Page 25 of After Hours at Dooryard Books
He feels like he’s spying on Luke’s new life through a peephole. He feels seedy, but also like he’s being manipulated.
“You do look good,” Luke says. “It’s the hair.”
Patrick self-consciously touches his head. He hasn’t gotten his hair cut since Susan and Eleanor moved in, and he only trimmed his beard when Iris told him he looked like a hippie.
“It’s so long,” Patrick complains.
“All blonds should let their hair grow. More of a good thing,” Luke says decisively. Patrick isn’t even blond, not really. He has the color hair you get when you were blond as a kid: dirty blond, if he gets some sun in the summer.
“I should go,” Luke says after they’ve split the check. Neither of them make any move to get up. It’s dark, they’re in the back of the restaurant, and none of the waiters are paying them anyattention. Patrick knows of four gay bars in a two block radius and there are probably others he hasn’t heard of. So when Luke leans in to kiss him, it’s not an insane thing to do, even though they’re in public. It’s just this side of a peck, something betweengoodbyeandnice to see you againandremember?
“I’m in town for a week,” Luke says as Patrick watches him get into a cab. “I’m staying at the Americana.”
Patrick won’t call him, but it’s embarrassingly reassuring to feel wanted, however idly. He walks the two blocks home, mildly annoyed with himself for having passed up what would have been a decent couple of hours, but mostly glad to be heading home.
When he reaches the shop, he’s surprised to see a light still on. He lets himself in, locks everything back up, and feels an odd thrum of anticipation as he heads to the rear of the shop. He finds Nathaniel in the kitchen, sitting at the table, reading the John le Carré novel that Patrick lent him. It looks like he’s still on the first few pages. On the table in front of him is a mug of tea.
“Want me to put on some water on for you?” Nathaniel asks, looking up from his book.
Patrick shakes his head. Instead, he fills a glass of water at the sink and uses it to swallow a couple aspirin.
“That man,” Nathaniel says. “Are you and he…”
“Not anymore.” Patrick leans against the counter. Now that the paint has dried, the green doesn’t seem quite so violent. Maybe it’s grown on him. Maybe it’s the wine.
“Why not?”
“He moved back to California.”
Nathaniel has an expression that Patrick can’t decipher. Some people are fine with a person being discreetly queer, but change their tune as soon as that person stops hiding. Even some queer people think everybody belongs in the closet.
And it hasn’t entirely escaped Patrick’s attention that Nathaniel might not be straight. When Patrick starts talking about this stuff, Nathaniel seems curious in a way that straight people seldom do. He doesn’t seem comfortable—very much the opposite—but that combination of discomfort and curiosity is practically a mandatory stop on the trip to figuring out you’re queer.
Or—maybe Nathaniel already knows. It’s not like he goes around talking about who he used to fuck—or where he worked, where he went to school, or anything at all. The only thing Patrick knows about Nathaniel’s past is that he used to work in an office and he stopped playing the violin in college. That level of cageyness ought to feel dishonest. If Luke’s harmless storytelling rankles, then why doesn’t Nathaniel’s secrecy? They’re both trying to cover things up. The difference, maybe, is that Nathaniel is practically announcing that there are things he doesn’t want Patrick and Susan to know.
Patrick watches Nathaniel frown at a stain on the table and tries to summon up some annoyance, but all he can think is that Nathaniel waited up for him.
So, yeah, Nathaniel might be queer, and he might think Patrick’s being rude and déclassé by not hiding it, but those topics are too delicate to navigate half drunk and weirdly sappy. Patrick ought to go to bed and walk away from this conversation before it can get dicey, but the wine’s loosened his tongue.
“Is this going to be a problem? Me being gay?”
Nathaniel’s eyebrows shoot up. “No? Is this supposed to be brand new information? I’ve known since before I came here.”
Patrick imagines that there’s something so powerfully gay about his presence that you can see it from a cab several blocks away, even though it probably just means that Mrs. Kaplan screens her strays to make sure they aren’t going to be aproblem.Extremelybold of Mrs. Kaplan, but Patrick’s given up questioning her methods.
Patrick’s had enough wine to find all of this very amusing, or maybe he’s relieved, so he laughs a little, and Nathaniel smiles up at him—the real deal, both sides of his mouth and everything. Patrick’s just drunk enough to admit to himself that he’d do practically anything to guarantee a steady supply of those smiles. Appalling.
“And also,” Nathaniel says, “I’m not an idiot. You’ve clearly fucked the entire male half of your clientèle.”
“Not all of them,” Patrick says, which sets them both off.
“Did you love one another?” Nathaniel asks when they’ve settled down. His tone is blunt, even unsentimental, like he’s asking whether Patrick remembered to mail the gas bill.
“Me and Luke? No,” Patrick says. “I liked him a lot. I still like him a lot. And I guess he liked me a lot, but it beats me why.”
“It might have something to do with the way you look,” Nathaniel says, and Patrick watches in amazement as his cheeks turn pink. Patrick’s own face is heating, but there’s no way he’s doing it as prettily as Nathaniel is. Nathaniel has more aplomb than Patrick’s given him credit for, because he simply crosses one leg over the other and moves right along. “I mean, it probably isn’t because of your personality.”
Patrick bursts out laughing. Nathaniel looks terribly pleased with himself.
