by Dan Wingreen
“No.”
“But you just said—”
“I said I’m his friend, which means I’m not spying on him or whatever you were about to ask me to do,” Tim said with more than a vague air of disapproval.
“I wasn’t—”
Tim raised an eyebrow, and the air of disapproval thickened into smog.
“Okay, no, you know what? You look way too much like my dad right now. Forget it.”
Silence fell once again, and still, neither one of them made any move to leave. It made no sense because Tim couldn’t possibly want to hold a conversation with him. And Spencer…
Honestly, he had no idea why he hadn’t already fled.
“What do you want?” Spencer asked, trying as hard as he could to ignore the plaintive edge in his voice.
Tim seemed slightly thrown for a moment before visibly collecting himself. “I want you to be able to stand next to me for five minutes without looking like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
Spencer blinked. “Why?”
Tim sighed. “Because whether you like it or not, I’m in Connor’s life, and the last thing he needs is two of the only people he has being uncomfortable with each other. Eventually, he’ll feel the need to take sides, and trust me when I say nothing good will come from that.”
Spencer could feel himself deflate. If there was a list of reasons for him to willingly put up with uncomfortable social situations, “because it’s good for Connor” would be right at the top. It wouldn’t be fun, and there was probably a good chance Spencer was going to either embarrass himself for a second time or screw up so bad Tim never wanted to see Connor again, but he’d try.
“Fine,” he said.
“Oh.” Tim seemed surprised at Spencer’s easy acquiescence. “Well…good.” His surprise quickly melted into a cheerful smile. “Do you have any shopping left to do?”
“I…” Spencer didn’t need to pull out his list to know there were at least ten other things not crossed off under Lucky Charms, but he did anyway. Maybe everything else he needed would have taken pity on him while he struggled against the shelf and magically transported themselves into his cart and crossed themselves off his list.
Spoilers, they hadn’t.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because,” Tim said, still with the cheer. It was slightly disturbing. “If we’re gonna get comfortable, we should start by getting to know each other. What better way to do that than finishing up our shopping together?”
*
Tim, what the hell are you doing?
He’d lost count of how many times he’d asked himself the same question over the last fifteen minutes. Ever since the adorable little guy in skinny jeans and a cardigan cussing out a box of Lucky Charms turned out to be Spencer Kent, it was like all Tim’s better judgment and reservation had taken a back seat to…something else. It wasn’t that he’d been desperate to meet Spencer again. Far from it, actually. He’d been almost dreading his second hangout with Connor because he had absolutely no idea if he could deal with being around Spencer. The man was a distracting dichotomy, and the last thing he needed was to be thrown off his game again. Especially since, somehow, Dick had gotten wind of their altercation and had kind-of-but-not-really scolded him for getting into it with his ex-wife’s good friend. So yeah, when Connor showed up for their second meet-up time alone, he was more than a little relieved. And when he came back again without Spencer, Tim had finally let himself relax and fully fall into his Big Brother role.
The problems didn’t start until their fourth or fifth time hanging out together. It wasn’t even anything big: just a story Connor had told about his dad in college dressing up like Princess Jasmine for Halloween to complement his six-year-old son’s Aladdin. Tim had laughed at the mental image and then, without even thinking, admitted he would have loved to have seen that. He didn’t mean it in a “I’d like to see a guy dressed like a Disney princess” way. Tim had always had a special place in his heart for good parents (and Spencer had been doing it since he was a teenager; how could Tim not be in complete awe of that?), and a dad willing to risk humiliating himself just to make his son happy was a moment he would have wanted to be around for. Connor had most definitely taken his statement the other way, though, which led to about ten minutes of him going on about how gross Tim was for lusting after his dad, and Tim very clearly trying to explain that wasn’t the case at all. He’d eventually convinced Connor, but before he could be relieved the conversation was over and done with, Connor had said something that stuck with Tim well after he’d gone home for the day.
“It’s a good thing you don’t like him that way because he never wants to be in the same room with you again anyway.”
No matter how often that sentence rattled around in Tim’s head over the next several days, he hadn’t been able to figure out why it bothered him so much. At first, he thought it might be because, out of the two of them, Tim was the one who’d been wronged, and if anyone should be avoiding anyone, it was him. It wasn’t until a week later, and a few more absently dropped bits of information about Spencer, that Tim finally realized why his chest felt tight every time he thought of the other man wanting nothing to do with him.
Despite his insulting lack of tact, Spencer Kent was exactly the kind of person Tim admired. He was protective, loyal, and above all, a great father who loved his son—the exact opposite of Rudy, Professor Carmichael, and pretty much everyone else he’d known in college. Tim had been so beaten down by the worst in people he’d been starting to think the best didn’t exist outside of fiction. It might have been overly dramatic to say Connor’s stories about Spencer reignited his faith in humanity. But only a little. And it hurt that someone like Spencer didn’t even want to look at him.
Tim had been, maybe, more relieved than he should have been when Connor told him Spencer was avoiding him out of embarrassment. So, when the cute guy in the grocery store turned out to be Spencer, Tim realized this was his chance. His chance for what, he had no idea; all he knew was he didn’t want Spencer walking away from him again. Not when there was a chance of getting to know him better.
