Chapter Thirteen
March 2009—Ten months after
“I think you should go with me on Saturday night.”
Trevor froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“To the benefit dinner. I told you about it a few weeks ago, Trev.” Carl took a sip of his wine. “I’ll be giving the keynote address, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” Trevor pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Carl put his glass down with a loud clink. “Why?” he asked tightly. “It’ll just be a couple of hours sitting and eating dinner, listening to me give a speech. You don’t have to do anything but be there to support me.”
And I’ll have to make small talk, listen to people gush about their kids—
Trevor shook his head. “Carl, I—”
“You don’t even think about it first, you just automatically say no. Why won’t you even try?”
Trevor didn’t answer.
“It’s important to me, Trevor. It’s a huge honor to get this keynote, especially because this organization is traditionally known to be very conservative, so as an out gay man, it should be important to you, too.”
Pushing his chair back from the table with an abrupt motion, Trevor grabbed his plate and strode to the sink with it. “I’m not exactly up for being a social justice warrior right now, Carl,” he said harshly, scraping his half-eaten dinner with vicious motions into the sink.
After a moment Trevor felt Carl come up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. He couldn’t help but stiffen, and Carl let them drop away. “Okay, that was the wrong approach to take. I’m sorry.” He hesitated, then said, “Having you there would mean a lot, Trev. It’s a big deal to me.”
Trevor braced his hands on the edge of the sink, dropping his head down and blowing out a breath.
“You’ve all but let your business go. You won’t deal with Riley’s room or his things. You won’t—” Carl’s voice grew hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “You won’t set a new wedding date. So can’t you at least put on a fucking suit, and a smile, and sit for a few hours at dinner? At least pretend to care?”
The quiet pain in his voice ripped at Trevor’s insides, and he turned. Carl’s eyes were glittering, his mouth pinched, and Trevor reached out to cup his cheek. “I do care,” he said quietly, aware of the growing chasm yawning between them, and not sure what to do about it. He had so little left to give... “Of course I’ll go.”
Carl’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Good.” Grabbing Trevor’s hand, he kissed the palm before turning back to the table to start clearing it. “I’d love for you to wear that stunning blue suit, but you’ve lost so much weight, I’m sure it needs to be taken in a bit. I’ll call over to the tailoring shop tomorrow, and—”
Trevor let him chatter, his gut churning with a low-grade dread over the thought of the event, of being out in public, of putting “the face” on—the one that said “I’m okay” when he wasn’t, the one that could sometimes laugh and fool people into thinking maybe he was getting over it, the one he could only wear for a short period of time. It would be beyond excruciating.
After Carl disappeared into his office to work on his speech, Trevor made his way slowly down the hallway to stand in front of Riley’s room. He gripped the door handle, feeling the cold metal against his sweaty palm. With a simple flick of his wrist, the door would open, and two steps would take him inside. Nothing to be afraid of. It was just a room, just a fucking room.
Trevor could picture it so clearly—the posters on the wall, the exact pattern of the comforter on the queen-size bed. Everything would be dear and familiar; no surprises lurked, waiting to jump out at him. He tightened his hand on the knob, trembling. Would the room still smell of Riley, that combination of funk and Axe body spray common to all teenage boys? Or would it smell musty, closed-off...empty?
He let go of the handle and pressed his palm to the door, his heart pounding. He honestly didn’t know which would upset him more, to breathe in the Riley smell, or to not, knowing it was gone forever. It would probably still be in his clothes, though. His favorite Star Wars T-shirt, or the one he bought at a concert in Denver and wore into almost tatters, or the Colorado Rockies jersey signed by Todd Helton...
Gasping for air, Trevor turned and fled to the backyard, collapsing down in the chair and burying his face in his hands, feeling like he was going crazy. It wasn’t getting any better. The pain was still as sharp, as raw, as it was the first week after Riley’s death. Trevor was just more used to it now, able to semi-function despite the dull, rusty knife carving out his insides. His son was the last thing he thought of when he went to sleep, and the first thing he thought of when he woke up.
The first step to healing had to be packing up Riley’s room, but the idea of doing it alone made him want to throw up. Oh, Carl would help him if he asked, and he would approach it clinically, methodically, like he did everything else. He’d sort, and make lists, and he’d get it done with his usual briskness and efficiency. In fact, it would be easy for Carl to do it, since he and Riley hadn’t been particularly close. They’d liked each other well enough, but true closeness would have come in time, when they’d had the chance...
