Chapter Nineteen
On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Elliott wondered why he’d chosen to give exams so close to the end of the term. He had a zillion of them to grade, yet finals were in only three weeks. No doubt the students were cursing him too. While they at least had the comfort of knowing that the current tests would help them prepare for finals, however, Elliott had no such consolation. His brain was numb, and his eyes were sore and gritty from staring for so many hours at the computer screen.
Luckily the rain had stopped, and the cool weather was perfect for exercising. He and Ishtar had already taken a long morning run, but by midafternoon he decided it was time for a walk. Ishtar sensed good things as soon as Elliott got up from the laptop and stretched. Tail wagging, she trotted beside him as he fetched his shoes and coat.
“Do you need a coat too?” he asked as he snapped the leash onto her collar. It wasn’t an issue when they ran—the exercise was enough to keep them both warm. But her fur was short and not especially thick, and didn’t some of her ancestors come from a pretty balmy part of Africa? By now he’d read some books on dog care, but they’d been silent as to whether a ridgeback mix needed winter outwear in the Central Valley.
“Guess I’ll just have to keep a close eye on you,” he told her. She seemed okay with that.
Most of the people they encountered on their walk knew them—well, knew Ishtar anyway. They stopped to pet her and chat with Elliott for a minute or two about the weather or the holidays. One of Ishtar’s biggest fans, a retired woman with carefully styled hair and a pink-and-gold track suit, pulled a dog biscuit from her pocket.
“Do you mind?” she asked Elliott.
“Nope.”
Ishtar took the treat with her usual care—then gobbled it in two bites.
“Were you carrying that just for her?” asked Elliott.
“Yes, I was. I was hoping I’d see you two today. She’s a very good girl, and I thought she deserved a little reward.”
Elliott chuckled at Ishtar, who was nosing hopefully at the woman’s pocket, looking for more. “She thinks so too.”
“I’m off to San Diego tomorrow to spend a week with my daughter and her family. I’m looking forward to a little vacation, but not the travel part. How about you?”
“Staying home.”
“Well you two enjoy!” She patted Ishtar once more before continuing on her way.
Ishtar smiled up at Elliott. Look. That lady loves me. She gave me a cookie!
“I should start a fan club for you. We could have patches and pins and a monthly newsletter.” Judging from her expression, she was fully on board.
Usually Elliott checked the library when he returned from his walks. But today when he turned onto his street, he saw a familiar pickup in the driveway. Ignoring the library for the time being, he headed for the porch, where Simon was leaning back against the door. Elliott let go of Ishtar’s leash—she was dragging him along anyway—and she raced to Simon and threw herself on him as if she hadn’t seen him that very morning. Laughing, Simon rubbed her ears with both hands.
“If you pet her like that, it only rewards her for jumping on you and she’ll keep doing it.” Elliott had been reading a bit about dog training.
Ignoring Elliott completely, Simon went nose to nose with Ishtar and informed her that she was the bestest wittle doggy in the world. She agreed.
“God, I knew who’d be the strict parent,” Elliott said without thinking—then realized what had just escaped his mouth. Simon raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, which was a blessing.
Eventually Ishtar put all four paws back on the ground, and Elliott pushed past them so he could open the door. Ishtar paused just long enough to allow Elliott to remove her leash, before racing for her water bowl. Meanwhile, Simon paused to pick up a large plastic bag with the Target logo. Something rattled inside.
“What’s that?” asked Elliott.
“Peace offering.”
That brought Elliott up short. “For what?”
“Oh, you’ll find out.” With that dire warning, Simon came into the house. He put the bag on the couch but remained standing, doing something on his phone. While Elliott stood in the entryway, watching with curiosity and dread, Ishtar came back into the living room, sniffed the bag, then huffed with disappointment and headed for her bed. Okay. So it wasn’t anything she considered edible.
“Simon—”
“Go change. I’ll wait.”
Elliott looked down at himself. He’d already toed off his shoes, so he was wearing jeans, a sweater, and socks. “Change into what?”
“Comfy clothes.”
Nagging at Simon wouldn’t get him to spill the beans any quicker, so Elliott frowned and obeyed. In the bedroom, he pulled on a pair of green flannel lounging pants—ugly, but soft and warm—a gift from his parents the previous Christmas. He switched to a sweatshirt with slightly frayed hems and the Fresno Bulldogs logo on the front, a souvenir from Ladd’s college days. Elliott kept his socks on.
