost sacrilegious.” As if to prove his point, he squirted a huge blob of ketchup on the side of the plate.
“Why muddy up the perfect crunch with ketchup? I like my fries like I like my man. Naked.” I picked up another one, and with our eyes locked, ate it in two bites.
“Well, keep your hands off meandmy fries. At least for a little longer.” He bit into his sandwich.
“Party pooper. If I can’t nibble on you, take pity on me. Throw me a bone. Or a fry.”
He finished chewing and set his sandwich down. “I don’t pity you in the least; in fact, I admire you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Why not? I can only imagine how hard it would be to see your father every day and have to hide who you are.”
Hard wasn’t the word I’d use. I’d been a traitor to myself, holding on to the notion that I could show him his gay son was as good, if not better than everyone else. But because we never talked about it, his death left a void in me. Did he approve of me? Was he proud? Did he love me?
