by Peter Styles
They turn a corner and the small, humble church is in front of them. Stephen parks in the lot, turns off the truck, and faces Rowan. “So this is my ‘date’ for the night. Want to join in? Or I can run you back to your place real quick.”
Rowan smiles. “It’s a date.”
Several hours later, and Rowan is back home, alone, exhausted but happy.
It wasn’t what Rowan expected, but it ended up being the best night (well, maybe second best) he’s had in awhile. The staff and clients alike were obviously fond of Stephen, greeting him with hearty handshakes and warm smiles. And it was surprisingly fun. Rowan had expected it to be sad, and while there were those moments, the staff worked hard to keep the atmosphere welcoming and friendly. Music played during dinner, games were played after, and so many pitched in for the post-dinner clean-up that the kitchen was spic-and-span in no time.
After, Rowan can’t stop thinking about Stephen. There is one scene that he can’t get out of his mind: Stephen kneeling down to joke with an elderly man in a wheelchair. The way the old fellow’s eyes lit up…
Rowan takes a hot shower, heats up some milk, and tries to read the book he brought with him from home.
Finally, finally, his exhaustion wins.
If their lust-fueled night was what convinced Rowan that he was physically attracted to Stephen, their night at the shelter is what convinces him that Stephen is the kind of man he could really see himself with...and it seems like Stephen might feel the same way. The next day at work, Stephen asks if Rowan would like to come over to watch a movie after work. They pick up tacos from the Taco Bus, an Oriole institution, and watch The Treasure of Sierra Madre together. After the movie, they start talking. Rowan is intrigued by the man, and wants to know about his childhood. Before they know it, it’s two in the morning. It’s a physically chaste night, but an emotionally intimate one.
The next day, Stephen tells Rowan casually that he’s gone two nights now without drinking.
Rowan feels his face turn pink. He’s so happy it almost hurts.
They kiss a few times during the week, the sweet, delicious kisses of two men enjoying getting to know each other. There’s a slow-burn of passion that Rowan feels building up, and every time Stephen kisses him, he’s certain the other man feels it too. But there’s no hurry. Their evenings are spent cooking together, watching favorite movies, and talking.
It’s all just surprisingly easy and fun and sweet…
...until Thursday.
An unfamiliar woman walks in—dark brown hair with a pencil stuck through it and a face that’s somehow youthful, despite the age reflected in her eyes. She seems as if she’s been through the wringer. She hangs back as other customers order, gazing at the pastries in the case as if they’ll tell her something she needs to know. By the time the shop clears out, she’s still staring at the macaroons as if they’ll reveal the answers to the universe.
“May I help you?” Rowan tries to ask as unobtrusively as possible but she still jumps a little.
“Hi. Sorry. Um—I don’t recognize you. You’re…”
“Rowan. I’m Jen’s cousin,” he explains, curious. “Are you a regular?”
“Not quite,” the woman says drily, glancing around the shop. “I’m—”
“Melissa,” Jen says shortly, appearing from the back with a clipboard in hand. “Hi.”
“Hi, Jen. Stephen here?”
Oh. OH. Rowan suddenly feels flushed—he isn’t sure how to deal with the situation. That’s his ex-wife, he realizes, heart pounding in his throat. He feels like she can tell. See everything. Suddenly, she’s not just some woman coming into the shop. She’s the woman. He feels immensely embarrassed, despite the fact that he hasn’t done anything wrong. Jen glances towards the back, giving Rowan a sideways glance. Oh, no, don’t—
“Yes. Ro, can you go update this list in the pantry? Melissa, go around back and I’ll let you in.”
Melissa thanks Jen, turning to walk out the front door, and Rowan is frozen in place. He’s still standing there a second later when Jen passes him the clipboard, mouth drawn into a line.
“Just stay quiet and out of sight, okay? Things can get a little…unpleasant.”
Oh, God. Rowan nods and slips into the back, letting Jen go first to unlock the back door. He catches Stephen’s eye on his way to the pantry, nervous. The other man looks like he wants to move closer or say something.
