The Lonely Drop (3 page)

I’ve blown my chance to reconnect and it hurts. It hurts more than I thought it could after ten years. All of ten minutes’ conversation overrode ten years of moving on, and my heart aches like it broke yesterday.

Friday night, the bar is too busy for me to think about anything but pulling drafts and mixing drinks, but when I finally lock the door and walk to my car, his phone number is tucked in my pocket.

At home, I undress, tossing my clothes— which stink of beer and bar food— into the hamper, and I lie down on my bed in my boxers. I stare at the number— his handwriting still so familiar. Finally, I dial.

“Hello?”

His voice is rough from sleep. Oh, shit, it’s two in the morning. What the hell am I thinking?

“I’m sorry!” I blurt out. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Oh God, I’m so sorry, Kevin.”

“Wait, Nick? Wait, don’t hang up! Is that you?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I forget not everyone keeps barman’s hours.”

“S’okay. I don’t have to go to work tomorrow. I’m glad you called.” I can hear the smile in his voice. It’s true, he’s glad. A rush of warmth tingles through me. He’s glad.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was thinking about you all day.”

“Really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I thought you were mad at me.” I play my fingers over the squares of my quilt, feeling weak for admitting it, but also feeling like it’s okay, because he’s just a disembodied voice on the other end of the phone, not real, standing in front of me and smelling like heaven and ten-year-old memories.

“No, disappointed in myself. I let you think… I let you think I just wanted to hook up with you— and I’m not gonna lie, Nick, I totally would hook up with you. But I really want my old friend back. Can we do that? Be friends again?”

Relief washes over me. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Awesome.” The warmth in his voice makes me feel good down to my toes. My cock chubs up a little, and instead of being embarrassed, I enjoy the feeling of being turned on without him knowing.

“What were you thinking about? You said you were thinking about me?”

“About lots of stuff…” He trails off, clears his throat, and then when he starts talking again there’s an almost fake cheerful note to his voice. “Especially how much fun we always used to have on the soccer pitch. You still play?”

“Yeah, I play in a league at the park. My team kinda sucks, but we have fun. You?”

“No, I wish. I travel too much, and Dad thinks…”

I wait for him to finish the sentence. When he doesn’t, I prompt him, “Your dad thinks what?”

“Nothing. It’s not important. You know how he is. Remember when I came out to him?”

God, how could I forget? Kevin came over to my dorm room, shaking, on the verge of tears because his dad was a cold, unfeeling asshole. Mr. Dorsey wasn’t mean, exactly, just careless with his son’s feelings. I’d never felt so helpless as that night Kevin spent in my room, curled up with me on my twin bed. He slept, but I didn’t. I started bringing him home on the holidays after that, because my mom had more than enough parental affection to share.

“Yeah. He any better now?”

“He doesn’t really care about me being gay. That would require him actually caring about me.”

My hand stills on the blanket. I’m shocked to hear him say the words. He never had, when we were in school. I’d always supposed something that unfair was best left unsaid, but there’s a power in acknowledging it.

“He sucks, Kevin,” I whisper.

“Yeah, but that’s old news. Some things never change. Now, at least I have the luxury to think of him more like my boss than my dad, you know?”

“He acts more like your boss than your dad. Why do you work for him again?”

“Because working for him is the best our relationship has ever been.” His sigh is a little sad. “He’s warming up a little lately because Trish— you remember my little sister? —anyway, Trish is having a baby. Maybe he’ll be a better grandfather than he was a father.”

“One can only hope,” I grunt.

“What’s it like, owning a restaurant?” There’s a wistfulness to his voice, more than curiosity, maybe even jealousy.

“It’s terrifying. And wonderful. And stressful. But I love it.”

“Your mom’s influence is all over the menu.”

I smile at that. “Yeah, she’d have loved it. Nutmeg in the lasagna aside.”

“So, are you a full-time vegetarian now? Or do you still sneak bacon sometimes like you did in college?”

“No more bacon. I’ve been a real vegetarian for about six years now. It seemed disrespectful, somehow.”

“To your mom.”

“Yeah. After she died.”

