“Yeah, that’s the one. Hope you don’t mind not having Mexican. Or actually, we can do both if you want.”
Ethan snorted. “No,Babbo. You’ll learn that I’ll eat just about anything. And I haven’t had a Reuben in years.” He pulled out of the parking space and onto Cota Street. “I also have a container of Mamma’s homemade chicken soup, which I swear cures anything.”
“I’d really like to have some hot soup despite being the middle of July,” I said. “Because I agree that a bowl cures a lot of ills.”
God, I loved how he called meBabbo. I never knew how a nickname… no, it was more than that, an endearment, could mean so much. Maybe it was the slight Italian accent, the lyrical lilt that curled around the letters. We’d only known each other for a couple of months and most of them in the confines of the confessional. And yet, I felt like he was the man I could cuddle with and be perfectly happy.
And then reality came barreling in. I had nothing to offer Ethan. Not a job, certainly. Not a whole person yet, until I figured myself out. Not to mention that his friend Gabby was carrying half his baby.Fuck it all, I groaned inwardly.
I felt Ethan looking at me as he headed toward the highway. “What has you thinking so hard? You seem to be alternating between being pleased and bitter.”
I let out a sour, self-deprecating laugh and shifted in my seat so I could look at him. He was just so beautiful, skin themost luscious shade of cocoa. There was still plenty of daylight and I made out more detail in the crab claw that sneaked out of his work shirt when he moved at the right angle. I went for a half truth. “I was mulling over the fact that since I entered the seminary, I’ve followed the same strict structure that was all planned out for me. For the first time in fifteen years, I have to think for myself and I’m not sure where or how to start. But anyway, it was my current unstable state of life that had me thinking how grateful I am to you. And then, for an inexplicable reason, my mind tacked on to the beautiful baby you helped create.”
Ethan’s head snapped to me as he stopped for a red light. “You’re right, of course, that I’m the sperm donor… but as for looking beautiful?” He wrinkled his nose and snorted. “I’m dark skinned and Gabby took after her dad’s Northern Italian roots so her skin is lighter than Mamma’s. She’s attractive in her own way but not feminine nor pretty. She identifies as a queer butch, which is manifested in the hard edges of her features. Her amazing body is what draws stares from both men and women so she’s always worked to keep fit.”
“I hardly know you, Ethan. But the man I have seen is the one who’s going to adore that child no matter what they look like.” Smiling warmly I added in a solemn tone, “But I do hope she or he inherits your heart and soulful green eyes. They’re so easy to get lost in.”
We’d come to the deli and Ethan flicked on his blinker as he waited for a man to back out. When he did, he waved and Ethan pulled in and cut the engine. With his arm on the console, he leaned into me. “Do you get lost in them?”
“Yes,” I said, wanting him to see the sincerity that I felt.
Ethan shook his head, not in disapproval, with the way his lips turned up into a smirk; it was like he was questioning what to do with me. Without another word, he got out and went insidethe deli. The storefront windows allowed me to gape at him as he waited in queue to order. The tattooed guy behind him said something to Ethan that made him turn around. Then the guy indicated the crab claw tattoo and in reply, Ethan drew a line with his finger from his shoulder to his torso. They talked until it was Ethan’s turn to order.
After the guy ordered, they continued chatting until a woman from behind the counter handed Ethan a bag with our sandwiches in it. Ethan and the guy did a fist-bump and by the time Ethan got in the truck and handed me the food, I was chuckling at his affability. “You’re adorable. You didn’t know that guy, did you?”
“Nah, he complimented me on my tattoo and then we just started talking about where we had ours done and who inked them. Why?”
I gave his forearm a few rubs. “Like I said, adorable.”
Ethan turned away as if blushing, then backed out of the space. Within five minutes he was parking again, but at his apartment. We were exiting when he said, “Oh shit, we should’ve stopped by the hotel.” He hesitated, then added, “Unless you decided not to stay tonight.”
“Baby, I want nothing more than to stay with you tonight. I could care less about wearing the same clothes in the morning.”
Ethan grinned. “Good, because I want to do what I promised you before. Hold you all night long.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I like that idea.”
Back in Ethan’s apartment, I watched him ladle Mamma’s chicken soup in bowls. I noted that he added a generous teaspoon of grated parmesan cheese before he set a bowl in front of me. Next, he removed the sandwiches from the oven, nice and hot. He plated and served them. Lastly, standing with the refrigerator opened, he asked, “What do you want to drink? I have Michelob Ultra, Pinot Grigio, or water.”
“Beer with the Reuben,” I said, having sat the whole time since Ethan insisted that I should rest and chill. Being able to ogle him was nice, his biceps when he reached in the cabinet for something or his ass when he bent over to remove the sandwiches from the oven. All the parts of him that with mundane movements made me want to see more.
“I agree,” Ethan said. After opening a bottle, he held it up to me. “From the bottle or do you want a glass?”
“Bottle, please,” I said. “Tastes better. Is adding cheese to the soup common to your region?” I blew on the steaming broth and took a sip from where the cheese had coagulated. “Mm, so delicious.”
“I know,” Ethan said, smiling. “It adds so much flavor to the boiled chicken. And no, the practice originated in the northern region of Emilia-Romagna, which is the birthplace of Parmigiano Reggiano or the English version, parmesan. And then I guess as tourists tasted the difference and Italian chefs added it to their menus, before long the art of adding parmesan became universal.”
We ate in a comfortable silence until we consumed half our meal and then I commented, “I didn’t think I was going to be hungry but the homemade soup with the sandwich was the perfect combination.”
Ethan pushed his soup bowl aside and took a last generous bite of his sandwich. I’d already finished my fill and before I could do anything, he picked up the chinaware and cutlery and walked them to the sink. “Another beer?”
“Yeah, thanks. If you don’t mind listening, I’d like to share what happened. The recounting helps me to process.”
“Of course,” Ethan said as he cleaned and rinsed the cutlery before putting it in the dishwasher. I sidled up and hip-bumped him out of the way. “If you put away the leftover soup and wipe the table, I’ll finish with these.”
When we were done and Ethan grabbed his fresh bottle of beer, I looked down at my clothes and a sudden craving to burn them popped up. “Do you have a T-shirt and sweatpants that I can borrow? I feel grimy.”
Ethan held out his hand. “This way.” As he led me down the hallway to his bedroom, he said, “I was going to suggest a shower. I usually take one as soon as I get home to relax me from the day and rid myself of the engine oil that lingers with me like bad cologne.”
