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Frankie had never wanted to keep count of his own lovers. He’d always found keeping track reduced them from a person to a number and implied either a positive “nice job bro, high-five” sort of mentality, or an equally problematic slut shaming one.
Instead, he liked to catalog different positions he’d tried, things he wanted to do again, and things he’d done the one time and never needed to repeat. Among the latter included absolutelyanythingto do with food, sex on a Ferris wheel and, quite sadly, the mile high club.
Even still, he could estimate his number was probably closer to twohundred, so he knew he had no right to be jealous of Diego’stwolovers, but the fact he’d seen them multiple times (for almost four months apparently) made Frankie’s chest ache. He hadn’t had the courage to ask if there had been anyone else since he’d graduated, aka since Frankie had returned home.
After Frankie’s little outburst about Diego, Obie had gotten an uncharacteristically sympathetic look on his face. Thank god Seth had come to his rescue. Well… sort of.
“Are you ever going to introduce us to any of these lovely people youarebringing home then?” he asked as he slid gracefully into Obie’s lap.
Frankie hadn’t asked, because he didn’t care one way or another, but Obie had begun spending practically every night at their apartment starting in October. He wasn’t sure if that meant he’d taken on new work hours and had officially moved in, or was just trying to spend more time with his husband.
God. Husband. Frankie wanted that so bad. He’d sort of always wanted it, but never been able to admit it to himself. He’d had a three-year relationship in high school that he thought could have resulted in a husband, but the guy had ghosted him the second they’d gotten to college, and so Frankie had begun his campaign of hookups for the next five years. Now though, the revolving door of incredible people who barely even stuck around for a second round, let alone breakfast in bed or sleepy afternoon cuddles, was getting exhausting.
At least he still had Diego’s cuddles. Over the past few months, their casual touches had evolved from foot rubs and leaning against each other while working to Diego throwing his arm across the back of the couch and allowing Frankie to curl into his side. Sometimes he even purposefully sat down so close to Frankie on the couch that Frankie would inevitably fall into his lap, where he’d stay for as long as he was allowed.
Frankie knew he needed to answer Seth, but the longer he waited, the sadder Seth’s eyes got, and the more painfully sympathetic Obie looked. So, instead, Frankie decided getting up to take his dishes to the dishwasher was answer enough.
* * *
Fall wasFrankie’s favorite season, and this year was no different. In fact, it was one of the best he’d ever had.
His food delivery job had netted him over fifty recipes throughout the spring and summer, and when pumpkin spice season arrived, Frankie wasready. He concocted a list of thirty different fall recipes he wanted to master, including flavors such as maple, brown sugar, pumpkin (of course), and apple.
Frankie was a little surprised everyone was tolerating his baking antics so much, but he only allowed himself one treat per night. This meant he often ended up pawning his baked goods off on their many friends, but mostly Seth, Obie, and Diego.
“Tesoro, you’re going to make me fat. As the only non-naturally testosterone producing person here, I would like to remind you that my metabolism does not work like yours,” Diego groaned, tossing back the final bite of the previous night's maple bourbon cake.
Neither Obie nor Seth batted an eye at their rotating list of multilingual endearments. For the first few weeks, they’d stopped the conversation to ask what this meant in Spanish or what that meant in French. Thankfully though, they’d given up and, generally speaking, so had Frankie. Occasionally he would remember a word well enough to look it up later, but mostly he trusted Diego when he said they were all casual endearments thrown around in Spanish, even if some of them sounded suspiciously affectionate to Frankie.
“As someone who has not seen the young side of 25 in a while, my metabolism also does not work the way yours does,” Obie grumbled as he polished off his third pumpkin and gouda scone.
Frankie could never work out how old Obie was. He had crow’s feet around his eyes and laugh lines forming at the corner of his lips. At the same time, his style was incredibly eclectic, ranging from mini-skirts and crop tops to bell bottom jeans and bomber jackets, which did little to shed light on his age. Based on some of the references he made to pop culture, he had probably spent some formative years in the 90s, so maybe he was an elder millennial.
“Well, my metabolism isgreat. Keep ‘em coming Frankie!” Seth crowed.