Unfortunately, once Tim managed to get Spencer to stick around, he immediately ran out of things to say. The wheels of his shopping cart squeaked like tittering, mocking laughter as he followed an equally silent Spencer through the grocery store. Tim desperately tried to think of something to talk about.
“So, what’s your favorite color?” Spencer asked suddenly.
Tim started in surprise. “What?”
“What?” Spencer hunched defensively over his cart. “You’re the one who said we should get comfortable with each other. Isn’t this how people break the ice or whatever?”
“No, it is,” he said quickly. “I just…didn’t expect you to ask that. I figured you’d ask me something about Connor if anything.”
“I think I know my son better than you,” Spencer snapped.
Tim blinked. “I never—”
“I know, I know!” Spencer crossed his arms on top of the cart handle, dropped his head into them, and groaned. “I’m being a huge asshole. Again. I’m sorry.”
Tim chewed the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit he’d picked up during the last few months of college he’d never been able to successfully ween himself off of. He knew he should probably be insulted, but all he felt was a kind of distant ache like an overworked muscle right before it locked up.
“Is it…because of me?”
Spencer turned his head enough so one eye was visible. “Am I an asshole because of you? No. I’m an asshole because I’m an asshole.”
Tim felt unaccountably relieved. “That’s not what Connor says.”
“Connor says I’m an asshole because of you?”
A surprised laugh forced its way out of Tim’s throat. “No, he says you’re not an asshole at all.”
Spencer lifted his head and shot Tim a look of skepticism so sharp it could have cut glass.
“I swear to God.�
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Spencer shook his head. “Connor’s been around me his whole life. Kid’s fucking inoculated to my asshole-ness. Doesn’t mean it’s not there. You of all people should know that.” Despite the wry humor in Spencer’s voice, Tim noticed a brief flicker of sadness pass across his face. Before Tim could even be sure he saw it, Spencer pushed himself up and started walking. “Come on. Groceries aren’t gonna put themselves in the cart.”
Tim quickly followed, once again bringing his cart alongside Spencer, who was paying a suspicious amount of attention to his shopping list.
“Do you need anything, by the way?”
At least he’s still talking.
“Eggs,” Tim said.
Without slowing down Spencer angled his cart toward the eggs, picked up a carton, and handed them to Tim.
“Um. Thanks.” He desperately tried to think of something else to say. “You…seem to know your way around?”
Spencer gave him an odd glance. “I’ve been shopping here for years, so…”
“Right.” If this is the best you can do, you deserve to have him avoid you. “It’s my first time. In this store, I mean. Not grocery shopping. I’ve done that a lot.”
Another strange expression. This one almost included eye contact. Tim had no idea if that was a good thing or not. “So, what are you doing here?” Spencer grimaced. “Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t be, or anything.”
“My old store closed; this one was the next closest.”
Which, now that Tim thought about it, probably meant they didn’t live too far away from each other. Huh.
He wondered if Spencer would realize that too and comment, but all he did was hum and nod. “Come on, I need bread.”
The next five minutes were filled with talking, which was a nice contrast to the earlier silence, but not one word passed between them that wasn’t about shopping or food. Tim bit back a sigh of frustration. He could feel time slipping through his fingers like grains of sand, and even though he’d never been particularly superstitious, he had the sudden strange feeling that if he and Spencer didn’t make some kind of deeper connection today, then they would never see each other again. Tim could see almost no trace in this Spencer of the man he’d met all those weeks ago, and definitely no trace at all of the man Connor spoke of and who Tim desperately wanted to know. The thought of never seeing either of them again disturbed him in a way Tim couldn’t have defined if he had a gun to his head. He needed to think of something.
“My favorite color is maroon,” Tim said, interrupting what seemed to be a stream of consciousness about the price of milk.
Spencer halted midsentence and gave him another strange glance.
“You asked what my favorite color was,” Tim said, trying not to feel defensive.
“I know,” Spencer said slowly. He stared at Tim for a long time before finally giving him a one-shouldered shrug. “You don’t seem like the type though.”
“The type to…like maroon?”
Spencer shrugged again and nodded. “Yeah. People who like maroon are supposed to be likeable and generous because of harsh experience. It’s usually the favorite color of people who have been battered by life but came through stronger and more mature. You’ve got the likeable and generous part, but I can’t imagine you being battered by life. You’re…I dunno. Too…something. You don’t have any hard edges.”
Tim stopped dead in the middle of aisle six.
“…battered by life but came through stronger and more mature.”
“…likeable and generous because of harsh experience.”
Spencer’s words hit him with the force of a hurricane. After college, Tim had purposefully avoided deep introspection whenever possible, but if he had tried forcing his feelings into easily digestible shapes—
Battered by life…. Harsh experience…
—he probably couldn’t have done a better job.
Although, Spencer had been wrong about one thing. Tim had plenty of hard edges. They were just all turned inward.
