Socks for an Otter

by Posy Roberts

  “I wasn’t invited. Everyone knows you’ve been planning this trip for months.”

  “Go anyway. Maybe you’ll meet someone new. Or maybe just hang at the house and watch movies the whole time.”

  “Your internet access is questionable because you refused to upgrade.”

  “I don’t see the point when we’re barely using the machine.”

  The machine. Not the computer, but the machine. “I know, Ma. But I need to be in the city for work. We’re wrapping up several things. Plus the parties . . .”

  She squeezed his hand, resting on the gearshift, and sighed. “I just don’t like seeing you alone.”

  “Same,” Louis whispered.

  “You’ll find someone when you’re ready.”

  Louis nodded but refused to get into this. His mother could talk the entire drive about dating tips, but that was the last thing he wanted right now. If he agreed with her, she’d just stop and they could talk about anything else.

  “So, Dad, any tips on what I should do with all those blue crabs besides the usual? I can’t eat them all myself.”

  “Hmmm.” Then he went into a list of recipes Louis should consider. As they neared the Baltimore airport, his father finally stopped talking. Give the man the opportunity to talk about something he loved, and he could go on for . . . well, an hour.

  Louis pulled into the drop-off lane and stepped out to retrieve his parents’ luggage, and while his father tipped the skycap who was helping load a rolling luggage cart, his mother pulled him aside. “Consider donating the whole lot to that food pantry like you and Mati used to do.”

  “We donated frozen chickens and hams, never live crabs.”

  She shrugged. “Even the hungry deserve a delicacy, love. If the thought of eating them all by yourself is too much, give them to someone who’ll appreciate them.” She pulled him into a hug. “Take care of yourself. We’ll call you when we get to our home port and any other time we can. I don’t know how all that works in the middle of the ocean.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mom. Have a great time. Enjoy your vacation! Eat great food.”

  And before he knew it, his father was hugging him too. “Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Happy New Year. Celebrate everything, but don’t forget to pick us up on January fifteenth.”

  Louis chuckled and wished them a happy everything as well.

  As he drove back to DC, he gave himself a pep talk. He could get through this. It was a test, his first big one, at least. Everyone around him said he was doing so well and that he seemed more like the old Louis from years back. Maybe he really was. Maybe he was doing better than he felt he was.

  So as soon as he stopped at home to drop off as many crabs as he figured he’d eat on his own, he did as his mother suggested. No point in letting fresh-caught blue crab spoil. And freezing the meat wasn’t right. What a waste.

  He just hoped Marvin was working at the food pantry tonight. He’d know who could handle cooking the crabs, and if he didn’t find any takers, Marvin would love taking them home for himself.

  Then Louis would curl up at home in front of the TV and binge-watch something. Maybe start one of the many new shows people had insisted he couldn’t miss. His to-be-watched list was growing longer each week. Or maybe he needed a comfort-watch like Schitt’s Creek.

  Either way, he had to distract himself from the loneliness that felt like a leaden weight pushing all the air out of his lungs.

  The phone blared, annoying and insistent as Louis struggled with the load in his hands. He propped the bulky cooler on one hip and answered. As he stepped out of the Metro station and made his way to the food pantry, he double-fisted the cooler again.

  “Louis, my dear, I heard your parents left for the holidays. Is that true?” It was Mati’s mother, his mother-in-law. Former mother-in-law? Whatever he should call her now. Nomi. That was easier.

  “Nomi, good to hear your voice. Yes, Mom and Dad are on a cruise of the Mediterranean.”

  She laughed. “You’d think a waterman would want to explore another part of the Earth, but I guess not.”

  Louis laughed. “The sea runs in his blood. But Mom was looking forward to the shore excursions. What’s up?”

  Nomi sighed. “I just wanted to see how you were . . . and to invite you to our place whenever . . . you know . . . if it gets to be too much.”