Frankie had developed a loving, platonic relationship with Seth, and he was truly thankful Penelope had checked out the apartment without Obie here. He was also pleased he had not run screaming at Obie’s antics on the first day he’d arrived.
On nights when Diego wasn’t over and Obie had a late night client, which were both becoming fewer and farther between, he and Seth would curl up on the sofa together, cuddled up under blankets or tangled in each other’s legs. Frankie had been hooking up less and less with strangers, preferring to spend the night sandwiched between Diego and Obie, with Seth on his lap, or cuddled up with Diego or Seth individually. If he could somehow shut off his dick, he could almost convince himself this was all he ever needed.
Frankie often poked fun at Diego by asserting that he loved Frankie. Diego never said it out loud, but Frankie truly believed it. On the other hand, Seth liked to proclaim how much he loved Frankie. Obie had admitted, only once, that he was rather fond of “you annoying bastards.” Frankie counted the concession as a pretty big win.
When he thought about it, he could tell Diego loved him because even though Frankie was playing only a peripheral role in the development of the plan for the cafe, Diego always included him in big decision making, and always said “we” aka “Frankie and Diego” when speaking about the future. This was why Frankie continued to do everything he could to show Diego that he loved him too. This mostly consisted of continuing to develop baked goods recipes and compiling a list of over fifty coffee beans he thought they should stock on a rotating basis.
As the holidays approached, Frankie thought of another way he could demonstrate his love. Obie and Seth had made it clear, Seth in vague terms and Obie in absolutely no uncertain terms, that they would not be going “home” for Thanksgiving. Assuming nothing had changed while he was away, Frankie guessed the same was true for Diego. Frankie obviously hadn’t been able to go home the previous year, and he thought maybe this was a good way to begin establishing his status as an independent adult with his parents.
Without consulting Diego, which was admittedly a pretty big risk, Frankie called his parents two weeks before Thanksgiving and told them he wasn’t coming home. He told them he was going to spend the day with his friends instead. Unprompted, his mother asked when she was going to meet the lucky guy or gal and his father told him to use protection either way. Frankie hung up in an indignant huff, but was actually quite grateful his parents took his sexuality seriously. They’d always been rather dismissive of Penelope’s sexuality, which he knew wasn’t fair, but he wasn’t quite sure how to be supportive other than to continue being loudly queer, forcing his parents to acknowledge it was possible to be bi/pan.
It turned out by not going home for Thanksgiving, he got Penelope out of having to go home as well. Penelope and Frankie lived relatively separate lives, but they’d established a routine during the fall. At the beginning of every month, Frankie would take her to one of the restaurants on his rotating list of favorites and at the end of the month she’d come over for dinner and allow Frankie to try out some of his new recipes. The added bonus from their routine was that Penelope got to spend a fair amount of time with Seth and Obie, and on occasion she’d also get to hang out with Diego.
Without having to say anything, Frankie knew Penelope was hoping they would date. Anytime she invited Frankie on an outing with her and her friends, typically her best friend Maria and a rotating cast of others, she would casually mention he could bring Diego. At first, he declined out of principle, but slowly he realized he liked nothing more than spending his time with Diego and his favorite, albeit only, sister.
When Thanksgiving week arrived, Penelope invited herself to their apartment for Thanksgiving dinner and demanded Diego join them. Of course, Frankie had been planning on inviting Diego anyways, but with Penelope’s proclamation, it suddenly became very real that they would be cooking a Thanksgiving dinner for five people.
Frankie took over all the baking, and Obie and Diego drew the shortest straws for the turkey, leaving Seth and Penelope to whip up a series of regular sides like potatoes, green beans and gravy, but also some increasingly outrageous dishes. Frankie was sort of intrigued by the idea of the orange and cranberry sweet potato mash, but the cinnamon rutabaga and sour cream and onion cornbread casserole did not intrigue him in the slightest.
He bumped shoulders with Obie at the oven, leaned against Penelope while chopping ingredients, and let his hand graze across Diego’s upper back as he passed behind him. As their little house filled with warmth from the oven, and the tantalizing smell of turkey and spices, Frankie wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt more at home on Thanksgiving.
“I love you guys,” he said as they all sat down to dinner.