“Keep the door open,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Rowan to hear. Rowan pauses, nodding shortly before stepping into the pantry.
This is the last thing he wants. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop on someone else’s dirty laundry—especially the man he works with. And kind of…had sex with. And has sort of been dating. Not that he isn’t glad Stephen trusts him to be around; he just isn’t sure he wants to know the extent of the issues. What if it’s worse than I thought? He can’t help imagining all the things they could say. For all he knows, Stephen isn’t as good a father as he claims he’s trying to be. Or worse—what if he was abusive? Rowan shakes his head to try to clear the thoughts away.
The back door opens and Jen announces something about checking the front registers. A minute later, there’s a heavy silence.
“You know, part of me wondered if you’d even be here, if you were lying about keeping the job.”
“Why would I lie? I love it here,” Stephen says evenly. He sounds strained—as if he’s trying his hardest to be neutral but he still can’t help the defensiveness he feels.
“You’ve lied before. About the factory. About—”
“Melissa, please. Not now.”
“Not now? Then when? When exactly are you planning on owning up to your mistakes? It’s not hard to say you hated your job and drank like a fish to numb yourself, Stephen.”
That much I knew, Rowan thinks, a tiny drop of relief flooding his system. He feels selfish for thinking of his own desires but he’s glad that Stephen is just what he thought. Tired and sad. Not that it’s good; it’s just that Rowan knows how to deal with it. He knows how to help. If it were more…well, he probably wouldn’t try.
“Why did you come here?”
“I got a call from Aaron a couple of days ago. You know—from Derry’s. Your third stop on most nights, though I doubt you remember it.”
Rowan pauses, abandoning the salt boxes he’s counting to lean closer to the doorway. His heart is pounding. Why am I so invested in this?
“I know who Aaron is.”
“Do you even know how much you drink? He told me you were there until two-thirty in the morning. He had to walk you back home. You’re just lucky he cared enough to do it—he’s got his own life to worry about, you know—”
“Well, I’m sorry about that,” Stephen says, voice rising, “but that was last week. I’ve made some changes since then.”
There was a moment of silence before Melissa responded. “Right.” Her doubt was loud and clear in just that one word.
It sounds like Stephen cries out in frustration, and then footsteps echo. Rowan spins on his heel, burying himself in the shelves, trying to concentrate. Please don’t come in here, please don’t—
Stephen, it seems, is trying to take refuge in the pantry. Rowan stares hard at the label on the flour bag he’s reading, feeling like he’s burning alive. They may be several feet apart in an enormous room but he still feels the argument as if it’s taking place in his lap.
“Melissa, you don’t have a responsibility for me, remember? You gave that up,” Stephen hisses, voice low. He slams a few things around on the shelf and glances towards Rowan.
Does he want me to help him get out of this? Rowan realizes with a start. He’s almost angry at first—it’s not like Rowan has any place in the conversation to begin with. Still, he recognizes what’s happening here. Melissa coming back is just opening up old wounds over and over again, ripping them wide and pushing him back towards the habits he’s trying to change. It’s not fair to Melissa but Stephen probably needs space
more than anything. Space...and me, apparently.
“I gave it up? So, it’s my fault?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Stephen, you need to stop running from your problems. You know, for a while there, I thought this job might have put you back on track. Even your drinking nights weren’t as bad—I wasn’t getting calls from your neighbor every other night about how you fell asleep on the lawn. But this—whatever it is, whatever reason you’re finding to poison yourself and our daughter now—you’re slipping. Slip any more and you’re going to fall right into a pit you won’t be able to pull yourself up from.”
The room is silent. Part of Rowan wishes the floor would swallow him whole. He manages to sneak a look at Stephen, thinking maybe he’ll see the man quietly nod and send Melissa away, but he instead catches Stephen’s gaze. He knows what’s being communicated. Help. Say something.
But what can he say?
