Gathered Up

by Annabeth Albert

“Whatcha wearing to the thing?”

  “Are you asking because you want to brace yourself for a dress?” Kendall asked as we got out. His words had a bite to them, like someone else had hassled him about what he was wearing.

  “Like you said to me, whatever you’re comfortable in.” I shrugged. “Just was gonna tell you to plan on shoes with a good heel to them. If we’re practicing these lessons with you in those”—I pointed to his boots, which had a two- or three-inch heel to them, at least—“we don’t want y’all showing up in flat shoes, or all the practice will go to waste.”

  Also, not to call Kendall short, but him in flat shoes and me in my dress shoes wasn’t going to work if he was going to lead. And if we did this fund-raiser deal, it would be nice to switch out. I was a bit surprised how much I’d liked taking the lady’s—or rather the follower’s—role. I loved how Chuck called it that. Made it so much simpler. Turned out, I liked to follow. Liked to spin and move and simply not worry about holding everything steady for a few minutes.

  The restaurant was just as I’d figured—low red building with their logo painted on the side. Inside there were exposed wood beams on the ceiling and gleaming hardwoods everywhere else. Like I’d predicted—very hipster sort of retro feel to it. It was late enough that we got a table along the wall easily. Some people next to us were eating what looked like clams with fries on top. To each their own and all that.

  I got an iced tea, and Kendall did the same. We both got the burger and onion rings, mine with cheese, his with a fried egg, because hey, Portland. “I had to teach myself to like tea plain out here,” I confessed.

  “Oh that’s right, you’re from the South?”

  “Alabama. Little town just over the Florida border. And yeah, we drank sweet tea by the gallon.” I laughed as I squeezed my lemon into the tea. “My gran, she’s the heretic who drinks her tea hot. I clown her that they drummed her out of the South, all the way to here.”

  “She lives in Portland?”

  Might as well spread my cards on the table. Wasn’t like I was ashamed of my living situation. “I live with her, actually. She moved out here for a job at PCC, but she’s retired from teaching now.”

  “Ah.” Kendall stirred his tea with his straw. “I live in Southeast. By myself. Bought a condo last year.”

  My back muscles tightened. Why was Kendall showing off that he lived alone, probably in some fancy high-rise? Wasn’t like this was a date and he’d need to signal to me that he had a place with privacy. Wait. Was this a date? We’d done dancing. I’d sure as fuck dressed up for him. Showered too. I didn’t rightly know what this was, and that unsettled me, made me play with my napkin.

  Fuck it. The people next to us kept glancing at Kendall all funny. Hell, this was Portland. Surely they’d seen dudes carrying purses before—no need for them to look him over like he belonged in the elephant house over at the zoo. And I had no idea what side of the store he bought that orange sweater in, but he looked damn smokin’ in it. I gave them Granddad’s best I’m going to the woodshed threat glare. Like Granddad, I had no intention of following up on the threat, but it served its purpose and got them looking back down at their food.

  “It really doesn’t bother you, does it?” Kendall asked.

  I didn’t play dumb. We both knew what I’d been het up about. “Nope. You do you. I like you. Pretty simple if you ask me.”

  “Thanks.” Kendall’s eyes were all soft. “You’ve…uh…had other genderqueer…friends before, I take it?”

  I had to think on my reply a minute, get it straight in my head how to answer him without offending. “There’s a few people who come to meetings at the shelter and all.”

  “But no…close friends? Partners?”

  I snorted at this. “Never had someone worth calling partner. And…no, but not because I was…avoiding it.” God, I hoped I wasn’t making a mess of this. No one, and I meant no one, had ever intrigued me like Kendall. I hadn’t really done much thinking about genderqueer individuals before him, but it wasn’t the label that had my pulse humming—it was him and all the little details that seemed so…right. I needed a longer think on why exactly he did it for me, but our food arrived right then.

  “This is good,” I said after a few bites. The burger had some sort of sauce on it that I wouldn’t have added myself, but it gave it a nice taste, and the meat had a good sear on it. “Nice and hot too.”

