Hey, I've seen some old movies, too. Or parts of 'em, anyway. I even know what Soylent Green is.
"So, if I'd been thirty." I wrapped my hands around the thick mug he'd given me today and looked at him from under my hair, which still needed to be cut. I swept the pieces in front of my eyes away slowly. "What then?"
He just looked down at his coffee and shook his head, trying not to smile. "I thought you were too good to be true, if you must know. A blond surfer trying to stay young, rootless and conveniently gay, friendly and funny…"
Was he blushing? It was hard to tell with his tan, but I thought he was blushing. He tapped his mug with his fingernails, a quiet dinging sound, and then he looked at me and raised his eyebrows eloquently.
"I thought you were a bit of a beach bum, and I didn't quite trust you—but I certainly found you interesting."
"Well, I still am that same guy, and I am kind of a beach bum. Don't know if I'm interesting or not, though. I mean, you probably had your life on track by my age, right?"
He grimaced as though the thought pained him. "I imagine some would say so. I'm not so certain I did."
It was my turn to raise my brows. I looked at him expectantly.
He gave in and smiled at me, reluctantly. "I married. It was a mistake."
I blinked. "Did he like, take you to the cleaners…?"
"She," he said quietly, looking down into the coffee again. "I have two children. I tried hard to be straight, but I think…it was the biggest mistake of my life. I don't regret my children, but I'm sorry the way I went about things. I threw myself into my work so I wouldn't have to face it. We kept the marriage going till the twins were nearly ten." He shook his head, raising his glass. "I see them on holidays now. They're both in college." He looked at me, back to being the older dude. "Did you go?"
"Shit, no." I explained to him about having every learning disorder in existence, apparently.
He raised a brow, not looking entirely convinced. "So you'll have trouble helping me arrange my books alphabetically, then? Or is that an avuncular question?"
I flushed a little. "I like to read. I'm just not good at it," I insisted.
"Uh-huh. Well, I think I hear the moving van now." He rose smoothly. "Come and help."
I followed, muttering something about wanting to come and help him.
"What was that?" he said behind me. "I better not have heard what I thought I heard, young man."
"It's not working, you know," I told him, and then moved past him to the van and waited for them to open the back.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Joe smoothly.
He directed; me and the hauling guys carried the books. There really were a lot of boxes, and they were heavy, mostly hardbacks, some even with that old-fashioned leather binding that really weighs a lot.
He had encyclopedias and everything.
"Shit, you ever heard of the Internet?" I groaned after a particularly heavy load, pausing to put my hands in the small of my back and stretch.
He gave me a pursed-mouth look and moved past me to direct the men some more.
He had a really nice place, open and airy but sort of empty, even a little sad. It had a lovely view (you actually could see the ocean, a little bit, from the wide windows on the upper story), and there was so much light coming in from outside, but inside it was almost kind of cold.
We got the books loaded inside and the van drove off after Joe paid them. I started opening boxes and looking at the spines, planning how we'd arrange them. I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs slowly, like he was tired and sad and feeling old.
I looked up quick when he entered, and yep, he looked tired. In his face especially, and a little bit in the way he moved.
"You just sit down and tell me if I get anything wrong," I told him, waving him towards one of the big, comfortable chairs.
He must've really been feeling it, because he simply nodded and complied. After bit, he closed his eyes, leaning back, and I thought he fell asleep, so I tried to work quieter.
I got through about half the books before dark, lining them up pretty well, by subject matter and sometimes author. If he didn't like it, I could help him fix it later, but right now it seemed important to get a semblance of order so he didn't try to do it all himself. I felt protective of him, seeing him there in the chair, looking so still, breathing deep and slow as he slept. He looked smaller somehow, sadder, as though he needed to be protected. In this big, cold old house all alone, he didn't have anybody.
Shit, stop it, I told myself. You're not going to adopt him like some kind of stray dog, and he's already told you in so many words he's not interested. I scolded myself, but it didn't work.