  “Thanks, Nomi, but I think this is the kick in the pants I needed. Eventually I have to be alone, right? But I appreciate the invite. I’ll take you up on it if I get too down, though. How are you holding up?”

  “As best as one can, I expect. I miss her. Can’t help it.”

  “Same.”

  “Elijah and his boys keep us busy, though.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “Well, don’t be a stranger, Louis. The door is always open.”

  “Thanks, Nomi.”

  As Louis balanced the cooler on a hip and tried to find the End Call button through his tears—caused by the biting wind, of course—he slammed into something.

  “Shit. Watch where you’re going, asshole. Am I invisible?”

  Or someone.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you through my—”

  Words failed Louis as the angry young man faced him, but his words didn’t fail him because of the rage directed his way. No, it was the man’s serious eyes, his innocent face hidden behind a mask of facial hair that reminded Louis of the first and only guy he’d kissed, the guy who changed how Louis defined his sexuality.

  “I’m seriously sorry. I was distracted.” He presented the cooler. “Here. Do you like blue crab? Have some. I have a whole cooler full and it needs to be eaten soon.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I’m not. Here. It’s worth a lot on the market. At least a couple hundred.”

  “You’re fucking with me now, right?” the guy said as he took a step closer.

  Louis took a step back.

  “I’m not into the illegal seafood trade. Do I look like I am?”

  “No.” Louis shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m flustered. Sorry for running into you. I was on the phone with my—”

  The guy held up his hand. “I get it. You’re distracted by your perfect life. You feel bad, so you’re offering me something of value. But you see, your precious blue crab is valueless to me right now. More than anything, I want cheese and soup and something that sticks to my ribs and gets me through this fucking storm. The few bites of meat I’d get from one of your pretty crabs wouldn’t cut it. What else you got in there? Roe? Escargot? Fucking oysters? ’Cause if I find a pearl, then maybe I can eat for more than a day or two.”

  “I’ll cook for you,” slipped out before Louis could stop himself. “Come back to my place. Eat as many as you want. I’ve got more at home. You can help me eat them. As many as you want.”

  Louis hoped the guy read the tears in his eyes as wind-inspired rather than what they really were: the realization of just how pathetic his life had become.

  Louis was so fucking lonely, he’d just begged a stranger to let him cook for him. All so he wouldn’t be alone.

  The guy spun on his heel and stalked away, tucking his chin deeper into his coat. With each step, the sole on his right shoe slapped. It was unglued and looked like it wouldn’t make it through the night.

  Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

  Louis was that shoe.

  2

  Prickly Defense

  Crab? Who the fuck offered strangers crabs? And who carried a fucking cooler of crustaceans around downtown DC? In December?

  Sebastian turned away from the handsome guy with sad eyes and braced himself against the wind. He headed toward the food pantry where he could get something that he could actually eat. And cook.

  These rich assholes and their privilege. Walking into strangers. Not paying attention to where they’re going. Thinking their petty politics are more important than anything else in the world.

  Ge
t off your fucking phone when you’re walking.

  Nothing was so important in this city of self-important people that you couldn’t stop for a moment and deal with just one thing. Nothing.

  Sebastian tried to shake off his anger. He got a bit . . . prickly. Spikey. And he tended to snap when people bothered him. And it didn’t take much to do that anymore.

  And nothing got under his skin quite like privilege.

  Seeing shit like that brought his old life too close. He used to be the guy on the phone offering “crabs” to homeless people, so out of touch he thought he was doing good in the world by offering his “artfully distressed” haute couture castoffs when all anyone really wanted was a fucking warm coat without holes in it. Label be damned.

  So there was some good that came from getting disowned and losing everything. At least he wasn’t that guy anymore.

  Sebastian slipped into the food pantry and greeted Marvin, one of his first friends in the city. “How you doin’, man?” They pulled each other into a familiar hug.

  “Good, good. You keeping warm out there?” Marvin eyed the windows with caution. He knew how hellish winter storms could be. He’d lived on the streets before, but he was off them now. He worked here, was training to be a sous chef, and lived in a rented place with heat, a bed, running water, and even walls. He had privacy too.

