1
Mischa
Filling the mug with rich hot chocolate, I finish the job with a swirl of whipped cream on top and a sprinkling of cinnamon.
"That looks absolutely divine, Mischa," Jenni Lane says to me when I hand her the beverage.
"Let me know how you like the spices. It's a new recipe we're trying out this winter."
She takes a sip in front of me and her eyes roll back in her head.
"Oh, Mischa, this is fantastic," she says. "Damn, there's no way I'm going to have any left by the time I get back to work."
Laughing, I say goodbye and think that she's probably right. Sea Glass Community Soccer Foundation isn't exactly in the heart of downtown, so given her reaction, there's no way that hot cocoa survives her commute back.
The afternoon is busy with folks popping by to try our various hot cocoa flavors. In the winter, Frederick and I keep Sea Glass Scoops closed during the week. But on the weekend, we continue to offer ice cream for those who are crazy enough to want it in this weather, but also several types of hot cocoa. This has proved not only popular with the locals but also the tourists who come for the Christmas ambiance of downtown Sea Glass.
When the clock hits five, Frederick turns off the open sign and locks the front door. I begin the closing routine.
"What are you and Ada up to tonight?"
"Anniversary dinner. The Driftwood Room," he replies.
"You are shitting me. Has it seriously been a year since you two got married?"
Frederick laughs.
"Yes. A year ago, you were in Europe avoiding my wedding," he jokes.
"Dude, I was not avoiding your wedding. That trip was planned for the two years beforehand," I say, although I know he's teasing.
"I know. I know. I'm just kidding," Frederick says, slapping me on the back. "But, yeah, it's been an entire year."
"Man, that's awesome."
I count the bills quietly to myself, then involuntarily let out a sigh.
"What's up?" Frederick asks.
"Nothing. Just stupid stuff," I say with a shrug.
"I love stupid stuff," he jokes.
"Oh, just me wondering if I'll ever find what you have found. I'm literally turning 50 next year, and, well, I feel a bit pathetic."
"You are definitely not pathetic, and not only that, you are an American hero," Frederick says, with a tinge of defensiveness in his tone.
"Not anymore. That was thirty years ago."
"Who the fuck gives a shit if it was thirty years ago? You literally risked your life for this country and have the scars to prove it," my partner says forcefully.
Right on cue, my thighs suddenly feel extra stiff.
"It's not just that. I mean, obviously, it is that. It's the whole reason I never became intimate with a woman for so long. And then once I was fully healed, both physically and mentally, after lord knows how many years of therapy, well, you know, it's difficult walking around as a grown-ass man who is a virgin."
"I'm not going to pretend to understand how that feels," Frederick says, "but it doesn't mean that you should feel dumb or anything like that. You are a hero, and you have suffered a lot because of that heroism. You're also a fantastic guy, Mischa."
"Oh, how sweet," I joke.
