Chapter 13 #2
“Look, it wasn’t anything dramatic. I wasn’t disowned or anything like that. But my dad was already pissed that I’d decided to go to college instead of working with him out of high school, and then that turned into him thinking college made me a faggot. I just needed some distance.”
“He called you that?” Nate asked. “That’s… that’s really cruel.”
Connor hadn’t thought of it like that. To him, it was just his dad being himself. He’d always been a grumpy man who liked to have the world broken down into exactly what he could understand. Anything beyond that just pissed him off.
There was a reason he didn’t call home often.
His mom would ask him about work, and then he’d hear his dad in the background.
It was never anything outright antagonistic, but Connor hated hearing him direct questions to his mom over the phone.
He’d never become the kind of man that his dad valued.
Instead, Connor found himself attracted to those kinds of men.
Maybe he never would have reconciled with that if it weren’t for the summer after high school, when he’d spent months alone on a boat with his dad’s deckhand as his supervisor.
Just a year older, and nearly half a head taller, Dawson had all but swept Connor off his feet, even promising to wait for him as he went off to KSU.
Once he’d graduated, they’d moved out to California together. Connor really thought he’d found his forever in Dawson.
Connor took his job at Alarie and started working longer hours, because his first executive told him that being visible would help him move up.
That had been Thomas Rochefort. Dawson was patient, he was supportive, he really tried for almost two years.
And then one day he told Connor to make a choice.
So Connor chose, and Dawson went back to Ohio.
Rochefort died at his desk a few months later. Connor was left floating until Devore came in and gave him a purpose again at Alarie. And when Devore was deposed, Connor was once again without assignment until Nate came in.
All of this, he found himself telling Nate entirely unprompted. But Nate listened, resting against the bartop counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment while he cooked. It was the most of himself that Connor had shared in a long time.
When he was finished, he realized he’d been talking uninterrupted for nearly five minutes. Connor felt his face growing warm as he took the saucepan off the heat, grabbing another pot out from under the counter.
“So, uh, how are you liking California?” He asked, trying to avoid being the center of attention for too much longer.
“California? It’s great. I mean, I miss snow.
I haven’t found any Puerto Rican restaurants that taste like what I’m used to.
And I hate driving.” Nate seemed to catch himself, smiling though it seemed a little strained at the edges.
“But it’s great. I guess I need to get out more.
You guys don’t exactly do dance halls out here, huh? ”
Connor shook his head.
“Not really, and Junie does the clubs more than I do.”
Nate considered that a moment, drumming his fingers against the counter.
“I guess I thought things would be different. I had one idea of it in my head and…”
“Reality came calling,” Connor offered.
Nate nodded.
“Yeah. I was a little idealistic.” He leaned back against the counter with a sigh. “You know, here. With my dad–with Isaac.”
“What do you mean?” Connor asked, more than a little surprised to hear him refer to Berkshire by his first name.
“He’s not… I mean, you know him, you know what he’s like, but I guess I–I thought–I mean, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Nate smiled a wry smile. “I mean. I guess I should have known better. I only met him about a year ago.”
“Oh.” Connor paused over the stove, unsure what expression he wore. And Nate looked embarrassed, like he knew he shouldn’t have been talking about this.
“Yeah. He and my mom… uh… look. I don't want to be that guy.”
“What guy?”
“That guy with a sob story.”
“I don't think that,” Connor offered. “I mean, I won't judge you. You just heard mine.”
And maybe permission was what Nate had been waiting for, for a long time, because he opened up.
He told Connor about how his parents met, how his dad had been a department manager and his mom was a young secretary at Alarie. How Berkshire got her pregnant and didn’t want anything to do with either of them.
“I mean, he didn’t fire her. He tried to promote her out but she was so pissed.
My mom’s not the kind of woman who lets anyone spit on her like that.
To her, it was about being disrespected, you know?
So she just went back home to New York. She married my stepdad when I was ten, and with my family and everything, we've been happy. Like, I should be satisfied. She didn’t keep it a secret from me, who Isaac Berkshire was, that dad was in California. But… I wondered about him.”
“Can’t blame a kid for that,” Connor said, gentler than he intended. Besides, who was he to shame Nate for a dynamic he’d never understand?
But Nate held up his hands as though in surrender, a guilty smile at his lips.
