you meeting in town?” Jeff asks.
“Oh…no one you know.”
Luke stops suddenly and looks over his shoulder at me. “Want to hang out again tomorrow, Henry?”
“I’m going out of town,” I tell him.
“Well, I’ll call you.”
I give him a little salute. “Say hello to Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks for me. I think Jeff has them, too.”
“Really? Awesome!”
And then Luke is gone, trotting out after Jeff onto Commercial Street.
I take one last sip of my Diet Coke through my straw, making that sucking sound against the bottom of the paper cup. I pick a few crumbs off the plate in front of me, placing them in my mouth, one by one. A gull lands on a post not far from me, folding in its wings against its body. It stares resolutely at me. I look away.
“If you ask me,” comes a voice to my right, “that guy is a shmuck.”
I glance over. At the next table is a guy I recognize from the gym. A real hottie, in fact, with dark eyes and a closely shaven head, and very round biceps that stand out against his tank top like small grapefruits. I don’t know his name, but apparently he witnessed the entire scene between Jeff, Luke, and me.
“Excuse me?” I ask. “What guy?”
“That Jeff O’Brien.” The hottie nods toward the street. “You came in here with that kid, and he took off with him.”
“Oh,” I say, embarrassed. “It’s not like that.”
“Whatever.” The guy takes a bite of his hamburger. “I shouldn’t say anything. It’s none of my business.”
“No, really, Luke and I—there’s nothing between us. And Jeff’s just taking him back to show him his movie posters.”
The hottie practically spits out his burger. “What, were his etchings in storage?”
I smirk. “It’s really okay.”
He wipes his mouth with his napkin and stands, reaching across his table toward mine and extending his hand. “I’m Gale,” he says.
“Henry,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Seen you at the gym,” Gale says, sitting back down.
“Seen you too.”
Had I ever. This guy has a fucking amazing body. He must do two hundred chin ups and then, for good measure—or maybe just to show off—he flips himself over the bar a few times. And when he does a leg press, I sometimes have to force myself to look away, so hot are those bulging calves.
Yet for such a well-muscled body, it’s a delicate one, too, in a way. Gale can’t be more than five-seven, and his waist is tiny. Twenty-eight, probably. Maybe even twenty-seven. His features are soft and pretty, almost like a girl’s. Not really my type—but there’s no denying this guy is hotness personified.
I don’t know why I feel I need to defend Jeff, but I do. “Jeff is just a natural-born flirt,” I tell Gale. “I’m totally used to it. And that kid…well, I knew all along it was Jeff he wanted to meet.”
Gale shrugs. “I still think it was rude. But it’s none of my business.”
“Jeff’s my best friend,” I go on. “He seems shallow, but he’s not. Please don’t think badly of him. Inside, he’s a sweetheart, and he’d do anything for somebody he cares about. Really.”
“Okay,” Gale says, smiling. “I believe you.”
“Good.” I laugh. “I can’t have people thinking badly of him. I’m going to be the best man at his wedding.”
“At his wedding? And meanwhile he’s taking this twinkie back to his place?”
“It’s…a long story.”
“No, it’s not,” Gale says, shaking his head. “Non-monogamy rules the gay world.”
“Not my gay world,” I tell him.
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Really? Is that true, Henry? Are you really one of those rare believers in monogamy?”
I laugh awkwardly. Why am I talking so much? I don’t even know this guy. But I continue, just the same. Talking, in fact, suddenly feels good. “Well, I believe in it for me, anyway,” I explain. “If other guys can make open relationships work, then good for them. I just never could.”
And never would, I suddenly think, if it were me marrying Lloyd. If Lloyd was my lover, there’s no way I’d be bringing some twinkie in off the street for a quickie.
“Well, Henry, I’m glad to hear it,” Gale is saying. He stands up, carries his tray to the trash, and slides the remains of his lunch into the barrel. Then he turns and walks back over to me. He stands in front of the picnic table where I’m sitting. “In fact,” he says, “hearing that makes me want to ask you out to dinner. How about it?”
I stare up at him, momentarily unable to speak. “Yeah, sure,” I say finally.
“When?” Gale asks.
“Anytime,” I reply, still looking up into his big round brown eyes.
“Well, tomorrow’s no good,” Gale says.
“No?” I ask.
He grins knowingly. “You told the kid you were going out of town.”
I can’t resist smiling myself. “Well, I think my plans might change.”
Gale’s grin broadens. “When will you know for certain?”
“Right now.” I stand, realizing I’m a couple of heads taller than he is. But height hardly matters—not when I’m caught in the gaze of those soft brown eyes. “What time do you want to meet,” I ask, “and where?”
“How about seven-thirty at Café Heaven?”
“Good deal,” I say. We shake. Gale’s hand is small in my own, but his grip is firm and masculine.
“See you tomorrow night then,” he says, heading out.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow night,” I echo.
I watch him hop on his bike and ride away. Those amazing calves flex as he pumps the pedals, and his butt looks pretty damn good, too, as it lifts off the seat.
I carry my own tray to the trash. My eyes find those of the gull, who’s still sitting there staring at me.
“You can go now,” I whisper. “Everything’s done here.”
The bird spreads its wings and flaps away.
I smile to myself, and head home.
4
MY ROOM
When do we stop dreaming?
Do we still dream at sixty? At seventy? At eighty? Do we still hope to find what we haven’t yet found? Do we never give up?
I get into bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking about Gale.
My future husband.
I laugh to myself and shift the pillows behind my head.
Outside, it’s started to rain. I can hear the steady tap-tap-tapping against the skylights. Inevitably my thoughts drift back to a year and a half ago. Few things in life were ever sweeter than falling asleep next to Joey on a rainy night. He’d always nod off before I did, breathing softly in my ear. I’d just lie there, inhaling the fragrance of his air, listening to the rain on the roof. Sometimes I’d hold off from falling asleep, just wanting to savor the moment, as if I knew it was too good to last.
Why