  Kendall laughed. “I’d send it back if they sent it out cold.” Something in my face must have given me away because he buttoned up that smile. “Sorry, I…uh…forget that not everyone has access to good food.”

  “Growing up, we had to fend for ourselves a fair bit. Got plenty sick of stuff that didn’t need cooking. And then…” I paused, not sure what to share. Wasn’t like I was ashamed of my history, but it did tend to make others a mite uncomfortable.

  “Yeah?” Kendall’s face was relaxed, not all hard and pushy, more like he’d wait for me to explain, long as it took me to find the words.

  “I was on the streets some, back when I was using. Food was…learned not to get too picky, that’s all. And now, I like my food hot. Fresh, you know?”

  “I get it. That’s why my mom is such a supporter of the shelter and the services they provide. Hot meals can make a difference.”

  I nodded, throat tight. “Saved my life. I don’t have no real money yet to donate, but if dancin’ can help them raise money, well, I’ll do what I can.”

  Kendall reached across the table, squeezed my hand. He wasn’t a real touchy-feely person, so him touching me made my throat even thicker. We sat like that a few moments—quiet, holding hands, his eyes all full of emotion, neither of us needing to speak to communicate.

  When the check came, I said, “Split?” and hauled out my cash, even though I knew Kendall was gonna try to pay. I might not have much, but I pay my own way.

  Kendall studied me as he was considering whether to press the issue, but he took my cash and put it with his card.

  “Mint?” he offered, pulling a little tin out of his purse. They were those ones that taste like flowers, but I took one to be polite.

  Out at the car, I gave him the directions to my place. He gave me a curious kind of look before he put the car in drive, one that warmed me all the way to my toes. I’d grown the beard in part because I was tired of people treating me like I was fifteen, but Kendall’s searching look made me feel all adult.

  We chatted about food on the way to my house, the way you do after a really filling meal, and we kept talking a few minutes after he pulled up next to the curb. I wasn’t in any hurry to say goodnight, and it looked like he wasn’t either.

  “Hey, you’ve got a crumb in your beard.” Kendall leaned in and before I knew it, his face was right there as he plucked whatever off my beard. He didn’t pull back, the way I’d expected him to. Instead his eyes locked on mine, heat arcing between us.

  I had a feeling what he was about, but I didn’t pull away. It had been so long. Eternities. And in a second, I was going to have to utter the words that would make him not want any more moments like this, but I was going to enjoy this one kiss. His lips slid over mine, cool and firm and fleeting.

  “Night,” he whispered.

  “Night,” I whispered, but I was greedy, and leaned in for another kiss, letting him dictate the pace, mimicking his efforts. He traced my lips with his tongue, so I did the same to him, then when he sucked on my lower lip, I gasped, pulling him closer. I kissed like this might be my last kiss. And it might. At the very least, it was our last one, so I put all that longing into the kiss, until we broke apart, both breathing hard.

  “I don’t have a wedding tomorrow night,” Kendall said. “Want to…uh…come over? We could practice—”

  “I can’t,” I said, regret lacing every syllable.

  “Oh, all right.” Kendall straightened his sweater, not meet
ing my eyes. “Some other time, then?”

  “Kendall…” Oh hell. I’d had to say the words before, but they never got any easier. “I’m HIV positive. I should have told you…” But I needed to know what you taste like. I’d needed to know exactly what I couldn’t have. Now I was the one who looked away.

  “We can still dance,” I mumbled when he didn’t say anything. Please don’t take that away from me.

  “Of course we can.” Kendall patted my knee. “Good to know. And you haven’t…dated since?”

  “Not really. I had this friend from my meetings. Jake was positive too. We hooked up a bit, but it…” I shrugged. Jake had been toxic for me, wanting to take care of me, controlling at the exact moment when I had to stand on my own feet. Before Jake, I’d figured that I’d just stick to other poz guys, but after him, avoiding the whole mess of hookups seemed the smartest plan. Staying sober was far more important than getting my rocks off. “Most guys don’t want to get with a poz guy…and the ones who do can be a bit…” I searched for a kind word for weird. “Militant. Easier to just not mess with that stuff.”

