Andy
We’d been at the cottage for over a month and—as scenic as the Nantucket Sound was, as great as hanging out with Jake was—we were both climbing the walls. It would have been way more boring without the sex. God, I’d never had so much sex. Blowjobs on tap, why wouldn’t we do that three or four times a day? But even so, you could only have sex for so many of your waking hours, more’s the pity. Especially since Jake was stupidly good at getting me off and seemed disinclined to drag it out lately. I’d loved it that day he’d gotten adventurous in the kitchen and rimmed me. God. That was so insanely hot! I would have been up for lots more exploration like that. But Jake had acted awkward afterward, and since then, we’d stuck to the efficient sixty-nine.
One morning Emily lingered over coffee. “Our place is a lot smaller than this,” she said. “But we have a pontoon boat and a barbeque grill. Would you guys like to come over for dinner tonight? You must be ready for a change of pace.”
“Oh my God, yes,” Jake said at once, in a tone of joking desperation. Then he looked at me as if wondering if he’d spoken too soon.
But I nodded at him, silently agreeing. “Definitely. I think I’ve memorized the cracks on every ceiling of this joint.”
“Yeah, this joint,” Jake teased. “The ol’ Cape Cod slammer. We’ve named all the spiders too. Ethel is my favorite.”
I jabbed him with an elbow. Dork. “It’s nice of you to offer, Emily. You’ve done a lot for us already.”
“Well, I am getting paid for it.” Emily raised an eyebrow. “But tonight is ‘just because.’”
“That’s my favorite reason,” Jake said. He held up his hands. “What can we bring? We’ve got plenty of spare bandages and antibiotic cream.”
Emily chuckled. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’ve got it covered. Bob’s boss gave him a box of steaks, so we’ve got meat to spare.”
I studiously refused to look at Jake because I knew we’d bust out laughing if I did. Meat to spare. God, I was mature.
“Pick you guys up at five?” Emily offered.
“Sounds good,” I said.
The house where Emily and Bob lived was tiny. It looked like it had been built fifty years ago as a summer fishing cabin and had been converted to a year-round dwelling on the cheap. It couldn’t be more than a thousand square feet, and it was on a gnarly part of the coastline where there was a big drop down to the sound. The front of the cabin had a log face with white plaster between the beams and a front porch that was only about two feet wide and listed to the left, giving the impression of a crooked smile.
The inside was modest but clean. There was an open space that made up the living room, dining room, and kitchen. It had big windows that overlooked the water far down below. And there was a short hall that probably led to a bedroom and bath, probably just one of each given the size of the place. From the Formica cabinets to the old plaid couch, nothing was new or fancy, but the room felt cheerful and homey. There were braided rugs on the floor in bright colors, comfortable throws and pillows everywhere, and the fridge door was covered in stuff.
While Emily and Jake chatted about the view, I took a step closer to see what was on the fridge. It was covered with ceramic heart frames in various sizes and colors, from pink polka dots to gold glitter. Each frame contained a photo of Emily and Bob. There was a large B + E in plastic letters in the middle too. It was like a shrine to their coupledom and the sappiest thing I’d ever seen, but it gave me a pang of . . . something. Jealousy? Envy? Maybe that.
I couldn’t imagine something like that at my parents’ house. Dear God, no. And I couldn’t imagine it with any girl I’d dated either. Amber would have called it tacky. She was more the ultra-modern chrome-kitchen type, with the Jag in the garage.
“Hey, guys.” Bob came in the back door, a wide smile on his face.
I’d seen Bob a few times when he’d been working on our yard. He was tall, maybe six foot three, with broad shoulders, a spare tire, a lumpy but good-natured face, and floppy brown hair. He wore a navy-blue T-shirt over tan cargo shorts and had flip-flops on his big feet. He went to the fridge and pulled out a pan covered in foil.
“Hey,” said Jake. “Thanks for having us over.”
“Good to see you, Bob. How’s it going?” I normally would have offered my hand for a shake, but since I couldn’t do that, I just nodded my chin in greeting.
“Me? I’m great.” Bob put the pan on the counter and took off the foil. It was filled with steaks in a brown marinade. He turned them with a fork, glancing at our hands with a slight frown. “What about you guys? Are your burns getting better?”
“Oh yeah,” said Jake. “It’s feels like it’s going really slow, but it is getting easier. Our nurse, Walter, says that we’re probably past the point where any infection is likely, or, you know, our hands falling off. So there’s that.”
