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by E. J. Russell

  A Charger. A white Charger.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

  He marched up the slate path, which was overgrown with scraggly grass, and climbed the steps to a wide porch, its deck a weathered gray. A swing at one end was rocking a bit as if someone had gotten up a few minutes before Gideon arrived.

  Gideon knocked, peering through the fan light near the top of the door. He didn’t hear anything, so he knocked again.

  A woman in faded medical scrubs answered the door, her graying hair pulled back in a loose knot. Her eyes were sad and tired, and Gideon suddenly felt like a total jerk. “May I help you?”

  “Um, hi. I’m Gideon Wallace. Lindsay’s roommate?”

  She smiled, though it was clearly a struggle. This woman was obviously Lindsay’s mother: polite and gracious, no matter what. “I’m afraid Lindsay isn’t here right now.”

  “Yes, I know. Actually, I was looking for Alex.”

  “Oh.” She glanced to the side. “I don’t think . . .” Facing him once more, she brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Please come in.”

  Gideon stepped inside, feeling as welcome as the Mongol hordes at the Great Wall of China. Maybe calling before intruding would have been a better plan. Instead, he’d let his inner insecure diva take over, the one who really hoped Alex hadn’t changed his mind.

  Toshiko’s words came back to him. “One must be of the correct temperament and in the proper mood to withstand the experience.” Could Alex’s absence have been on purpose? For the first time since Mark, had a guy dumped him before he had a chance to walk away? Oh God. Shoe, meet other foot.

  He had a sudden impulse to flee the house, leap off the porch and run back to his car, but Mrs. Henning had already shut the door.

  “Won’t you have a seat?”

  “No. It’s fine. I’ll just stand.” And attempt to sink through your lovely hardwood floor.

  For a house that was obviously a long-time home, it was remarkably free of bric-a-brac, the dining table clear of centerpieces, the wide mantelpiece empty, the shelves on either side of the fieldstone fireplace bare except for books. No photographs in silver frames. No vases or tchotchkes.

  The crash of breaking glass from further inside the house made Gideon jump. Lindsay’s mother flinched, her hand rising to her mouth, and took a step toward a dim hallway next to the fireplace. Voices rose, one of them Alex’s. What had he walked in on? Maybe it wasn’t too late to bail.

  “Alex? Honey? Is everything okay?”

  “Just a broken glass, Mom. Could you bring the broom, please? Dad. No. Cut it out. You need to sit down. This glass’ll slice right through your house slippers. Come on, now, man. Back you go.”

  Gideon cleared his throat, his flight reflex kicking in big-time. “Is your husband ill? That nasty flu that’s been going around? Lindsay never said anything.”

  “No. No, not the flu. But he . . .” She swallowed and pressed the heel of her hand against one eye. “He’s not himself.”

  She hurried through the dining room, and Gideon trailed after her, not wanting to face Alex just yet. He didn’t quite have the balls to follow her when she vanished into the kitchen, but she returned quickly, broom in hand, casting a startled glance at Gideon, as if she’d already forgotten his presence.

  Alex emerged from the hallway, his arm around the shoulders of a stoop-shouldered elderly man who barely came up to his chin. “C’mon. Let’s get you settled out here while I clean up that glass.”

  “I didn’t mean to knock it over. Don’t know why I’m so blasted clumsy today.”

  “It’s okay. It was an accident. But you shouldn’t be walking around in there in those slippers.”

  The man, who must be Mr. Henning, pushed Alex’s arm away irritably. “Durn fairy-tinkle doodads. Wouldn’t be a problem in my work boots. Can’t find the dad-burned things today. Have you seen them, Hank?”

  Alex’s shoulders slumped. “No. Sorry. I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

  His dad patted him on the shoulder. “Good man. I’ll be sure and mention you to the boss.”

  Gideon backed away until he ran into a cherrywood hutch, its corner banging his hip. God. Alex’s father was . . . Lindsay’s father was . . . How had he not known this? Why hadn’t he asked? A familiar stroke of panic crawled down his spine, the same one he fought when he forgot the hex code for cerulean blue or couldn’t debug an arcane JavaScript function or couldn’t remember the UNIX equivalent for DOS commands. When I forget the things that make me who I am.

