Yes (17 page)

“Thank you.” Bartley bolted from the restaurant and returned five minutes later with the Jeep. Ryan hopped into the passenger side, and Bartley drove them up Guadalupe in silence. When they pulled into Ian’s driveway, Ryan undid his seat belt and got out. “I hope I didn’t screw everything up.”

“You didn’t. I’m sorry about this, really.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sorry I told you about Ian. It was a total invasion of privacy. I feel like shit.”

“It’s okay. You were just looking out for your uncle.”

“Thanks for understanding. Can we still go to the open house on Sunday, so I can meet this Luke guy?”

“Of course. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll sort it. Good night, Ryan.”

Bartley pulled out of the driveway, and Ryan walked up to the porch. He heard a horn honk once and turned around. Bartley smiled and said, “By the way, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, Matthew likes you.” Then he drove off.

Ryan went into the house and checked the time. Eight thirty. He dialed Mark’s number, and when he answered, Ian heard loud voices in the background.

“Where are you?”

“Happy hour,” Mark said. “Or at least the end of happy hour. I met some friends, and we’re going to a party later. What happened?”

“I played the HIV card.”

“And?”

“It didn’t work. I went with the whole, ‘I don’t want to see my uncle get hurt’ angle. He still seemed to think it was a douchey move on Ryan’s part. Whatever. He’s not into Ryan because Ryan’s not Ian, and he’s not into Ian because Ian’s poz. No matter who I am, it’s over before it even began. I thought Ryan would be a fresh start. I thought things would be different, but absolutely nothing has changed. I’m still making the same bad choices.”

“I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. Do you want to come out and join us?”

“Is everyone in their forties?”

Ian heard Mark gasp. “Are you being ageist all of a sudden?”

“Sorry, but I don’t want to hang out with a bunch of old people tonight.”

“Listen, young man, do I need to remind you that you’re an old person inside?”

“You know I love you, Uncle Mark, but I’m going to walk over to La Tazza and see if they need any help.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. If you want to change something, why don’t you change the way you escape into that coffee shop every time life disappoints you? There will be young people at this party, or younger at least. Come out and meet some of them.”

“Thanks, but not tonight. I need to be somewhere familiar. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

“You sound like you’re about to do something stupid,” Mark said. “What is it?”

“You’re wrong. I need to run. Have fun at your party tonight.”

Ryan ended the call and looked at the clock. He still had several hours before La Tazza closed, so he decided to get stoned and clean the house. He put on some dance music from Ian’s circuit-party days, and with a bottle of 409 in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other, Ryan scrubbed the kitchen, living room, and bathroom from top to bottom, all in less than three hours. The amount of energy he had astounded him, not to mention the fact that he could eat twice as much as Ian without gaining an ounce.

Around eleven thirty, Ryan grabbed a handful of condoms and a small bottle of lube from the nightstand. He checked Ian’s phone and saw a missed call from Bartley, which he ignored. He went out to Ian’s truck, put the condoms and lube into the glove compartment, and then drove to La Tazza. He parked at Mr. Gatti’s Pizza across the street and watched the last stragglers leave the coffee shop. He knew Quentin and his freshman study group would stay until last call, but Ryan didn’t want to deal with them or any other customers. At about five minutes before midnight, the final two patrons left the building. Ryan looked through the large windows and saw Matthew standing by himself behind the bar. Then he disappeared into the back, and Ryan got out of the truck. He crossed the street, walked up to the north door, and stepped inside.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Matthew yelled.

Ryan didn’t move. “I’m not here for a latte.” He waited, and after a moment, Matthew came into view. Without any music playing, La Tazza was eerily quiet. Ryan heard a car pass on the street, the honk of a horn, and then a cyclist curse in response.

“Hey,” Matthew said.

“Hey.”

“How did your date go?”

“It was over by eight thirty. You were right. Bartley likes my uncle.”

Ryan watched as a series of mixed emotions played out across Matthew’s face.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asked.

Ryan nodded once. “Did you mean it? What you said earlier. About me.”

“You know I meant it. But I’m not a consolation prize, Ryan. If you’re still hung up on him—”

“I’m not. I promise. Sometimes I get fixated on someone and don’t even realize he’s not the right person for me. I was being stubborn. I don’t like people telling me who I can ask out.”