After I finished as much work as I could without turning the lights on, I tiptoed downstairs and found something to make him for supper in the fridge. It wasn't too hard; he had fresh salmon on hand and lots of salad stuff.
It was good to see he was eating healthy.
I hummed a little while I worked. I was pretty used to nice kitchens from all my house sitting, and I'm not a bad cook if I do say so myself. I made a good supper, but not enough for two. I hesitated, trying to decide if I should take it up to him or wake him and tell him it was on the table. I decided on the second one.
I was just getting everything set up when he came down the stairs, his footsteps sounding tired and uncertain.
He stopped when he saw me in the kitchen, and for a moment his sleepy face looked startlingly vulnerable, almost raw. He simply looked at me and what I'd done, and bit his lip. I could see he was feeling tired and overwhelmed, so I just gave him a pat on the arm and a smile as I walked by to get my t-shirt. I'd taken it off when I started cooking. It was a little dusty from the books, and I really do hate wearing shirts.
"Don't worry about the books. I'll come by tomorrow or whenever to finish up. Just give me a call." Then I gave him a wink. "See ya, Gramps."
I headed to the door, shirt swung over my shoulder. My old lost-his-virginity shirt. I hadn't thought about that in a long time.
"But…wait. You cooked for me? But you're not staying?"
"Nope, I've got some, ah, veggie burgers waiting for me." I tilted my head at him. "See ya!"
"But we…didn't discuss payment." His voice trailed off as he watched me go. I heard him, but I didn't turn back. I figured I could trust him. He was good for it. Anyway, he needed to rest, and I didn't want it to look like I was wining and dining him. I just wanted to be nice to him.
I could sort of feel he was right, there couldn't be anything romantic between us, but it frustrated and annoyed me to acknowledge it, so I pushed it to the background and told myself I wasn't that interested anyway. It was just a passing fancy.
But I really didn't want to eat veggie burgers. I wanted to stay with and eat with him. Good thing I hadn't made enough food.
#
He was on his porch next morning when I was going for my morning coffee stroll, reluctantly wearing a t-shirt, but just a thin sleeveless one.
He waved to me, motioned me to join him, and I did, gladly. He looked me up and down, amused, his eyes crinkling a little. "Why don't you get your own coffee today?"
"Oh." I stepped back off the porch.
"I meant from inside." He nodded towards the screen door.
My face lit in a relieved smile. "I thought you meant—"
"Well, I didn't."
I went and got some coffee from his machine. He'd made lots, so he must've been expecting me. I smiled at the thought of him thinking about me. A lot of my friends wouldn't be even that generous; they'd just expect me to start a new pot if I wanted some, and not bother them before noon. (Caden certainly wasn't up this early. He liked to go clubbing and stuff.)
I got my coffee and sat down on the porch swing with Joe. It felt nice to sit together like that. I reminded myself firmly that he was a friend and nothing more. Maybe even less—just an employer. But shit, it was nice sitting there with him like that.
> We looked out over the back yard. A little bird alighted at the feeder, ate quickly, then flew away again.
"Thank you for cooking for me last night," he said. "I may have overdone it. That was thoughtful of you. But, ah, you should've made enough for two, and stayed."
I shrugged. "Didn't seem like a good idea."
We swung a little more.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," he said quietly. "That was certainly not my intention."
"You didn't. Just don't want to…to be that guy, you know?"
He looked at me, still clearly feeling embarrassed about last night.
So I explained. "The guy who kinda likes somebody, but they're not interested, so he has to sort of tell himself he's not, either, he's just being a buddy—but secretly hoping that doing stuff together is going to be romantic." I shrugged. "I get it, the age gap, or whatever. Just, I don't want to do that to myself. And staying to eat with you, one, since I didn't ask permission before cooking your food, would've been a little pushy. And two, I'd have been being that guy. So, I'll fix your books, and you can pay me or whatever, but then maybe I shouldn't, like, stop for coffee and stuff, because I'm enjoying this a little too much, you know?"
