Page 10 of New Year

Zack politely held the diner door open for Nat, and they passed through the glass vestibule into the main restaurant. This one was more like a Denny’s than a traditional train-car style diner, without the chrome or red barstools, but it was still cozy and cool. Country music played on a sound system, loud enough to give ambiance without forcing them to shout at each other.

Half the place was roped off and closed for the night. The hostess led them to a booth in the open section, their window facing the parking lot. She was quickly replaced by a woman in a green apron who introduced herself as Rhonda, told them the day’s specials, and then asked, “Start you off with coffee?”

“I’ll have decaf,” Zack said.

“Strawberry milkshake?” Nat asked, directing the question as much to the waitress as to Zack. Zack tilted his head in a short nod.

“Have ‘em both out to you soon.” She gave them perky nods then left.

Nat cracked open the thick menu. He loved places like this, where it felt impossible to choose because there were so many options. He loved having choices. Everything looked amazing, especially the steaks, but he needed carbs. Needed long-lasting fuel. He needed the thirty bucks tonight’s john gave him before the blow job disaster for a cell phone. Being without one was the worst sense of disconnect, and he hated it.

“Anything look good?” Zack asked. He’d barely glanced at his menu and seemed to be studying Nat. Whatever. Nat was used to being stared at.

“All of it, but I’m thinking pasta.”

“There are quite a few options. Are you a bigger fan of marinara sauce or alfredo sauce?”

“Marinara, I guess. Growing up, we ate jarred red sauce. Simple stuff. I always thought alfredo looked like baby spit-up.”

Zack laughed out loud, a comforting, rumbling sound that came from deep in his chest. How could one belt of laughter make Nat feel so safe that he wanted to roll over and show his belly? He’d known this man for fifteen minutes.

“Sorry,” Nat said. “Sometimes I just blurt stuff out.”

“It’s all right, it’s charming.”

“Really? My ex used to say it was annoying.”

“Then it’s a good thing they’re an ex.”

“He. He’s an ex.” Might as well make sure Zack knew exactly who was sitting across the table from him. “I’m a gay, homeless, part-time prostitute, sometime waiter, college dropout.”

Zack settled back against the banquette, hands resting in his lap. “You are a blunt one, aren’t you? Are you waiting tables right now?”

“Right now? I’m sitting here with you.”

Zack’s lips twitched. “Are you currently employed, Nathaniel?”

“No. A few weeks ago, a friend got me an under-the-table gig at a catered event, but it’s hard to land a legit job without a mailing address.”

“Fair. And I’m not going to grill you about your current circumstances. But if you feel the need to vent, I will listen with a compassionate ear.”

“Why? Were you homeless once?”

“Near enough.”

The waitress returned with their drinks. Nat ordered chicken parmigiana and spaghetti with garlic bread. Zack ordered grilled salmon and veggies. After taking a long pull from his milkshake, Nat said, “How were you nearly homeless? If you don’t mind telling me?”

“It’s not a story I typically share with new friends, but we are both in unusual circumstances tonight.” Zack added a packet of sweetener to his coffee and stirred. Nat wasn’t a fan of coffee’s taste, but he loved the aroma. “I grew up in a very strict, religious, fundamentalist household. My father was in politics and public-facing, so I was to conform. To be the perfect, straight son who went to church, attended whichever bigoted protest we were tackling that month, and basically be a Mini Me of my father. I was being strangled to death by that life.”

“Sounds awful.” And Nat could empathize with being strangled by the choices of a parent. “When did you come out?”

“I was actually outed by someone else before I could tell them. My father wanted me to attend a seminary school, as he did, before following in a similar political career. I had no desire to do either of those things, but I did convince him that a degree in political science from Notre Dame was a better opportunity. Being away from home exposed me to all sorts of things I’d only dreamed about.” Zack glanced around but no one was nearby. “I embraced being gay. A lot and as often as possible. Quite frankly, I was reckless, and the summer before my senior year, my parents discovered my participation in certain internet chat rooms that I forgot to wipe from my browser history. I wanted to lie, to say I was doing research for a future campaign against this degenerate lifestyle, so he’d pay for my last year of school. But I couldn’t. I could not shut that closet door again. So, I told the truth.”

Zack’s voice was so soft and fractured that he sounded close to tears. Nat’s heart hurt for someone so much older who was still this hurt by something that happened a lifetime ago. He didn’t know Zack’s exact age, but he’d guess late thirties to early forties.

Nat barely resisted the urge to reach over and squeeze Zack’s hand. “Did they kick you out?”

“Oh yes. My father allowed me to pack one carryon bag with belongings, handed me a roll of cash, and told me to never return, unless I had repented and blah, blah, blah. I took the bus across three states to stay with a college friend for a while. Eventually, I got on my feet, finished my degree on my own, and have been financially stable ever since.”

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