“That’s good news. I hate it when my hands fall off.” Bob smirked at Jake. He went back to turning meat in the tray. “I hope you guys both like steak. ’Cause we’re having steak, steak, and steak.”
“Oh, we are not!” Emily scolded lightly. “I also have a pasta salad, baked beans, and chips. But I’ve been feeding these two for weeks. They’re carnivores all right.”
Jake gave me a private, raised brow look that said he was agreeing with the carnivore statement. I looked away, not wanting to think about having Jake’s dick in my mouth while in polite company.
“Steak sounds great, thank you,” I told Bob. “But it might not be graceful.”
Emily laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll cut it up for you guys. And if you can’t manage the pieces with that eating tool of yours, I’ll even hand-feed you. It’ll be good practice.” She patted her stomach.
“You’re expecting?” Jake said with surprise.
“Yup. Our little girl will be here in January.” Emily glowed like a winter fire. She stepped over to Bob, who kissed her appreciatively on the mouth, and not quickly either. It was as if Jake and I vanished for a moment.
Their kiss was warm and completely self-absorbed. Bob ducked his head and Emily was up on her tiptoes, like they’d had years of practice.
I looked at Jake, who was staring out the window, probably embarrassed. There was a not entirely pleasant burning sensation in my gut. It was weird. Jake and I had sucked each other off for a few weeks now, but we’d never done something as simple as kiss.
Simple? Was it? Somehow it seemed gayer than what we’d been doing. You needed attraction to really kiss someone. Oral sex, you could sort of zone out and imagine . . . whatever you wanted to imagine. Whatever got you there. But kissing—that was right in someone’s face. It was even more intimate than staring into another person’s eyes up close. You had to like a person to do that.
And I did. Like Jake. I wanted to kiss him, I realized. On the mouth, deep and with intent. I looked at his mouth, imagining what it would be like.
“We’ve been fixing up a nursery,” Bob said, his arms still wrapped around Emily.
“Yeah, it’s basically a large pantry. We had to remove the shelves. We call her our ‘closet baby.’” Emily laughed.
“You guys won’t look for a bigger place?” I asked, without thinking. It sounded impolite.
But Emily just shook her head. “Nah. I want to spend my spare time with my family, not cleaning a big house or watching Bob sweat over the lawn. I’ve managed enough big properties to know how much work they are. We’re happy here.”
“Cool.” I nodded, feeling stupid for having asked.
Bob gave Emily one last kiss and moved to put the pan of steaks back in the fridge. “These should marinate a bit longer. You guys wanna go out on the pontoon boat? Emily said you aren’t supposed to get in the water, but I promise it’s safe. I’ve never had anyone go overboard yet.”
“I’d love that,” Jake said quickly.
“Yeah, great,” I agreed. I’d been missing taking out the speedboat or, even better, the jet skis. It sucked to be at the cottage and not be able to do that.
Bob and Emily’s pontoon boat was old but good-sized. It fit the four of us with room to spare. It was the sort of achingly safe family boat that I normally would have rolled my eyes at, but at this point, I was happy for any vessel someone else would drive. We cruised up and down the sound awhile, going into some quaint coves and a natural wetlands area. We chatted and drank beer.
“Do you manage a lot of properties around the sound?” Jake asked Emily.
“Eighteen different ones right now,” she said. “It’s a lot, but usually not all of them need me at the same time. It’s my busiest season. Winters are quiet.”
“She writes all winter,” Bob put in with an admiring shake of his head.
“You write?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah,” Emily said in a breezy tone. “I self-pub books on Amazon. It’s not a big deal really.”
“What kind of books?” Jake asked. “No, let me guess . . .” He studied her thoughtfully. “Self-help titles. Maybe involving real estate or organization.”
“I’m glad you think I’m together enough to write that sort of thing, but sadly, no.”
“Motorcycle maintenance?” Jake teased. “I can totally see you in black leather.”
She laughed. “Actually, you’re not far off. I write horror.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Oh my God, you deviant!” Jake pretended to be shocked.
I pushed his leg with my foot. He was such a dork.
“Deviant is right.” Bob shuddered. “I can’t even read her stuff, it’s so scary. Lots of murders at waterfront cabins. It would give me nightmares!”
“Hey, write what you know!” Emily said cheerfully.
“Great. You have a serial killer delivering all our meals.” Jake gave me a grimace.
“In her defense, she’s a good cook,” I pointed out.