  Alex’s father looked up from arranging himself on a worn, blue sofa and saw Gideon lurking in the shadows of the dining room. “Say. Who’s the new guy?” Alex’s head whipped around, and he met Gideon’s gaze. Something flickered across that broad face, but Gideon couldn’t tell if it was regret or fear or anger.

  Alex took a step forward, but his father tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t want to judge,” he said, in what he probably imagined was a low voice, “but he seems a little, you know, light in the loafers.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gideon blurted. “I shouldn’t have intruded. I’ll go. You have things to . . . things to . . .” He sidled across the living room, attention riveted to Alex’s bleak expression. He bumped into the door and fumbled for the doorknob. He tossed a smile at Mrs. Henning. “It was nice to finally meet you.”

  He closed the door behind him and ran down the walk, stumbling over the cracked concrete. Behind him, he heard the door open and Alex call his name, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

  He got in his car without a backward glance and fled like the coward he’d always been.

  Alex hid his anger and disappointment while he got his dad settled again—with a plastic cup this time. First thing tomorrow, hide the glasses.

  Damn it. Why couldn’t Gideon have waited? Because he’s Gideon, dumb-shit. He doesn’t do delayed gratification. He was all about getting it done. It was one of the things that Alex had appreciated about him, from the sparse details Lin had let slip over the years: he was direct and to the point, out and proud, hiding nothing.

  Could he understand why Alex had wanted to hide this particular thing? Despite Gideon’s brash manner, Lindsay had always sworn he had a soft heart. Alex had hoped he’d be able to understand, maybe sympathize a little, once Alex worked up the courage to tell him the truth. If Gideon pulled a fade like Lindsay’s asshole fiancé, it would kill her.

  Yeah, and what would it do to you, nimrod?

  Okay, then. He’d take a page out of Gideon’s playbook and face this head-on, even if it meant tagging DOA on his hopes for something more with the guy he’d been crushing on forever.

  As soon as his dad was dozing in his recliner, Alex jumped in his car and headed over to the Pettygrove house. Gideon’s ridiculous MINI Cooper was parked in the driveway. He’s home. Is that a good or bad thing? Guess I’ll find out.

  Alex took shameless advantage of his landlord’s privilege and let himself in the front door, taking the stairs to the second-floor apartment two at a time.

  “Gideon.” He pounded on the door. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”

  No answer, not even a telltale scuff of one of those fancy loafers that his dad had zeroed right in on.

  He pounded again. Nothing. But the first-floor door flew open, and Landon stalked into the vestibule, his white chef’s tunic unbuttoned. He propped his fists on his hips and glared up at Alex. “There goes the fucking neighborhood.”

  Alex heaved a sigh and stepped away from Gideon’s door. If he broke it, he’d have to fix it himself anyway, and he already had enough on his to-do list. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Did my time on the lunch shift. I was counting on a little peace and quiet.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “Are you crazy? Peace and quiet is boring as hell. Get down here and give me the deets on why you’ve gone battering ram on your sister’s apartment.”

  Alex glanced at the door. “It�
��s . . . uh . . . complicated.”

  Landon pursed his lips in that pseudo-duck-face, like every idiot’s selfie, and cocked an eyebrow. “So. Not here for Lin, huh? Well, well, well. I’ll lay odds your guy—”

  “He’s not my guy.” Yet. Might never be.

  Landon rolled his eyes. “Fine. The guy hasn’t eaten, I’ll bet, and neither have you. I’ve got a killer gumbo on my miserable excuse for a stove. Trade you the story for the stew. Then you can arrive bearing gifts instead of a piss-poor attitude and knuckles full of splinters.”

  Alex glanced at the door. There was no sound from behind it yet. Would Landon’s bribe work? Oh hell yeah. Gideon might be a high-end geek, but he was still a geek, and no geek ever turned down free food.

  Geekspeak: Look and Feel

  Definition: How the combination of the visual design and behavior of a user interface contribute to its esthetics, ease of use, and user satisfaction.

