Something Like Winter

by Jay Bell

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I enjoyed it.”

  “It’s been one-sided though. Tell me about your life.”

  “Well, I’m usually in bed by now,” Eric said.

  “Oh! Sorry.”

  “But if you let me take you to dinner tomorrow, I’ll talk your ear off.”

  Tim paused. “Are you asking me on a date?”

  “You think you’re man enough to handle me?” Eric winked. “No, no strings attached. Just a nice meal and an old man droning on about all his regrets.”

  Somehow Tim doubted it would be anywhere near that boring. “Then it’s a non-date!” he said as he stood.

  Eric walked him to the front door, fussing over Tim being able to drive, but he’d only had the one beer. Life at a fraternity meant he had a high tolerance. He was below the legal limit anyway.

  “You can have this back,” Eric said, holding out the check.

  Tim shook his head. “They don’t deserve it.”

  “You’re one of them, and I think you do. Besides, won’t someone notice it missing?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But I do,” Eric said, shoving it in his hand. “Please. I can’t stand the thought of you living without air conditioning or a roof over your head.”

  They laughed together, and Tim gave in. He would accept the donation, but he wasn’t going to let his brothers bad-mouth Eric again. Maybe he could even find a way to stop them telling that horrible story. Of course he would need to know the truth first.

  “I’m holding you to that non-date,” Tim said.

  “You name the hour, I’ll choose the place.”

  “Okay.” Tim nudged him playfully. “Don’t stand me up!”

  “The pretty ones are always the most insecure,” Eric teased.

  They said goodbye, and despite how crappy the day had started, Tim grinned most of the drive home.

  * * * * *

  Tim was dozing off when something thudded against the door to his room. From the snort and the hissing laughter that followed, the smart money was on Travis. His country boy crush had made himself scarce the last couple of days. Tim hadn’t seen him at all Monday or Tuesday, even though there were little signs in their room that Travis had come in late and gotten up early, just to avoid him.

  But now Travis had abandoned these tactics, stumbling into the room, shutting the door behind him with a bang, and tromping over to Tim’s bed. Keeping his back to the room, Tim was determined to ignore the racket, but a heavy weight fell halfway on top of him.

  “Are you sleeping?” Travis said, throwing an arm around him. His breath smelled like rubbing alcohol.

  “No.” Tim replied, straining to breathe. Travis was heavy!

  “I’m sorry.” Travis kissed his neck, his lips sloppy and wet. “I just got a little scared. I want to be with you.”

  The way he ground his crotch against Tim’s back left little question as to what he wanted. They were entering familiar territory, but Tim wasn’t eager to return there.

  “Let me up. I have to take a piss.”

  “And then you’re coming back?” Travis slurred.

  “Yeah.” The weight rolled off him. Tim got out of bed, surprised by how wasted Travis looked. His hair was a mess, mud smeared one cheek, and a couple leaves were stuck to his shirt, like he had just crawled out of the gutter. Tim started unbuttoning Travis’s shirt, the fabric damp in places with something strong, like whisky.

  “You get naked too,” Travis said.

  Tim was wearing only a pair of flannel boxers, so he wouldn’t have far to go, but he focused on undressing Travis instead. Then, dodging a few kisses, Tim managed to get him over to his own bed. Travis wouldn’t lie down completely, instead reaching out and trying to pull Tim down with him.

  “I have to pee,” Tim reminded him. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Hurry.” Travis fell backward carelessly.

  “I will.” Tim left the room and slid to the floor with his back against the closed door. Travis was drunk enough that he should pass out quickly. All Tim had to do was wait.

  They couldn’t do this anymore. Nothing would change if Tim allowed Travis to use alcohol as an excuse to do what he wanted, to be who he really was. Besides, it wasn’t gratifying to be with someone who would only sleep with him when wasted. Even though Tim’s body wanted to give in, he was cutting Travis off. They could be together sober or not at all.

