Page 14 of Karma Kitty Christmas
Isaac complied, but he was still giggling to himself as he went, and Luca wondered what the deal was.
The giggling stopped when they got to the counter, the basketstuffedwith yarn and Isaac carrying a whole extra plastic bin in his arms. As soon as Luca stepped up to pay, Isaac shoved the bin in his arms and darted to the register, going for his own wallet.
“Nope,” Isaac said, proving surprisingly fast for someone who looked so sober and grounded. “Nope. I’m getting this one. It’smypleasure.”
Luca didn’t want to argue with him in the yarn store—while he’d always known he was gay, there was something soextragay about quibbling with your crush at the counter of Michael’s, and he might be willing to go there someday with this guy, but not yet.
“Sure,” Luca said, and he listened, bemused, as Isaac and the woman behind the counter gushed at the amazing price, and how great the product was, and what did he plan to do with all that yarn.
“Why,” Isaac said, sounding almost breathless, “anything. It’sanything. It’s… it’s all the possibilities in the world, all in a big squishy pile, right?”
The sales associate smiled, and Luca stared at him, trim and adorable and sweet and… and…hopeful,all over armloads of cheap yarn.
Isaac didn’t start giggling again until they got out to his little Kia Sportage, and Luca really needed to hear about it.
“What’s the deal?” he asked, helping Isaac shove themanybags into the back. “Why are you so… so giggly?”
And then Isaac’s face shut down, and Luca could have kicked himself. “I mean, it’s a great price,” Luca hurried to add, “and Ilovewhat you said to the girl about, you know, possibilities? I thought that was great. I think it’s great that you canseethose possibilities in a big squishy pile of yarn. I mean, that’s awesome. But… but you sound almost like you’re trying not to cry.”
The… theshut-downpart faded, but suddenly, to Luca’s horror, tears actually formed in Isaac’s eyes.
“I just,” he whispered, staring at the piles of yarn, “I-I never did this when Todd was alive. He… he made me stick to six boxes. Hehatedwhen I bought yarn. I had to write—write, mind you—a justification, a plan, areasonfor all the yarn. That’s why… that alpaca? It’s such good stuff. And I wanted it. I wanted to make something with it. So I wrote,I’ll make a sweater for my husband, and Todd… he was like, ‘Okay, but it can’t have a design in it, and no colors, a simple goddamned brown pullover, Isaac, do you think you can do that?’ and… and I wanted to work with the yarnso much, and now when I touch it, it feels… it feels like I sold my soul for a pile of shit-brown yarn. But I don’t have to do that anymore. I can buybinsof yarn. I have all the money in the world. I can buyall the yarn I want. I just….” Oh no. Luca heard the wail building. “I don’t have anybody to knit for!”
Luca had his arms around Isaac’s shoulders and was holding him, sobbing in the parking lot at Michael’s, as he used one arm to shut the hatch over a giant pile of discount yarn.
Eventually Isaac’s tears subsided, and for a moment they stood in the bright May sunshine, uncomfortably warm but—at least on Luca’s side of things—not wanting to part. Luca stepped back, smiling grimly to himself when Isaac wouldn’t meet his eyes. Then he gently but firmly held his hands out for Isaac’s keys and, when he got them, ordered Isaac into the Sportage.
Then he drove them to a local sandwich shop.
As Isaac got out of his own vehicle and followed Luca obediently, he said, “Why are we here?”
“Because it’s easier to talk while you eat, and brother, I could eat.”
Isaac gave him an amused glance through puffy eyes and a face swollen with weeping, and Luca offered his best, most comforting smile.
“What do you want to talk about?” Isaac asked.
“Well, for starters, what kind of sandwich do you want?”
Fifteen minutes later they were seated outside in the shade, with a scenic view of the parking lot but a lot of fresh air and early May sunshine that definitely lifted the spirits. Luca had paid, his treat, because he said it was his turn, but also because he liked to pay for his dates, even when he was broke. That probably made him a controlling bastard, but he also liked to think it made him Italian.
After a few bites, Isaac set his sandwich down and said—as if surprised—”This place is really good.”
“I like it,” Luca said.
“Todd never wanted to come here. Said Jersey Mike’s sounded pretentious in California.” Isaac sighed. “I’ll have to bring Roxy here. It’s close to the school, and we’re always looking for a good place to run away to on Friday.”
“You mean they let you out of the building?” Luca asked, feigning big eyes. “They don’t lock you in the basement and pipe in the federal allotment of sunshine?”
Isaac laughed—a real laugh this time and not an insane giggle.
“No, no locking in the basement. But usually there’s not enoughtime. We get thirty-five minutes to eat, so most of the department has somebody with an early prep go out and get food.”
“But not you?” Luca asked perceptively.
Isaac shrugged. “Most of our department is sort of a conservative toolbox. Roxy and I have a prep period that backs up against lunch, so we go early. And we still remember what it was like to be young.” He took another bite and chewed ruminatively. When he was done, he said, “I had a master teacher when I was coming up through the credential program. She was on the verge of retirement, but you wouldn’t know it with the way she played with the kids. She took me aside and told me to watch out for the teachers’ room. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, taking a drag of her Virginia Slims in her car, mind you, because she wasn’t going to stop smoking at sixty if they arrested her, ‘sometimes, those people are the lambs of God, and you couldn’t imagine a finer bunch of sheeple in the universe, doing the bidding of the man. But sometimes,’” and he mimed taking a drag and letting it out on a blissful sigh, “‘sometimes, kid, they’re a cancerous lesion on the collective consciousness of education. And the thing is, you’ll never know what it’s gonna be. Are you going to walk into the teachers’ room and find your friends and colleagues who will give you solace and support and tell you how to be the best teacher you can be? Or are you going to find a bunch of conservative bigots who laugh at the gay kids and are still pissed that you can’t teach the Bible in California? You don’t fuckin’ know.’”
Luca stared at him in shock. “You are shitting me,” he said. “It can’t possibly be that—”
