Page 23 of Joy
“I’ll talk enough for both of us,” I answered before trying a bite.
Oh God. Oh God.
The food was awful.
Silas was not a good cook.
I managed to swallow, despite every reflex trying to make me spit it out instead.
He noticed. “No good?”
“Ah… it’s okay!” I took another tiny bite.
“George is the chef, not me. I won’t be offended.”
I forced several more bites down, for no other reason than I was hungry and didn’t want to be a complete ass. “I’ll cook tomorrow,” I offered, hoping it didn’t sound desperate.
“Tacos?”
SILAS EVENTUALLYagreed, with reluctance, to try something besides tacos. That was about all I got out of him over the rest of dinner. I filled the silence between us as we ate, telling Silas about the cool sites I had seen while traveling across the country. I showed him pictures I had taken on my phone of the Grand Canyon, my stop in Roswell at the UFO museum, the biggest ball of twine—which I drove out of my way to see just for the shits and giggles—and even a few historical stops in Pennsylvania.
Silas stood and took our bowls to the sink. He turned on the water and said in a tone I could barely hear, “I’ve never left New Hampshire.”
“I hadn’t ever left California until now. Maybe you can go check out the country someday.”
“Maybe. New Hampshire is nice, though.”
I nodded to myself. It was, and three days ago, I’d have never admitted that. I’d have said I drove right through and never stopped. That it was just a bunch of hicks—but I was wrong. New Hampshire was… it was like those Japanese comics I read sometimes, the slice-of-life ones. A sweet, feel-good story about two guys and their domestic bliss. New Hampshire was that. Simple and sweet.
It scared the shit out of me that I felt so connected to this place.
New Hampshire wasn’t home, right?
But then again, California never had been, so where did that leave me?
I excused myself to the bathroom as Silas finished, and when I came back out, the house was empty. I looked in the kitchen and around the front room before noticing the blinds on the back door had been pulled aside a bit. I went over and slid the door open, peeking out.
“Can I come out here?”
“Yes.”
I shut the door behind me and took a seat in the chair beside Silas. I glanced at him as he smoked a cigarette. “You didn’t strike me as the smoking sort.”
“I’m not. Not really.” He snuffed it out in an ashtray. “Only when I’m nervous.”
“What’re you nervous about?”
“You.”
“Me?”
He nodded and took a sip from the glass in his other hand before offering it. “Whiskey,” he said when I took it.
“Manly man,” I laughed before trying some. “Why am I making you nervous?”
He shrugged. “I like you. You’re staying in my house.”
I turned the glass in my hands. “Do people know you’re gay?”
