13. Beck
THIRTEEN
BECK
Kingston and Sergio love the cookies. Like, really love them. Their unstinting praise helps me to stop thinking about Donovan and how nice he’s being to me, and how he keeps saying things that I want to read in a romantic way, even though I know he doesn’t mean them that way.
Does he?
No. He’s just a supportive friend. And that tracks—he’s known Pete forever. I don’t know my cousin’s husband all that well, but I know he’s a good guy who wouldn’t be friends with a dick.
So far, Donovan’s biggest character flaw is that he’s not ready to settle down. Maybe he won’t ever be. And that’s his choice. None of my business.
I just wonder if my heart’s getting the message because every time he says something sweet or thoughtful, I get confused about why, exactly, we’re not taking advantage of our situation and getting off with each other, especially when people like Kingston keep assuming we are.
Oh yeah, because he’s a player who doesn’t mess around with his roommates, and I haven’t exactly been subtle about wanting something long-term. God. How cringe can I be?
Instead of going back to the game, we sit around in sugar comas, talking and drinking.
Sergio is really nice—kind of intimidating, since he’s clearly successful at his job—and he’s nice to look at. Tight black curls, appealing arms, a great smile. He and Kingston have the air of exes who stayed friends, intimate but somehow careful. I’m familiar.
Kingston is a charmer, but he’s definitely giving off paternal vibes toward me. Honestly, it’s comforting to know there’s someone nearby I can call if I need something.
Of course, if I need something, Donovan is right here. But he didn’t choose to live with me—I mean, I suppose in a certain sense he did, but he didn’t choose me . In my quest to be an exemplary roommate, I’m not going to impose myself on him more than I have to.
This whole summer is an accident and we’re making the best of it, but I still feel unsettled. I came here at loose ends and the longer I’m here, the more I want to tie some of those ends up.
Like that empty storefront I passed today. I can’t stop thinking about it, about the possibilities. What could Rosedale need in that cute little space? And why do I think I could be the one to provide it? I don’t know anything about owning my own business. And starting a store isn’t something you can just try on a whim. I can hear my dad’s voice now, telling me to pick something and stick with it. He thinks I’m a dabbler, and yeah, I kind of am. But maybe I just haven’t found the thing I’m meant to stick with yet.
I tune back into the conversation when Donovan throws his head back and laughs at something Kingston’s said. I tamp down a stupid flare of jealousy that someone else is making Donovan laugh and then try to catch up.
“I haven’t been there in donkey’s years,” Kingston says. “But I’m not busy tomorrow. What do you say, Sergio? Wanna hit up Sparkle tomorrow night?”
“I guess I’m in,” Sergio says. “I have a meeting with my real estate agent at two, but after that, I’m free.”
“Sparkle?” The name is familiar, but I can’t immediately place it.
“It’s what passes for gay nightlife in these parts,” Kingston explains. “Though it sounds like the name of a unicorn from a children’s TV show, it’s actually a pretty decent place. The drinks are overpriced, but the music is good.”
“And the talent?” Donovan asks.
Oh yeah. I forgot he’s been stuck at home with me and Cleo all week instead of whatever exciting New York nightlife he usually partakes of. He probably has no shortage of willing partners in the city. I know that’s standard for some guys, but I’ve always been uncomfortable with random hookups. Call me a romantic or a prude, but it’s probably just because I’m careful. Does this mean I can count my number of sexual partners on one hand? Yes. Do I care? Sometimes, if I’m being honest. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing that I want to have feelings for someone before I have sex with them.
Kingston shrugs. “Depends on the night. But it’s usually a fairly big crowd on the weekends.”
“Well, I’m willing to give it a shot,” Donovan says. “I’m currently in a dry spell and it’s not a streak I particularly want to extend.”
“I’m a great wingman,” Kingston says. “I’ve got some stuff to do tomorrow, so let’s just meet there—say eight?”
“Done.” Donovan glances at me. “You in?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I should stay with Cleo.”
“I think she’ll be fine for a few hours on her own. She’s not a baby,” Donovan says, surprisingly persistent.
“You mentioned music. Is there dancing?” I ask Kingston.
“Yeah, there’s a dance floor. Sometimes they have live music, but they get good DJs the rest of the time.”
Watching Donovan hit on strangers doesn’t exactly sound like a good time, but it might be fun to get out of the house, and I do like dancing. “I’ll think about it,” I say finally, and Donovan seems satisfied with that.
Sergio and Kingston leave pretty soon after. We’ve graduated from handshakes to hugs, and Kingston compliments my poker game, which makes me feel pretty good.
“Shoulda suspected a Texas boy would know his way around a deck of cards,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.
“I’m always up for a game. We need more players, though.”
“True. I’ll see what I can do. Now, can I ask a huge favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Can I get a doggie bag with some of those outrageous chocolate cookies?”
“Oh!” I run to the kitchen and shove half the batch into a paper bag and run back. “Here you go.”
He peeks in the bag, and his brown eyes widen. “This is too many, but I’m not giving them back. Thanks, Beck.”
“Thanks for coming over, guys,” Donovan says. I wish I could stop noticing how handsome he looks, all rumpled and smiling easy and relaxed after however many beers he drank.
After he closes the front door, I set the alarm. He gives Cleo fresh water and takes her out one last time while I put the empties in the recycle bin and make sure the lid on the cookie jar is sealed tight. We have a routine by now, and we move easily around each other as if we’ve done this a thousand times before, even though it’s only been six.
Finally, I switch off the light in the kitchen and bend over to give Cleo a goodnight kiss on her soft nose.
Donovan’s hovering by the kitchen door when I stand back up, half illuminated by the light from the hall.
“Fun party,” he says, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “Thanks for baking, and, well, being generally awesome.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, taken aback at the praise. “It was fun to have people over.”
“You’re good at it,” he says. “A good host, I mean.”
“Thanks.”
We just stand there for a second and I wonder if there’s something else he wants.
“I was thinking about what you said before—about not having a direction, about being ready to make a decision.”
He was thinking about our conversation in the kitchen? About me? The idea warms my belly.
“And I was remembering when I decided I wanted to be an actor—it didn’t just happen overnight. I had to take classes, audition for shows, apply to school. It’s tempting to think we can just make snap decisions and change our lives, but I think getting what you really want takes time. I don’t know. Maybe that’s not what you’d like to hear. But I guess what I’m saying is there are things you can do now—small things, maybe—and in a few months, in a year, five years, you’ll be somewhere completely different. But you’ll be building what you really want.”
I arch an eyebrow. “So you’re saying it’s the journey?”
He laughs a little at my sarcasm. “Jerk. But yes. It’s the process. It’s taking a small step and then taking another small step after that. You don’t have to be stuck, not if you have an idea of what you really want. There’s got to be some steps you can take right here and now.”
I think about that storefront, about the blue house with the peeling paint. I think about Rosedale and my cousin, and I think about how of all the things I want out of life. Kissing the beautiful man who’s saying such lovely, encouraging things to me has suddenly risen alarmingly close to the top of the list.
“Thanks, Donovan. That’s good advice.”
“Okay.” He smiles hesitantly at me. “Good night, Beck.”
I say goodnight, and he turns to go upstairs. I’m still standing in the kitchen, thinking, when the hallway light goes out a minute later.