  When he was sure enough time had passed, Tim quietly reentered the room to a chorus of nasal snores. Travis still lay above the sheets, so Tim took the blankets from his own bed and covered him. Then he lay down next to his country boy and held him—just for a little while.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Tim pulled up to Eric’s house on Tuesday, another car waited in the driveway. Parking next to the old Honda Civic, he wondered if someone would be joining them for dinner. He was halfway up the front walk when a middle-aged woman with brown curly hair and a plump frame left the house. She appeared distracted as she dug in her purse for keys, a manila folder stuffed with papers pinned beneath one arm.

  “Hi,” Tim said, mostly so she wouldn’t run into him.

  “Oh! Hello!” She looked him over once, her face flushing slightly before she continued on her way.

  Tim looked back while waiting for Eric to answer the door, nodding at her as she pulled out of the driveway.

  “I thought she would never leave!” Eric said. “Come in, come in. I’m running late because she never stops chatting.”

  “Friend or family?” Tim asked.

  “Neither.”

  Eric led Tim to a grand kitchen. Pots and pans hung everywhere like decorations, all gleaming as if they were polished every morning. Tim noted a pair of ovens, an electric grill, and a refrigerator so tall and wide that a small family could live inside.

  Leaning against the island in the room’s center, Tim whistled in appreciation. “You like to entertain?”

  “Ask me that again next week. I’ll be right back. I have to run upstairs and get changed. Help yourself to a drink, if you’d like.”

  Tim checked the refrigerator, mostly just to waste time. Every shelf was crammed with food. How many people lived here? Eric was about Ben’s size, so it was hard to imagine him packing away all these munchies. Closing the refrigerator, he strolled around the room, running his hands along the marble countertop. When Eric came back downstairs, he wore a maroon dress shirt and gray slacks the same color as his hair. A fresh puff of cologne followed in his wake. Tim was wearing the same T-shirt and jeans he had thrown on in the morning.

  “Are we going somewhere fancy?” he asked self-consciously.

  “Yes,” Eric said, “but don’t worry. The restaurant is so expensive that it’s actually comfortable.” He laughed at his own joke before adding, “Would you mind driving?”

  “No problem.”

  They made small talk on the way to the restaurant, Eric just as curious about Tim as he had been the night before. Between asking about his car, what classes he was taking, and anything else that came to mind, Eric gave directions, leading them to a corner of downtown Austin that looked run-down. They pulled in behind a building where a small parking lot held expensive cars. Tim never would have guessed a restaurant was here. Aside from stenciling on a tinted glass door, it had no outside sign.

  “What is this?” Tim asked.

  “A place where a master works his magic.”

  The door swung open for them as they neared the entrance. A stiffly dressed maître d’ invited them inside, his tidy little mustache wiggling. “Mr. Conroy, Mr. Wyman, please, right this way.” The only thing missing was the French accent.

  The inside of the restaurant wasn’t at all what Tim expected. Eric was right about the comfort. Instead of starched white tablecloths and confusing cutlery, rustic tables were surrounded by plush chairs. Only six tables were visible in the low lighting, each separated by plants or dressing screens to provide privacy.

  “How did he
know my name?” Tim asked as soon as the maître d’ seated them and glided away.

  “He asked when I made the reservation.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your last name? I found it on the fraternity’s website.”

  Tim stared at him.

  “Are you surprised an old man can use a computer,” Eric asked, “or are you disturbed that I stalked you?”

  “A little of both,” Tim said before laughing.

  “Champagne?” The maître d’ had reappeared, popping open a bottle with flair, the cork blasting away into the shadowy restaurant. People were lucky not to lose an eye here! Tim would have to remember to duck if anyone else was offered champagne. Golden bubbles filled their glasses before the maître d’ bustled away. Apparently he would be their waiter as well. Hell, he could even be the chef, as small as this place was.

  “Here’s to new friendships,” Eric said, raising a glass.

  Tim toasted him, feeling a little overwhelmed. He wondered if that was the intention. As nice as Eric seemed, gay was gay, and Tim hadn’t met a gay guy yet who didn’t find him attractive. “So, uh, where are the menus?”

