A Full Plate

by Kim Fielding

“Carrie’s always been bossy,” Sage said. “When we were little, she ended up in charge of everyone at the kids’ table. She was class president every year too. I’m five years younger, and the teachers were still talking about her when I came along.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Yeah. So, y’know, if she strong-armed you into this, I can figure something else out.”

  Something else like what? Tully wanted to ask. If Sage had to pay Portland-area rent, he wouldn’t have any money left to send home to Hair Shaker. Tully didn’t want to be responsible for ruining the guy’s life.

  “It’s fine. Really. I don’t mind. My place is pretty big.” Then he realized that it wasn’t exactly welcoming to have this conversation while huddled in the foyer, so he led the way into the living room. He waved his free arm. “See? It’s too big for one person, actually.”

  Duffel still over his shoulder, Sage clomped to the windows and whistled when he got there. “Holy cow. Hell of a view.”

  “Carrie and Leah have a good view too.” Their house was perched on stilts, which always made Tully slightly nervous. People kept saying that one of these days a big quake was going to hit the Pacific Northwest. Of course, he didn’t know if his building was any more tremorproof than their house, but at least the high-rise looked substantial.

  Sage was still gazing through the glass. “Yeah. But yours is more close up to city stuff. Up in the hills, sometimes I could almost forget I was in a city. The view’s almost like a painting, you know? It’s real here. I can make out the model of every car going over those bridges.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Dunno.” Sage turned his head to look at Tully, then turned back. “Your apartment’s closer to work. I can walk from here. Saves me gas money. Uh, Carrie said to ask you about parking.”

  “Where are you parked now?”

  “Metered spot down the street.”

  “Well, let’s finish the tour and get you settled before you get a ticket. I have a space downstairs you can use.”

  “It won’t put you out?”

  His condo had originally been two smaller units. Someone had torn down the wall and made one big unit, which meant Tully got double the space, plus double the parking and double the storage in the basement. “No, it’s fine. I have an extra.”

  There was that grin again. “Thanks, man.”

  The condo had three bedrooms. Tully slept in the biggest one. The second one was, at least nominally, an office, although he preferred to work on the living room couch. The office contained a large expensive desk and several bookcases but no bed. That left the third bedroom for Sage. Tully called it the guest room even though no guest had used it yet. It was at the opposite end of the condo from the master bedroom, which was probably good for both privacy and peace.

  “You have your own bathroom,” Tully said as he set the suitcase on the floor beside the bed. “Not much in the way of furniture, though.”

  Sage looked around and shrugged. “All I need is a bed and a place for my clothes. This is great.”

  “Okay, good. Want to see the rest of the place?”

  They almost bumped into each other when they reached the doorway, which led to a slightly awkward shuffle. Sage finally stopped the dance with a hand on Tully’s arm and a wave toward the door. “After you,” he said, smiling.

  “I’m gay.”

  They both gaped in surprise at Tully’s abrupt—and wholly unintentional—announcement. Then Tully winced and broke the silence. “Did Carrie mention that? It’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

  “I didn’t have a problem with Carrie and Leah being gay.”

  “Yeah, but they’re women. I’m, um, not.”

  Sober-faced, Sage shook his head. “We’ve heard of gay men in Hair Shaker. Might even have a few. I don’t think I’ll be too scandalized to function.”

  Tully felt like an asshole for seeming to imply that Sage was too much of a hick to be open-minded. Yet he blundered onward. “I might have guys over sometimes. For sex.” Which was a bit of an exaggeration since he didn’t hook up often, and when he did, he didn’t bring his dates home. And it was also one of the most idiotic declarations he’d ever made.

  The corners of Sage’s mouth twitched. “If you’re planning to do any kinky shit in the middle of the living room, leave a sock on the apartment doorknob and I’ll go away for a couple hours, okay?”

  “I’m not into kinky,” Tully mumbled.

  “Well, all right, then.” Sage sighed. “Look, it’s your home and you’re doing me a huge favor. Your sex life is none of my business. Besides, I work nights, so I’ll probably never be around when you’re… getting busy.”