He looked sadder at the thought. "I admire your self-knowledge," he said. "I do know what you mean. I think I've been doing the same thing."
I looked at him quick. "You mean…?"
"I mean I don't want age to make the difference it has been making. But I'm not sure how to…to do that." He looked at me sadly, almost wistfully. "There are differences, and no denying it. No getting around it or ignoring it. There are thirty years between us. You are young and healthy. I am…not."
"You're pretty healthy."
"With a Mt. Vesuvius ticking underneath." He patted his chest and smiled bitterly. "And I have children, and money, and you're only here for the summer." He sighed a heavy, resigned sigh. "But I miss you already."
"We ain't even kissed," I said. "How can you miss me?"
I was pushing it to ask, since I felt the same way.
He just shrugged and looked out over his back yard, his eyes squinted up a little, as if he was in pain.
"Anyway, you're a cold fish. I couldn't even tell you were interested in me till you suddenly had to tell me you were old enough to be my father and couldn't be interested in me. How was I supposed to know?"
He cast me a quick, apologetic squint. "You weren't. I don't like being transparent. Sorry."
"Hmph." I slurped some coffee. Then I got up. "I gotta go forward. I can't pine and shit. I can't live like that. It makes me fuckin' miserable. I ain't gonna be your friend 'cause it's not working. It ain't gonna work, because I just—" I cut myself off, because my voice wasn't staying as reasonable and steady as I wanted it to. "Anyway, I'll see you around. I hope you find somebody who's good for you."
I put the mug down on the porch and started away, head down. I stuffed my hands in my pockets.
He didn't call after me.
I didn't look back.
#
It was ridiculous to pine over someone I hadn't dated or danced with or kissed, not even once. But I kinda did. I missed him, and I was low for the next few days.
I went out dancing with Caden, but I couldn't enjoy it.
I surfed a lot. I always do when I'm feeling low. It grounds me and sets me free at the same time. There's nothing quite like surfing, suspended in a world of water, part of the ocean, part of the earth, part of the air, and yet separate from all three. It's a special place, a private world out of the world, and there I can think, there I find peace. There, things make sense.
I surfed a lot.
While I surfed, I felt at peace. Like, this would pass, it was just a blip on the radar, and I was at one with the whole world and everything was going to be okay. I could breathe, I was free from worry, and I could leave all the little hurts behind, like being rejected by a guy thirty years older than me before we even went on one date.
And I figured that was the truth. But on land, I went back to feeling like I'd had a breakup. It was ridiculous, because honestly, I wasn't even sure if we had the chemistry if we hadn't had the age thing, and the money thing. I mean, there was just no way, right? Plus his health, and our differences in education. The fact that he had two kids in college, just a few years younger than I was. All that.
So why was I having those low, breakup feelings when I hadn't even gotten one date or kiss or anything out of it?
Anyway, I got through my days and stayed busy.
Then one day I saw him in town with two young people who I figured must be the twins. They were all three eating ice cream. One was a boy, one a girl, and they wore expensive clothing. They looked like the kind of kids who would look down their noses at me. They were laughing at something, and I thought they had mean laughs.
I walked on by and didn't stop to say hi. I felt Joe watching me, but he didn't say anything either.
#
"I guess you didn't get anywhere with your silver fox," said Caden, hip-checking me on the dance floor. "Cheer up, or you won't get anybody else to fuck you either!"
"I'm just dancing," I told him coldly. "And he's not my—"
"Don't kid a kidder!" He had to raise his voice above the noise, and cupped a hand dramatically to his mouth so I could hear him.
Sometimes I thought I was getting too old for clubs. Caden still seemed to have a lot of fun, though. It was about the only time I got to catch up with him anymore. And then I'd remember how annoying he was with all the innuendo about who I might be dating or having sex with. Since the answer was usually nobody, I was less than thrilled to talk about it.