  “I can see that.” His usually expressive voice was rather flat.

  “Yeah,” I said tightly. Man, I did not want to be having this conversation, not with Kendall transforming from a potential friend to a social worker interviewing me about my lifestyle and risk factors. “I should be getting in.”

  “Todd.” Kendall stopped me with a hand on my arm. “I really appreciate you telling me. And for what it’s worth, I still would have wanted to kiss you goodnight. Just saying.”

  I nodded, throat feeling like a too-tight wool sweater again. I couldn’t speak, but I wanted to let him know how much it meant, him saying that. I leaned in and brushed a quick kiss across his cheek before I headed out of the car. My eyes burned on the walk up the path to the house. Kendall was sweet, but he’d have a think on this, realize that making out with a formerly homeless, poz addict wasn’t what he wanted from his pretty little life. Which would be for the best, really. At least I’d gotten that one kiss. That and the dancing would carry me awhile. It had to—as much as I liked him, getting involved with Kendall would be a damn risky move, and I’d sworn off big risks for good.

  Chapter 5

  Kendall

  I won’t say that I went home and happily Googled HIV transmission risks based on specific sex acts. No, my mind was much more muddied than skipping ahead merrily to next week’s dancing lesson. I’d left things on what I’d thought was a good note with Todd, but I still had some thinking to do. Also, I had to walk the dog, then check my client messages. Vic had a lead for me on friends of his getting married, so I sent a thank-you, not mentioning that I’d been tangling tongues with his assistant not a half hour ago. Or that I’d learned in the space of a few hours that said assistant happened to be a recovering addict who’d spent time on the streets and was HIV positive. Fuck. Did Vic even know about that?

  He had to, right? Was the bakery taking a risk with an HIV-positive employee? I touched my lips, remembering the taste of Todd. I’d gone a little cold and wooden after he told me. I knew woefully little about HIV risks beyond understanding that most people didn’t die of it anymore, thanks to the new meds which kept viral loads low. I hadn’t had that many partners, and had always used condoms. I got tested at my physical each year and that was that. Or that had been that.

  Rococo in my lap, I settled in on the couch with my tablet, pulling a fleece throw around us. It seemed like a good night for a blanket fort. A quick search showed me that no, the bakery wasn’t taking a risk having him on staff. More searching revealed that kissing him was fine, about as low risk an activity as one could find. And there were plenty of lists of other things we could do. But Google didn’t really have answers to the other questions churning in my gut. The first guy I’d been interested in in months, and he came with a whole grocery cart’s worth of issues. It wasn’t really fair to think like that—Todd had admirably overcome a lot in his life. But I was having a lot of What does this mean for me? questions.

  Bing. My phone chirped with a new message. It was from Todd.

  It’s okay if you don’t want to dance next week.

  I shook my head, getting distance from my pity party. I really could be a selfish prick sometimes. I hadn’t even repeated my invitation for tomorrow night after he told me. And I genuinely liked hanging around the guy—dancing with him was fun, watching him eat was practically pornographic with the pleasure he took from simple food, and talking with him was easy and relaxed. Why on earth would I want to run from that?

  You do you. I like you. Todd’s voice from earlier echoed in my ears as I tried to decide how to word my reply. Todd seemed accepting of me, judgment-free. Maybe he didn’t have the most experience with other genderqueer people, but it had been almost endearing, watching him so carefully trying to navigate my fishing expedition about his history. He so obviously didn’t want to offend me, but I hadn’t exactly repaid the favor when he told me about his status.

  Yeah, I had needed a minute to wrap my head around his diagnosis. However, when it came down to it, I was more worried about the risk he posed to my heart than the risk he posed to my body. Keep it casual and fun, I reminded myself before typing a reply. We could be friends, perhaps with a side of benefits. That would suit me. After Lewis, I didn’t have it in me for anything more serious, but celibacy was damn boring. Maybe Todd was just the middle ground I needed.

