Page 37 of Blue Umbrella Sky
MILT HADN’Tseen Billy in what seemed like a long time. In reality it was most likely only a week—or less.
But length of time really didn’t matter. Not where it counted—his heart. He was certain he’d closed the door on the possibility of having any kind of relationship with Billy, including a friendship. It made him sad, but there was a part of him that told him it was for the best. He knew that pushing Billy away was his own doing, yet he still couldn’t help pining for his smile, his nearness.
It was the age-old battle between head and heart. And Milt was exhausted with trying to figure out who might emerge victorious.
Sometimes it was easier to simply live, to exist.
He took his dinner out of the microwave—a Marie Callender’s chicken potpie—and set it on the stove to cool a bit. Ruby, alert to the smell of chicken, jumped down from her perch on the couch and padded out to the kitchen, claws clicking on the linoleum.
“Ah, you know what’s good, girl. Don’t you? Don’t you worry. You’ll get some.” Milt rolled his eyes and squatted down to rub her behind the ears in a way he knew she was particularly fond of.
When he was done, he washed his hands. Then he set out a bowl for his pie. He liked to overturn it and then break it all up with a fork. It wasn’t complete until he’d ground lots of black pepper over it and added just a shake or two of Parmesan cheese. These potpies were a guilty pleasure and probably the chief cause of his recent weight gain.
What did a few extra pounds matter when the only ones who saw him naked these days were poor Ruby and the man in the mirror? He might as well follow up supper with a big glass of milk and a couple of those terrible but delicious store-bought boxed chocolate doughnuts he’d picked up on his last trip to Ralph’s. On that trip he’d also treated himself to Cheetos, Cherry Garcia ice cream, and a box of frozen corn dogs.
Feeding your loneliness?he admonished, knowing it was true.
He’d thought about texting Billy a couple of times and had even gone so far as to pick up his phone and begin tapping the tiny keyboard. The days had been beautiful for hiking, and Milt had wanted company.
Yet he could never bring himself to do it. He wasn’t sure why. Oh, he had his ideas—irrational ones about cheating on Corky or not being ready for a new man—but those ideas didn’t hold water. Not really. For one, they were just getting tired, like a comedian with the same old shtick.
Whether it was Billy or not, one day Milt would need to get out and meet some people. Make some friends, at least, of the two-legged variety. He knew Palm Springs was rife with gay men of a certain age, and there were meet-ups and social groups for interests of just about every stripe. There was volunteer work. Hell, he could even break down and get himself a job. Starbucks was always hiring, right?
Back in Ohio he’d always been the sociable one, urging Corky out of the house to go up to Pittsburgh and see a Broadway touring production, or arranging to have people over for dinner or to play Cards Against Humanity. Milt was always the one to suggest taking a class, joining a club, even simply hanging out at the Elks club in downtown Summitville.
He’d enjoyed people.
When had he lost that?
These days Milt often began mornings with plans for checking out a museum (the art museum was free on Thursdays), a website for a Coachella Valley performance venue, a new hiking trail beyond the ones within walking distance of the trailer park (there were many; Joshua Tree, for example, had dozens of hikes), even the Yelp reviews of the gay bars along Arenas Road.
Mornings often held the promise of a new life.
But then he’d retire to bed far too early, with none of the goals met. Ruby didn’t mind as she curled up in the crook of his legs.
The theme music for yet another episode ofThe Golden Girlslulled them to sleep almost every night. The pathos of this was not lost on Milt.
He sighed as he sat down at the breakfast bar to make a mess of his chicken potpie and to devour it.
Talk about pathetic.
He aimed the remote near his bowl at the TV. Amazon Prime had a series of video dramas based on the works of Philip K. Dick that he’d been meaning to check out. “No time like the present,” he said to Ruby, who appeared to be listening with eager ears. But even Milt knew she couldn’t care less what he was talking about. She was looking forward, he knew, to the supreme ecstasy of licking the bowl clean when Milt was done. He called her cleaning dishes this way the dishwasher’s prewash cycle.
Just as he was navigating to Prime Video through his Roku, there was a knock at the door. Milt smiled and shut the TV off.
It didn’t matter who it was. It was company. Even if it was just one of the neighbors with a piece of misdelivered mail, it would be another human being to talk to. An encounter with a real live human being….Wow.
But when he opened the door, Milt was genuinely pleased and, oddly, confused and conflicted.
Billy stood just outside his kitchen door.
And God, Milt now knew for sure the definition of the adagea sight for sore eyes. Even though he was only clad in a pair of jogging pants and a Superman T-shirt with his feet bare, he looked breathtakingly sexy. Wasn’t that always the way, though? Men who worked the least at it were often the most alluring. He eyed Billy, maybe even undressing him a bit with his eyes, and came to the conclusion hardly any man on earth could possibly look better.
Without warning, experiencing such unexpected joy, Milt blurted out, “I love you!” It took him more by surprise than it did Billy, who took a step back and cocked his head.
Billy laughed. “What did you say?”
“I, uh, I said—” Milt swallowed, his mouth and throat suddenly very dry. “I said I’d love for you to come in.”