  Tully nodded, then led them out of the bedroom and down the hall. He quickly showed Sage the office, the master bedroom, the half bath near the living room, and the laundry room. They ended up in the kitchen, where Sage gave another impressed whistle. “You could run a decent little restaurant from here.” He ran a hand over the granite countertop with the same reverence another man might stroke a sports car. “And Gaggenau appliances. Nice.”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “The condo came with them. I don’t really use them.”

  Sage scrutinized him for a moment, then walked over to inspect the cooktop. “Carrie said you don’t cook much.”

  “At all.”

  After glancing at Tully as if asking for permission, Sage opened the refrigerator doors. “Man, you’ve got an eight-thousand-dollar fridge, and it’s empty.”

  “There’s beer,” Tully responded, feeling defensive. “And condiments.”

  “If you consider a bottle of yellow mustard a condiment, yeah.” Sage closed the doors and leaned back against a counter. “Maybe we oughtta be clear on the rules. What you do and don’t want me to do.”

  Terms and conditions. Excellent. Tully was good at those. “Do you want me to write them down? An oral agreement’s usually not used for real estate transactions, but I think we can just—”

  “You can just tell me.”

  “Okay. Um, the bedroom and bathroom are all yours. Treat the rest of the condo as your home too, except my bedroom. I’ll get you a key and make sure the concierges know you live here. We’ll arrange parking. Oh, and there’s an access code for the gym and pool. Remind me to get that to you.”

  “Pool?” Sage asked with a slight shake of his head.

  “Yeah. It’s next to the gym. I think they keep the chlorine levels a little too high, but goggles can help if you’re sensitive.”

  “Not much of a swimmer. But what do you want from me?” Sage sounded wary, as if he thought Tully might expect something unreasonable.

  “I don’t know. Um, keep the noise down late at night. Maybe warn me if a girlfriend’s going to spend the night.”

  Sage snorted. “No worries about that. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  Tully shrugged. “Maybe you’ll find one. You’re a good-looking guy.” Oops. He hadn’t meant to say that. He forced a chuckle, as if he’d been making a joke, but Sage clearly didn’t buy it. He gave Tully a long considering look before glancing away.

  “How do you want me to earn my keep?” Sage asked.

  “You could do some light cleaning, I guess. I have a maid service, but they’re just once a month.”

  “I can do that. Doesn’t look like you need it much, though.”

  This time Tully’s laugh was genuine. “I’m a little neater than Carrie and Leah. But things still get dusty.”

  “Got it. I’m your houseboy. You want me to cook too? That was supposed to be my deal with Carrie.”

  “You wouldn’t mind? I mean, you cook at work, and—”

  “I don’t mind. It’s what I love. Besides, I’m kinda jonesing to be set loose in your kitchen. I want to see what these babies can do.” He patted the stovetop fondly.

  “Then it’s all yours.”

  Sage looked delighted. “Perfect. I’ll usually be at wor
k when you want to eat, so I’ll make meals ahead of time and give you instructions how to heat them. Won’t be as good as freshly made, but I guess it’s an improvement on yellow mustard and beer.” He squinted at Tully. “You do know how to work the oven and microwave, right?”

  “I can manage.” The idea of having a home-cooked meal waiting for him at night was unexpectedly appealing. “How do you want to handle grocery shopping?”

  It was Sage’s turn to laugh. “I think I’d better do that. Split the costs with me?”

  “Done. But, um, I don’t have much in the way of… utensils.”

  After raising his eyebrows, Sage started opening cupboards and peering inside. Judging from his groans, he wasn’t pleased with what he found—mostly a lot of empty space. “I’m not gonna be able to do much with this,” he said forlornly, a small frying pan in his hand.

  “Give me a list of what you need, and I’ll order it,” Tully said. “At my expense,” he added when Sage looked hesitant.

  “How much expense?”