  Of course I want to dance! Want to practice before next week—we can push the couch out of the way and practice at my place? And no, I wasn’t offering my place because it would be easier to kiss Todd here. Not at all.

  His reply took a few minutes. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow night. Monday after work?

  It’s a date :) Funny how just typing that calmed the restlessness I’d come home with. I returned to my internet searching, less scattered and more focused on what would happen if I could get Todd to kiss me again.

  * * * *

  We worked it out that Todd would take the bus from the bakery to my neighborhood and then I’d run him home after we ate and practiced dancing. I’d cued up several swing playlists and pushed my couch against the wall, exposing the center of the loft-like space for us to practice in. Rococo kept turning in circles, looking for the missing couch. When I buzzed Todd up, Rococo went nuts trying to get out of my arms to greet him when I opened the door.

  “I should have figured you for a dog person,” Todd said, holding out a hand for Rococo to sniff. “Gran’s got two old bulldog rescues. Your dog probably smells them on me.”

  I wanted to quip that he smelled yummy and that the dog and I had the same taste in men, but Todd seemed wary enough without me making it worse. I set Rococo down and let him and Todd continue to feel each other out.

  “Eat first?” Since I’d had a light schedule that day with a lot of phone calls, I’d offered to cook.

  Todd nodded and held up a sack. “It smells amazing. I brought a loaf of our sourdough.”

  “I’ll put that in to heat up now while I take the roast out.” I loved entertaining and cooking for others, whether it was one person or ten. I’d figured out from our conversation last week that Todd liked classic fare, so I’d cooked a maple and apple cider–glazed pork tenderloin with roasted vegetables while on hold with some vendors.

  Mainly, I just wanted an excuse to watch Todd eat. He admired my vintage table and chairs, admired my dishes—I loved how he noticed things, whether it was my clothes or my place settings—before turning his attention to the food.

  “You made this for me?” His voice was soft as he gestured at the food. I got the impression that he didn’t let many people take care of him—and that not many had tried.

  “It was no trouble. Something to do with my hands while on hold on the phone, really.” I wanted to tell him he was worth a lot more trouble. The way he savored his food with
wide eyes and little happy noises had me wanting to cook for him a lot more. That and I wanted to see what else made him make that pleased expression.

  After dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes. I wasn’t one to leave the sink all week or anything, but I also wasn’t one to spring right up after eating, dishcloth in hand. Todd, however, clearly was, even wiping down my counters and stove while we chatted more. I got him to tell me some cute dance-competition stories. I got the impression his mother had been a major stage mother, and he didn’t sound close to either of his parents, but his whole demeanor changed when he talked about dance.

  “So we had this little neighbor girl who started taking basic ballroom at the place where I took jazz and tap. My mama was best friends with her mama, and they got to talking about how cute we’d be competing together. Turned out we weren’t so bad, so Hailey and I, we did the contests and Disney performances—”

  “Wait. You performed at Disney?”

  “Just a few times. With groups of other kid dancers. It was no big deal.” Todd didn’t look up from the sink.

  “I think it is.”

  “When you’re dancing in the July Florida heat, it’s less than fun, trust me.” Todd washed my roasting pan and handed it to me to dry. “And it was a lot of practice. Same as anything else.”

  “Did you have to miss a lot of school? I follow figure skating and a lot of them end up homeschooled or with a tutor.”

  “Yeah. It was hard too because dance was easy. Math, that I could do, but readin’—man, that was the toughie. It was easier to just focus on the dance. Mama tried the homeschooling thing for a bit.” He made a screwed-up face like that hadn’t gone well. “But then my folks split and everything went to hell.”

  “I’m sorry. My parents divorced when I was so little that I don’t remember my dad.”

  “Relationships are a total crapshoot.” Todd shook his head.

  “On that we can agree.”

  “But you help people get married!” Todd sounded like I was confessing to being the Easter bunny.