Kieran: I did forget. I’m sorry. I’ll buy takeout if you want to order something. Looks like I’ll be here for a while. The Christmas rush is on. And Junior fucked off early.
Roderick: If I ever meet that guy, I’m going to spit on his bagel.
Kieran: Gross. Remind me to stay on your good side.
Roderick: He gets paid more than you, and does half the work.
Half is generous. But I probably shouldn’t complain. A job is a job.
Roderick: I have a radical idea. Let’s go out to dinner. It doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy. But wouldn’t it be fun to let other people bring us food? I think we’re due a small extravagance. Like that noodle shop in Montpelier.
I smile at the screen, because Roderick texts like he talks—in idea bursts. And he’s still going.
Please?
I’ll be your best roommate.
I’ll make it worth your while later.
He adds a wink emoji and then an eggplant. And I laugh.
“Kieran!” Mr. Pratt’s voice barks. “Can I have those revisions? I have plans tonight and you’re just staring at your phone.”
I set it down hastily. I never used to goof off on my phone, because I never had a confidante. “Coming right up,” I say, grabbing the computer mouse to open the file.
I quickly discover that Deacon didn’t save a new file when he gaudied up my Christmas tree, and he didn’t make a new layer either. I’ll have to start over.
Maybe the old Kieran would have sat here fuming, but this one has had it. “Mr. Pratt,” I call, standing up to give him a piece of my mind. Something has got to give. I’m so sick of this.
“Yes, Kieran?”
I’d intended to argue, but instead, I hear myself say, “Would you write me a recommendation? I’m applying for a design program, and there’s scholarship money at stake.”
He blinks in surprise. Maybe we both do. But I have to make a decision about this—my application is due in ten days, and I can’t work here forever.
“Sure, kid,” he says eventually. “Sounds like a good opportunity. If you can get me a damn Christmas tree in the next fifteen minutes... I’ll make you sound as talented as Van Gogh.”
“Yessir.” I hustle back to my desk to redesign a Christmas tree.
Still, I find a few seconds to reply to Roderick, holding the phone surreptitiously underneath a file folder.
Kieran: Let’s eat out. Is eight too late?
Roderick: I’ll be there with bells on.
But not actual bells.
That sounds awkward.
WTF does that mean, anyway?
Smirking, I hide my phone and hurry through the rest of the day’s work. I can’t wait to go out for noodles with the guy who makes all the rest of this bullshit worth it.
Roderick
“This is the best idea I ever had,” I say after slurping another noodle into my mouth.
After he takes a sip of broth, Kieran looks at me with an expression of patience and warmth that I’ve never seen him bestow on anyone else. “We should do this every week, if we think we can afford it.”
“Deal,” I agree immediately. “Although I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
He lifts his bushy eyebrows in surprise, “Why not? I like food. And this place doesn’t break the saving-for-college budget.”
“Well…” I glance around the room, taking in the other diners. At this hour, it’s a mix of young professionals. “Someone might look at us and assume we’re on a date.”
“That doesn’t bother me,” he says evenly. As if he weren’t blowing my mind right now. “I don’t care what strangers think.”
“Really.”
“Nah.”
I plop a lovely piece of fatty pork into my mouth and chew, buying myself a moment to think. I used to drive my ex crazy when I’d ask him questions about coming out. Why not now? Will you ever be ready? And every time he’d put me off, I’d hear the subtext beneath the excuses: It’s you, Roddy. You’re not worth the trouble.
I still have those emotional scars. Kieran baffles me, but in entirely different ways.
“Well…” I say. “It’s just that you haven’t told anyone close to you that you’re into men.”
“Nope,” he agrees, sipping his beer. “I also haven’t told them that I might try for a college degree. Or that I’ve started painting again. Everything is on a need-to-know basis.”
“But why?” I press, even though I’ll probably regret it.
He wipes his mouth on a napkin and then looks down at his bowl. “My family is weird, Roddy. We don’t tell each other the things that matter. We only talk about the things that don’t. We never share.”
“But what would happen if you did?” I whisper, hoping he won’t hate me for asking. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to understand.”
He sits back in his chair. “If I tell all my truths, then it could make other people tell theirs. And some of that stuff is ugly. I really don’t need to hear everyone else’s secrets. It’s better this way.”
“You don’t want to make them say it out loud? What they’d think about you and me?” I clarify.
“Exactly. It’s just a bad idea. Because then it’s too real, and I’m stuck laboring on a farm for a man who openly hates me. And if I stop helping, I’m bailing on my mother and my brother.”
Well, heck. I have never navigated that particular minefield. My parents’ disapproval is more or less in alignment. I take another bite and try to think. “I’ve met some of your extended family, though, and they seem pretty great.”
“They are,” he agrees. “And as long as I toe the line, I get to keep the good people in my life. I don’t ever have to find out whose side they’d be on if they knew how things really are at my house. And anyway—why I should go first? Nobody else tells the truth. Why me?”
“Because it might set you free?” I say softly.
He makes a face. “It might, or it might not. I could be the guy who broke the truce and blew the whole family sky high.”
“It’s a risk,” I concede. Sometimes I forget that Kieran was living at home when I met him. Independence is still new to him. After a little time passes, he might realize that his father—or whoever—doesn’t control him anymore.
“Besides,” he says, pushing his empty bowl away. “School might not work out. I might be a shit painter. And you might leave Vermont. Then I would have stuck my neck out for nothing.”
My chopsticks pause on the way to my bowl. Because he’s right about that last thing. I’ve made him no promises. I was so careful not to. “The thing is, Kieran?” I take a breath and gather my courage. This usually ends badly. But I’m already used to being the guy who cares too much. “You’re the kind of guy who’s worth sticking around for. Just so you know.”
He gives me a slow blink. “I am?” It doesn’t sound like he believes me.
“A hundred percent. So just… Think it over.”
The waitress picks that moment to approach our table, ruining the moment. Of course, she does. “Can I bring you boys any dessert? Or another drink?”