Bankers' Hours (31 page)

“It’s nice to meet you, Tristan. May I get you a drink? I have beer, wine, Sprite, and water,” Mel said, after Tristan and I had taken a seat on the sofa.

“Um, water is fine,” Tristan said.

“I’ll have water too. Let me help you,” I offered, jumping up and heading into the kitchen with him on my heels.

“Grant, what are you doing? Why did you just leave Tristan alone in there? What’s wrong?” Mel asked.

“Nothing’s wrong with me. What’s wrong with you? Where’s Cindy?” I asked, stepping close so I could speak quietly enough to keep the conversation between us. “I thought you told me you invited her.”

“I did, but she… she said she wasn’t feeling well.”

He was lying. He always glanced away when he was lying. “Mel?” I stressed.

He fessed up. “She said she had a date.”

I touched his shoulder affectionately. “What?”

“She told me right before you got here she’s been seeing someone else for a few weeks. Our date was casual, for her,” he said, sniffling just a bit.

“Oh man, I’m sorry. Do you think she’ll go out with you again?”

“I don’t know.” He got choked up and pinched his eyes. Mel wasn’t as emotional as I tended to be, so this was quite a display for him. “I feel like this whole thing was a mistake. I’ll probably be alone forever.”

“No, no, that’s not true.” I pulled him into a hug, and that was when Tristan walked in. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Mel just needed to get something off his chest for a second.”

Mel pulled out of my hug and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I didn’t mean to keep Grant in here this long. Let’s just get the drinks and sit at the table, why don’t we?” He took out some glasses and handed them out, grabbing a pitcher from the cabinet to fill up with water.

Tristan looked perturbed but held his tongue. He snagged my arm as I walked past, waiting until Mel was far enough ahead of us not to hear as he snapped, “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you?”

I pulled my arm out of his grasp and responded incredulously, “No!” I joined Mel in the dining room, not waiting for Tristan, who was being rude for no reason.

Tristan and I sat, and Mel brought out dinner. “Salmon,” I enthused, patting the back of his hand. “You remembered how much I love it.”

“Of course I did,” Mel said, smiling brightly.

Tristan muttered, “I don’t really like fish.”

I looked over and glared at him. He was sitting opposite Mel, with me in between them and an empty chair opposite me. “Then don’t eat it,” I fussed. “There’s salad and asparagus,” I said, taking inventory of each dish. The last one made me pause. “And hash-brown casserole,” I added, beaming back at my best friend. “I can’t believe you remembered how much I like that.”

“Of course I did,” Mel said, patting my hand this time.

I thought I heard Tristan growl, but I ignored it. He was being unreasonable, and I wasn’t going to let it spoil my evening.

As the dinner progressed, we started telling Tristan about all the times we had worked together, the customers we remembered, and even some of our excursions outside of work. It was so fun reminiscing, I found myself getting more and more worked up with each story. We even relived our vacation to Ireland. It was the most fun I’d had in a long while.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, jumping in my seat and waving my hand in the air. “Remember that time at your grandmother’s house, when that lady—”

“The one with the goats?” Mel asked.

“Yes. When she came rushing over? She rapped on your grandmother’s screen door so hard—”

“We thought a bear was chasing her,” Mel laughed. “But it wasn’t a bear.”

“It was a hummingbird,” I said. It had been a long time since we’d finished each other’s sentences, and I was soaking up the joy of it.

“You were amazing that day,” he gushed, his laughter turning serious momentarily.

“No, I wasn’t,” I denied, feeling self-conscious.

“No, you were.” Then Mel directed his attention at Tristan as he told the rest of the story. “This wild old lady lived next door to my grandmother. She had six goats and treated them like children. One day, she came rushing to my grandmother’s, rapping on the screen door like—”

“A bear was chasing her,” Tristan offered dryly.

“Exactly. But it wasn’t. She ushered us all to her house, where a hummingbird had gotten trapped. Somehow it had flown in the door when she came in from gardening. It kept circling the living room but wouldn’t go out the window she had opened. She was so worried the little bird would break its neck on something. She asked us to help her catch it, but it was too fast for the butterfly net she was using. Then Grant gets this wild notion to grab it.”

