“You want to stay?” Stef said, not sure he was prepared for yes or no, nor which he wanted.
Jav sighed against his head. “Someday.”
They untangled their limbs, pulled their clothes together and Stef walked Jav up to the front hall. They lingered there, kissing.
“Still need therapy for necking outside your mother’s door?” Jav said.
Stef glanced down the entryway then back. “I’ve gotten over it.”
In the light coming through the door’s fantail window, Jav was stunning. Mouth swollen, hair tousled and eyes a little sleepy. They kissed again, slow and soft, giving way to a harder grapple. To the point where Stef ran a quick mental inventory of his bedside table drawer. He was sure he had a least one condom.
Sort of sure.
Actually, not sure at all.
“All right, I’m going,” Jav said.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I’m going to say something really un-sexy.”
“Good,” Jav said. “It’ll be easier to leave.”
“I know it’s early in the game, but I’m a practical guy and you were an escort.”
“I’ll get tested, don’t worry.”
“No offense.”
“None taken. I’ve been going to the same clinic for twenty-three years. I got a binder full of blood work if you want it.”
“Someday.”
Jav smiled. “It’s gonna be a hell of a someday.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Hopefully something that involves asking you a lot of questions.”
“That can be arranged. In fact, I got a place I want to take you for breakfast. And someone I’d like you to meet. If that’s all right.”
“I’m open to meeting everyone.”
They held gazes, chests and shoulders rising and falling in an inhale and exhale. Fingertips brushing.
“I’m having a good time,” Stef said. “I like how this is unfolding.”
“Same.”
“Good. Now get out of here. Come back tomorrow. Bring your binder.”
“For real?
“No. Just bring you.”
Jav smiled and Stef’s chest turned inside-out. One last kiss on his mouth and Jav was gone, ambling down 20th Street, looking back once to wave.
“So who am I meeting?” Jav said the next morning.
“Lilia’s ex-husband.”
“The guy from the pictures?”
“Yes. And his daughter. My sort of stepsister. Stavroula.”
“Stavroula.” Jav’s eyes swiveled off to the side, as if he’d heard the name before but couldn’t remember where. “That,” he said slowly, “is a great name.”
“It’s Greek.”
“It’s a queen’s name.” Jav blinked through another thoughtful moment, then his gaze cleared and he smiled at Stef. “Sorry, I was getting an idea. Where are we meeting them?”
“At the Bake and Bagel. Which they own.”
The bakery was often misheard as the Bacon Bagel. Which happened to be the specialty of the house. Their grilled cheese and tomato on the bacon bagel was written up in New York magazine, in a feature article of the top ten rainy-day lunches.
Stef had never introduced Stav to a guy he was dating. He simply didn’t date guys long enough. Stav’s eyes bulged when Stef walked into the humming bakery in the company of a Latino hunk, tall and built with laugh lines around his eyes and silver threading through his dark hair. When she made her way over to their table with their sandwiches, Stef was positive her underwear was sitting up and begging.
“Stav, this is Javier,” Stef said. “Jav, this is Stav. Which rhymes with Jav.”
“Oh, no,” Stav said, taking a seat. “No, no. This is out of the question.”
Stef thought it was hilarious. “It’s perfect. Stef plus Jav equals Stav.”
“Dude,” Jav said into his coffee cup.
“Come on. We should all get married,” Stef said. His mouth was ten steps ahead of his brain this morning.
“We should avoid each other entirely.” Jav sank teeth into his grilled cheese and closed his eyes. “Christ, that’s amazing.”
Stav put her cheek on a fist. “You like?”
“Call a U-Haul, I’m moving in with this sandwich.”
Stef took a bite of his bagel and all the tomato and cheese slid out the other end. He was a hot mess. When he tried to keep from beaming, he blushed. When he tried to fight off the blush, he beamed.
Jav, on the other hand, was perfectly chill. The way he got to his feet when Stav’s father Micah came over was unconsciously respectful, as if his DNA were coded to rise in the presence of senior citizens. In particular, an eighty-year-old Holocaust survivor who got up at three every morning to make bagels, drove a van for Meals on Wheels, and took a daily five-mile walk. Stef stood as well and let Micah slap floury handprints on his shoulders and back.
Micah shook Jav’s hand and set his other on top a moment, sending up another little puff of white dust. He took a chair and accepted what looked like a Dixie cup of coffee from his daughter.
Jav’s eyes squinted at the hand-lettered quote on one of the walls. “El ke alarga la meza, alarga la vida,” he said. “It looks like Spanish but it’s not. Make the table…long? Make life long?”
“The one who extends the table, lengthens their life,” Micah said, tearing off the corner of a sugar packet. He tapped about six grains into his coffee and gave the cup a swirl.
“What language is that?”
“Ladino,” Stav said. “Sephardic Jews speak it.”
“And a few goy imposters,” Micah said, patting his chest. “It’s a real mongrel dialect. Medieval Spanish with bits of Hebrew and Turkish and Greek.” The dark eyes under his thick black brows twinkled. “Like Spanish got drunk and had a one-night stand with Yiddish.”
“Ke is qué,” Jav said. “I get it. And who makes all the pots?” His hands full, Jav’s elbow pointed at the shelves along the exposed brick wall, lined with bowls and jars and jugs and cups.
Stav raised a finger.
“You made all of them?”
“Yeah. I got into pottery as post-divorce therapy. Now it’s like brain yoga. Sometimes people are nice and buy one.”
“They buy them because they’re beautiful, habibti,” Micah said.
Stav shrugged. “Mostly they break them by accident.”
Micah crumpled his cup and pushed back his chair. After another round of dusty handshakes, he went back to his dough-making. Jav went up to buy a half-dozen of the bacon bagels. Stav collected the paper plates together and spoke out the corner of her mouth. “Oh. My. God.”
“Shh,” Stef said. “Don’t stare.”
“Is this the guy you called me about the other day?”
“Yes.”
“Dude, does he have a brother? Named Rav?”
“No.”
“Where did he come from?”
“The fucking sky. It’s really new and really cautious and fragile and…” His eyes darted sideways to the line at the register and then down again. “Please, just behave.”
“I’m behaving. You’re blushing.”
“Shut up and stop looking at him.”
“That’s like asking me to stop breathing. When did you meet him?”
“Like a month ago.”
“Have you slept w—”
“No. He’s never been in a relationship with a guy.”
“He’s not gay?”
“He’s bi, but he never… It’s complicated.”
“Well, if it doesn’t work out, I get right of first refusal.”
“Shut up. And stop looking at me.”
“But you’re so cute. I’ve never seen you like this.”
He glanced up. He imagined his eyes were both tender and wild. “Neither have I,” he said.
Jav came back with his paper bag and a small bowl. Or a large, handle-less cup, depending on how you looked at it. A creamy gray on the outside and robin’s egg blue inside.
“It’s made for coffee,” he said, looking ridiculously pleased. “Look how it fits in your hand.”
“I love the glaze on that piece,” Stav said. “Enjoy.”
She blushed when Jav kissed her cheek, and she glared sideways at Stef as if daring him to say anything about it.
“Where to now?” Jav said outside the bakery, pulling on his shades.
Stef hesitated. “Today’s kind of an anniversary.”
“It is?”
“If you feel like taking a walk, I’ll tell you about it.”
“I’m in.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I love stories.”