Chapter 15 – Luca
‘Sorry,’ I say, embarrassed. The cafe is busy as ever, and it’s only fifteen minutes until my grandparents will walk through the door with the chipped paint and sit down on our wonky chairs to share a lunch with me and Dad. The image is so strange it refuses to form in my head.
‘It’s all right,’ Jacob says, setting the coffee down at a safe distance from the book. ‘I’m just grateful you’re letting me borrow this. It’ll help with my project.’
‘What’s the project?’
‘I want to create a series about queer small-town life. Take portraits of people from Lombard, capture their story.’
I snort, and immediately feel bad when Jacob shifts awkwardly on his chair. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean it that way. I think it’s an amazing idea. In fact, I love it.’ I might be overcompensating, but as I say the words, I realise that I do love it.
‘But?’ Jacob asks, looking as if he might not want to hear the answer.
‘I’ve lived here my whole life, and my dad and I are literally the only gay people here.’ It never bothered me, because Dad was, is, the person I look up to most, shocking family revelations aside. But saying it out loud leaves me with a hollow feeling inside.
‘Just because your dad’s the only gay person you know, doesn’t mean he’s the only other queer person in town. Sometimes we can get so used to a place and the people in it that we forget to look past the obvious. We think we know everything and everyone and stop asking questions.’
‘I admit that’s deep,’ I say, ‘but you’re going to struggle finding anyone.’
Jacob doesn’t seem discouraged. ‘I’m new here, I come with a pair of fresh eyes. I’ll show you a new side of Lombard.’
His tone is confident without being cocky.
I take him in, really look at him, maybe for the first time.
He has a wide nose, gently curved eyes and a square chin.
He makes me feel curious and comfortable at once, because his gaze never strays from me.
It’s nice to have someone’s undivided attention, especially when that someone has the lush hair of a nineties teen-movie star.
‘You’ve lived here what, a couple of months? You’ve seen what there is. But go ahead, I’d love see Lombard in a new light.’
‘You will,’ he says. ‘And hey, if you ever want a change of scenery, what about a trip to the city?’
‘The city?’
‘Yeah, you know, somewhere where the only place with good coffee isn’t owned by your—’
‘Dad,’ I say, when he suddenly appears by our table and places a chocolate-chip muffin in front of Jacob. We officially ran out of them an hour ago, but I saved some for Simo and my grandparents.
‘New kids get free muffins,’ Dad declares.
‘Since when?’ I ask.
‘My cafe, my rules. Also, this is a reminder that we’re expecting high-ranking and highly self-important visitors any minute. And that you got us into this, so you will be entertaining them.’ With that he’s off.
‘I should go,’ Jacob says. He rises to his full height and somehow manages to balance the headstone-sized book, his iced coffee and the muffin. ‘Thanks for the book.’
‘Any time!’
‘Also, it’s not true that your dad’s the only gay person you know. You have me now,’ he says.
We lock eyes, and my heart does a little stumble. By the time it’s found its rhythm again, Jacob is out the door. I sit and watch his silhouette disappear down the street before I remember I’m meant to be helping Dad.
I don’t get the chance to demand an explanation for giving away my secret stash of muffins. The big table by the window holds nothing but a reserved sign, so I do my best to cover the wear and tear beneath place mats and bowls of hummus, salted nuts and cucumber sticks.
The moment I hang the coffee-stained apron in the hall, I hear Dad shouting my name through the entire cafe.
He sounds strained and threatening, which can only mean one thing.
As I re-enter, Dad points his parents to the window table.
The room’s chatter has mellowed to a low hum.
Clearly my grandparents’ arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed, but people are polite enough to stare only when they think we’re not looking.
When Dad spots me, relief floods his expression. ‘Where were you?’ he whispers with an accusatory tone. I was gone a full three seconds, tops.
‘Handsome as ever,’ Graham says as I turn to him. I know it’s shallow, but I like hearing him say it. Relieved that they’re taking the lead, I let myself be pulled into hugs, because I’ve still not found the manual on how to behave like a grandson.
‘The place is much busier today,’ Anna notes. ‘Last time I came it was so dead I worried it might be a dud.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Dad says drily.
I’d rather not be reminded of the moment that I first met my grandmother and realised Dad had been lying about having dead parents. To keep my hands busy, I grab the jug of homemade lemonade and fill everyone’s glasses.
‘It’s quaint,’ Graham adds, assessing the room. From the way Dad’s lips tighten, I can tell that ‘quaint’ isn’t a compliment coming from the mouth of a Brandenburg.
‘Yes, or dilapidated, as some might call it,’ he retorts.
Admittedly, Anna and Graham’s regal appearance clashes with the relaxed atmosphere of the cafe and most of its customers. Anna’s velvet wrap-around dress is likely worth more than every other item in here combined, espresso machine included.
‘Simo is gonna join us in a bit. He’s got a family thing,’ I announce before Graham gets the chance to shoot something back.
Simo and I agreed that he’d give us a head start, let us settle and adjust, which now seems like a reckless idea.
Fewer people means more chances for Dad and his parents to exchange poorly concealed insults.
‘I’m glad he’s able to make it. After missing out on so much of your life already, we can’t wait to meet your friends.’
Dad, who is grinding his teeth so hard I can hear it from across the table, gets up and stomps to the kitchen.
I hope he dunks his head in a bucket of ice or finds another way to release his frustration.
When he returns, there’s a fake smile plastered across his face.
‘Forgot the salt and pepper,’ he says, and sets it down in front of us.
‘What’s going on in the store across the street?’ Graham nods to the corner shop.
‘It looks like the scene of a crime,’ Anna remarks, eyeing the graffitied and boarded-up windows suspiciously. A group of construction workers stands huddled around the entrance.
