Sitting across from each other in the kitchen and exchanging ideas with Zeb this morning felt very domestic. Alex imagined this was what it would be like if he and Zeb were a real couple. Cutting off the vision as soon as it materialized, Alex warned his inner romantic to stop fantasizing. It was too soon to assume they had any sort of future. Zeb had five years of college ahead of him, and tremendous challenges to overcome with regards to his newly discovered orientation. If Zeb chose the path less traveled and embraced his sexuality, family and society might pose problems he’d never considered or dealt with in the past. Hoping for a happy ending was encouraging heartbreak, and it made more sense to enjoy the moment instead.
True to his word, the last foil-covered baking dish was complete when Zeb reappeared. The tiny refrigerator was crammed from top to bottom, and the sight filled Alex with a sense of accomplishment. They would have leftovers for days.
Zeb’s last attempt to help in the kitchen had been a disaster, so Alex kept a watchful eye as Zeb rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and tied a clean apron around his waist to protect his dark jeans. He poured soap and water into one side of the dual sink and stuck in the dirty dishes. Confident that Zeb couldn’t possibly screw this up, Alex headed toward his room to change.
When he returned, the kitchen was spotless, and Zeb looked at him hopefully, waiting for a positive reaction.
“Looking good,” Alex said. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Zeb replied. “At least I’m good for something.”
Alex reached for Zeb. “You’re way more than a dishwasher.”
Zeb got on tiptoes, draped his arms around Alex’s neck, and kissed him on the lips. When they parted, he asked, “What’s your opinion on church?”
“Sorry?”
“Are you Catholic?”
Alex nodded. “Why?”
“I thought you might be, but I wanted to make sure. Would you mind terribly if we went to Midnight Mass tonight?”
“Tonight?” Alex parroted.
“After dinner,” Zeb replied warily. “Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Alex said slowly. “If that’s what you want. I didn’t realize you were the religious type.”
“I’m not normally,” Zeb said, stepping back. He looked up at Alex’s questioning face and flushed. “Don’t think I’m trying to twist your arm or anything, but I’ve always enjoyed a good choir, especially during the Christmas season. There’s nothing that gets me into the holiday spirit better than beautiful voices on Christmas Eve.”
Alex blinked several times. Once again, Zeb had peeled off another layer of his personality that Alex found very appealing.
“We can go to St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue,” Alex suggested. “I’m sure they have a fantastic choir.”
“I’ve already googled it, and we’ll need tickets. Do you want me to see if there are any left?”
“Go ahead.”
“Shit,” Zeb said, frowning down on his phone. “There are none for sale. You have to send a written request after Labor Day and they mail them out. Apparently, there’s no charge, but you can’t get into the Cathedral without a ticket. They do it to avoid crowding. That blows!”
“Maybe there’s another church that offers something similar?”
“Yeah, probably so, but it’s not St. Patrick’s,” Zeb said disappointedly.
Alex watched Zeb continue to browse on his phone and smiled when he heard a hoot of triumph. “Success?”
Zeb nodded. “The Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine at 1047 Amsterdam Ave. No tickets required, and they have the Midnight Mass services with a choir. We have to be there by ten thirty. Can we do that?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said.
Zeb hugged him. “Thank you.”
“For nothing,” Alex dismissed. “You did all the research.”
Alex reached for the dog’s leash and clipped it to his collar. In a singsong voice reserved for Bacon, he said, “Time to go walkies, baby.”
They shrugged on puffy winter jackets, gloves, and scarves and headed outdoors toward the closest Christmas tree lot. Alex had discovered they sprang up on random corners like mushrooms and disappeared just as quickly once the holidays passed. He’d walked by a few on his way to and from the subway, so he had a certain lot in mind.
“We hardly ever have real Christmas trees back home,” Zeb remarked.
“Why’s that?”
“They only grow in the cooler climates up north. Fake trees, nativity scenes, and paper lanterns are handier.”
“So this fresh tree will be your first?” Alex asked.
“Yup.”
“Then we’ll have to choose a good one.”
“What do they do with all the trees afterward?” Zeb asked.
“Mostly they’re turned into mulch.”
“That’s good,” Zeb said. “I’d hate for them to be cut down for a few days of glory.”
“So you’re into ecology as well?” Alex asked in surprise.
“Shouldn’t everyone be concerned about climate change and the environment? I plan to design and build with that in mind.”
“Wow,” Alex exclaimed softly. “You’re not just a pretty face.”
“I would hope not,” Zeb said. “You’d get bored after the sex tapered off.”
“We’re not even close to that point yet,” Alex said, amused. “Are we?”
Zeb stopped walking and looked up at Alex. “I’ll be happy to show you how much I want you, except I’d cause a riot and that’s never a good thing.”
“Thank you for being considerate,” Alex said softly. “You can do it when we get back.”
“Count on it,” Zeb promised. “We’ve got seven days to mess around.”
Alex didn’t respond, but his heart slammed into his chest. Was Zeb expecting to top him tonight or sometime soon? Alex wasn’t even close to ready. Hopefully, Zeb wouldn’t force the issue or lose his mind if he didn’t get his way. The last time Alex had been in a similar situation, the results had been life changing. But that had been long ago, and the guy he’d mistakenly allowed into his life had turned out to be a selfish and violent douche. Zeb was nothing like that.
