“You’ll always be in the family.”
Vahin forced a smile.
Steven’s expression changed again, his smile growing. “Although, if you and Marlon stay together and you end up working for Hershel, you’ll be halfway to the Village People.”
Vahin tried to connect the dots. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on. Marlon’s a cop. You’d be a construction worker. You’d just need to find a cowboy and an Indian and you could go on tour!”
“Oh. My. God.” Even as he groaned, Vahin couldn’t help but chuckle. “I swear, you’re a moron.”
Vahin couldn’t make the call. He kept trying to convince himself that his unwillingness to take that step toward construction work was a sign he knew everything was going to work out. However, he wasn’t the optimist, at least not in this situation. Marlon seemed hopeful, and Steven did as well. Vahin, on the other hand, couldn’t get past that sinking feeling in his gut.
Though, to be fair, that sensation might also simply be his inability to stop the mental replay of the events from the night before. Chances were, even had Pat not interrupted, everything would’ve been fine. Probably. He’d have been taken down to the station and ticketed there.
Probably.
He kept seeing the other officer’s hand on the handle of his gun. Officer Holland. It had just been a show of force. An intimidation move. Nothing more than the hollow act of a bully.
Probably.
Vahin wasn’t sure he would have been able to keep his cool for much longer. He didn’t think he would’ve fought back if they’d tried to get him in the backseat of the cop car, but he wasn’t entirely certain of that.
But Pat had shown up. All the could’ves or might’ves were pointless and did nothing more than add tension to his already stressed-out system.
And despite his best attempts, he could hear his father’s voice as clear as it had been seventeen years ago. That his choices would lead to death, to shame. That had simply been about him being gay… well, nothing simple about that, but before he’d become a bartender or even had his first sip of alcohol.
He was proving every one of his family’s words to be true.
It was that thought that kept him from finding a different bar, any bar other than Mary’s, and getting lost to day-drinking. After driving past several, Vahin turned into the grocery and parked his car. If not alcohol, then food.
At the checkout, he stared at the ingredients in the cart. Lamb. Cardamom. Turmeric. Ginger. Garam masala. On and on. All these years later, his mother was still with him. Even after her rejection. What he’d been planning to make hadn’t been a surprise; he hadn’t wandered through the store magically picking out spices, but neither had he made the connection to home as clearly as he did at that moment. It was nearly enough to cause him to leave the cart and go grab a burger instead.
He didn’t.
Though whether it was comfort or punishment he sought, he wasn’t certain.
Hours later, with the aromatic spices filling his apartment, Vahin still wasn’t sure what sort of self-abuse he’d set himself upon. He hadn’t shed tears, though they felt near. There’d been some wetness during the chopping of two onions, but that didn’t count.
With every fresh ingredient, he relived that day, so many years before. The relief he’d felt when he’d confided in his oldest brother. The betrayal after his brother had run to their mother and father. The shock when his oh-so-modern and newly Americanized parents put their reputation in the homeland above any affection for their youngest son.
The years contracted while he cooked and made it impossible for Vahin to separate his eighteen-year-old self from the thirty-five-year-old man he’d become. The closer the meal came to being complete, the more he gradually succeeded in placing those memories and hurts back into the hidden closets of his soul.
When Marlon texted that he’d left work and would be at Vahin’s in less than an hour, Vahin had his hands messy with arranging the layers of rice and lamb curry, which was the only reason he didn’t immediately call and ask for details. Actually he also wanted to see Marlon’s face and expressions when he spoke. Just in case he was trying to sugarcoat something.
“Holy fuck.” Marlon pulled back from his welcome kiss much sooner than Vahin wanted and looked toward the kitchen. He took a deep breath and sighed before turning back to Vahin. “You cook?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s been a while, but I felt like I needed it today.”
Marlon breathed in again. “Please tell me that I can get in your pants and in your oven tonight.”
Vahin laughed. “I don’t think you meant that how it sounded.”
Marlon kissed him, longer this time. Long enough that Vahin’s body relaxed for the first time that day. Long enough that after a third kiss, he felt Marlon’s stiff form mold against him as well.
“Man, I needed you.” Marlon rested his forehead against Vahin’s, then straightened suddenly. “This. I mean. I needed this today. You, the food, the kisses, the….”
Vahin laughed again. “Freak yourself out there, Officer?”
