“See you soon,” was all Ilan said after that, and then the line went dead.
Fredric busied himself doing what Ilan asked, and he had most of the cold stuff put aside by the time Agatha dropped Bas off. She didn’t stay for small talk, and Fredric took it as a blessing because he wanted a few minutes to compose himself before Ilan arrived. He offered Bas a chew stick, then stepped outside the back door and let his heartbeat match the rhythm of the waves crashing on the shore.
It was a calmer night, the wind still, the air crisp. He could feel the last vestiges of dusk fading into the distance, and he took a moment to wonder what this night sky—the one right above him—would sound like. Would the rises and falls of their atmosphere’s pitches form shape? Or would it always be as abstract as the idea of the horizon had become?
He let that thought carry him until he heard a car pull up into his drive, and he made his way inside just in time for Ilan to open the door. Fredric braced himself with a hand on his breakfast bar, and he heard Ilan let out a low whistle.
“Did you buy out the store?”
“I think Agatha went a little overboard,” Fredric said, his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “I didn’t stop her though.”
Ilan let out a soft hum, then he closed the distance between them, and he laid his hand on Fredric’s arm. “Where’s your talking pen thingie?”
Fredric laughed, then showed him his gadget drawer, and Ilan got it going. It was strangely cathartic, to lose himself in the monotony of feeling the shapes of objects, then listen to Ilan record them in the pen. He got lost in the rhythm of organizing—creating without planning, without expectation of more.
It was soothing, having Ilan just a few steps away, and it was nagging at him, because it was a taste of what he wanted. It had never been like that with Jacqueline. Not even in the calmest, kindest parts of their marriage. Even before his stroke, she’d kept him on his guard. There was passion, but there were cracks beneath his feet, and he’d been just foolish enough to believe they wouldn’t shatter.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Ilan said as he finished up with the fridge.
Fredric passed a hand down his face, then nodded. “Feeling…introspective, I think.”
“About the date?” Fredric heard the scrape of a chair as Ilan pulled it out to sit, so Fredric made his way over and joined him. It was late, he was hungry, but sitting with Ilan sounded a thousand times better than anything else.
“I think…all of it,” Fredric admitted as he leaned back. A few moments later and he felt Bas nose his hand, and he gave him a gentle scratch behind his ear. “I think I expected this sort of wild change. Like my enthusiasm to leave my home and start over and make something for myself would be like an explosion. Like I’d see stars.”
“Is that what you wanted though?” Ilan asked very softly, and Fredric couldn’t help a small laugh, because with Ilan, he always felt so seen.
“No, it’s not. And I think that’s why I said yes to that second date.”
Ilan hummed, and Fredric felt the table shift when the other man leaned on it. “Where is he taking you?”
“I don’t actually know,” he admitted, then felt his cheeks heat. “I asked him to figure it out and call me back. I thought about what you said at the garden.”
“You mean when I fucking humiliated myself with my feelings?” he spat, and Fredric heard the pain in his voice.
Unable to stop himself, he rose, counting the chairs until he was next to Ilan, and he reached for him. There was no hesitation in the way Ilan touched him back, the way he took his hand and held it. There never had been. “Is that what you felt? Humiliated?”
“I don’t…” Ilan said, then let out a heavy breath. “You know what, let’s not do this.”
“Ilan…”
“No,” he said and gently pulled out of Fredric’s grasp. “This keeps happening. You keep asking me over here to help you, and my shit keeps getting in the way.”
Fredric reached out again and didn’t let him go far. His fingers tried to find his hand, but missed and hit him in the chest. He felt a rapid thudding beneath them, and he moved his hand up to cup the side of Ilan’s neck. His pulse was just as rapid there, but began to slow the longer Fredric held him still. “It doesn’t matter what I need. If you’re going through something, that’s important too.”
He felt Ilan shake his head. “I’m not saying it isn’t, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Looking back at myself, I’m realizing what an idiot I’ve been. People always told me that it was going to come back and bite me in the ass, and I thought…” he laughed, and the sound was bitter. “I thought I was above it.”
“What was going to come back and bite you on the ass?” Fredric asked him.
“My attitude about relationships and dating. Never letting one person stay the night. Do you know that aside from sleepovers with Julian, I’ve never shared a bed with anyone?”
Fredric’s brows rose. “No, I didn’t.”
“I’ve never held anyone’s hand in public, either. I think I’ve only had like a dozen real kisses in my life, and they were always because I wanted to hurry them along to…” He cleared his throat. “The other stuff.”
Fredric let his fingers drag down Ilan’s arm until their palms touched, and he could feel the tension in Ilan’s hand like he wanted to pull away, but even in Fredric’s loose grip, he didn’t. “I don’t think I need to tell you all the ways I’m inexperienced.”
Ilan laughed. “Uh. No, you don’t.”
“The last time Jacqueline and I had sex, Corinne was in high school. She was off on a school trip, and the firm had just won this important case. We got a massive commendation for it. It was six years of work—late nights and missing family dinners, and it didn’t feel worth it, but Jacqueline was thrilled.”
“She’s…” Ilan started, but Fredric squeezed his hand, and Ilan went quiet.
“We had too much wine with dinner, and there was something in her voice that reminded me of the woman she had been. I couldn’t help myself, and when she touched me, I let her. When she kissed me, I took her to bed. She was gone by morning, and I think that was the moment I knew I never wanted to touch her again. I spent every night for the next month praying she wasn’t going to get pregnant.”
“Did she?” Ilan asked.
Fredric felt his stomach twist, because he would have loved that child, but he would have resented eighteen more years of feeling trapped. “If she did, she didn’t say, and obviously nothing came of it.”
Fredric felt Ilan’s large thumb trace over his knuckles, then he squeezed. “Is she why you’re not dating women?”
His brows dipped. “What do you mean?”
“All of your dates so far—all of your emails—they’re all from men.”
Fredric bit his lower lip and felt foolish and naïve, but he also trusted Ilan with these tender parts of himself. “That’s not why. I…I want to feel something I never thought I could. There was a part of me that thought I’d be trapped in my marriage forever. Even if these dates never work out, I want to go past an awkward dinner. I just,” he let out a long sigh, “want to know what it’s like to kiss a man.”