I have a little collection of hats now that I work outdoors for a landscaping business called Common Grounds. An assortment of thin cotton drawstring shorts and T-shirts too—the kind with the armholes cut out for extra air conditioning. They’re the most comfortable when laying down fertilizer and spreading mulch in front of the quaint Victorian homes on Steiner Street, also known as Postcard Row or the Painted Ladies, depending on who you’re speaking to in this town.
I left my Sunday best—those suffocating dress shirts, slacks, and ties—behind and became someone new. Someone who feels more like me and that’s incredibly freeing. Like I’m finally breaking away from my minister father and his flock of followers. Standing in the front pew of the makeshift tent that eventually became a brick-and-mortar church for an entire childhood while he saved people with little more than bible verses and a fuckton of arrogance…as the congregation fell to their knees in prayer and thanked the almighty stars.
My mother was no different; she’d put the Tammy Faye Bakkers of the world to shame with her floral dresses and strings of pearls as she happily waved to the bible camp bus as it sped away with me and a dozen other kids inside it, only to find out later that she hoped I’d return more devout than ever. As if I ever had a choice back then.
Helping Dad keep the church books after graduation felt just as wrong—like I was only playing a role. Going through the motions, while my feelings were at war inside me. Putting my hands in the dirt felt much better and was familiar to me—God’s green earth and all of that.
I glance at the clock and wonder what’s taking Drew so long with our takeout order from the corner pizza place. Sitting back down on the stool, I reach for my laptop. I reopen Facebook, type in Xavier’s name, and scroll through his photos again like some stalker.
First time I saw him as an adult, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Because hot damn, he’s a sexy man. I’ve never thought that about somebody with a shit-ton of piercings and tattoos, but on him they look cool. His hair is still dark and wavy, though he wears it longer now. A mix of confidence and dreaminess still exudes from his eyes. Except now they’re lined with black kohl, which makes the whiskey-brown color stand out. His skin is still a shade or two darker than mine, which he likely got from his father who is half Mexican.
There’s no status listed beneath his photo, so it’s hard to tell whether he’s taken or single, not that it matters. But he’s definitely openly gay if the rainbow flags and equality memes on his posts are any indication.
I enlarge a recent photo and notice his T-shirt for the first time. It reads, Weed Saves Lives. My heart squeezes uncomfortably tight. Damn, is he into that shit as hard as Ezra, my ex from college? Again, why does it matter? I’m not trying to date him, only reconnect with an old friend. But from the looks of it, we’re different as night and day. I’m still shaking my bible-thumping traditional upbringing, and he’s as free and eclectic as this town.
I hear a key scrape in the door as my roommate walks in, carrying our pizza. “Sorry, there was a line.”
I shut my laptop and twist toward him. “No worries. Is Wendy joining us?”
“She had a work thing,” he replies, placing the large box in the middle of the table as I reach for a couple of plates from the cupboard.
Drew and his fiancée, Wendy, have been so gracious since renting me this room four months ago. This is technically Drew’s apartment, but they’re engaged to be married and want to save money for all the expenses they’ll be accruing next year. So Drew thought having a temporary roommate in an expensive city was the perfect idea. Over a couple of beers last month, Drew shared that Wendy still resides with her parents, who frown upon the idea of them living together before marriage, and since they’re primarily footing the bill, they decided not to rock the boat.
“How was your day?” he asks around his slice of broccoli and mushroom. Not my favorite combo but since he’s a vegetarian and has been so cool with helping me navigate this city, I’m not going to complain. There are plenty more eye-opening things to embrace besides veggies on a pizza.
I briefly tell him about the flower garden we planted today with the plastic pink flamingos in Nob Hill and he fills me in on his busy day as a programmer in Silicon Valley.
Once we obliterate the pizza, Drew’s cell rings with a call from Wendy and he heads to his room to talk to her in private. Alone with my thoughts again, I take a deep breath to bolster my courage, open my laptop, and tell myself I’ve got nothing to lose.
Hey, Xavier! This is Ben Emerson. It’s been a long time. I heard through the grapevine that you live in the city and I recently moved here too. Just wanted to say hi and that I’m sorry…about a lot of things. Hope all is cool on your end.
I hit send and hope like hell he isn’t still holding a ten-year grudge.
Ever After (Forbidden Love #1) Page 23