Most of what she’s saying is true. From what Rowan’s seen of Stephen, the man has a habit of drinking frequently and heavily. He finds reasons to punish himself and chases them down with whiskey. It affects his entire life. No matter how much he loves his job at the bakery, if he doesn’t learn to love himself, Rowan knows he’s never going to be able to be a proper part of his daughter’s life. And Rowan has seen the good in him—he’s seen the desire for change. The way Stephen was so open and careful when he was sober that first night. The way he decided to not drink, even if just for a few nights. He knows, without a shadow of doubt, that Stephen is capable of being better. Maybe he needs to hear what Melissa has to say. Maybe it will make his recent changes permanent.
The moment passes and Melissa sighs tiredly. Stephen doesn’t speak.
“Help yourself. You’re the last person you have left, Stephen. I can’t help you anymore and no one else will, either. You’re going to have to help yourself.”
Melissa leaves, the back door closing carefully, and Rowan bites his tongue. He doesn’t know what to say. Do I support her? It could push him away but he needs to know she’s right. He knows he could just say something simple—I’m here for you—but that’s just as worthless as any other get-well-card phrase. He’s still fishing for something to say when Stephen starts to leave.
“Wait—” Rowan starts, unsure of what he’s going to say but knowing he needs to do something. Stephen turns to him, expression flat. It sends a shiver down Rowan’s spine. It’s like the man is wearing a mask, completely blank and cool, and there’s no trace of anything else there. Except his eyes—his eyes are disappointed. In me?
“She’s right. No one else is going to help me,” Stephen says quietly. He turns away, grabbing a container of cinnamon, and walks back out the pantry door.
It feels like a loss. Rowan isn’t sure of what’s happened; all he knows is that nothing has gone right. Somehow, he feels as if Stephen has moved six steps back and they’re further away from good than they were when they hated each other. I have to prove to him I want to help, Rowan thinks. I guess I just have to believe it first, myself.
“Am I an idiot?”
“Of course you are. What did you do now?” Lina asks, amused.
Rowan rolls his eyes at her face on his laptop, which is open on the bed. This is the first time he’s opened it since arriving in Oriole.
“I…may have…”
“Oh my—did you?! Did you fu—”
“No!” Rowan practically shouts, wincing when he remembers he’s in the guest house. “No. I mean—sort of? Yes?”
“Well, which is it?”
“God, do we have to do details?”
“Okay, fine. No details is fine. Just—was it casual or did you…make an evening of it?”
“Stephen’s a dad. A sad…drunk dad. And I was tipsy. We were both exhausted from work—what do you think?”
He hears Lina snort on the other end. He knows he’s being a bit short but he can’t help it. He’s starting to mill things over in his mind, picking apart every moment from the time he and Stephen left the bakery until he returned home and then when he did something wrong when Melissa showed up.
“How was it?”
“None of your business. And since then we’ve been spending time together, after work. I like him, Lina.”
Her face splits into a huge grin on the computer screen. “Okay. So what’s the problem?”
“His ex-wife came in today.”
“Ohhh…that sounds…not fun.”
“It wasn’t,” Rowan grumbles, rubbing his forehead with a tired hand. “I mean, she was fine. Seemed nice enough. It’s just…she came in to chew him out.”
“Oh. So, she’s a harpy?”
“No. No, she seemed to actually care. And, I don’t know…she was kind of right?” He says it as if it’s a question, wincing again as if he expects to be yelled at. He doesn’t know why he feels so guilty.
“Probably. I mean, you mentioned he drinks a lot, right? She’d probably know better than anyone how messed up he is.”
“Yeah,” Rowan sighs, glad for the reassurance, “but he just…I don’t know. He kind of shut down after that.”
“Why do you think? Did she say anything specific?”
“I mean…she kind of accused him of slipping. Something like she thought the job was helping but she thinks it isn’t enough, now. And I think…Stephen tried to look to me for help. Or backup or something, I don’t know…”
“Why would he do that? You don’t know him that well, right?”