As soon as he returned to the living room, music began to play from his Bluetooth speaker. “Um . . . what’s that?”
“Nat King Cole. ‘Unforgettable.’”
“I know the song. But why is it on?”
Simon waved his phone. “I made a playlist. It’s part of the peace offering.” Before Elliott could ask again why a peace offering was needed, Simon picked up the bag and held it out. “Look.”
Elliott reached carefully, as if the bag hid a rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. But he opened it and peeked. “Legos?”
“It’s Trevi Fountain.” Simon looked nervous. “I thought maybe we could do it together later. If you’re still speaking to me, that is. But it’s architecture and historical, right? So I figured you might like this one. But if you hate it, I can exchange it for one that’s Star Wars or Scooby-Doo or something. Or, you know, I could just forget the entire stupid idea.” He bit his lip.
After pulling the box out, Elliott dropped the bag onto the couch. He turned the set over in his hands, examining the pictures and descriptions. “This is pretty cool, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Elliott set the box on the couch before stepping closer and cupping Simon’s cheeks with his palms. “Now you want to tell me why I’m supposed to be angry?” He was calm about it, figuring Simon wouldn’t make a playlist and want to assemble plastic bricks if he was about to break up with Elliott. And Simon hadn’t showed up with any additional homeless pets.
“I did something stupid. Maybe a little brave, but definitely a lot stupid.”
“What?”
Simon took a deep breath. Instead of answering right away, he backed off a bit and leaned against the armchair. His limp had noticeably improved over the past weeks, but his leg still bothered him when he was tired. Or, apparently, stressed. He stroked his beard a few times, a habit Elliott found endearing. Then Simon sighed again. “My mom called this morning. She and Dad stopped by the house last night after they closed the restaurant—leftover delivery—and I wasn’t there.”
“You were here.”
“Yep. Apparently this is the second time that’s happened lately. Mom wanted to know where I was. Jesus, that sounds wrong. She wasn’t policing my social life or anything. She was just curious. I’ve told you—my family thrives on gossip.”
“Okay.” Elliott sat down and put the box on his lap. He’d forgotten the distinct sound of a new set of Legos: a promising noise with plenty of positive associations.
“I told her I was out with a friend.”
“Which was true,” Elliott pointed out.
“Technically, yes. It felt like lying, though. Just like every Sunday when I sit down with them and they ask about my week. Everything I say is absolutely accurate. But I leave out the most important thing. The only important thing. You. That’s not being fair to anyone.”
“Including yourself.”
Simon shook his head as if that didn’t matter. “So here’s where I get to the stupid part. I told her I’ve been hanging out with a neighbor . . . and . . .”
Elliott tucked his hands under his thighs. Otherwise he would have been tempted to leap up and shake Simon’s shoulders until Simon finally came clean. But since Elliott had waited out many a nervous student who was trying to get enough courage to admit to a spectacular mistake, he could certainly exercise patience now.
Maybe Simon had hoped Elliott would make his confession for him, or at least engage in a round of Twenty Questions. When neither of those things happened, he scrunched his face. “I asked her if I could invite you for Thanksgiving.”
Whatever Elliott might have guessed was going to come out of Simon’s mouth, it hadn’t been that. “Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah. I know you have plans with Ladd and Anna, but the family thing is really an all-day extravaganza anyway, so you can come by whenever.” His confidence visibly waned, and he finished in a tiny voice. “If you want.”
“Did you tell your mom who I am? I mean, that I’m not just your platonic buddy?”
Simon shook his head slowly. “No. Maybe she suspects? It’s hard to tell over the phone.”
“People don’t often invite platonic buddies to family holidays.”
“I never have.” Simon finally let go of the armchair and returned to the couch. He pushed the bag into the corner so he could sit close to Elliott. “You’re not pissed off?”
“I don’t think a dinner invitation is much cause for ire.”
“Dinner with my family. With questionable context.”
Reminding himself that Simon needed support more than he needed nagging about hiding their relationship, Elliott put his hand on Simon’s knee. “Do you intend to spend the meal pretending we’re just pals? Because I can try that, but I’m not much of an actor and I can’t guarantee—”
“I won’t ask you to lie for me!” Simon’s voice was loud enough to make Ishtar raise her head. She must have decided all was well—dumb noisy humans—and went back to sleep.
