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Night had fallen, but the rain was unrelenting, soaking my T-shirt as I stood there, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions inside me. Confusion. Anger. Utter disbelief. But above all, self-doubt. How had it come to this? I’d always prided myself on being able to please my partners in every way imaginable. But here I was, feeling like a complete failure at the one thing I thought I excelled at.
“Dammit,” I whispered, clenching my fists at my sides. What did I do now? I had fucked up, but I had no idea how to fix this…or if it could even be fixed. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if I could rise to the challenge.
5
FIR
Friendships had always fascinated me. What was it that brought people together? I’d encountered the most unlikely pairs of friends in my life, like my father, who’d been lifelong friends with Stan, the next-door neighbor’s kid, a man he had nothing in common with anymore except his age. Stan had moved out of Forestville decades ago, yet he and my father went on a fishing trip every year to celebrate their friendship.
York Coombe and I had bonded over loss and grief. Maybe not the most cheerful reason for people to come together, but it had worked for us. He was seven years younger than me and a research engineer for some tech firm in Seattle, so on the surface, we didn’t have mutual interests either. Add to that his older brother had been downright nasty to me in high school—I only later found out he’d been an asshole to York as well—and the two of us made an even more unlikely pair.
Yet we’d found each other after Samuel had died. York had sent me a letter, an old-fashioned, handwritten one, stating how sorry he was for my loss. It had been an unexpected gesture because he and I had never been close. Hell, we’d never even moved in the same circles. Yet when he’d heard from his parents that Samuel had died, he’d reached out to me, sharing he knew a thing or two about loss and he was so sorry for me.
Amid all the generic so-sorry-for-your-loss messages—well intended but cliché—his had stood out, maybe because of that personal note. I’d sent him a thank-you note and, on impulse, had included my phone number. Two days later, he’d texted me, and that was how our friendship began. After a few months, he revealed that Essex, his brother who’d been killed in action as a Marine, had bullied him too, and that had only made our connection stronger.
Because of our busy jobs and him living in Seattle, we didn’t get to hang out often, but he was in town for his mom’s birthday, and I’d invited him over for dinner. The boys were fond of him, and the feeling was mutual. York loved spending time with us. He said it gave him a sense of family and belonging he was missing. And yes, that was as heartbreaking as it sounded. York was nothing if not honest.
I was making dinner as he walked in through the back door, a smile on his face. “Hey, Fir.”
“So glad you could make it.” I hugged him carefully, not wanting to get any splatters on his dress shirt and suit. “Came straight from work?”
He loosened his tie. “Yeah, I didn’t want to stop by my parents first.”
I couldn’t blame him, considering his complicated relationship with them. “Grab some clothes out of my closet if you want to change.”
“I’m good, but thanks.”
“We’re eating pasta with red sauce.” York was notorious for spilling food all over himself, so I thought it wise to give him a heads-up.
He chuckled. “In that case, I’d better take you up on your offer.”
“You know the way. When you’re done, ask the boys to come down for dinner, would you?”
A few minutes later, we were gathered around the dinner table, a big casserole with baked ziti in the middle, the tangy scent of tomato sauce mingling with the unmistakable smell of melted cheese. I’d also made a Caesar salad and a plate piled high with garlic bread, and all of it would be gone by the end of dinner. Teenage boys were bottomless pits, even two who didn’t focus on playing sports, like my two.
Gabe and Josiah took their seats, their laughter filling the room as they jostled each other playfully. The warmth and love radiating from our little family unit was something I cherished more than anything.
“Dig in, everyone,” I encouraged, serving up generous portions of pasta onto each plate. We dove into the meal, and I savored every bite as the flavors danced across my tongue. The soft crunch of croutons in the salad contrasted with the gooey, melty mozzarella on the ziti, while the garlic bread provided a satisfying chewiness. Simple food, but it hit the spot.
“Hey, Gabe, how’s chess club going?” York asked, interested in my sons’ lives as he always was.
“Good, but we lost our last tournament,” Gabe replied between mouthfuls. “I don’t think everyone is practicing as much as they should.”
Josiah chimed in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not everyone wants to spend two hours a day on that chess app like you.”
“Hey!” Gabe tossed a crouton at his brother, who ducked and laughed.
York and I exchanged amused glances.
“And you?” York asked Josiah. “Anything new?”
Josiah sobered and looked at Gabe, who nodded at him, silently giving his approval. “We started a queer club at school,” Josiah said softly. “It’s for queer kids, kids with queer family members, and allies. So basically anyone.”
“They did that so no one would have to out themselves to join,” I added.
York looked thoughtful. “I think that’s wonderful. It’s already hard enough being a teenager, but to be one who feels different from everyone else? They need all the support they can get.”
“Exactly.” Josiah nodded enthusiastically. “Gabe and I were the first to join, since he’s out, and everyone knows our dad is gay.”