  “Whatever you think is necessary. Look, I’m probably going to save a fortune on restaurant and takeout bills, so….” He shrugged. The truth was, he’d rarely thought about money since his father died. If Tully wanted something, he could afford it.

  Sage nodded, put the pan away, and closed the cupboard. “I’ll get you a list. And then I can start cooking.” He frowned. “You eat meat, right?”

  Their earlier discussion about sex replayed in Tully’s head, and he blushed. Maybe Sage noticed, or maybe he remembered the conversation too, because he laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “I’ll eat anything but poppy seeds. Really allergic to those.” He’d learned that the hard way during breakfast one morning—a nasty case of hives and a visit from some EMTs who’d saved him from complete anaphylaxis. Tully had never had the courage to visit that bagel shop again.

  “I can work with that restriction,” Sage said.

  Things felt awkward again—two strangers standing in a kitchen, surrounded by gleaming granite and stainless steel, the fridge humming softly in the background. Tully cleared his throat. “We’d better get you settled before you get a parking ticket.”

  As it turned out, the details didn’t take long. Su-ji gave Tully a short form to fill out so the building managers would know that Sage was officially a resident. Then Tully showed him the gym and pool, which didn’t seem to interest Sage much, and the parking space, which did.

  “Old Bessie’s gonna get spoiled,” he said.

  “Who?”

  Sage colored slightly. “My truck. The name’s a joke that stuck. I’ve always kept her outdoors.” He looked around at the other vehicles in the garage. Lots of luxury cars, some sports models, several fancy SUVs. Tully’s red Tesla was in the space next to Sage’s; an electrical outlet to charge the battery was one of the perks the building provided.

  “Are you sure it’s okay if I park Bessie here? She’s not… fancy.”

  “I don’t think we’ve instituted a dress code for the cars. Go ahead.”

  After they were back upstairs, Tully reinstalled himself on the couch and returned to COBRA requirements. Sage spent some time in his bedroom, most likely unpacking, and then poked around in the kitchen for some time. He wasn’t noisy, but Tully heard the soft thump of the cupboards and the slight rattle of cookware. The sounds distracted him, but he wasn’t annoyed. In fact it was weirdly comforting to have someone else in his home.

  Eventually Sage crept into the living room, a paper clutched in one hand. “Okay if I interrupt?”

  Tully set the laptop aside and stretched without standing up. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I don’t want to bug you.”

  “Bug away.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna shower and then head to work, but I wanted to get this to you first.” He walked closer and held out the paper. “The shopping list.”

  Tully took it and glanced at the entries, few of which made sense to him. “It’s a long list.”

  “Yeah.” Sage rubbed the back of his neck and looked as if he wanted to take the paper back. Then he shifted from one foot to the other. “I figure you’ve got the dough to afford it all, but if you don’t want—”

  “It’s not the money. It’s just… a lot of items.”

  “Aside from the large appliances, the only decent thing you’ve got in your kitchen right now is that espresso machine. That monster’s worth more than Old Bessie.”

  “I, uh, like good coffee.” And the salesman with the Italian accent had been cute, so Tully had let him talk him into the most expensive machine in stock.

  “Sure. And you need the right things to make it—quality ingredients and decent equipment. Same goes for food. I mean, give me a campfire and a flat rock and I could make you something edible. But if you want me to do my best in your kitchen, I’m gonna need more to work with.”

  That made sense. Besides, Tully was curious about what some of the items on the list were and what the hell Sage planned to do with them. Wasn’t a mandoline some kind of musical instrument? And bain-marie? That sounded like the name of a French supermodel.

  “Do you think I can find these things online?” Tully asked.

  “Yeah. Just make sure you get exactly what I wrote there.”

  “No extemporizing or creative license. Got it.”

  Sage gifted him with a smile before heading to his room. Tully picked up his laptop, opened the browser, and began shopping for rice steamers.

  Chapter Three

  TULLY stayed up late drafting a memorandum on the applicable COBRA regulations, but when he went to bed, Sage still hadn’t returned from work. When Tully woke up Sunday morning, Sage’s door was closed, but there was no other sign of him. Asleep, most likely. Well, he hadn’t awakened Tully when he got home, and that was good.