“Not really,” Rowan says, trying to mill everything around in his mind. “But he’s made an effort to not drink for the past week. He’s trying. She said something about him needing to help himself because she wouldn’t and everyone else was done trying, too. It was kind of…final. I guess she’s been coming around for awhile or something.”
“Oh, Rowan,” Lina says suddenly, realization and sadness heavy in her tone. His heart starts pounding faster.
“What?”
“He’s probably been expecting her to give up on him. He might have looked to you for help because you’re not…her, you know? You’re an outsider. A new person. Someone who has no history to judge him by. Maybe he wanted you to back him up on the fact that he’s trying.”
Rowan bites his lip, contemplating her words.
At his silence, she continues. “And then you…did whatever you did, which was sex no matter what way you put it, and that was probably something that made him think you were going to be there for him. Like, a little more than a casual bystander, you know?” Her voice is patient but there’s some sarcasm to her words.
“Oh, shit,” Rowan murmurs, throwing an arm over his head. I got it all wrong. I messed up. “I didn’t even—I mean, I was going to…”
“Look, because I know you, I know you didn’t mean for it to be a one-time thing. But because I know you, I also know you probably didn’t think much past ‘fixing the immediate problem.’ You had sex to fix him—which, by the way, is not the way to start any relationship—and when it kind of worked you forgot what the point was and didn’t stand up for him. You pretty much double-crossed him, Rowan.”
“I didn’t mean to—I mean, I know you can’t fix someone that way,” Rowan argues, frustrated, “and I didn’t plan on using it as a way to fix him—”
“Yeah, except from what you’re telling me he’s way too invested in how other people might think of him. He was probably pretty damn comfortable with you to even have sex in the first place. I mean, has he been with anyone else since his ex? No matter how easy or casual it was, he probably didn’t count on the messy feelings part of having sex. Especially since you two see each other so often. And he clearly likes you as a person.”
“Okay, so we’re both idiots, is what I’m getting,” Rowan groans. Suddenly, going back home and to his computer at work seems like a better and better idea. “Neither of us meant to mess up that way but we did. I just need to…fix it, somehow.”
“Okay—Rowan, I love you, and I lo
ve that you’re always willing to make things work. But you can’t fix someone else. You just have to show them how to fix themselves. You keep thinking the way you are and you’re just gonna end up screwing him over. Especially since you’re not going to be there for long.”
She’s right. It makes sense that Stephen would be closed off; it makes sense that he’d be too worried about other people’s opinions, especially after thinking he’d failed both Melissa and his daughter, Jordi. Hell, Rowan suspected as much in the first place. He just conveniently forgot after a drink or two. Now that he thinks about it, he regrets being so compulsive. He can’t even believe he would make things so messy—he’s usually the one sitting back and thinking about the problem. He usually takes time to get involved, even if he does.
So maybe he’s rushing a little bit because of his time frame and maybe he’s jumping to conclusions because he likes Stephen. He forgets he’s dealing with a man that has a past and needs time to recover from it. It’s just that he somehow, indescribably, really wants this to work. He wants to know what Stephen was like before, when he was younger and carefree and still unbroken. He wants to know what the man who stared at the roses looked like. How he talked. How he loved.
“Oh, Lina—”
“I know,” she says carefully, cutting him off before he can say anything. “But I need you to stop and think. I know that’s hard and any other time, I’d tell you to go for it—but I think you need to give Stephen time. Let him be open and healed enough to care about you the same way. Okay?”
“Yeah. I will,” Rowan says, rubbing at his eyes. He can’t think of what he’s going to do next or how he’s going to do it. He feels like he has the world’s biggest secret in his chest and he can’t share it with the only other person it involves.
How long could I last before letting it out? Would it even do any good?
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know any of the answers to his questions and that scares him more than anything. All he does know is that he has to wait. He has to be patient and hold back because if he doesn’t, he risks being the one to push Stephen over the edge—and that’s the last thing he wants to do.