“So I did,” I told Tristan. “I snatched it right out of the air.”

Mel continued, “Only the bird was so tired and scared it just sat in his hand. It wouldn’t fly away even when we walked outside.”

“I figured,” I explained, “that it was hungry. Hummingbirds need to eat every two hours, and if it had been flying around the house for a while, then it was probably exhausted.”

“So I go and make some sugar water with Mrs. Peatree in her kitchen, and she produces this teeny-tiny teacup that had to have been made for a doll, and fills it with the sugar water. We hand the tiny cup to Grant, and he holds it to the tiny bird sprawled out on his open palm, and the thing drinks it!”

“Unbelievable,” Tristan commented.

“That’s what I said!” Mel exclaimed. “It was unreal how that bird sipped the sugar water from the tiny teacup, and then moments later it sat up in his hand, ruffled its teeny-tiny little wings, and took off. Just like that!”

I smiled at Mel. “It
was
pretty cool.”

“Pretty cool? You are the bird whisperer, Grant. You have a gift.”

I chuckled and rolled my eyes. I glanced at Tristan and said, “Mel exaggerates.”

Tristan said smoothly, “Oh, I doubt that. I think he tells it exactly like it is. You seem to have a lot of adventures together.”

I ignored his cold tone and turned my attention back to Mel as another story popped into my mind. “Oh my gosh! Remember your crazy friend Darla?”

Mel whistled and tilted his head back. “Oh, wow. I can’t believe you’re bringing this up.”

“It’s classic!” I looked back to Tristan to tell my story. “So Mel has this friend from college.”

“Darla,” Tristan said.

“Yes. She’s a bit wild.”

“A bit?” Mel asked.

“Shush, let me tell it. Anyway, Darla wanted to go dancing one night. We were all over at Mel’s sister’s house, because Mel was babysitting, and Darla said that when his sister got back we should go out dancing. Only she found this old Fisher-Price airplane—”

“Complete with little wooden people,” Mel broke into my explanation with uncontrollable laughter. “I can’t believe she took it onto the dance floor! Oh my gosh,” he declared, wiping tears from his eyes.

I scoffed, “Ha! You spoiled the story.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still laughing and crying.

“Crazy Darla took the toy airplane with us,” I told Tristan. He was sitting very calmly, not getting into the hilarity at all, hands crossed on the table in front of him. I ignored it. I was having fun, and he was not going to ruin it for me. “She took it onto the dance floor,” I laughed. “People gave her the most incredulous stares as she pretended to fly it around, but she didn’t care. She just kept dancing with it.”

“Stop!” Mel urged, clutching his chest. “I need to catch my breath.”

I laughed at him, but I did stop retelling the tale.

“Let me see that ring you keep waving around,” Mel said, reaching for my hand. I gave it to him, hoping his reaction would be better than my boss’s. “Holy cow! This thing is gorgeous. Grant,” he looked up, his eyes shining bright. “Your man has incredible taste.”

“Um, actually, Grant picked it out,” Tristan corrected.

“You picked Grant,” he told Tristan, “so the comment still stands. Grant, this is beautiful,” he said, squeezing my hand.

“Thank you.” I blushed.

THE REST
of the evening continued in much the same manner. I told stories, Mel told stories, we laughed, and Tristan sat quietly listening. I wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but I wasn’t going to let it spoil my evening.

Chapter 13: Fights, Bites, And Realizing Relationships Take Work

WE DROVE
home in silence. At least for me, the quiet was because my throat was sore from all the talking. Tristan, though, hadn’t said much of anything. I didn’t know what to expect when we pulled into my driveway. Would he stay? Would he go back to his house? We still hadn’t worked out the details of living together. I didn’t really like his house, because of the dust and clutter, but it was improving with every hour I spent cleaning it. Maybe soon I’d be comfortable.

“Are you staying?” I asked, walking toward the door.

Tristan hung back, hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. I think maybe I’ll head home. It’s been a long day.”

I opened my door. “Okay. Whatever makes you happy.” I went in but left the door open. It gave him the option of stepping through, as opposed to slamming it shut as if to say, “Fine, then go the hell home. See if I care.”

I was in the bedroom when I heard the door shut. I hung up my pants. I’d only worn them for a few hours, so I thought I could wear them to work in the morning.