Matthew looked dismayed. “I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

“No. I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner—but I did figure it out. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I believe you, and maybe I don’t. It’s gonna take more than words.”

“That’s fair,” Ryan said. “Do you have plans?”

“When?”

“Now.”

Matthew gathered a couple of stray coffee cups and set them into a tub. “I don’t know. I was probably going to head home and call some friends.”

“Would you like to learn how to drive a stick?”

Matthew laughed. “Are you serious? It’s after midnight.”

“So? You turn into a pumpkin or something, old man?”

“Watch it, Parker. Where would we go?”

“There’s that big parking lot up near the DMV, just north of Koenig.”

Matthew smiled and shrugged. “Okay, sure. I’ve always wanted to learn. Everything’s done here, so we just need to lock up. Why don’t you get the doors, and I’ll kill the lights?”

Ryan crossed through the seating area and locked the east and west doors. The lights went out, and Matthew joined him. “Where did you park?”

“Across the street,” Ryan said.

Matthew looked out the window. They stood in the dark, about a foot away from each other. Ryan wanted to kiss him, but Matthew kept his distance and avoided eye contact. “Let’s go, then.”

They exited through the north door, and Ryan locked it behind them. They got into Ian’s truck, and Ryan pulled onto Guadalupe Street.

“Quentin asked where you were tonight,” Matthew said.

“Really?”

“He said he needed to ask you about something, so I told him you’d be in tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Did he call you Harry again?”

“No. I asked him if he’d downloaded the new One Direction album yet, just to let him know I didn’t appreciate it.”

“What was his reaction?”

Matthew rolled down his window. “He apologized. He’s actually not a bad guy, once you get past the snark. I told him about the team I’m putting together for Jeopardy Pursuit Night. Boy, you should have seen his chest puff out when he heard that. Did you know he and his brothers have won three months in a row?”

“I guess that’s what Uncle Ian meant by ‘virtually unbeatable.’”

“And did you also know he’s friends with all the guys in Dime Box?”

“What’s Dime Box?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan could see Matthew do a double take. “It’s a band. They had a monster hit two summers ago called ‘Homesick.’”

“Oh, I’ve heard that song,” Ryan said. “I just never knew who sang it. Whoever it is has an amazing voice.”

“Topher Manning. He’s one of the first openly gay pop stars of our generation. He and his bandmates are from a little town east of here, called Dime Box.”

“Hence the name of the band, I suppose. Do they live in Austin?”

“Austin and New York. I read they inherited this sweet apartment in Manhattan. Their second album dropped last month, so they’re doing two shows next week at Stubb’s. They’re already sold out, but Quentin said he’d look into getting tickets.”

“For you?”

“Isn’t it crazy? He asked about my major, and so we started talking about music. He mentioned he was going to the show at Stubb’s, and I said ‘I hate you.’ So he said he’d look into an extra set of VIP passes.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Tell me about it. He’s stopping by tomorrow afternoon to talk to you. He said he’d let me know about the tickets then.”

“Look at you. Besties with one of the Walsh brothers.”

“Has your uncle ever told you what their story is?”

Ryan stopped the truck at a red light. “Supposedly their parents were killed in a car accident. The oldest brother, Ben, was living in New York at the time. He’s gay. He moved back to take care of the other three. Quentin is the next oldest. Then there’s a middle one who’s also gay. I can’t remember his name. The youngest is about fifteen now.”

“That’s only four. Who are the other two members of their team?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan lied. “I think Ben has a boyfriend, so I suppose he’s number five. No idea who their sixth person is.”

Matthew pointed up at the light. “It’s green.”

Ryan looked forward and drove. A half mile down the road, he pulled into a vast parking lot and stopped under one of the lights. “We’re here.” He killed the ignition, got out of the truck, and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and motioned with his hand. “Go on. Get behind the wheel.”

“Aren’t you going to explain it first?”

“Just get your ass over there, will you, Butler?”

Matthew got out and walked around to the driver’s seat. Ryan climbed in and fastened his seat belt.

“You think you’re going to need that in a parking lot?”