  “There aren’t any.” Eric took another swig, gave a satisfied smack, and set down his glass. “Whatever Jeffery cooks is what we get. You aren’t a vegetarian, are you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s the one exception he’ll make. Trust me, we’re in good hands.” Eric, elbows on the table, rested his chin on his hands. “So, how are you and Travis doing?”

  “Oh no you don’t!” Tim said. “This dinner was supposed to make up for me blabbering about my problems. It’s my turn to ask you questions.”

  “Oh, I’m boring.”

  “I doubt that!”

  “Very well.” Eric smiled. “I can’t promise you honest answers, but give it your best shot.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “But your house is huge!”

  “It didn’t feel that way five years ago.”

  “So there was someone else?”

  Eric coughed, taking another sip of champagne to soothe his throat. “Excuse me. Yes, there was someone else. Gabriel, the love of my life. I built that home for the both of us. He left all the details to me, happy with how I threw myself into it. I had just decided to retire, and I think he worried I would become a different person, but I attacked the project with just as much gusto as I did our work.”

  “You guys worked together?”

  “Mm-hm. Our relationship was very much career-based. We were both stockbrokers. Gabriel had the connections and clients, and I had the foresight to invest in little-known technology companies that have now become household names.”

  “Microsoft?” Tim guessed.

  “Among others. We got rich and made our clients even richer. I was happy to become independently wealthy, but Gabriel—” Eric shrugged. “We lived in that house together for six years, and it was one of the happiest times of my life. That’s all that matters.”

  The first course appeared—an appetizer that looked more like modern art than food. Delicately arranged cubes were decorated with sprigs and savory syrups. Tim couldn’t tell exactly what they’d been served, but as soon as the first bite was in his mouth, the food was so delicious he decided he didn’t care if he was eating poodle.

  “So what happened?” Tim asked.

  “You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Eric teased. “My life is twice as long as yours.” He peered at Tim. “Oh god, maybe even three times!”

  Tim grinned. “With you and Gabriel. Did he run off with the pool boy?”

  “The pool boy, yes.”

  “Dude! Sorry! I was trying to be funny.”

  “So was I.” Eric winked. “It wasn’t the pool boy, but it was a much younger man. Gabriel didn’t take to retirement. He kept working as a broker, only from home, which isn’t the same as being in the thick of it on Wall Street. Myself, I didn’t see the point. Once you’re rich, what’s the sense in getting richer? But what I failed to understand was Gabriel’s need for a challenge. Eventually he met someone who became that challenge.”

  “That sucks.”

  Eric shrugged but then nodded. “At least the young man was stunningly handsome. Somehow that made it almost forgivable. Why, he could have given you a run for your money.”

  “Impossible!” Tim said mockingly. This made Eric laugh, which was good, but he felt bad for the guy. “Sounds really shitty. How long were you together?”

  “Seventeen years. It was a good run. And yes, for the first few years apart, it was shitty, but I’ve made my peace. Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Eric gave a brave smile and tackled his food.

  Tim joined him, considering the similarities of their stories. More than once, Tim had given himself the same pep talks—saying it was for the best that he had split up with Ben, because Tim couldn’t give him what he needed. Ben had surely found his Prince Charming out there, someone who could be as bold and open and as wonderful as Ben was. Someone better.

  Just the thought made his stomach tight. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

  “What?”

  “That you’re happy with how things turned out.”

  “I do,” Eric said firmly. Then his cheeks grew red. “Most of the time. Maybe I’m kidding myself. I mean, I still carry his photo around with me.”

  “Really? Let me see!”

  Eric shook his head ruefully and pulled out his wallet. In the plastic envelop that people usually stuffed with pictures of their kids was a black and white photo folded at the bottom. Eric handed it to Tim, and he discovered it was from one of those novelty photo booths. Unfolding the strip of photos, he saw the same two faces repeating. Eric’s hair was darker, his face tighter. Next to him was a handsome black man with a pencil-thin mustache. Their expressions changed slightly from each photo, all of them happy, except in one where Eric appeared slightly surprised. Tim wondered if that’s the way he looked when finding out about Gabriel’s new lover.

