I scoff. “I already went through that when Sully came out of the closet in high school. Anyone who has a problem with me has already said it.”
Cubby nods, apparently pleased with that. “Good to know.”
“You want an ice cream?” I ask. “I could stretch my legs if you don’t mind walking.”
Five minutes later, I’ve left the shop locked up for my lunch break, and Cubby and I are making our way through town, each working on a single scoop. It’s a sunny, warm day, which means the streets are busy. There are some boats sliding in down at the public launch, vacationers in town, but mainly, familiar faces roam, seeking excuses to stay outside and breathe the summer air.
“Your mom working today?” Cubby asks, nodding to the restaurant.
“Tonight. My uncle’s at the art gallery, if you want to stop in.”
“Family introductions!” He licks his ice cream. “You mountain men move fast.”
“You’ve already met them both,” I point out, then take a big bite out of my ice cream.
Cubby stops walking and gawks at me. “Okay, we’re going to ignore the horrifying fact that you just bit your ice cream like it was a hamburger.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “Is that your whole family?”
“My brother Parker is off at college. He’s a genius. We normally talk a couple of times a week, but he’s out of the country for an internship this summer. I’ve got some cousins, but they moved away too.” I scratch my beard, which is feeling hot from the sun. “You never mention your family. You’re not close?”
“That’s one way to put it. We don’t talk.”
I frown, bothered by the idea that his family wouldn’t appreciate him. “They don’t accept you?”
“You mean, my amazing style and sparkling personality?” he asks with a wink. “They’re fine with me in that way, actually. Well, I’m sure my dad would feel uncomfortable about crop-top summer if I swung by his office, but generally speaking.”
We pass my old high school gym teacher, grumpy Mr. Robertson, and I give him a friendly wave and nod, which he begrudgingly returns.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s them. Honestly, they’re slumlords. Do you have those in small towns?”
“I guess. Probably.”
Cubby looks away. Usually, no matter where the conversation goes, he’s bubbly and bright. But his smile cracks, and I can tell this topic gets to him.
“It’s disgusting, really. My dad and my mom run a business together, and they exploit poor people. Not in a lowkey way, but like, they break housing codes and evict people illegally and do a million other horrible things.” He shakes his head fiercely, like he’s forcing something away. “My sisters might feel different, but I refuse to go along with that.”
“Cubby, that sucks.”
He shrugs, somehow summoning the smile back, although I can still see some of the hurt in his eyes. “You don’t get to choose your family. When they wouldn’t change and acted like I was the problem for bringing it up, I moved out and filed a complaint against their business with the city. I’ve been on my own since.”
We’re at the end of Main Street, where the road tilts back down into the woods. There’s a weird feeling in my chest. I liked Cubby as soon as I met him, and I knew he was the type of guy who stands up for himself. But hearing about his family, I realize there are whole dimensions to him I haven’t glimpsed yet, an integrity and strength few people have.
Without thinking, I reach out and cup his cheek, his beard rough on the palm of my hand. “You’re a good man,” I say simply.
“Oh. Thank you.” Cubby’s voice is tender and low. “But really, it just is what it is.”
A cloud passes over the sun, and I suddenly become self-conscious about touching him, or maybe just about how good it feels to touch him. With a soft grunt, I step back. “No wonder you’re such a hard worker,” I tell him.
“Speaking of hard work,” Cubby says, changing the topic. He pinches my side, then starts walking again, heading back toward town. “Have you been reflecting much on your first gay experience?”
I catch up with him. “Reflecting?”
Cubby comes closer and lowers his voice. “I had fun with you.”
“Oh. Yeah. I had a great time. Sorry if I didn’t say that.”
“You did,” he tells me with a smile. “A few times. But I like to check in, in the light of day, especially if I’m going to be seeing someone again?”