“She was really special, Nick.”

The lump is back in my throat. I nod, then realize he can’t see me, so I say, “Thanks.”

“Is she buried in Vermont?”

“No, she was cremated. I have her ashes here.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I was going to scatter them in the mountains where she taught me to ski, ’cause she loved it there, but I’m not ready yet.”

“Maybe give me a call, when you do? I’d like a chance to say goodbye— even if it’s just over the phone.”

Just over the phone.

Like our slowly rekindling friendship.

“When are you coming back to Asheville?” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

“January sometime. I’ll need to interview candidates for the now-vacant management positions. We’ll do the first few rounds over the phone, but I won’t make a final decision until I meet with them in person.”

“Will you call me? Maybe we can have lunch. There’s this fantastic noodle place in Pack Square.”

“Yeah, I’ll call you.” He yawns and I hear it through the phone.

“Hey Kev, get some sleep.”

“Don’t want to hang up yet. I have my buddy back.”

“I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“You promise?”

“I swear.”

“Don’t swear. Mama Hana hated it when you swore.”

“I promise.”

“Good night, Nick.”

“G’night, Kevin.”

****

Chapter Two

Thanksgiving morning 2013

I call Kevin right before I open the restaurant for lunch, knowing it will be too crazy later in the day, and somehow, even if I can’t say it outright, wanting to express my thankfulness that he’s in my life.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Nick!” His voice is full of exuberance when he picks up the phone.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Kevin.” I smile, trying to picture him in New York, wondering what his home looks like. “Are you at home?”

“Nah, Mom decided she wanted to go someplace warm, so we’re spending the weekend in the Keys. How about you?”

“At the Drop. We’ve got some Thanksgiving specials planned. My tofurkey is legendary.”

He laughs, a low chuckle. “You really serve tofurkey? What about the root vegetable stew your mom used to make?”

“Hey, some people, myself included, like tofurkey. I make the stew too. And butternut squash bisque, onion and goat cheese tarts, pumpkin fritters. The desserts are the best though. The pastry shop across the street sends over the best pecan pie I’ve ever had, and we make our own pistachio and Bailey’s ice cream to go with it.”

“Pistachio and Bailey’s on pecan pie?” His voice is thick with longing.

“It tastes even better than it sounds. It’s like eating an orgasm.”

He laughs. “I dunno, I’ve eaten my share of spunk, and I bet your ice cream is better.”

“You know, vegetarians taste better.” The flirtatious words pop out before I can stop them.

“Are you offering?”

“Offering what?” I hedge. I opened myself up for this bit of sensual banter, the least I can do is let him say it.

“To let me taste your orgasm?” he teases. I can’t stop the visual that pops into my head. Him on his knees, looking up at me with lust-dark hazel eyes while I thrust down his throat.

I bite back a moan.

“I’ll make you some ice cream,” I offer, my voice only shaking a little bit.

“It’ll do.” He sighs. “Hey, I gotta go. Thanks for calling, man. It’s good to talk to you.”

“Yeah, you too. Happy Thanksgiving.”

****

Christmas Eve 2013

I miss the call because Jenny’s car broke down. I drive her and her kids to an Ingles parking lot where her ex is supposed to meet her to pick them up. She mutters something about wanting the exchanges to happen somewhere there are security cameras.

“Jesus, Jenny.” I stare at her. “And you’re letting him take your kids?”

“It’s not like he’s actually going to show up. And if he does, if he’s drunk or stoned, we call the police. I won’t let him take them if he’s high.” She tucks one of her long curls behind her ear. “Who stands up their kids on Christmas?”

I grunt. My own sperm donor had pretty much stood up my entire life, so I didn’t really have anything to say to that. I know one thing for sure: I’d rather grow up the way I did, with no dad at all, than have someone volatile like Daniel for a parent.

We wait an hour.

After I drop Jenny and the two crying kids at her house, I drive home, and it’s not until I see my cell sitting on the counter that I realize I hadn’t had it with me.

Two missed calls. One is Jenny thanking me for waiting with them; the other is Kevin.