I just didn't know how Caden couldn't get bored with it sometimes. Didn't he ever want quiet, or somebody to settle down with? I liked dancing as much as the next guy—okay, as much as the next gay guy, and even more than some—but sometimes the rest of it got old.
"Shut up," I told him, wishing I had something clever to say to shoot him down.
He just laughed. "I'll have pity sex with you if I can't find somebody better," he told me.
"Generous." I rolled my eyes.
"Or get you into a three—"
"Shut it!" I pushed him hard on the shoulder, and he laughed. Always with the threesome offers! I had to believe he was kidding because otherwise that was just too much for me, and he was being gross to keep pushing the idea when I clearly wasn't into it.
I made a face at him, and he laughed, but then his expression softened a little and he pulled me into a slower dance as the music changed to something less wildly dance-y. He held me like it was a waltz, and we swayed together. We danced well together, even if we didn't have other kinds of chemistry and compatibility.
"Did he get what he wanted and send you off, or did you get about as far as I did?" asked Caden, close enough now that he didn't have to shout.
I saw genuine sympathy in his eyes, so I answered him. "Yeah, he's thirty years older than I am. It's a big deal to him. Nothing happened. And I'm not pining. I…just miss him, that's all."
He clucked his tongue, shaking his head sadly. "Well, you know what they say. Take one up the ass to take one out of the heart."
"They don't say that. You say that. And you're crude."
"Prude!"
"Asshole!"
"Now who's crude?" He tightened his arms on me and pulled me into a full-mouthed kiss, ending the argument. It was his way of trying to comfort me. I let him. He was a pretty good kisser, and if I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend he was somebody else…
Shit, I did have it bad.
Unfortunately, Caden also had it bad—idiotness, that is. Or being an idiot, whatever. He decided he ought to cheer me up and bring the party to me. So he arrived on the doorstep of the house I was house sitting at at two o'clock in the morning, causing the dogs to bark and the alarm to go off.
When I waded through two big Weimeraners, tails intact so they almost swept me down by their wagging, who should I
find at the door but my dear friend Caden?
He leaned against the doorway drunkenly and waggled his fingertips at me and the dogs. "'Lo," he slurred, and hiccupped, and made a dramatic slump into my arms.
I caught him, because what else could I do?
He gazed up at me sleepily, holding loosely onto my sleeve. "I came here to cheer you up." Then he hiccupped again and closed his eyes.
"Yeah, well, I hope you didn't drive here," I grumbled as I hauled him in. For such a slight guy, who looked fragile and little, he was an awful bulk when he was lying in my arms like a dead thing.
The Weimeraners, now that he wasn't a threat, were trying to lick his face off. He giggled and woke up enough to help me get him inside. "Stop, darlings," he slurred. "My makeup."
"You're not wearing makeup. And why are you acting like this? This is a little much even for you. Did you drive?"
He scoffed. "Of course not! I j-just didn't want to be alone right now!" He sniffed dramatically and tried to bury his face on my shoulder.
I pushed his sodden, alcohol-fumed self away. "Sit down and drink some coffee!"
"My life is over!" he cried dramatically, flopping at the table and burying his face on his arms. I thought I heard the beginnings of a jagged sob.
"Who resisted your advances now?" I asked.
"No, it's—it's not that. Honestly." He looked up, sweeping back a strand of hair that, earlier tonight, had been artfully arranged. I scowled at him, because even like this he managed a sort of effortless gracefulness that I lacked everywhere but on a surfboard.
"Well?" I demanded, starting a pot of coffee. Strong coffee.
"My family is coming to visit!" he wailed. "Serves me right for unblocking them on Facebook. I should never use any site but Grindr! At least there you know the creeps aren't related to you!"
"So they found out where you're staying and they're coming to visit?" I asked. "And I thought you were the creepy guy on Grindr."
The Way to Joe Page 2