‘There is no crime in Lombard, Mother.’
‘Unless you count the time when a group of teenagers doused all of Sheila’s sheep in orange dye after she refused to sell them a rusted revolver from her antiques shop,’ I add. For weeks it looked like Sheila was breeding giant Cheetos.
‘That’s a charming anecdote, but it doesn’t quite answer my question,’ Graham says.
‘We know as much as you do, Father. But if you truly can’t get through lunch without finding out exactly who is moving into an empty shop unit you didn’t even know existed until ten minutes ago, I’ll gladly go over and ask the crew.’
‘I’m touched,’ Graham says with the compassion of an oyster.
‘By Monday, I’m sure the noticeboard will tell us exactly what’s going on,’ I grumble.
‘That’s a twee little tradition that you have here.’ Anna’s ‘twee’ sounds a lot like Graham’s ‘quaint’. ‘I heard that, for centuries, it used to be a way for fishermen to warn the town of oncoming storms.’
Graham frowns. ‘I was told it’s only that size because the carpenter who built it in the eighties misread the measurements. By the time they realised the mistake, it was already up.’
The conversation is derailed when a man in a varsity jacket joins the workers across the street, seemingly to give them instructions.
As if he senses the attention, he turns and waves.
He’s good-looking, with dark buzzed hair and the shadow of a beard.
A look at Dad awkwardly mirroring the gesture tells me he’s made the same observation.
‘If I’m not mistaken, this man seems to know you, Matthew,’ Anna notes.
Dad clears his throat. ‘That’s Daniel. He’s new in town.’
‘That’s Daniel?’ I do a double take. Joni’s son smiles at each of us before his eyes stray back to Dad and stay on him longer than totally necessary.
‘So you know him but not what he’s up to in a shop that’s facing yours? What if he’s planning to open a cafe? You ought to be better informed, Matthew, especially if it comes to potential competition,’ Graham says.
‘I’d best check on our food,’ Dad mutters.
‘I’ll get it,’ I say, and I’m up before he gets the chance to escape.
Dad and I almost got into an argument about what to serve his parents.
He insisted they receive no special treatment and get what’s on the menu like any other customer.
I reminded him not to kill his own father with burgers and mac and cheese, so we settled for a salad, the soup of the day and sweet-potato wedges.
Nowhere near as impressive as last week’s barbecue, but Dad’s cafe rarely has a free table for lunch on a Sunday for a reason; he has a knack for making even the most boring-sounding dishes into your new favourite meal.
‘Speaking of friends . . .’ Anna says, eating the soup without a word of criticism, ‘do you have a girlfriend, Luca?’
‘No,’ I say, mouth still half-full. ‘But I wouldn’t, because I’m gay.’
‘How about a boyfriend?’ Graham swerves without batting an eyelid. Anna smiles sweetly. I’m impressed by how unimpressed they are. Not that I expected them to be homophobic. But I can’t lie – they have something conservative about them in, like, a really, really rich way.
‘No boyfriend either,’ I say, glad Simo isn’t present. I don’t feel awkward telling my grandparents about me, but the thought of Simo hearing it makes me squirm. I don’t want to think about why that is.
‘And is there someone you like?’ Graham wants to know.
‘Not at the minute,’ I lie, Simo still on my mind. Simo is always on my mind.
‘What about you, Matthew? Are you single?’ Anna attacks.
‘Yeah, are you single, Matthew?’ I grin.
‘Yes, happily,’ Dad says brightly. ‘And that’s enough of that.’
‘For how long?’ Anna continues.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Have you been single for long?’
‘That’s really none of your—’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve not met anyone since Poppy?’ Anna doubles down.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t deny it.’
‘Fine. I’ve not met anyone since Poppy. Happy?’
‘Why would that make me happy?’
‘That’s not entirely true,’ I chime in. ‘A few years back there was that g—’
‘There wasn’t.’
Now he’s straight up lying. I very much remember the guy sleeping in Dad’s bed. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask, whatever happened with Hen—’
‘That’s enough.’
It only takes two words, but Dad’s tone drops from chilly to frostbite. Every sound in the cafe ceases. Dad never raises his voice at me. His face is blotched, and I instantly realise two things: Dad’s parents don’t know he’s gay, and he’s terrified they’ll find out.
The revelation strips me of feeling. The room remains frozen; a real-life version of that painting where four lonely people gather in a diner late at night.
My grandparents weren’t bothered when I told them I’m gay, so what does Dad have to be scared of?
And why do I keep finding out more and more things that he’s been hiding?
We’re not talking chocolate bars sneakily stored behind the mugs we never use.
He’s hiding stuff that completely alters the Dad I know.
We might still be there, sat together yet strangely apart, if not for Simo. The bell above the door chimes and, with a gust of air, life returns to the cafe. I have never been more relieved to see him.
I latch on to his smile, to the familiarity of his freckled face. It gives me the strength I need to take this newly gained fact about Dad and file it away into a dark corner of my brain, at least for the moment.
‘Anna, Graham,’ I say, a wobble in my voice, ‘this is my friend Simo.’
He stands next to my chair, and as he places a hand on my shoulder, I notice the tremor in my muscles.
It ebbs away at his touch, the warmth of his fingers sinking into my skin.
A look passes between us, so brief that it goes unnoticed, but that’s all Simo needs to realise something is up. He jumps into action.
‘It’s really nice to meet you,’ he addresses my grandparents, his voice working its charm.
Anna’s eyes twinkle. She raises herself up and swallows Simo in an embrace before Graham pulls him into one of those manly handshake-hugs.
‘The pleasure is all ours,’ Anna declares with a voice like velvet. She looks enchanted.
I know the feeling. I know it well.