No more chances. No more Riley. Just his room, and his things, and getting rid of those last tangible pieces of him would surely pulverize what was left of Trevor’s heart. He couldn’t do it.
“Trev? Honey? You out there?”
Trevor jumped as Carl called to him from the kitchen doorway, peering out onto the patio, glass of wine in hand.
“Yeah,” he croaked, clearing his throat and striving to sound more normal as he said, “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Brr, it’s so cold. Do you have your coat?”
“I do,” Trevor lied, becoming aware of the March chill in the air cutting through his long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. He shivered. “Be inside in a few.”
“Okay, just checking on you.”
The door shut, and Trevor heaved a shaky sigh, tilting his face up to the starry sky and closing his eyes.
Oh, Riles. I miss you so much.
He listened, but there was no answer. Instead, he could hear Carl whistling tunelessly while he made his lunch for work the next day, the clinking of plates and silverware as he straightened the kitchen.
And that’s what it came down to. Carl was here... Riley wasn’t.
“You could at least try to pretend to care.”
Carl deserved more than pretense.
Trevor pushed to his feet, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He had to make more of an effort to show Carl he still cared about their life together, and the most tangible evidence of that would be to pack up Riley’s room. How he’d get through it, he had no idea, but he had to try.
As he started to trudge into the house, a sudden thought struck him. Jesse. Riley’s best friend. He’d known and loved him, too, and he’d already shown himself to be understanding and compassionate in the face of Trevor’s grief. Maybe he’d agree to come and help him, or at least sit with him and be a supportive presence.
Trevor headed into his office, firing up his computer and opening a search bar. What was the name of the place Jesse said he worked? Ah, Jelly’s, the new restaurant/bar downtown. It’d been months since the day Jesse came over, though. What if he wasn’t there anymore? Well, if he wasn’t, hopefully they knew his contact info and could get him a message.
He called the restaurant, and to his relief, Jesse was indeed still employed there.
“He’s actually closing tonight,” the hostess informed him.
It’d be best to run down there, talk to him in person, rather than blindside him with something like this over the phone. He thanked the hostess and hung up, then grabbed a hoodie from the hall closet. Carl was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, and Trevor poked his head in.
“Gonna run a quick errand,” he said, and Carl’s eyes filled with concern.
“Everything okay?” he mumbled around his toothbrush, leaning down to quickly spit and rinse.
Trevor nodded, trying to sound reassuring. “Yeah, just need to take care of something. I won’t be long.” He wasn’t ready to tell Carl what he was planning yet, in case he couldn’t go through with it. Best not to get his hopes up.
He made quick work of the drive downtown, pulling up to the curb across the street from Jelly’s. It boasted a large outdoor courtyard strung with white lights and warmed by strategically placed heat lamps. Servers flitted amongst the table groupings, and the sound of conversation and laughter drifted to Trevor’s ears.
Inside, more tables, and Trevor was surprised by how busy the place was for a weeknight. The bar was huge, the centerpiece of the room, racks of liquor bottles behind it lit up in neon colors. Trevor managed to squeeze into an end spot, and he perched on the stool, leaning his elbows on the padded leather edge of the counter, looking for Jesse. He didn’t see him for a moment, finally spotting him across the way mixing drinks for a group of women. Jesse wore a tight black T-shirt and black jeans, both of which molded themselves to his tall, lean body. A tattoo peeked out from under his right sleeve, just the bottom half of it visible, something curlicued and swirly. He flashed a practiced, sexy half-smile as he waited on the women, and Trevor couldn’t help but contrast it to the open, happy grin he remembered from the night of the party, one that lit up his entire face.
Trevor squeezed his eyes shut, the sounds of the nightclub fading away, replaced by the memory of splashing, whooping...
“Trevor?”
Trevor opened his eyes and looked right into Jesse’s concerned ones. “Oh, hey, Jesse.”
“Hey.” Jesse leaned on the bar top toward him, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders. “It’s good to see you. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sort of.” Trevor blew out a breath. “I was actually hoping to talk to you about something.”
Jesse’s gaze was steady. “Sure. I have a break coming up in about forty minutes. Can you wait that long?”
“Of course. Thank you, Jesse.”
It’d been ages since he’d sat and had a beer in a bar, so Trevor impulsively ordered an Amstel Light, watching as Jesse pulled it expertly from the tap into a tall glass before placing it on a coaster in front of him. Trevor thanked him and sipped the cold brew, listening to the chatter of young people out for a good time swirling around him. At one point Jesse reappeared with a small plate of bruschetta, and he slid it onto the bar along with a small stack of napkins.
