AllFreeNovel
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By the time I noticed just how gorgeous she was, she’d moved away, seemingly for good.
It was Christmas, and Aiden and I had returned from a party, back when I still mostly hid the fact that I didn’t drink by nursing a single beer all night. He passed out immediately, but I couldn’t sleep. I found Bee sitting on the kitchen counter in an oversized sweater and socks, bare legs swinging, a cup of cocoa in her hands. The neck was stretched from use, showing off her collarbones. At the sight of her, I completely forgot why I’d come to the kitchen in the first place. The next morning, as she opened the gift I’d gotten her—a silly little pen etched with the wordsbuzz off. I’m writingand a little bee—she turned and smiled at me. Nothing new, just her usual smile, but I was floored, and suddenly I saw her through new eyes.
When Bee returns with her five dollars, she makes a show of adding it to the jar. Then she pulls a drink from the fridge and hops back up on the counter to open it.
When I spot her eyeing my toast hungrily, I pull our last plate out and give her the second piece.
As we eat, I relax. Now that I know where she’s coming from, I think I can help her. This is the longest amount of time we’ve spent in the same room since wemoved in, and Bee finally seems comfortable. Clearly, the more she opens up, the easier that will be.
We should probably have more comfortable options for mealtimes, though. A dining table seems like a pretty standard thing, even if I’m not sure we’ll use it. Maybe we could get by with a couple of stools?
During the week, I left a pen and paper on the top of the fridge for exactly these moments. The list is already longer than I thought it would be, and unless we get lucky with some cheap finds, it’s going to take time to cross everything off.
The kitchen fills with a comfortable silence. This is nice. I want more of this.
“So what’s first?” Bee asks.
I place our empty plates in the sink. “You tell me. You’ve got to finish the book.”
“No, it’s finished, but I need to re-familiarize myself with it. It’s been sitting in a box for a month. It’ll need a lot of editing. And feedback.”
“Feedback I can handle. What else? Because the way I see it, you’ve got another issue.”
“Oh, I do, do I? And what is that, Jiminy?”
“All right, angel. Careful who you’re calling names. From where I’m standing, you need to start sharing more.” Is it selfish to suggest this? Almost entirely. “And start letting yourself make mistakes. Challenge yourself. Get comfortable disagreeing with people. You can’t please everyone, and if you’re constantly worried about that, you’ll be too busy making them happy to notice you’re miserable.” I scratch at my jaw. “Trust me. It took me awhile to realize that, and there are still things I struggle with.”
Namely, the man whose DNA makes up half of my being.
“But you’re so confident.”
“Not always. Exploring my sexuality called a lot into question for me. What it meant to like men. What it meant tobe a man. And I realized I was performing for people, straight or queer, because of what they wanted from me. I had to recognize who I was underneath all of that. I know now it isn’t tied to who I love or whether I impress anyone, but how I show up for people. Being a good person, being a good friend.” And hopefully, someday, being a good dad. “In the ways that count, Bee, you’re miles ahead of me.”
She plucks at the hem of her shorts, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know about that.”
“I know. That’s what I’m going to show you.”
“Oh.”
“First challenge.” I hand her the pen. “Draw something.”
“I think you’re forgetting something. There’s no paper.”
“Use the wall.”
She does a double take. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” This is all about getting Bee comfortable with imperfection. Coloring outside the lines. “First, you don’t have to look so nervous. We can always paint over it. This isn’t something you can pass or fail. It’s just fun.”
“Fun.”
“Yes.” And to prove it, I slip the pen from her fingers and writeperfect doesn’t existon the wall.
Bee’s jaw drops open, and she doesn’t move, even as I return the pen to her.
“If you want to practice public speaking, there’s a course at the community college. But if you want me to show you how to be comfortable as yourself, middle finger to the air? Then it’s going to take open communication and a little of your volcanic energy. I’m not the one who moved across the country.”
Defiantly, she takes the pen back, but instead of going for the wall, she grabs my wrist, pulls my sleeve up, and gets to work. I’m so impressed, so distracted by the freckles spread across her cheeks, that I wouldn’t dare stop her. They scatter like falling leaves across her nose, by her lip, down her neck. I want to gather them in my hands, preserve them forever.