“So when you say we’re having steak for dinner . . .” Jake hedged.
“Tonight’s menu features plain-old cow, I’m afraid. And don’t worry about the meal service. I never write about poisoners. I’m more into bladed weapons.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Jake huffed.
“What makes you want to write horror?” I asked.
Emily shrugged, her button nose wrinkling up. “I’ve always been a huge horror fan. I grew up reading Stephen King and Dean Koontz, V.C. Andrews, John Saul. It’s an addiction.”
“We both like horror movies,” Bob put in. “Though I’m more the psychological suspense type, and Emily loves slashers.”
“No kidding?” Jake said. “What’s the best horror movie you’ve seen recently?”
Emily gave it a second’s thought. “The Babadook. Awesome movie. And probably my mommy hormones are showing.”
“Nah, that’s my favorite too,” Bob put in. “But I can’t stay in the room when she’s got Eli Roth on. We’ll see if those mommy hormones soften her a bit.”
“Never,” Emily said with conviction.
“Andy and I watch horror movies sometimes,” Jake said. “But he gets all scared and grabs my arms. He’s such a baby.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just know that sixty percent of what comes out of Jake’s mouth has no relationship to reality.”
“Good.” Emily smiled. “I like a man with a healthy imagination.”
We chatted about horror movies for a while. Then Bob talked about his work. When he wasn’t helping Emily out with property maintenance, he worked part-time managing a gift shop in Osterville.
I watched them chatter easily about their schedules, and I wondered. They seemed genuinely happy even though they obviously didn’t have a ton of money. Money wasn’t everything, I knew that. But it was a lot. It was peace of mind, as my dad put it. Security against the storm. But I couldn’t imagine that Emily and Bob had a retirement plan or even a 401K with their jobs. They certainly weren’t sitting around bemoaning the fact.
Were they brave and carefree? Or foolish?
Their house was so small and common, yet it was nice. I loved being at the cottage with Jake. I could see living in a place like that, assuming I had a job and savings account and the rest of the package. But the cottage, though not huge, probably cost a couple of mil due to location. It wasn’t exactly a sacrifice. Could I live in a place like Bob and Emily’s?
The image of their fridge door flashed through my mind. There was love in that tiny house. Food. Heat in the winter and AC in the summer. And, as Emily said, it was less to worry about and take care of than a big place. Maybe living like that wouldn’t be so bad.
But I knew I was kidding myself. I’d grown up with so much space, everything top of the line. My bedroom suite was larger than their living room and kitchen combined. I was probably being totally naive about how well I’d cope with less. It wasn’t that I had to have fancy things. I didn’t care about designer clothes or china or jewelry or things like that. But I did like my tech toys. And the idea of not being able to afford something I truly needed, or my family needed, made my stomach churn.
“Andy’s going to Harvard Law School,” Jake put in.
I snapped back to the conversation. Everyone was looking at me. I nodded. “Yeah. August twenty-fourth.”
“Holy cow!” Bob sounded impressed. “I bet that’s super hard to get into, right?”
“Hell yeah!” Jake enthused. “But Andy’s always gotten straight As. The bum.”
“What kind of law are you going to study?” Emily asked.
“Corporate law. Contracts. Domestic.”
The phrases were as familiar to me as the days of the week. I remembered sitting at the mahogany dining room table in our house, brochures spread out all over, talking about specializations in law. My mom had even joined us the first time, being the household attorney. I’d been interested in international law, but my dad wasn’t a fan. He said too many people went into it because it sounded glamorous, but these days it was hardly necessary for a lawyer to leave his office no matter where the contract parties were. And my mom said there was way more work in domestic contracts and mergers, and that international law was complex enough that corporations usually hired off-shore specialists to deal with it.
“What about you, Jake?” Emily asked.
“I’m starting a job in September as a software engineer in California.” Jake’s voice was warm. “Nerd for hire, basically.”
“You guys have it all mapped out,” Bob said without a trace of envy.
Was that because he couldn’t imagine such things for himself? Or because he was content with the life he had? And why did I always have to think about such things? Bob and Emily’s life was none of my business. There were millions of people who got on just fine without my input—or my dad’s.
“Yeah, sounds like you both have great futures ahead of you,” Emily said.
“Except we won’t be together anymore,” I said, without thinking. My voice came out bitter. I took a long swig of my beer, holding it carefully between my two bandaged mitts and resisting the urge to clench my fists.
