Bankers' Hours (6 page)

Tristan chuckled. “That’s great. I was wondering because you seemed more at ease.”

“I am. It’s all new, though. I never really worked out before. I’m more of a couch potato.”

It seemed like he was about to comment, but his daughter interrupted. “Dad, that class I wanted to do is starting upstairs.”

“Claire, this is my friend Grant. Grant, this is my daughter.” He gestured to me and then back to her, treating this like any other introduction. No hesitance or strangeness.

“Hello,” she said, rocking on her heels. “It’s nice to know you have friends, Dad.”

“Hey! I have friends. Jeff and Will are my friends.”

“Jeff and Will work for you. That doesn’t count. Can I go do the class?”

I enjoyed the way she ribbed him. They seemed comfortable with each other.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll be down here when you’re done.”

Claire looked at me and said, “Watch out for my dad, will you? He’s a mess without me.”

Tristan moaned quietly, and I chuckled as Claire took off down a hallway. “She’s funny.”

“Very,” he commented drolly. “I’m doing leg presses next. Where are you off to?”

I shrugged. I’d made my round, and I was tired. How did I tell the workout master I was done? “Um, I thought I’d finish with the treadmill for twenty minutes.”

“Weren’t you on that when we got here?”

He’d seen me?
“Oh, yeah. I guess I’ll… I might do….” I glanced around, trying to figure out which machines to name.

“You’re done for the day, aren’t you?” How did he know? Tristan sensed my shock and explained, “You’re sweaty, and your last rep over there was a struggle, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. He’d been watching me as I had been watching him. I’m not sure how I felt about that, considering we were only supposed to be friends. “Yeah. I’m really tired. I guess I’ll see you around. It was nice meeting your daughter. She’s cute.” I felt odd standing next to him as he sat on a weight bench. If someone wanted to use the equipment, then we’d be in the way.

He smiled wider than I’d seen before. “Thanks. I think she’s awesome, but I’m very biased.”

“You’re allowed to be.” I wasn’t good at small talk, but I couldn’t leave quite yet. I was still conflicted. I was attracted to him, yet I knew I shouldn’t be. We were friends, pals, buddies. Nothing more. “So, is it true you don’t have many friends?” Kids could exaggerate. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tristan had loads of friends. He seemed nice and friendly.

Another guy came over to the machine next to us. It felt like he was invading our conversation, although he didn’t even look at us.

“Yes and no. I have friends, but I rarely see them anymore.”

“Oh?”

“I’m married to my work, and they’re stationed overseas.”

“Stationed?” That was an odd way of describing it.

“Did I not mention it before? I was in the military.”

“Which explains the muscles,” I mumbled, my eyes going wide immediately. “Oh gosh, did I say that out loud?”

Tristan chuckled. “Yes, but you’re fine. I’ve heard it all before. I was a workout buff before I joined the Navy, and I continued after I got out.”

“Ah! Now the tattoo on your bicep makes sense.”

Tristan pulled his arm forward and touched the tattoo. It was the Navy insignia. “Yeah. My buddy Josh and I got them together.”

The drop in his tone told me something was wrong. I asked, “Do you still see him?”

He shook his head. “No. He died a year after we got them. We were on a boat somewhere between the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean, and Josh got sick. He thought it was influenza but ignored it way too long. He died a week later.”

I almost got tears in my eyes. Josh’s death sounded so tragically avoidable.

“Are you using this?” a different man asked, gesturing to the equipment we were standing next to.

The man’s question seemed to snap both of us out of our momentary funk. “Oh, no, sorry,” Tristan said, getting up and motioning for the other man to use it.

We stepped to the side, and suddenly I felt awkward. There were more people in the place than I had realized, and having a conversation in the middle of the room made me self-conscious.

Tristan gestured over to the wall, and I followed him to the side of the room. “You’re tired, and this place is too crowded to talk. I’m sorry to drop Josh’s death on you like that, but it just came out. It’s been twelve years, but sometimes thinking about him takes me back to the times we laughed.” He shook his head and blinked, as if shaking off the bad memories. “Anyway… maybe we can grab a beer sometime, and I’ll give you the rundown of my military history. Josh and I did have some fun times together.” He grinned. Was he joking? How much military history could he have?