Elliott quelled his desire to rejoice. “So you’re planning to come out to your parents over the turkey.”
Simon huffed. “Not just my parents. The entire Odisho clan. And a good chunk of the Eshoos. Those are my mom’s people.”
Elliott pictured dozens of Simon’s relatives jammed into a house, all of them forgoing their stuffing and yams in favor of staring at him and Simon. That made him shudder, but he kept his hand on Simon’s leg and his voice even. “Are you sure this is the best occasion for this?”
“Of course it isn’t! It’s a shitty time for it. But El—” Simon’s voice cracked. He looked down at his hands lying palms-up in his lap. Then he cleared his throat. “You know what’s especially stupid? If I were a girl, they’d be ecstatic over you. They’d be falling all over themselves to prebook the Assyrian Civic Hall for our reception. Okay, you’re not Assyrian, which is a minus point. But you’re handsome and nice and fiscally solvent, you like dogs, and you’re a PhD genius guy. So a million plus points.”
“If only I didn’t have this inconvenient penis,” Elliott muttered.
Smiling a bit, Simon reached over to pat the organ in question. “I find it pretty convenient myself.”
“Me too.”
They simply sat there. Then a new song came on—something by Ella Fitzgerald, Elliott thought—and Simon laughed and stood. He held his hand out to Elliott. “Can I have this dance?”
“I don’t dance.”
“Why not?”
“I suck at it.”
Simon bent and grabbed Elliott’s hand. “Nobody here to see but me and Ishtar, and she’s asleep.”
Elliott allowed himself to be towed to the open space where the builder had imagined a large formal dining table. He felt horribly stiff and awkward as Simon wrapped his arms around him. “C’mon, El. Hold me too.”
“But I don’t know—”
“We’ll start like it’s a hug. I know you know how to do that.”
It seemed like a reasonable expectation, so Elliott obeyed, planting the flat of his palms beneath Simon’s shoulder blades and leaning against him.
“Good,” Simon crooned. “Now close your eyes. That’ll make it easier.” Then he began, ever so gently, to sway their upper bodies to the music while their feet remained still.
Elliott let Simon move them. He rested his forehead in the crook of Simon’s neck and felt the strong pulse, smelled the now-familiar odors of Simon’s shampoo and soap. He barely noticed when Simon shuffled them a step to one side, then the other, and soon they were truly dancing. It was a rudimentary dance to be sure, but who cared? It felt good. Simon felt good. Elliott gradually smoothed his hands down the lines of Simon’s back until they settled just below the waistband of Simon’s jeans, right where the swell of his ass began. Perfect.
Ella finished singing, and Sinatra began—another slow tune, so Simon didn’t alter their dance.
“You’re perfectly fine at this,” Simon murmured, then kissed Elliott’s head.
“You’re doing all the work.”
“I’m happy to lead.”
“Mmm. I think I like this.”
Simon gave him a brief squeeze. “Good. I used to love to dance. When I was a kid, sometimes it felt like we went to a wedding or other event every weekend. I’d spend the whole time on the dance floor—well, when I wasn’t eating, anyway. At some level, I knew girls weren’t floating my boat, but they were perfectly cool as dance partners.”
“Why did you stop?”
“When I got older, my parents tried pairing me up with every girl I danced with. It got too . . . complicated. Difficult. So I just stopped.” Simon chuckled. “When I got out of the operating room and the orthopedic surgeon came to check on me, the very first thing I asked was whether I’d be able to dance again. I was pretty doped up.”
“What did the surgeon say?”
“She was cautiously optimistic. Hmm. I oughtta send her a note, let her know it worked out.”
Elliott didn’t know how many songs they danced through. For a short time, he lost himself completely in Simon’s arms, feeling Simon’s heart beating against his chest. Later they would make love, they’d have dinner, they’d take a slow walk with Ishtar, they’d build the Trevi Fountain, and then they’d go to bed. They’d talk about Thanksgiving some more. But now—now it was just the music and the primal sweetness of two bodies moving in harmony. That was enough for now. It was even enough to make Elliott feel like Simon’s surgeon—cautiously optimistic.