But Aiden’s smile was sweet and sure. “Yeah. I do. With a pickle.”
Will sighed and walked away, taking his tray over to the desserts, and Cade said, “Seriously, I can make you something else. Or add something.”
“Cheese and mustard? That’s a classic, bro. It’s retro. I’m looking forward to it. But, seriously, I think it would really go well with—”
“A pickle,” Cade said, giving up on the argument and selecting the biggest dill from the bin to add to Aiden’s plate.
“Perfect,” Aiden said, and he smiled brightly. “Thanks, Cade.”
He headed off down the line then, leaving Cade feeling like an idiot. Aiden had a boyfriend, and he wasn’t the sort to cheat. He absolutely wasn’t the sort to hint about cheating and then parade the boyfriend in front of the candidate for the role of the Other Man. It was so obvious, really. Aiden had never been suggesting anything but friendship. Nothing that he wouldn’t offer to pretty much everyone he met. The part about them both being gay had just been his attempt to find a common bond, not an invitation to an orgy.
And Estelle’s take on the whole thing, her insistence that Aiden was interested? Why the hell was Cade listening toEstelle? She was as perpetually single as Cade was, only marginally more socially graceful, and she was basing her whole theory on a conversation that she admitted had only lasted a couple minutes.
The whole thing had been weird, but not as weird as Cade had thought. And now that the reality was clearer, Cade’s imagination apparently decided it was time to come out to play. Except Cade’s imagination didn’t play nice. It never had. Instead of showing him happy dreams that might someday come true, it taunted him with images of futures he could never have. This time it showed him Aiden’s sweet smile, but instead of being fully clothed in a cafeteria, Daydream Aiden was horizontal, naked, and hovering over Cade’s body, just about to kiss him. Daydream Aiden propped himself up on one elbow and used his free hand to smooth Cade’s bangs back and kiss him on the forehead. Then he pulled away and smiled again before lowering his mouth—
“Cade?” Real-life Aiden was peering at him curiously from the other side of the counter.
“Yeah?” Cade responded, his voice too loud, too high-pitched. Too guilty.
“It occurred to me… in case you were… I don’t know, in case you were wondering… I wanted to tell you that Will and I broke up last spring. He’s doing his MBA up in Chicago, and he’s down visiting some people. He was here for the weekend and he’s going back this afternoon.” Aiden gave a new kind of smile. This one was less brilliant, almost shy, but it was still so sweet it took Cade’s breath away. “I just wanted to mention that. In case you were wondering.”
“It’s none of my business,” Cade said flatly.
And now there was another Aiden smile to catalogue. This one looked forced, and artificial. Cade didn’t like it, but he was pretty sure he recognized it from the end of the conversation in the library on Saturday. “Yeah,” Aiden said. “Okay. Sorry. I guess I wanted to be clear.”
“Okay,” Cade said, and he fumbled for a rag and started wiping down the sandwich counter. “Enjoy your lunch.”
Aiden finally left and Cade went back to his sandwich making, and back to his confusion. He didn’t like being confused. He preferred it when things were black and white, numbers and formulas, possible and impossible. But when he thought of Aiden, and the dream that someday he might smile at Cade the way he had in the daydream… even one time… the tiny butterfly stretched its wings inside him again, thinking about flying. Cade didn’t encourage it. But this time, he didn’t stomp on it, either.
Chapter Four
The womanwasn’t the enemy, Cade reminded himself. He stared across the counter at her and forced his voice to be level. “I don’t understand. I spoke to someone here in the spring and she said it would be okay. Why are you turning me downnow?”
“Not turning you down. Just rejecting the application.” The woman’s smile was tight, as if she was tired of making this distinction to the endless stream of students who must be coming in through the office.
“I don’t understand the difference. If you’re rejecting my application, I don’t get the money. Right?”
“Well, first, it’s not us rejecting the application, it’s the federal government. And if they turned you down, it would be permanent. Rejecting the application just means you have to reapply.”
“Okay.” That sounded better. “But I need to do something differently so they don’t reject the application again. Can you tell me what I need to do?”
“You can’t skip all the questions about your parents,” she said as if it should be obvious. And it was. It was the reason he hadn’t received federal aid the year before, the reason he’d had to take a year off between high school and college to save money. But….
“The woman I spoke to in the spring said it would be okay.”
“Your parents aren’t in jail,” the woman said as if that was a personal failing on Cade’s part. “You didn’t leave home because of abuse. Your parents aren’t missing. So you need to get them to fill out the form and sign it.”
“Theywon’t.” Cade lowered his voice. They were in a big room with students lined up in front of about eight windows, and he didn’t really feel like broadcasting his family situation to the entire student body. “They don’t think I should be in school. They want me to get a job and look after them. They wouldn’t sign that form last year, and they’re not going to sign it this year.”
“You’ve asked them? If you could get them to sign something saying they refuse to sign anything—”
“I haven’t asked them. I’m not in touch with them. They’re not going to sign it.”
“But you said you aren’t in touch with them,” the woman said with a serene smile. “So you don’tknowthey won’t sign. You don’t even know for sure they’re unable to contribute.”
He knew. Neither of his parents had held a job for more than a week or two since before he could remember. Cade’s dad had a partial disability pension from the Marines, and while Cade had been a minor they’d gotten some welfare money for him. When he’d turned eighteen, they’d made it clear they expected him to get a job and continue to supplement the family coffers. He’d deferred his enrollment for a year and watched them drink his paychecks, and then he’d done what he had to do to get enough money to get the hell out of there and not look back. Now they were going to get in the way of his escape?
“Could I speak to someone else?” he asked politely. “Your supervisor or something? The woman I spoke to in the spring? I mean, I’ve already received this semester’s money. So maybe there’s a loophole somewhere, some string only supervisors can pull.”