His question threw me. “I, um… I guess.”

“I’d really like to hang out with you. Claire wasn’t kidding about my lack of friends. I don’t take time out of working long enough to make any.”

A too-damn-irresistible smile graced his perfect lips. Our friendship wasn’t going to work if he kept smiling at me like that. My groin didn’t know the difference between a straight guy and an interested guy, especially after he licked his lips. I coughed into my fist and then said casually, “Why make an exception for me? I’m not all that interesting.”

He frowned his disapproval at me. “I like you, Grant. You’re…
simple
.”

Lust jumped the track in favor of irritation. “Simple?” I snapped. I didn’t like the word, and I didn’t veil my reaction.

Tristan explained, “Not simple as in ‘simpleton.’ What I mean is that you’re straightforward. You say what you mean, and I don’t have to guess what you’re thinking. Your intent is written on your face.”

I didn’t see that as a plus when I’d been thinking nonfriendship thoughts for a couple of weeks. Every time he walked into the bank, I felt heat swirling in areas that had been neglected all my life. I couldn’t think of a response for being called “simple.”

He touched my arm, and I glanced to his hand and back up to his eyes.

“Grant, don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to offend you. I like you. Can we go for a beer and get to know each other? You said yourself you’re new to the area. If I don’t have many friends, and you don’t have many friends, then why don’t we give this a shot?”

He let go of my arm, and I swallowed. Friends with a straight guy whose touch made me shiver and whose lips made me salivate? Oh, holy hell, I was in for a rough ride.

“Okay,” I said.

He smiled again, glad I had agreed. “Wait here one second.” He disappeared up the steps toward the front desk and returned with a slip of paper. “I don’t have a card on me, but here’s my phone number. Call or text me a time you’re free. I’m busy with my daughter this weekend, but I can certainly meet up with you during the week, or next weekend.”

I looked down at the slip of paper. He’d really given me his number.
Huh
. I’d made a friend. I’d have to tell my mom. “Thanks. Yeah, I guess I could have a beer, but I’m telling you I’m not all that interesting.”

His face lit up. “That’s fine. I have plenty of stories if you run out of things to talk about.”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say. I mean, the whole exchange felt rather odd already, but if he had as few friends as I had, then I supposed this was one way of making some. “I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you next week.”

He stuck out his hand. This time when I shook it, it didn’t feel dirty. It was either because of my own sweat and grime, or because he didn’t seem as filthy.

“I MADE
a friend,” I told Mel. I’d already called my mother. She hadn’t seemed as impressed as I thought she might. “A straight male friend.”

“Oh, wow! Good for you. I thought you had way too many girl friends. It isn’t healthy.”

“I know what you mean. It’s not like I mind chick flicks or pedicures, but I think it’ll be fun watching a football game for a change, better yet a baseball game. He asked if I wanted to get a beer sometime and talk.”

“Do you even like beer? I thought you said you’ve never had a drink.”

Mel knew me too well. I answered, “I haven’t, but there’s a first time for everything. I’m sure I could have something light.”

“If I were you, I’d go to a local liquor store and talk to someone.”

“You think so?” I walked from the stove, where I was cooking beef stew, to the table, where I set my bowl and arranged my spoon and napkin. Mel and I normally chatted for a few minutes several times a week as I made dinner, or shortly after I’d finished.

“For sure. If you needed to know about wine, I’m your guy, but I don’t like beer.”

“Okay. Maybe I will. Did you talk to Cindy yet?” I had to change the subject. We’d been talking about me in every conversation for a week. I needed to let Mel know I cared about his life too.

“Yes.”

“What? When? Why didn’t you text me?” I was so excited I almost dropped my spoon right into the pot.

“I talked to her today. I ordered some cornbread to go.”

“That’s great!”

I was so happy, but Mel’s voice said the exact opposite. “No. It’s pathetic. I didn’t want cornbread. I only ordered it because no one was around and she was the only employee out front. I felt like a doofus.”

“I’m sure you didn’t look like one. Did she smile, or say anything to give you an indication she thought you were cute?”

I was glad to hear Mel’s snicker. “Yeah, sort of. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“Then I think you need to go back again and find out.”