  “I need protein. Something to help me get through.” The place wasn’t as busy as usual. People were focused on getting a bed for the night or sitting down to a hot supper. They’d had the foresight to plan ahead.

  “When was your last hot meal, Bash?” Marvin read his mind just as the bell above the door rang. “And I mean more than oatmeal at breakfast. When was your last hot supper?”

  Sebastian lowered his eyes, unwilling to look as he answered, “Last Wednesday.”

  “Dude, you need to take better care of yourself. You haven’t been through the hell of winter on these streets yet. Trust me, you need to get fattened up. Go find meat and cheese. Hard-boiled eggs. Stuff with fat and protein that will last. I might have something in back too. And I have a donation coming in that you won’t want to miss out on.” Marvin shoved a cart in his hands and pushed him away.

  Sebastian roamed the aisles looking at the damaged fruits and veggies, the grocery store castoffs. Every single person he grew up with on the Upper East Side would turn their noses up at the produce he was making grabby hands for. It all tasted the same. Hell, he would argue this tasted better because it had a few more days to ripen than the flavorless produce the social elites were tossing into a blender for their fifth smoothie of the day.

  He was so far from that life now.

  He was also far away from trusting that his next meal or his next hot shower or even that his “home” would be there when he returned later on.

  Louis stepped into the food pantry more unsure than ever. “Hey, Marvin,” he said to the man he’d volunteered with in several capacities: soup kitchen, Habitat for Humanity, and food drives. Louis was glad he was here now.

  “How you doin’, friend?” A wide smile split his face. Marvin seemed genuinely happy to see him.

  After that run-in with the bearded kid down the street, doubt crept into every crack of Louis’s soul. And there were a hell of a lot of cracks there to begin with. The guy’s words had been a spotlight on every doubt Louis had about what he was carrying.

  “I have something here . . .” Louis held up the cooler. “Feel free to tell me if it’s out of the question. And maybe . . . Can we talk in back? I feel so stupid about this.”

  “Sure. Come on through.” Marvin held the door to the back room open, curious. “What you got for me today? Not the usual?”

  Louis shook his head. “I was at my parents’ house. You know my dad’s a waterman, right?”

  “Not sure what that is.”

  “Sorry. Chesapeake Bay speak. He’s a fisherman.”

  “Right.”

  Louis flipped back the damp burlap bag the crabs were in, and a few legs moved. “Blue crab. I have no clue if you can use these, but my dad caught them this morning. They’re fresh and should be eaten tonight, or at least cooked and picked and the meat frozen, but it won’t taste as good that way.”

  “Okay, slow down, pumpkin. I was expecting chickens or maybe hams like you and Mati always brought.”

  “I’ll bring those too. This was unexpected. Can you use the crabs at all?”

  Marvin shrugged and then picked one crab up. It was cold from the ice so was slow to move. “How soon should they be cooked up?”

  “They were pulled from the ocean less than five hours ago, so before lunch tomorrow. Will you have enough people in tonight? Or the right people?”

  “I gotcha covered.” Marvin put the crab back and kicked the cooler lid shut. “I’ll keep ’em back here in case of allergies, though.”

  “Shit. I didn’t think of allergies. My mom talked me into this, said hungry people deserve some decadence from time to time too. I just can’t eat all these. I kept all I can eat at home and . . . You sure this is okay?” All Louis could think about was what that guy on the street had said about there not being enough meat on the crab.

  “No trouble at all. And some families will hop all over this. I grew up eating blue crab, and there’s nothin’ sweeter. I know I’m not the only hungry person who knows about Maryland blue crab.” Marvin put his arm around Louis’s shoulder and led him back into the store. “Got a quick spice recipe you can write down for me that I can share? Something easy that people can’t forget between here and home. Easiest way to cook them too.”

  “Best way is to steam them. Layer a pot with crab, spices, crab, spices.”