  Yawning and scratching his belly, Tully padded into the kitchen in search of caffeine. What he found was a Post-it Note affixed to the espresso machine. Look in fridge read the scrawl Tully recognized from the previous day’s shopping list. A smile played on his lips as he followed instructions. On the otherwise bare center shelf of the refrigerator was a bowl topped with foil and another yellow sticky note. Take off foil. Nuke 30 seconds. Stir. Nuke 15 sec.

  He couldn’t identify the contents of the bowl. Something eggy, he thought, but laden with chunks of sausage and bits of mysterious green stuff. He was skeptical, yet he set the bowl in the microwave and, as the food heated, pressed the buttons for his espresso. Less than two minutes later, he leaned back against the kitchen counter and tentatively spooned a taste into his mouth.

  “Holy shit!” The concoction was spicy enough to burn his tongue and clear his sinuses, but that wasn’t why he exclaimed. It was good. Complex and surprising, with a lot of zing and yet the homeyness of comfort food. Tully couldn’t begin to identify most of the ingredients, but that didn’t matter. He shoveled it into his gullet, his espresso cooling on the countertop behind him. Soon he was looking into an empty bowl, disappointed there wasn’t more.

  After downing the espresso, he washed the dishes and put them away. Then he found a pen and printed a few words on the bottom of the second sticky note: Amazing. Thank you. He left the note on the counter. And then, feeling happier than he had in weeks, he headed for a shower.

  A FEW hours later, he had just shut the front door and was looking around in bemusement when Sage emerged from his room with tousled hair and a pillow crease on his cheek. He wore a pair of baggy sweatpants and a ratty gray T-shirt. He stopped short when he saw the chaos surrounding Tully.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Some of the things on your shopping list.” Tully shrugged. “The rest will arrive in the next couple days.”

  “But it’s Sunday.”

  “A day to be thankful for next-day delivery, amen.”

  Together they lugged the boxes into the kitchen and unpacked them. It was fun, like Christmas when Tully was a kid, only instead of gaming systems an
d remote-control vehicles, he was unwrapping a dizzying array of pots, pans, and utensils. Sage seemed to be enjoying himself too, laughing at Tully’s bewilderment and lovingly petting his new toys. With permission from Tully, Sage decided where to store everything.

  “I’m gonna go grocery shopping as soon as I’m dressed. Can’t wait to break this stuff in. I’ve never had this much new stuff to play with all at once.” He snorted softly. “And I never will again. I’m sure not gonna be able to lay out this kind of cash in one shot.”

  Tully remembered suddenly why Sage had left Hair Shaker to begin with—because his family needed money—and Tully felt like an asshole for flaunting his wealth. Sure, it was Sage who’d told him to buy all this crap to begin with, but Tully hadn’t been required to buy it all at once. With overnight shipping, for God’s sake.

  “Sorry,” Tully muttered as he began to dump shipping materials into the biggest box. He was going to have to make several trips down to the recycling bins in the basement.

  Sage followed his lead but looked puzzled. “Sorry for what?”

  “Showing off.”

  His brow furrowed, Sage dropped a handful of inflated packing bubbles into the box. “Showing off what?”

  Most of the people Tully had grown up with had never thought much about their wealth. Private schools, European vacations, expensive clothes. Penthouses and nannies and housekeepers, oh my. They were used to all that, and Tully hadn’t been any different. He’d lived in New York City, after all, which meant there was always somebody even wealthier than him. But then, home on Thanksgiving break during his first year of law school, he’d finally had a showdown with his father. A showdown Tully had lost—along with his means of support. He’d become very aware of money after that, and of what it felt like not having any. And although he no longer had to worry about it since the inheritance, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to forget what a struggle an empty pocket could be.

  Instead of answering Sage’s question, Tully sped up his cleaning efforts. “I have work to do,” he said abruptly.

  “On a Sunday?”