“You could have warned me, you know,” Tristan said from the doorway.

I turned to face him. If he was going to make a big deal about the way Mel and I carried on, then I wasn’t going to run from it. He could be jealous all he wanted to, but I wasn’t going to alter my behavior because he couldn’t take it. Mel and I had history. “Why?” I spat. “Because you can’t handle a few funny stories? We’ve been best friends a long time. I can’t help that we’re—”

“That Mel’s transgender,” he interrupted coolly.

I blinked. “I don’t see what that has to do with… anything,” I said, running out of words to complete my thought. I wasn’t expecting this reaction.

He strolled into the room and leaned against the dresser. “You could have warned me. I spent most of the night trying not to stare. Didn’t you wonder why I wasn’t speaking?”

I shrugged. “I assumed it was from jealousy.”

He chuckled, but I knew he wasn’t amused. “Yes, well….” He let the thought go and kept his eyes on me as he formed another one. “I didn’t want to interrupt your long overdue bonding to ask why he wanted to change genders.”

I felt a chill run through me. “He’s not changing it. He’s always been male.”

“On the inside, but not on the outside,” he emphasized hotly. “I get it, Grant. But this isn’t about Mel. This is about you.”

“I can’t believe you’d be so cold to him.” I huffed and turned away, fiddling with my shirt buttons but having difficulty undoing them.

Tristan came over and turned me back around. “You don’t get to turn away. I’m not done. I don’t like how comfortable you are together. Are you sure he’s not gay?”

I pulled my shoulders back. “Yes!”

He clenched his jaw. “Fine. And there’s nothing going on between you?”

“No! How many times do I have to say it? Mel and I are close. I’m the only one he’s trusted during his transition. Do you have any idea the shit he gets? Do you know what it’s like to be born in a body that doesn’t match your inner identity? He’s struggled with it since he was five and realized he was a boy, while everyone around him told him he was a girl. Do you know what that’s like? To be told you’re wrong, how you feel is wrong, what you desire is wrong?”

Tristan looked down, rubbed his chin, and then stepped closer as he brought his gaze back to mine. “I was in the US Navy, Grant. Stationed on a submarine with one hundred and forty other guys, all straight. What do you think happened when one of them found out I was gay?”

I blinked, well aware of what his answer might be.

“They beat the crap out of me. Not enough to send me to the hospital, but enough to say ‘touch one of us and you’re dead.’ So I know what it’s like to be hated for what you were born as. I’m not trying to criticize Mel or how he feels.”

Tristan turned away and walked out of the room, leaving me there to sputter. “But… I… you….” I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. I felt guilty for talking about Mel the way I had, but in the heat of the argument, it had tumbled out. I ran after Tristan and found him sitting on my couch. I stopped short. “You didn’t leave.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not angry about Mel.” He looked at me with such weariness in his eyes. He looked exhausted. “I was hurt because I felt left out of most of the conversations tonight. I’m not used to feeling jealous, and the way you two spoke made me want to punch Mel’s face in. I was worried about him being gay and stealing you away from me.”

“Why? I told you we’ve been friends a long time.” I walked over and took a seat on the couch next to him. “I’m not interested in Mel. I’m attracted to you. Very attracted. Insanely, wrapped-around-your-finger attracted.”

He smiled and reached over to squeeze my knee. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you. When I stormed out of your room I realized why your relationship bothered me so much. I reconsidered my feelings when I thought of my pal Marc.”

“Marc?”

“Yeah. We were in the Navy together. We spoke much like you and Mel did. We finished each other’s sentences, anticipated each other’s needs—heck, we even read each other’s minds on several occasions, much to the chagrin of the guys playing poker with us. So I get it. Mel is your Marc.”

Suddenly I was the jealous one, and I wanted to meet this guy. “Are you… do you still talk to him like that?” I asked, my hands shaking.

He shook his head. “He died about five years ago. Shot in the thigh, and the bullet hit his femoral artery. He bled out in under three minutes.”

I gasped and covered my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It happens, Grant. People die. I try to remember all the good times we had. If I only fixate on the negative, then I let bitterness take over and I chance losing all the laughter we shared.” He took my hand and squeezed it.