“Maybe. My mom said I've got a big head, I'm too curious for my own good. It gets me into trouble and she's not wrong. When I was a kid, it–anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is that I looked for him, and when I was thirteen I found him. Or, I found the profile that Forbes did on him. So I started writing these letters, maybe a couple times a year, just telling him about my life and my mom.”
“Did he ever answer?”
“Nope, not until I told him I was graduating last year.”
Connor shook his head as he whisked the thickening cream, adding in more garlic and parmesan. He couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like for Nate, to be throwing hopes out into the ether and never even get an acknowledgement–
For as difficult as his relationship with his own father could be, Connor knew he could count on the man to answer him. He couldn’t imagine being ignored like that, and still trying all the same.
“So you wrote to him for over a decade, you didn’t hear anything back and–”
“And I just kept writing,” Nate said with a grimace. “Pretty sad, huh?”
“Sad for him,” Connor said flatly. “What did he say when you finally did hear from him?”
“He called and, uh, he asked about Cornell and NYU. He wanted to know if I was interning anywhere. And that was it.”
“That was it? All that and–”
“And maybe a ten minute call.” Nate didn’t seem to want to sit with that for longer than he needed to. “And that was it for about a year, then he called again.”
“Just out of the blue?” Connor asked as he started searching through his fridge for some kind of vegetable, some kind of protein he could add. Then he spotted some fresh spinach.
Perfect.
He washed a handful before tossing the vibrant leaves into the sauce, just for some bulk. For Connor, a meal never felt complete without something green.
“Yeah. Uh…He wanted me to move out here because he had a job for me. My mom and Hector–they think I’m working at my roommate's company. You know, doing finance.” Nate made a face, one Connor didn’t miss even as he started boiling the fettuccine.
“What is it?” He asked, expecting Nate to say something about his cooking.
“I feel like I’m talking way too much. This probably wasn’t what you signed up for when you invited me over, yeah?”
Connor decided to uncork the wine, get them both a drink.
“You’re not talking too much,” He replied, even offering Nate a smile he hoped was reassuring. “I mean it. I asked.”
A pair of glasses from the cupboard, a bit of crimson in each. Connor offered Nate a glass, clinking the two together before taking a sip.
“It’s good.”
“It is?” Nate asked, relief cracking through.
“Yeah,” Connor smiled, taking another sip before setting it down. The sauce needed stirring, but it was thickening up now.
He’d never have Junie’s skills in the kitchen, but he could do this, at least. Just enough to make it look like he did.
Just enough to impress Nate–who, it seemed, had never needed impressing in the first place.
“Almost ready. Uh, plate or bowl?” Connor offered.
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Bowl it is.”
Nate seemed to watch him in silence for a moment as Connor served them both up, passing him a bowl and a fork that he accepted with a quiet “thanks”, the two of them finding a seat on either side of Connor’s kitchen island.
“Let me know how you like it,” Connor invited, twirling his fork in his hand as he pulled up a bite. Nate mirrored him, his eyes lighting up as he ate.
“It’s good. Really good.”
“Think my restaurant’s getting five stars?” Connor asked, finding himself smiling. Nate seemed to consider the question with all the seriousness of Anthony Bourdain discovering a rare treasure, coy smile returning as he rubbed his chin.
“I think you’re rivaling the best Italian spots in New York. Want my review?”
“Sure, review me,” Connor replied, hiding his smile behind a bite of pasta. Nate, on the other hand, had a serious look in his eyes as he got into character.
“As goes that old phrase, you eat first with your eyes, and Cafe de Connor is hardly lacking in the kind of scenery befitting such a high class establishment featuring all the Mediterranean comforts of home. The specialty dish conjures up the warmth of a summer day indulging in wine and pasta.”
He grinned at Connor before taking another bite.
“Chef’s a looker, too.”
And even while Nate returned to his food, Connor felt his smile fading as he considered his bowl.
For all that he’d tried to deny it, it was undeniable now–Nate liked him. Actually liked him. And God help him, Connor liked Nate, too. He liked this man so much it made him sick.
“So, what do you think? Think it’s a fair review?” Nate asked, looking at Connor over his food. “I watched a lot of his stuff in college. So I think my Bourdain impression is pretty good.”