  “Write down those spices.”

  Louis bent over the counter and started writing the concoction he’d mixed a hundred times. Then for good measure, he added directions on how to pick crab, doing his best to use language that wasn’t full of euphemisms that easily fell from his tongue.

  This was such a stupid idea. What the hell was I thinking? This is too much work. People don’t want to go to all this trouble for a few bites of crabmeat.

  His mouth watered at the thought, though. So maybe someone else would appreciate it as much as he did.

  Sebastian skipped over several things on the shelves because of his circumstances. Because of his unfortunate housing situation, there was a huge chance his food would be stolen. He could carry it in his backpack for a time, but not forever. And if he didn’t have it next to his body heat, some food (the produce in particular) would freeze and spoil. And as much as he wanted that jar of green olives, he doubted it would make it back home in one piece.

  He was better off leaving a lot of that to someone who had an actual house and young mouths to feed rather than being greedy.

  But there was a can of black olives with a pop-top lid . . . He stuck those in his cart and headed to the front of the store.

  “Hey, Lewis!” Marvin said.

  “Huh?” Sebastian turned to see Marvin wasn’t last-naming him like he thought. He was walking across the produce section to talk to . . . the crab man. From outside . . .

  “Yeah, Marvin?” Crab Guy, apparently named Lewis, asked. “Do we need to talk about which days work best for the real delivery?”

  Sebastian sat back on his heel so he could watch their interaction.

  Marvin nodded. “Half and half would be nice, like you suggested, but maybe two days, if you’re willing.”

  “So chicken tomorrow? And then hams on the twenty-third? Or is Christmas Eve better?”

  “The twenty-third so people have time to defrost.”

  Crab Guy nodded. “Right. Makes sense. But I could bring by a load of rotisserie chickens on the twenty-fourth too. Would people appreciate that?”

  Marvin pulled him into a hug. “They don’t make ’em like you anymore, man. Yes, people would love that.”

  “I’ll do anything I can.”

  When Marvin pulled out of the hug, he caught Sebas
tian’s eye. “Oh, Bash. Come over here.”

  “I heard you call my last name.” Sebastian stepped closer. “You’re one of the few who last-names me that I still answer to.”

  Marvin chuckled. “I called for this Louis, your homophone.”

  “My homo what?” Sebastian raised a skeptical brow, but Marvin wasn’t derailed.

  “Since you’re both here, I get to introduce two of my favorite people. Louis Drake, l-o-u-i-s, this is Bash, also known as Bash Lewis, l-e-w-i-s. I call him Bash unless I need to get his attention quick-like.”

  Louis held out his hand. “Good to formally meet you,” he said around a wary smile. “I literally ran into Mr. Lewis out on the sidewalk. And I’m still so sorry about being . . . elsewhere that I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Sebastian shook Louis’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. The cold does something to me. Brings out my spikes, I guess. Did you bring your crabs to Marvin so he can distribute them to the poor?”

  Louis drew in a strained breath, but Marvin saved him.

  “He did, Bash, and a lot of the folks who grew up on shellfish and haven’t had it in ages will tie on bibs tonight.”

  Sebastian glanced around the near empty food pantry and hummed.

  “It’ll pick up,” Marvin insisted. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, pumpkin.”

  Louis held up his hands in surrender. “For what it’s worth, my dad pushed two bushel baskets on me this morning before he and my mom left for their cruise.”

  Oh, this was getting even better. This guy was so privileged, he didn’t even know how privileged he was. His daddy just gave him a shitload of crabs before he went on his cruise?

  Marvin backed away as if he wanted to stay out of the blast range. He’d always had a nose for when Sebastian was ready to blow; it was better to let him get it over with. It didn’t last as long that way.

  But Louis continued. “And since I live alone, I knew there was no way I could eat that much crab. I love the stuff. Grew up on it since we lived right on Chesapeake Bay, but even that’s overdoing it for me.”