“Better safe than sorry,” Ryan said. “Have you ever driven anything with a clutch before?”

“Nope. Never.”

“Okay,” Ryan began. “See that extra pedal next to the brake? That’s the clutch. There’s no ‘park’ or ‘drive’ on a manual. Right now the truck is in neutral. Put your hand on the stick.” Matthew did as instructed, and Ryan laid his hand on top of Matthew’s. “Wiggle it around a little. That’s it. Feel neutral. Nothing is engaged. Now, you can’t put her into gear without engaging the clutch.”

“Her?”

“What’s wrong?” Ryan said. “Traditionally, cars are referred to with feminine pronouns.”

“That’s because straight men started the tradition.”

“Fine. You can’t put
him
into gear without engaging the clutch.”

“Did Uncle Ian ever give this fine truck a name?”

“No. It’s a truck, not a—”

“I’ve always liked the name Max,” Matthew said. “Max the truck. What do you think?”

“Max it is, then. Now, with your left foot, press the clutch to the floor.”

“Does he have a last name? Or would it be Max Parker? Do trucks take the last names of their owners?”

“Oh my God, would you just put the clutch to the floor, please?”

Matthew laughed and did as instructed.

“Good,” Ryan said. “Now, if we move left and up, that’s first gear. Down is second. Each gear has a limit to its maximum speed. Up, right to the middle, and up is third. Every time you shift, you increase the upper limit of your velocity. Down is fourth. And up, far right, and up again is fifth.”

“What happens in fifth?”

“You can go as fast as you want.”

Matthew laughed. “Be careful what you ask for.”

“It wasn’t a question. I don’t know what gutter your mind is in, but I’m talking about driving a truck here.”

“So what’s with the clutch? You just lift your foot up and go?”

“No,” Ryan said. “Not exactly. There’s an engagement point—a spot as you lift up your foot. You need to ease through that spot and apply gas at the same time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will soon enough.” Ryan removed his hand from Matthew’s. “Put it into neutral, press down on the clutch, and start the engine.” Matthew followed his instructions. “Release the emergency brake. With the clutch pressed to the floor, put it into first gear. Then gently lift off on the clutch while you give it a little bit of gas.”

Matthew made his first attempt, and the truck sputtered and stalled. “What happened?”

“Failure is always the best instructor. You didn’t ease through the spot. Try again. Neutral, clutch, start the engine, put it into first, ease up on the clutch, a little bit of gas, then go. The hardest part is getting from zero to five miles per hour. After that it’s a piece of cake.”

Matthew’s second attempt also ended in a fast stall, as did his third, fourth, and fifth. But by number six, he began to grasp the concept. “I get it now. There’s a spot in the clutching motion where I’m actually engaging the engine.”

“Correct. But you can’t think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t approach it intellectually. You have to feel it in your body.”

Matthew turned his head and smiled. “Like sex?”

“That’s a good analogy.”

“Well fuck, Parker. Why didn’t you just say so? Okay. I can do this. Neutral, down on the clutch, start the engine, into first, up on the clutch, a little bit of gas, then go.”

On the next attempt, Matthew worked through the engagement point perfectly and sailed across the parking lot. He hollered and jumped in his seat until he realized his speed topped out at ten miles an hour. “What’s wrong?”

“You need to change gears,” Ryan said. “Press your foot on the clutch, shift down to second, then lift to engage. You don’t need to worry about easing through the spot, though. That’s only when you’re going into first gear.”

Matthew successfully shifted into second. He raised his fist and whooped. “This is awesome.”

“Stop and start again. You have to press down on the clutch when you stop.”

Matthew brought the truck to a halt and put it into neutral. Then he shifted into first and started off again. He drove around the parking lot, shifting and downshifting and having a ball.

“That’s it,” Ryan said. “You’re a natural at this. It took me forever to catch on.”

Matthew drove around to the back of the DMV building and parked in one of the dark spots hidden from the street. He turned off the engine and set the emergency brake. The night breeze passed through the open windows of the truck. The siren from an ambulance wailed past them and then faded, replaced by the hoot of a nearby owl. Ryan could hear Matthew’s steady breathing and feel the tension in the small cab.