“Oh, I didn’t order—” Trevor began, and Jesse tapped his fingers on the edge of the plate.
“I know, but you need something to soak up the beer. It’s on me.”
Jesse hurried off before Trevor could say anything else, and Trevor stared after him, touched by his thoughtfulness. He picked up the first piece and bit into it, the rich flavor of fresh tomato and spicy basil bursting on his tongue. Always intermittent these days, his appetite decided to make an appearance, and before long he’d polished off the whole thing.
When Jesse eventually swung by to pick up the empty plate, Trevor said, “That really hit the spot, Jesse. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“How did you know I love bruschetta?”
Jesse paused, looking down at the plate in his hand. “It was Riley’s favorite appetizer,” he said at last. “No matter where we went, if there was bruschetta on the menu, he was getting it.” He quirked his lips. “He had to have learned to love it somewhere.”
Trevor was startled into a chuckle. “You’re right. We always fought over the last piece, too.” He pantomimed a silent tug-of-war, and Jesse laughed.
“I can’t stand tomato myself, so that was never an issue with us.”
“So if bruschetta wasn’t on the menu, what would he get? What was his second favorite appetizer?” Trevor asked challengingly, delighted when Jesse answered without missing a beat, “Mozzarella sticks. And those we fought over, because he always tried to hog them.”
Trevor could picture it so clearly, Riley’s attempts to snag the last piece of bruschetta, pretending to growl if Trevor reached for it first. Tears, never far away, sprang to his eyes, but once again, sharing a happy memory with someone who really knew Riley seemed to make the pain more manageable, less cutting. Before either of them could say more, Jesse’s name was called from across the bar, and throwing an apologetic glance at Trevor, he went back to work.
Trevor finished his beer, and when Jesse at last waved to him to indicate he was on break, he pulled a twenty from his wallet and dropped it in Jesse’s tip jar before getting up to join him. Jesse donned a black leather jacket, saying, “I only have fifteen minutes, so wanna go outside where it’s quieter?”
“Sure.” Trevor zipped up his hoodie, and hands stuffed in their pockets, they left the restaurant and ambled slowly up the sidewalk.
“What’s on your mind?” Jesse asked when Trevor didn’t immediately speak. Now that the moment was here, Trevor was having a hard time finding the words.
Finally he cleared his throat. “Uh, I’ve been thinking maybe it’s time to—to pack up Riley’s bedroom.”
Jesse was silent for a moment, then asked, “Why do you think it’s time?”
Trevor clenched his fists inside his pockets. “Well, it’s coming up on a year since he died, and—”
“Doesn’t matter if it’s been five years, Trevor. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.”
“I guess I’m kind of hoping if I do, maybe it’ll help...things.” Trevor shrugged helplessly, unsure how to explain it. “But I can’t do it alone, Jesse. Will you—”
Jesse stopped walking and looked at him, his eyes soft with compassion. “Of course I will. Whatever you need.” He paused. “I’m actually off work the next two days. If you want, I could come over tomorrow morning.”
Trevor started to shake his head, about to say that was too soon, but deep down he knew that if he didn’t take this chance, he wouldn’t have the strength to ask again. So he nodded instead. “Yes. Tomorrow morning would be great. About eight thirty?”
“I’ll be there.”
Trevor gave him a watery smile. “Great. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Trevor hurried to his car and drove away, aware of Jesse still standing in front of the club watching him go.
* * *
Jesse finished out his shift on autopilot. He pulled beer from the tap, mixed drinks, flirted lightly with the ladies, discreetly throwing away the occasional lipstick-print napkin with a scrawled phone number on it left for him on the bar. Not even a hot-eyed stare from a cute guy broke through Jesse’s reverie.
Trevor. Where was his husband in all this? Why was he driving clear across town to ask a total stranger to help him through what was sure to be an intensely emotional, devastating task? Jesse didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it was hard not to. Different scenarios and possibilities swirled through his mind, and he sighed. Their marriage wasn’t any of his business, and whatever Jesse was doing for Trevor, at its heart he was really doing it for Riley.
It was the best way he knew to honor his friend’s memory, being there for the dad he’d adored. Jesse bowed his head for a moment.
Don’t worry about him, Riles. I got this, bud. I got this.