  Gideon huddled on the sofa as the daylight faded, until the living room was lit only by the yellow glow of the streetlight outside the bay window.

  Alex had given up on him and walked away. Of course he did, idiot. You didn’t answer the door. Gideon sniffed, hugging one of Lindsay’s needlepoint throw pillows and trying to channel a little of his usual what-the-hell-ever attitude, but he couldn’t muster up the energy for a decent diva fit.

  His heart squeezed like a miser’s fist at the thought of what Lindsay had been hiding from them, at what Alex and his mother had been enduring, probably for years. But it was Alex’s dad that he empathized with most. Did poor Mr. Henning know what was happening? What he’d lost? Or was he content as his world contracted around him?

  It’s like the picture in the gallery, like “Flowers for Algernon.” Mr. Henning is living my nightmare, with everything about him that made him himself slipping away, beyond his control.

  “Get over yourself, Wallace. You’re not the injured party here,” Gideon muttered. He’d been a total asshole, running away, adding stress to what must already be an unbearable situation for the Hennings, all because he couldn’t face his own fear.

  It took him several seconds to realize the thumps vibrating his bones weren’t the beat of his blood in his ears. Someone considerably heavier than Charlie or Lindsay was climbing the stairs.

  Alex.

  God, another chance. A de–douche bag do over.

  He didn’t stop to wonder about why it mattered this time, when with any of his other hookups, he’d have let it go and danced a victory jig around the living room. He launched himself off the sofa and flung open the door before another of those hammer-handed knocks had a chance to fall.

  “Hi.” God, he sounded like he’d just sprinted across the apartment—because, you know, he had.

  Alex’s fist dropped from knock position. He held a covered ceramic tureen in his other hand, which was encased in a red-and-white-striped oven mitt.

  “Hey. Don’t slam the door. I’ve got food.” Alex lifted the lid and released the aroma of seafood and spices and sausage. None of those incredible—and identifiable—scents had been present in Alex’s house earlier.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Your downstairs neighbor. Gonna let me in?”

  Gideon stood aside and waved Alex inside. “Is that a landlord’s perk? You get to raid your tenants’ kitchens at will?”

  “Only if they’ve been your best friend since you were six. Did I mention”—Alex set the tureen on the breakfast bar and stripped off the mega-mitt—“he’s the executive chef and one of the owners of Double Down?”

  “So that’s why we had no trouble getting a table.”

  “Money and a fancy address aren’t everything. Sometimes it pays to know the people who do the work.” Alex removed the lid, and Gideon’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

  “God, that smells amazing.”

  “Yeah.” Alex inhaled deeply. “I think he makes this shit with lobster stock. And real Louisiana sausage.”

  “Andouille.”

  “And do what?”

  “It’s the name of the—”

  “You think I don’t know sausage?” Alex cocked an eyebrow.

  “Uh . . .” Gideon licked his lips. “Do you want some?”

  Alex’s grin kindled a fire in Gideon’s groin, and his gaze slid down to Alex’s fly. Sausage. Gah! He gulped and looked up, only to catch Alex doing the same to him.

  “Yeah. I want some.” Alex’s voice rumbled in his chest, deeper and richer than ever, and Gideon suddenly wanted to feel that rumble in his flesh, in his bones. “Where . . .” Alex took a step forward. Yes. Now. “. . . do you keep your bowls?”

  Sitting at his dining table with Alex, drinking beer and eating the world’s best gumbo ever, cocooned in the apartment that was the only home Gideon acknowledged, was like sitting in a pocket out of time. Dinner in the TARDIS.

  No one here to see or level contempt on either of them. The party line might be that America was a classless society, but Gideon knew the truth. The classes were just configured differently. Money and education and privilege—and yes, race—all conspired to make him feel as if he and Alex were teetering on the edge of a lurid tabloid headline.

  But for now, cozy and safe, he could pretend this might last.

  “Alex, can I ask you something?”

  Alex took the final sip of his Mirror Pond. “Shoot.”

  Gideon drew figure eights on the placemat with his finger. “Are you out?”