I don’t want to think about this. I’m not ready for…
Tim forced himself to start pushing his cart, desperately hoping Spencer hadn’t noticed anything strange.
Judging by the return of the silence, it was probably too much to hope for.
“Sorry,” Spencer said a moment later, grimacing. “That’s probably weird to say, right?”
I feel like you just looked into my soul. Weird…isn’t the word I’d pick.
“No,” Tim forced himself to say. “It’s okay. I…” Have no idea how to finish that thought. “Where did that come from though? The color thing? Did you make it up?”
Spencer cleared his throat and turned away. “Uh, no. It’s uh…the internet. My friend Cass sent me a bunch of websites full of this new-age crap and…I dunno. The part about what your favorite colors say about you kinda stuck with me, I guess.”
“Was your favorite color accurate?” Tim barely stopped himself before he could add a too to the end of that question.
Spencer huffed out a laugh and rubbed the back of his head. “Sort of.”
When it became obvious he wasn’t going to elaborate further, Tim asked, “So, what’s your favorite color, then?”
Instead of answering, Spencer pulled at the fabric of his dark purple cardigan and wiggled one purple sneaker midstep.
“Purple?” Tim asked.
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
Spencer grimaced again, and because Tim really didn’t want another apology or explanation for something he really wasn’t bothered by, he steamrolled on before the other man could open his mouth.
“Is that a purple thing?”
“What?”
“When you say stuff like that. Stuff you seem to regret right away.”
“You mean when I’m a tactless piece of shit? No. That’s more of a brown thing, actually.”
“You’re not a piece of shit,” Tim said, frowning.
“You don’t know me,” Spencer said. “And considering how I’ve been every single time we’ve talked to each other, you should probably think the exact opposite.”
“Well, I don’t,” Tim said. “I think you’re…”
Everything that could have come out of his mouth, every bit of Spencer he admired and wanted to surround himself with, all seemed to catch in his throat like a logjam. God, how could he even finish that sentence without sounding insane?
“Stop doing that.”
Tim blinked. “What am I doing?”
“I…don’t know.” Spencer hesitated, then glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them. “But I can make a guess. I have no idea what the kid’s been telling you about me, but you seem to have ideas about who I am, and it’s kind of pissing me off.”
“You’re mad because I don’t think you’re a piece of shit?”
“I’m mad because you seem to think you know anything about me. You don’t. You have no idea who I am, or what I think, or why I do or say the things I do. Every time I look at you, I can see you putting me into this box in your head that’s neatly labeled with whatever you think I am.”
Tim considered pointing out that Spencer had done the exact same thing to him not even five minutes ago—and accurate or not, he’d been basing his assumptions on what color Tim liked—but doing so ran the risk of turning the conversation toward subjects Tim wasn’t at all ready to talk about. Before he could think of anything to say, Spencer took a deep breath.
“Look. I’m willing to get along with you for Connor’s sake. That’s totally a thing that should happen. But it’s not gonna work if you ignore the things about me that suck and only look for the things you wanna see, okay?”
Tim thought for a moment. Hypocrisy aside, Spencer wasn’t completely wrong. If they really were going to get to know each other, Tim needed to get to know all of Spencer.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “but only if you stop apologizing and acting like I’m gonna kick you every time you say something that
‘sucks.’”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Spencer broke eye contact. “Yeah, okay. Maybe I am.”
Tim smiled. “You really don’t need to.”
“Whatever.”
“Nothing you’ve said was really that bad. Well, except for the first thing we said we weren’t mentioning anymore, but even that was more of a wrong place wrong time—”
“Okay! You’ve made your point.”
Spencer had never seemed more like his son than he did then, with his lips pressed together and the poutiest frown Tim had ever seen on an adult fixed on his cart. Tim felt his smile widen.
I’m enjoying myself. I’m having fun with another adult. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
He could see now he’d been trying too hard, earlier. Understandable, in hindsight, because almost every single interpersonal relationship he’d had for the last year had been some kind of struggle. He’d gone into this thing with Spencer expecting it to be a war. And that was the exact wrong way to start a friendship.
Friends… Yeah. That’s what I want. Being friends with Spencer. Having a friend, like I said to Connor, except my age. Someone who isn’t attached to a preexisting group of people. Someone who’s just mine. That sounds…amazing.
Tim grinned. “You could even make eye contact with me from time to time,” he said, almost laughing out loud at the sheer joy of teasing someone just to see them react. Of being able to act like a friend without wondering which one of the things he said was going to set Rudy off, accidentally encourage Professor Carmichael’s advances, or upset his mother. “Ask me questions, share an opinion that isn’t about food, or, you know, you could say anything that isn’t about food—”
“You could go fuck yourself. That’s another thing that could happen.”
Then, Spencer glanced at him, then, out of the corner of his eye. Not apologetic, thank God, but…tentative. Watchful. Tim made sure his smile didn’t slip so much as a millimeter.
A minute later, Spencer smiled too. It was barely anything, little more than a soft small upturn of his lips. But it was a smile Tim had caused, aimed directly at him.