Why did I say that? That was obvious, wasn’t it? And no one cared.
Emily gave me a sad look. “You guys are great friends. I’m sure you’ll keep in touch. I still have lunch once a month with my BFF from high school.”
I forced a smile. “Sure. We definitely will.” I had to change the subject before the sudden nervous energy in my body made me do or say something stupid. “Tell me about this boat, Bob. Did you fix it up?”
“Oh, Lord. What did we pay for this thing? Like three hundred bucks?” Bob asked Emily. He proceeded to describe the state it had been in when they got it. I nodded my head where appropriate, half wondering why anyone would do all the work he was describing instead of just buying a new boat. When Jake shifted in his chair and his foot ended up resting against mine, neither of us moved.
Back at the house, Bob put steaks on the grill, and Emily got us set up at an old picnic table on the back deck with a couple of fresh beers and a big bowl of corn chips. Jake and I were used to grabbing a chip between two bandaged hands and getting it to our mouths. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional. But that wasn’t something I was prepared to do in front of others. We both ignored the chips.
When the meal was served, Emily and Bob sat on one side of the table and Jake and I were on the other. It was so . . . couple-y. Did Emily know about us? Or suspect? She and Bob touched constantly—his hand on her neck, her hand on his thigh, or he’d brush his nose through her hair. They talked about plans for the baby. They talked about the summer heat and places they’d taken the boat.
For the first time, my brain started down a new pathway. Uncharted territory. I’d thought about Jake and gay sex when he’d started seeing Kevin. Then I’d thought about Jake and gay sex and me, all happening simultaneously. We did that now. We did that a lot. But it was still like . . . bros getting each other off. It didn’t affect anything outside the bedroom. And inside the bedroom we weren’t exactly lovey-dovey. It was casual and, well, goal oriented.
For the first time, I questioned that. I tried to imagine myself and Jake here as a couple. Being . . . couple-y, like Bob and Emily. Holding hands. Giving each other brief kisses. Jake’s hand on my thigh. The feel of his warm hair under my chin. I thought about the relaxed comfort of being together, of being as together as two people could possibly be. It wasn’t hard to imagine. In fact, it was a little terrifying how close to that we already were. Jake was my best friend in the world, my shadow, the person I could happily spend all my time with. And we were also having sex. How was that substantively different than being a couple? The lawyer in me knew it wouldn’t hold up in court.
But Jake will be leaving in a few weeks, my brain reminded me, so we’re not that and never will be. Immediately, my gut twisted.
What if not, though? What if . . . what if Jake and I were there, as a couple, with no discernable event horizon? Just living our lives, together, with no expiration date?
My chest felt tight and heavy. That would be weird. That wasn’t what I wanted. That wasn’t my future. I knew exactly what my future looked like, and that wasn’t it. Being in a gay relationship, permanently? That wasn’t me. Even if I could accept that for myself, outside of any social, biological, or fiscal concerns, I couldn’t visualize being “out” with Jake as my partner in front of the world.
I wasn’t that guy, someone everyone knew was gay, someone whose life was defined like that, limited by those parameters. The idea felt wrong. And then the idea of living in a dumpy little house on a hill like this. That wasn’t my fate either. It might look okay now, on a gorgeous sunny day, when Bob and Emily had company and were all cheerful. But what happened if the baby came and it was sick? What if the house flooded? Or slid down the hill? Did they have insurance for that? What if one of them lost their job? What if they started to hate each other because there was too much need and not enough fuel to slake it?
“Do you have a personal vendetta against pasta salad?” Jake asked me curiously.
I stopped stabbing at my plate with the wrist tool. “Sorry. I was thinking about something else.”
“The end of the world as we know it?” Jake guessed.
“Idiot,” I muttered under my breath affectionately. I wanted to press my thigh against his, just as a . . . I didn’t know. Warning? A silent laugh? But I didn’t. Because we weren’t a couple.
When Emily dropped us off at the cottage, it was only nine o’clock. But I wasn’t in the mood to fool around for once, too much on my mind, and I guessed Jake wasn’t either. He was quieter than usual. He headed off to the bedroom with a simple “Good night.”
We’d never slept in the same bed at the cottage, but that night I was tempted to go to his room and ask if I could sleep there. I felt empty inside, hollow, and it wasn’t a good ache. It was like a toothache. In my soul. My soul had a toothache, and both of my hands were burned. Great.
It took me a long time to fall asleep.