  “You’re the one who called me on feeling you up in the restaurant.”

  “I mean to your family.”

  Alex put his beer bottle down and stared at his bowl where a couple of stray shrimp floated in the dark broth. “Not sure if that’s the right question.”

  “Okay. I’ll bite.” Gideon scooped up the dregs of his gumbo. “What is the right question?”

  “My mom knows. She probably knew before I did. Lin knows.”

  Hmmm. One cast member notably missing from that program. “And your dad?”

  Alex shrugged. “I didn’t push it.”

  “Push it?”

  “When we were together, we were mostly about work and family. I mean, I never brought a boyfriend around to meet them, not when I was a teenager or even in my early twenties.”

  “Were you afraid he’d freak?”

  “No. But I’d never met anyone who was worth trying to rewire our relationship. I could get sex if I wanted it—”

  “I can believe that,” Gideon muttered.

  “—but where was I gonna find another dad?”

  “So you never came out to him?”

  “No, I did. About twenty-seven times.”

  “It took him that long to accept it?”

  “It wasn’t that. I came out to him first right before he was diagnosed, but between my visits, he’d forget. So I’d come out again. Next time around, same routine. I kept coming out and he’d be fine with it, but then we’d have to go through it once more. Finally, there wasn’t much point.”

  “Why not? I get that it was annoying to have to repeat the same experience but—”

  “He forgot me.”

  Alex’s crooked smile tore a piece out of Gideon’s heart. “God, Alex.” His voice barely made it past the lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about your dad. I’m sorry I ran.”

  “No. I get it. I bring a lot of baggage to the table. It’s tough to deal with. Will couldn’t.”

  “Will Tuckett? Lindsay’s douche bag of an ex-fiancé? Is that why he bailed on our darling girl?”

  “It’s not the official excuse he came up with, but it’s the true one.”

  “Well, it’s not mine.”

  “You got a different reason for bailing?”

  “No! That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Gideon toyed with his spoon, turning it bowl up, bowl down. Concave reflection. Convex reflection. Upside-down face. Right-side-up face. “I don’t consider your father and think, God, if I date Al
ex, will I have to put up with that kind of drama? You should know by now that drama is my middle name. But . . .”

  “Go on.” Alex’s voice sounded grim, as if he knew what was coming.

  Gideon swallowed and set the spoon down, aligning it with a stripe on the placemat. “It won’t be easy for me to see him, because that’s my own personal nightmare. Losing it. My memory.” God, could he really confess this? His pulse pounded in his ears; his urge to run and hide was nearly overpowering. But Alex’s dark eyes never wavered from Gideon’s face. They held no judgment, no anger, no contempt. Only the solid core of niceness that characterized the entire Henning family. “I don’t know how to face it. I have no idea how you all manage.”

  “Hey. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.” Gideon captured Alex’s hand, and he returned the pressure, firm and grounding. “I feel so fucking bad for your dad.”

  Alex’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. “Lin doesn’t get it. She’s never understood how important it was to Dad to be able to provide for his own. She’s sad because he can’t do the same things with us, have fun, remember our birthdays or, shit, our names. But I look at him and I know that he’d hate this. Not the helpless part—he was never too proud to let Mom baby him or let me lift something that was too heavy for him. But being the guy who pulled his family down instead of picking them up.”

  “So what happens next?”

  Alex ran his free hand across the dark shadow of his barely there hair. “Only one way this’ll end. My mom’s a nurse, for Chrissake. She’s got no illusions. Lin refuses to admit it because she was always Daddy’s little girl. She thinks he’ll remember stuff if she tries hard enough.”

  Gideon scooted his chair closer so he could put his other hand on Alex’s broad back. The gauze taped around his fingers shone white against the charcoal flannel of his shirt. “There are lots of good care facilities. It doesn’t have to be hideous.”

  Alex shuddered under his hand. “The good ones cost money. That’s why I’m working this crazy schedule. Trying to save up for when the day finally comes.”

  “And I’m making it more difficult. An annoying complication you don’t need. I promise I’ll—”