“Obviously. What was I thinking?” He takes another swig of his beer. “Thirty. That’s a big deal, Nicky,” he says, my nickname slipping out.
“I feel too young to be thirty. But also kind of old.”
“You’ve got a lot to be proud of,” he says. “Including how many damn people are willing to dress up with flowers to celebrate you.”
I laugh. “Isn’t it cool? I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life.”
Our eyes meet, but Clay quickly turns away again. A moment later, a clinking sound gets my attention.
Nance stands in the center of the garden, up on a bench while she hits a beer glass with a fork. “Attention!” she hollers out. When the chatter dies down, she turns. “Finn has an announcement,” she says.
Finn gets up on the bench in her place. “I’ll make this quick,” he says. “But if you’ll indulge me.” He turns and looks right at me. “Nicholas, to celebrate your birthday, I have brought samples of my first three custom ice cream flavors to share with the party.” He reaches down and pulls out a tub of ice cream, which he holds above his head as an excited murmur goes through the crowd. “Inspired by the gayborhood, we have Mattachine Mint and Fudge, named for one of our earliest gay rights organizations. There’s Double Cherry Cherry Street, celebrating the location of the city’s first Black gay and lesbian bars. And finally, Blossom Petal Ice Cream. It’s lemon-lavender swirl with candied rose petals in honor of our favorite flower shop.” He grins out at the crowd. “Three ice creams nearly as sweet as our birthday boy. Happy birthday!”
I light up. “You created an ice cream for the flower shop!” I yell out, excited, and shoot a smile to Clay before bounding up to Finn.
I jump on the bench and give my longest friend a big hug, and everyone claps as we laugh.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “And honoring our gayborhood? I didn’t think I could love you more, you sweet, brilliant daisy!”
Finn looks pleased as he pops the top off the tub of ice cream and scoops some out, offering me the spoon. I try it, letting the zesty, sweet flavors mingle in my mouth, and when I let out a satisfied moan, everyone laughs.
“Get a room!” someone jokes, earning another laugh.
The party picks back up, and Finn situates me with a cone of Blossom Petal ice cream. When I turn to find Clay again, he’s gone.
I wander through the party, hugging people and licking my ice cream, my heart sinking as I worry that he’s left. I spot a flash of his work shirt, though, heading toward the front, and hurry into the sex club after him.
Clay skulks down a dark corridor, and I call his name.
“Hey,” I say. “Are you taking off?”
Clay has his sunflower bunched in his hand. “Uh, yeah. Sorry to not say goodbye.”
I nod. “No problem. I know a party like this takes a lot out of you.” Unsure what to do with myself, or how to let him go, I lick the ice cream and then offer him some. “Want to try Finn’s creation?”
He frowns at the cone. “No, I’m fine,” he mumbles.
I hesitate, but can’t help but ask. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
Clay shakes his head. “Listen. Sorry. You know that parties aren’t my thing. And you’re having a great time with your friends. Hell, you got a custom ice cream flavor.” He frowns. “I gotta go,” he says abruptly.
“Sorry again that I didn’t communicate the dress code clearly,” I blurt out. There’s so much I want to say, but now I’m just worried that the party has pushed him too far into discomfort. That I’ve hurt him.
“Shit. Now I’m making you feel bad.” Clay rubs the back of his head, trying again. “It’s really just me, okay? Not you. I’mweird, and parties are weird, and…” He trails off before reaching out and taking the ice cream, which he licks.
“This is good,” he says, handing the cone back to me. “Please don’t let my mood ruin your birthday party.”
I relent, aware that he’s already stuck around longer than I’d hoped. He’s an honest person, and I school myself to take him at his word.
“Of course. Thanks for coming and celebrating with me.”
Clay steps forward. In the dark corridor, I think he’s about to kiss me, but then a door swings open beside us.
Light flashes across us, and we both take a half-step back.
“I gotta go,” Clay says. “Happy birthday, Nicky.”