  “You guys made a cute couple,” he said, handing back the photos.

  “Thank you.” Eric carefully folded the strip and returned it to his wallet. “Even though the relationship ended on a sour note, I don’t regret a thing. Do you?”

  “You mean Ben? Absolutely not. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

  Their empty appetizer plates were replaced by an entrée. Tim was happy to see this wasn’t so dainty. A drumstick sat on one side of the plate, poultry of some sort but too big to be chicken. Something like mashed potatoes—which Eric soon identified as a parsnip and truffle purée—accompanied by a side salad with so many ingredients that Tim didn’t think any of them were repeated twice.

  “So,” Eric said between bites, “do you carry a photo of Ben in your wallet?”

  Tim snorted. “Are you kidding? I was way too careful to have something like that. I don’t have a single photo of him anywhere.” He frowned at his plate. “I kind of regret that. His face gets a little fuzzier in my mind every year that goes by. Sometimes I worry I’ll forget it completely.”

  “You won’t,” Eric said. “You may not remember every detail, but most of it stays with you. Have you ever tried looking him up?”

  “No.” Tim shook his head. “What if I found him? Nothing has changed, at least not for me, so I wouldn’t have anything to offer.”

  “Nothing’s stopping you from coming out,” Eric said carefully. “You aren’t living with your parents anymore.”

  Oh, yes. Eric had quite a few things in common with Ben. Tim sunk his teeth into the drumstick. Goose, he guessed as his mouth came alive with heavenly seasonings. How could he ever return to eating normal food again? “It’s not my parents I worry about. At least not as much as I used to.”

  “The fraternity?”

  “Yeah.”

  Eric cocked his head. “Which you joined because—”

  “Because my dad offered me fi
ve hundred bucks if I got in.”

  Eric smiled. “I’ll give you a thousand if you leave.”

  Tim laughed. “I don’t want your money. How is the topic back on me again? Tell me about you. When did you come out?”

  “Ages ago. And just yesterday to you. Coming out is something you never stop doing. You start by telling your friends and family. Then you tell new acquaintances or coworkers who invite you out for a drink. Even the telemarketers who call and ask if my wife is home. You don’t have to tell everyone you meet, of course, but coming out is something that accompanies your entire life.” Eric carefully cut the meat off the bone with his fork and knife. “I’ve known I was gay since I was fifteen. I told my best friend that same year, and have been coming out ever since. When did you first know?”

  “That I was gay?” Tim’s laugh was hollow. “The very moment I broke up with Ben.”

  Eric raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know all those times you slept together?”

  “Well, I wondered, but Ben was always going on about how straight guys experiment and stay straight, but what really makes a person gay is who they love.” Tim took a swig of champagne. “When we broke up, it hurt bad enough that I knew it had to be love.”

  Silence followed this statement, and Tim knew the question Eric wasn’t asking. Once he realized it was love, why didn’t he go back? Tim was glad for the silence because he wasn’t proud of the answer.

  “I think Ben has it half-right,” Eric said eventually. “Who we love is definitely a strong indicator of our preference, but by no means a definitive answer. Have you heard of the Kinsey scale?”

  Tim shook his head.

  “Basically you choose a number from zero to six. Zero means you’re straight. Six means you’re gay. All the numbers in between are the varying degrees. A number one might be a straight guy who experimented as a horny teenager or got a little too drunk one night. Likewise, a five would be someone who mostly identifies as gay, but might have given girls a try while figuring that out. A three, right down the middle, is what we call bisexual.”

  Tim mulled that over, wishing he could have more champagne, but his head was already a little light and he still had to drive them home. “I would be a four, I guess. Honestly, there are probably more girls who catch my eye than guys, but I never connect with them emotionally.”