As if sensing a mood swing, Zeb reached for his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Is everything okay?”
“No problem,” Alex replied seriously. Shit. He didn’t want to ruin their week by bringing up the past, but he also wanted to give Zeb the pleasure he deserved, and he wouldn’t be able to do that without being honest. Maybe a few tequila shots would ease the way. With that in mind, he decided a detour to the closest liquor store might be a good idea.
At the lot, he let Zeb pick the tree. He settled on a perfectly shaped five-foot spruce. It was small, but made an impact, kind of like Zeb, and Alex approved of his choice. They bought two sets of colored lights and some cheap ornaments they might never use again. After they split the cost, Zeb picked up one end, and Alex the other, and they trudged back to the apartment building silently. The tequila was forgotten.
Chapter 9
ALEX AND Zeb stepped back to view their handiwork from a distance. The tree took up an entire corner of the small apartment. Mindful of Bacon’s tendency to grab shiny objects, they only decorated the top half with ornaments. Two strands of colored lights were looped around the inner branches. It was definitely lopsided, but dog friendly, and provided the holiday atmosphere Alex had been aiming for. The smell of pine would soon overpower the aroma of food, another reason why natural trees were better than the fake ones.
“We’ll never win a Martha Stewart award,” Alex commented, “but I like it.”
Zeb wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist and leaned on him. “Thank you for going through so much trouble to make my first Christmas away from home less daunting. You don’t realize how much you miss family until you’re separated.”
“The first is always the hardest. Tell me about Christmas in the Philippines,” Alex said, trying to lighten Zeb’s mood, which had grown
melancholy.
“What do you want to know?”
“Is it strictly a church thing or does Santa get to play a role?”
“A little of both,” Zeb admitted. “We have three celebrations in December. Christmas Eve, to honor Christ’s birth in the manger, Christmas Day, traditionally the big Santa Claus event, and on January sixth, we celebrate Three Kings’ Day, also called Epiphany in different parts of the Christian world.”
“We don’t celebrate Epiphany in our family.”
Zeb smiled, probably recalling his childhood. “It’s a huge holiday in Spain and still retained in our culture.”
“What do you do on that day?”
“On the fifth, we leave a pair of shoes outside our bedroom door before going to sleep. If you were a good boy or girl, candy spills out of your shoes the next day.”
“And if you were bad?”
“Coals,” Zeb said, looking up at Alex with a grin. “I got those a few times.”
“Aw, poor baby. Did you have a tantrum?”
“I was more pissed than anything else,” Zeb said, amused.
“What else happens on that day?”
“There are parades in some of the big cities with floats depicting the arrival of the three kings. Afterward, it’s the usual food orgy.”
“Speaking of food,” Alex said. “Are you hungry?”
“A little bit. How long before dinner?”
“Do you want to eat before or after Mass?” Alex asked.
“Why don’t we eat around six,” Zeb suggested. “It’ll give us plenty of time to clean up and get to St. John’s early enough to find good seats. I’m sure it’ll be packed.”
Alex looked at his wristwatch. “It’s only two o’clock. There’s nothing for me to do in the kitchen until four, and all I’ll have to do then is put the pans in the oven. Let me make some sandwiches so you’re not gnawing on your fingers while you wait for the big meal.”
“Will you sit and eat with me?”
“Of course,” Alex said. “Give me a sec.”
Alex returned in about ten minutes with two subs and a bag of chips. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to drink,” he said, placing the food on the coffee table.
“I’ll get a Pepsi,” Zeb said, standing. “Want anything?”
“Dr Pepper will be fine.”
“You got it.”
When Zeb returned with their drinks, Alex had already started on his meal.
“What’s in the sandwich?” Zeb asked.
“Different lunch meats, cheese, tomatoes, pickles, mustard, and mayo. I hope you like it.”
“I’m not picky,” Zeb informed. “As long as you didn’t include onions.”
“Not a fan?”
Zeb shook his head. “Onion breath is gross.”
“They have this wonderful invention called a toothbrush,” Alex teased. “And mouthwash.”
Zeb’s reply was muffled as he took a huge bite and chewed contentedly. Although he seemed low maintenance on the surface, Zeb was from another culture, and one where he’d been raised in luxury. Alex couldn’t assume their tastes in food and entertainment would be the same. However, judging by the speed in which the sandwich disappeared, Alex surmised he’d enjoyed this meal.
“That was delicious,” Zeb said after he wiped his mouth with the paper napkin Alex had provided. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“I was also hungry,” Alex said.
“Are your parents churchgoers?” Zeb asked, changing subject abruptly.
“Yes.”
“Did you accompany them on Sunday?”
“Until I refused to wear the dress and cutesy bonnet.”
“That must have been difficult for them,” Zeb said. “Or am I wrong?”
“Not entirely,” Alex said. “My father’s very pragmatic. He handled my revelation as best as I could hope.”
