Page 73 of Your Only Fan
“Arroz con habichuelas?” I ask. “Sure I can. But are you sure? I’ve got stuff for carbonara, stew, salad.”
He nods.
“Yes. I loved it when you made it last time.”
“Okay.Arroz con habichuelasit is then.” I take some fresh peppers, onions, and cilantro from the fridge and close it.
I put a pan on the stove with some water and bring it to a boil while Ezra watches my every move.
He climbs the counter at the end and followsmy every move. When I chop up the ingredients. When I measure the rice. When I open the cans of beans.
If mypapisaw me now, he’d have a heart attack. But who has time to cook beans from scratch? Especially when their beautiful, handsome boyfriend was hungry and needed nourishment?
“So, I assume your dad is South American?” he asks.
I nod. “Nope. North American actually. From Puerto Rico. And my mom is from Jamaica.”
“Did you grow up here?”
“Yes. I’ve been to both places, but I’m a product of New Harlow.” I laugh. “You?”
He looks away for the first time since we came to the kitchen and hunches his shoulders.
“I don’t really remember my parents. I got taken from them when I was ten, but it’s like my mind blanked them out. I grew up in foster care since then.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
I can’t imagine life without my parents and the lessons and culture they enriched my life with from a young age.
The love and care they gave me. The support they provided me with even when I told them I was gay or that I wanted to be an artist.
Neither culture was particularly accepting of art as a career. Well, to be fair, what parentishappy when their kid tells them they want the uncertainty of an artistic life? But my parents didn’t care. They just wanted me to be happy.
“It’s okay,” he replies, and I drop onions to cozy up to him and give him a hug.
“Did you grow up here?” I ask when I pull away.
He shakes his head.
“All over the place. When I graduated, I decided to move here and… I’ve never looked back.”
“Well, I, for one, am glad you did,” I tell him.
I finish the job at hand and let the rice cook before I lean against the counter by his side, looking up at him and admiring the view of Ezra in my kitchen.
He looks so comfortable and at home I can’t stand it. It warms my heart.
“I meant it, by the way,” he says after a few moments. “I’ll quit porn if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”
I tilt my head to the side and caress his cheek.
“It’s not the porn that makes me feel uncomfortable. It’s the sleeping with other guys that does,” I tell him.
He leans into my touch and fuck me if that doesn’t melt my heart.
“I’ll stop. To be fair I haven’t really been sleeping with others for a few weeks now.”
“What about those videos you posted last week?”
