Page 62 of Embers Glow After the Fire

Truffle’s dining room is packed with three more parties loitering around the bar, waiting for their reserved tables to clear. Sebastian is seducing them with heavy pours, hypnotic flair and painted on jeans.

A shiny new Eli with a sharper haircut and form fitted button down spread open to his freckled cleavage, weaves around diners while exchanging flirty grins with the tall dark twunk eating dinner with his family at table four. He’s adopted pieces of Phoenix’s charm and alluring mannerisms since getting back from the cabin. The shy boy has transitioned into a sultry seductor over a matter of weeks.

A few days back, Brendon caught him strutting from the stock cooler, swiping the back of his hand across dewy lips with rosy glowing and slightly disheveled Sebastian stumbling out behind.

Brendon has taken on Molly’s Sunday brunch shift permanently. She’s decided to spend more time with her pod of girlfriends, boyfriends and theyfriends who mostly share the day off.

He’s glad to be busy. It helps keep his mind off the unanswered messages in his pocket while giving the space to plot the imminent and devastating next move with Matthew.

The lonely studio apartment has felt claustrophobic, though hanging out with Beverly on her back patio while sipping sour water that she calls lemonade and listening to her ramble on about the children who never visit, helps keep him occupied during off hours.

“Hi, I’m Brendon, I’ll be your server this afternoon,” he recites. “Can I get you all started with drinks?” He charms, passing menus around a four top.

The group of flamboyant men all dazzle up at him, provoking the heat rising through his neck and into his cheeks. He plasters an awkward smile while jotting down their cocktail orders.

“Great. I’ll be back in just a bit.” He scoots away, checking on table eight requesting their check, before dropping slips off with Sebastian and signaling for Eli to prepare a table reset.

His phone vibrates his thigh. He fumbles to find the silence button through denim but has to pull it from his pocket. He’ll reply to Matthew tonight. Just the thought stabs his guts, but dragging it out will only hurt more. Maybe they can maintain a friendship. He hates the possibility of breaking it off, but can’t imagine the sweet mature man won’t understand.

Incoming call from Unknown Contact banners the screen. He stares with a wrinkled brow but taps the bright red X to reject the call.

“Is table eleven ready?” he asks the grumbling chefs who are in the middle of another lovers quarrel. Gregory and Hugo are a beautiful example of what marriage really is. They battle like sworn enemies but guard each other against any outside criticism, and makeup like horny teenagers, still smitten with each other. By shift’s end their furrowed brows will be lusty gazes. It happens every shift.

Hugo slides a glistening plate of beef minion and perfectly caramelized vegetables on garlic turnip purée over the stainless steel expo counter to complete the ticket. “Eleven is up.”

Brendon’s phone vibrates his thigh again.

“Thank you.” He stacks the serving tray and checks the device. One missed voicemail from Unknown Caller lights the screen. He tucks it away for later and scurries out to the dining room.

When he finally catches time for a break in the alley behind the building, he plops down onto an overturned bucket, swigs a water bottle and triggers the voicemail to play in his ear.

“Hello. I’m trying to reach Brendon Porter.” His full married name is cringe inducing. “My name is Jordan Devereau. I’m the estate executive for Christian Porter and I need to speak with you at your earliest convenience. Please give me a call back.” Brendon chews his cheek and fumbles the corner hem of his apron. “I look forward to speaking with you soon.” Jordan ends the call.

Brendon knows he’ll have to face the loose ends of his past sooner than later, but it can wait until his shift is over.

***

Perching on the edge of the bed, Brendon stares hollow eyed at his phone with a finger hovering over the call button. The new mattress now has a solid oak frame Beverly had stashed in her basement, a treasure once belonging to her eldest son that she can’t part with but Brendon promised to take great care of while it’s on borrow.

His finger traces scratched letters reading Trent was here in the headboard as he releases a heavy sigh and taps the glass.

“Hello—Devereau and Sons. How can I help you?” The sweet voice with a Texan twang sings.

“Hello.” He clears the kink in his throat. “My name’s Brendon Porter—I’m returning a call to Jordan Devereau.”

“Yes, Mr. Porter, let me transfer you directly to his office. Hold for just a moment please.”

Jazz music floats through the phone. His eyes scan the room. It’s starting to come together with a mix of pieces that feel like his personality. A vintage reproduction chrome and enamel three-piece dining set with banana yellow vinyl cushioned seats that he couldn’t believe someone was giving away on a social media marketplace. The orange metal locker style credenza holding up a modest flat panel television that were a steal. And a turquoise dresser from a sidewalk sale, sitting underneath a Congress Street impressionist painting he should have paid more for, when it caught his eye strolling through a First-Friday art walk where the artist was selling their original pieces.

“Brendon?” His voice is more chipper than the voicemail.

“Hello.” Brendon responds.

“Thank you for calling me back. I’m so sorry for your devastating loss.” He clears his throat. “I’m reaching out because we need to discuss Christian’s estate.” Computer keys tap and papers shuffle. “You’re his husband and sole benefactor. So there is quite a bit of paperwork to file on your behalf. Would it be possible to meet here in my office sometime soon?”

“I’m in Maine—I’m not sure I have enough funds set aside to get down to Texas.” His face warms.

Jordan chuckles. “You’ve nothing to worry about there. I can have my assistant arrange travel plans for whatever schedule suits you. Maybe next week might work?”

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