“Hey, Nick. Merry Christmas. I… I didn’t like thinking about you being alone. For the holiday. Well, at all really, but also for the holiday. Then I realized you probably have a boyfriend or something, and you’re celebrating with him. And that’s awesome. I hope… I mean, I’d really like to know you’re doing okay. Merry Christmas.”

I listen to it three times before I text him.

I’m fine, Merry Christmas.

I listen to his message again, smiling at the way his voice turns flat when he mentions a boyfriend.

No boyfriend. Not for a while.

A few minutes later, he texts me.

Tell me you aren’t alone.

Alone isn’t so bad.

My phone rings. I don’t even have to look to know it’s him.

“Hi, Kevin. How are you today?”

“Do you want me to fly down there?” His voice is all growly, and I’m ashamed of how much that turns me on.

“What? No.” I laugh. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not like this is my first Christmas alone.” That Christmas had sucked. I’m still amazed I didn’t go out of my mind.

“Dude! I’m serious. I’ll fly down there, we can hang out.”

I can’t believe he’s offering. It’s sweet, and thoughtful. And not the kind of thing you do for someone you’ve barely talked to in ten years.

“Kevin. Stay home, celebrate with your family. Hey, how’s Trish?” I change the subject to his sister, hoping for a reprieve.

“She’s forty-one weeks pregnant and tired of hearing manger jokes. Don’t change the subject.”

“I thought pregnancy only lasted…” I start ticking off weeks on my fingers.

“Her due date was last week,” he says.

“Well if she’s a week past her due date, you should definitely stay in New York. You don’t want to miss the birth.”

“January sixth,” he says abruptly.

“What?”

“I’ll be in Asheville January sixth. I’m staying at the Haywood again. I’m staying through the weekend so I can come to your brewery tour on Saturday, and I would really like to take you out to dinner.”

“Dinner? Like a date? But you don’t date.”

He sighs heavily and doesn’t speak for a moment. When he does, his voice is so sad I want to take it back.

“I really wish you’d stop basing everything you think about me on the way I behaved in college.”

“I don’t!” Do I?

“You do. And that’s okay for the most part, because we had fun together in college, and I like that you remember me that way. But it kinda stings that you assume I’m still chasing every hot ass that crosses my path.”

I want to believe him. I really do. But something niggles in the back of my brain. He’s the one who offered a hookup that first night when he showed up at the Drop.

“When was the last time you had a one night stand?”

“When was the last time you did?” he shoots back.

I let my silence speak for itself.

“Fine. November, before I came to Asheville. A guy from my gym. He was hot and we had fun and I don’t feel guilty about it.”

“I don’t think you should feel guilty.”

“Spare me. I know you think sex should always be about love— but sometimes it’s just about sex. About two hot, sweaty, naked bodies rubbing together because it feels good. It feels good, and I’m not ashamed of enjoying it.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel ashamed.” I frown into the phone. How did we go from him offering to fly down to keep me company for the holiday to
this?

“And I’m not trying to make you feel like a puritanical uptight asshole. No, wait, I am.”

Ouch. An angry flush heats my face. “It’s working,” I admit.

“Okay, so maybe we stop with the value judgments about each other’s sex lives?”

“Okay.” I sigh. “I’m an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll call you in January, when I get into town.”

“Please do. Kevin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it. Merry Christmas, Nick.”

“Merry Christmas.”

****

New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day 2013/2014

He sends me a selfie and a text from Times Square.

Playing tourist. Kinda fun. Happy New Year, Nick.

The Drop is packed, so I barely have time to text,
You too,
before turning my phone off so it won’t distract me anymore.

When I crawl into bed at three in the morning, I turn it on and find more texts.

Kissing anyone special tonight?

Nick?

Me neither. Thinking about it though.

I shake my head and send a text of my own.

Drop was busy tonight. Only kiss I got was from Jenny.

Late as it is, I don’t expect a text back, but it comes within minutes.

You kissed a girl???

I laugh.

She kissed me.

The phone rings.

“Hey,” I try not to yawn as I answer, rolling onto my belly.

“You just get home?”

“Yeah. What are you doing up at three in the morning?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Was waiting for a text.”