“I don’t know. Can we talk about something else? I haven’t….” He huffed into the receiver as he paused. “I haven’t dated anyone in over four years. I’ve spent all my time with you, because you’ve always accepted me for who I am. What if I’ve gone through all this only to find out no one wants to be with me? What if I’m alone the rest of my life?” I could hear his emotion, and it stirred my own. Mel was not a crier by nature.

“Mel, don’t. We always said we can’t dwell on what-ifs. I’ve been alone for twenty-six years.”

“At least you’ve had dates.”

“Dates with losers who found my personality repulsive! You and I have to keep trying. My soul mate is out there, somewhere, and so is yours. I have to believe that!”

He took in a long shaky breath and said, “Look, my dinner’s done. I gotta go.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Later.”

I hung up and set my phone on the table. His situation bothered me because it wasn’t so much different than mine, but scarier. Yet I worried more over the hurt I heard in his voice. Hope was something I had to give him, but what if he finally gave up on it? I didn’t have answers for myself, let alone for Mel. I picked my phone back up and texted:
I’m sorry, Mel. I’m sure things will work out for you. Go see Cindy at work one more time. Just try.

Don’t apologize, you’re right. I know I need to approach her, but I’m scared.

I know. I love you like a brother.

:) Thank you, Grant.

This time when I put the phone down, at least I didn’t feel like there was unfinished business. I never wanted to go to sleep knowing one of my friends was mad at me, let alone my best friend. Mel would be okay.

I ate dinner alone and contemplated painting my bedroom next.

I VENTURED
to The Home Depot to pick out paint colors. I figured there had to be one in the area, so I pulled it up on Google. I might not know my new town, but how different could it be from other towns? I mean, really. I found it, and an hour later I came home with twenty-seven different color cards because I couldn’t decide on a shade while I was there. I liked blue, but did I want a blue bedroom? I taped three different blues in one spot to stare at and other colors on different spots on the wall: beige, green, yellow, and even purple. If the color I painted my kitchen said a lot about me as a person, as Mrs. Snyder had suggested, then what did the color in my bedroom suggest? I guess if I painted my bedroom black or bloodred people might mistake me for a vampire, but would green suggest one aspect of my personality and blue another? I wasn’t sure, so I thought I would mull it over for a while.

Right now, the entire house was painted white, except for the kitchen. I didn’t care for white. My mother’s house was all white. Having a different color was my mind’s subconscious way of declaring separation. It wasn’t like I’d thought, when I had painted my kitchen, “I’m going to paint this salmon so I am completely different from my mom!” No, I didn’t think about that at all. I liked the salmon. Mel had given me some dishes for my first new place, and they had salmon-colored flecks in the design along the edge. I’d been in an apartment before, but since I’d spent most of my time over at Mel’s, I just hadn’t expended the effort to paint it.

This newest new place felt different. It was small, with only a kitchen, bedroom, and dining/living room combination. No basement. No porch. No real storage. I had described it as a three-room house, but I did have a bathroom and a closet. It had come with a couch, which I hated, and a dining room table, which was okay. I wanted to furnish it myself as soon as I saved up some money. I used to have some, but two years ago Mel and I had gone on a trip to Ireland and spent quite a lot traveling around and staying in different counties. It had been worth it, but I had to save up again.

All day Sunday I must have taken out my phone a hundred times wondering if I should text Tristan. He’d given me his phone number, but should I call him the very next day? I didn’t want to appear desperate. I didn’t have to call him. I had other friends.

My other friends lived an hour away, but I could still do things with them.

BY MONDAY
afternoon, I still hadn’t texted, and I felt strange when Tristan came in with a deposit. He was as pleasant as ever, his half smile cajoling me into an uncomfortable semierect state that made me regret wearing the tight trousers I’d chosen. Luckily, if I stood at the counter, no one could see the front of my pants until things had settled down.

BY FRIDAY,
Tristan must have waited long enough. After handing me his stack of disorganized bills and checks, he asked again about the beer. “I waited for that text. Either you don’t want to have a beer with me, or you lost my number. Either way is fine, but you could have said you weren’t interested. I’ll still talk to you, even if you don’t want to hang out.”