“Why?” The question sounded like a bullet in the air, though Morgan hadn’t meant it to be.
“Me.” Nimble turned to look at Morgan.
“You?”
Morgan couldn’t imagine a single reason why Nimble wouldn’t be welcome at home, or why he’d be blamed for his father’s vices. Nimble was a fine young man to have around. Strong, capable, helpful, funny. Sweet, even. And there was something about him that drew the eye, over and over, like ripples in water.
“Didn’t like those Bryn Mawr girls or the church girls.” Nimble laughed, shrugging the seriousness off, like he seemed to do a lot. “They give you blue balls soon as look at you.”
“So why’d you go out with them?” Morgan asked, not understanding. The East Coast was its own animal, full of rules he didn’t understand.
“It’s what you do,” Nimble said. He licked his lips, his mouth open in a silent laugh.
“Pardon?”
“Got to marry one of ’em. Eventually.” He stared somberly into the fire, the orange and gold and blue lights reflecting in his eyes. “But not me.”
“Not you?” Morgan echoed.
“Man.” Nimble laughed, low and sweet. “It was the Italian boy at the pizza place. Salerno’s. And the Irish boy who worked in the offices on my street. And then there was the guy in the blue coat. Hair like an angel’s.”
Nimble stopped and sighed and arched his back, sitting up a little, his eyes going hard, the tension returning to his shoulders, his face. “Guess my dad wasn’t expecting his youngest not to turn out like his other two sons. He didn’t count on me liking boys more than girls.”
“He didn’t have to be an asshole about it,” Morgan said stoutly. It felt natural to say it out loud like that, exactly what he thought, not holding back.
He wasn’t shocked by Nimble’s revelation. But it put an entirely different spin on how he should look at all of this. At everything. Still, before he tied himself in knots and before he started worrying about how there was at least a ten-year age gap between them, he needed to focus on Nimble and what he needed.
“You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry. Sorry about your dad, and sorry I suggested that you call him.”
“Could you ask your dad for money?” Nimble licked his lips again, a little flushed now.
“Yes.” The reply was instant.
“Yeah?” Nimble’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Really.”
Morgan smiled at the memory of what a good guy his dad had been and realized he was smiling at Nimble. He didn’t stop.
It felt good to wallow in those good memories: his dad reaching for his wallet when, every now and then, Morganneeded money for snacks and beer at college. Or the time, right after he’d graduated, when his car had needed new shocks, new tires, new everything.
His dad had written him a check, and his mom had kissed him and handed it over.You’re a good boy, she had said.You deserve this and more.
Morgan had driven that car, kept it up until he’d gotten a real job, and still he’d saved for a good used one to replace it, knowing all the while, in the back of his mind, that he could have asked them to help him buy a new one.
“They loved you.” Nimble’s soft, sweet words went right to Morgan’s heart as he realized he’d shared those memories aloud.
“They didn’t mind that I was gay, either, though they would have liked grandkids someday,” Morgan added. Nimble had been forthright about his orientation, so he would be, too. “They died in a car accident a few years back.”
Nimble’s reaction was a nod as a quiet darkness grew in his eyes, as though he was contemplating Morgan anew.
Morgan realized his body and mind were at ease, even without the muscle relaxant.
The stress he’d been carrying for the past months wasn’t just because of his accident or his breakup with Bradley; it was everything. The big city and the tense rush-rush of his old life seemed far away from this cave of a parlor, and suddenly it didn’t seem as important to get back to it.
He watched Nimble watching him and realized he’d said a lot of that out loud as well.
“I could go for a drink,” Morgan said. He’d not had one in a long, long time.