“What about your mother?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “I love my mother to death, but we started losing common ground early on. Playing with tea sets and dolls, an activity we both enjoyed, fell by the wayside, and when I balked at her frilly fashion choices, we started fighting. She took such pride in our mother-daughter outfits, and I wanted nothing to do with them. She went through a period of mourning then, but snapped out of it after realizing I needed her nurturing more than ever.”
“You mentioned giving away an entire wardrobe of dresses.”
“Oh yeah. You’d think I’d been stoned to death in the town square the way she carried on.”
“Hysteria?”
“My father had to clap a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t scare the neighbors.”
Zeb shook his head. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was,” Alex admitted, “but I’m luckier than most. They didn’t throw me out of the house or send me to conversion therapy. When gender dysphoria was explained to my parents in plain English—by the psychiatrist they’d hired—life resumed and we made the necessary adjustments.”
“She accepted you as a boy overnight?”
“There were lots of cringe-worthy moments, believe me, but she did her best.”
“What was the turning point?”
“I can’t say there was a defining moment, sugar, but maman wasn’t cruel or insensitive. Each time I’d look in the mirror, and just as quickly turn away, she was affected by the abject misery on my face. She loved me more than she needed a daughter.”
“I’d like to meet her someday,” Zeb said, “along with your father.”
“You will if we’re still dating in the summer. They’re coming to town in July.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Zeb said.
“Meeting them or still being together?” Alex asked.
“Both.”
Zeb’s optimistic attitude regarding their future relationship buoyed Alex more than he cared to admit. It was a little overwhelming to see how far they’d come in such a short time, but he wasn’t about to jinx it with a sappy display of emotions.
Changing the subject, Alex asked, “What was your all-time favorite Santa gift?”
“Hmm, let me think,” Zeb said, scrunching his forehead. “I know! It was the year I got my own set of golf clubs.”
Alex smirked. “You play golf?”
“Yeah, my whole family does.”
“I’ve watched the big tournaments on TV but never played,” Alex admitted.
“I can teach you if you want,” Zeb offered. “What about you? Any memorable gifts?”
“A charcoal-gray three-piece suit with shoes to match.”
“Whoa, how old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
Alex smiled, recalling the excitement he’d felt unwrapping the big box. He’d been stressing over an upcoming dance because all eyes would be on the legit school freak and he had nothing appropriate to wear. His parents had solved the problem with a kick-ass suit that made him look like a movie star.
“What did you do after trying it on?” Zeb asked.
“Bawled my eyes out,” Alex admitted. “I tend to do that when I’m emotional.”
“There’s no shame in crying,” Zeb said sympathetically.
“It’s lame when you’re my height and desperate to shed a very feminine trait.”
Zeb stared at him. “I got news for you, mister. Guys cry all the time.”
“Not this one,” Alex said, dismissing the remark.
“Do you want to take a nap before you start cooking?” Zeb asked.
Alex stood up with the empty plates in his hand. “Now I know why you had issues with onions.”
Zeb grinned. “I really can’t stand them.”
“What about onion dip?”
“What about it?”
“Do you like it?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had it.”
“Really?”
“Whatever,” Zeb said, rolling his eyes. “Can we stop discussing food and get naked instead?”
“You have a one-
track mind,” Alex scolded.
“I’m just satisfying another hunger.”
Zeb removed his sweatshirt on the way to the bedroom and tossed it aside. He was undoing his fly when Alex walked in, noticed the discarded garment, and moved to pick it up.
“Don’t bother,” Zeb grunted. “I’ll put it away later.”
“It’s no problem.” Alex bent down and retrieved the sweatshirt, folded it, and placed it on a nearby chair.
“Are you hung up on tidiness like Luca?” Zeb asked.
Alex looked around, his gaze lingering on items of Zeb’s clothing that were scattered everywhere. Cautiously, he asked, “Has Luca been giving you a hard time?”
“Yes,” Zeb hissed.
“I realize we had a late night, and unpacking wasn’t a priority,” Alex remarked evenly, “but at this rate, you’ll cover every square inch of space in a day or so. I’ve emptied out a drawer for you, sugar, and there are spare hangers in the closet. Perhaps you didn’t hear me when I mentioned it yesterday.”
Zeb stepped out of his jeans and kicked them across the room. Glaring at Alex, he waited, daring him to say something.
Alex raised both eyebrows but remained silent.
“It’s a guy thing,” Zeb defended hotly. “Probably not a gay thing, but most men aren’t constantly picking up after themselves.”
“Are these the same men who don’t cry?” Alex countered. “Who’s stereotyping now?”
Zeb sank down on the bed and buried his face in his hands.
“Hey,” Alex said, sitting and draping his arm over his shoulders.
Zeb raised his head.
“Are you pissed?” Alex whispered.
“Not at all,” Zeb said. “I just want to chill without causing any friction. Why can’t I pick up my clothes when I feel like it?”
Alex gave him a half smile even though his green eyes sparkled. “You’re free to do whatever you want, sugar. I’d like you to feel at home.”
“Do you mean that?” Zeb asked. “I don’t want this to be one of those little things that grates on your nerves until you blow up or have a coronary. If it really bothers you, I’ll make the effort.”
Being With Him Page 8
