Chapter 9
Cameron
"You know all the houses on this row have the exact same layout, but I love what you've done to the place. It's so…spartan."
"Thank you?"
I don't think I've ever been so intimidated in my life. No menacing school bullies or frigid and disapproving foster parents compare to the terror I feel as Julian takes himself on a self-guided tour of my house.
I smile a little at the thought. Yeah, my house. Shared with Trevor, of course, but this is my house and home.
"You have such unique decor choices," Julian jabbers as he peeks into each room on the ground level. "Mid-century modern meets contemporary man-cave. Are you sure your beau is gay?"
There's an icicle of fear hanging over me that has nothing to do with the chill of the air conditioner. "W-what?"
"Oh, relax," Julian says without looking at me. "I was only joking. You've met my soldier, Joel. He's as straight-acting as yours. All that rah-rah masculinity."
Straight-acting? I don't know what that means. There's so much I don't know. I should have made Trevor put me through a gay boot camp before he brought me home to Fort Cactus. It's something I'll have to look up later on my phone.
Julian disappears into the kitchen and I'm left scrambling to catch up with him. How can a guy so short walk that fast?
And I don't dare to ask Julian for the definition.
He's gay. Like, really gay. Even in the way he talks and walks. He's the type of guy who would have gotten shoved in lockers just because everybody would be able to tell which way he swung as soon as he opened his mouth.
Fuck, I'm thinking like an asshole, aren't I? Yeah, I am.
While Julian is distracted disassembling the kitchen, I unpack my thoughts. I can't let my confusion and insecurities about myself as I navigate my big sexuality awakening turn me into a jerk.
Julian might be a little…much, but he's being kind to me. In his own way. Even if he is a little pushy and a lot bossy.
"So, this is the scene of your cheese crimes?" Julian asks with his hands on his slender hips as he surveys my kitchen after he's done peeking through all the cupboards. He doesn't look very pleased. I can't blame him. The kitchen is, admittedly, a mess. I haven't cleaned up at all yet. It kind of does look like something died. Smells like it too. The death of dinner.
"I didn't know." I shrug my shoulders. "I thought cheese is just cheese?"
"Cheese is never just anything. Mozzarella. Parmigiano. Grana Padano. Ricotta. All of these are unique and necessary for a kitchen to be a real kitchen."
Julian sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He clears his throat. A high-pitched and almost distressed sound. Yet when he looks at me, he's all smiles and his voice is chipper.
"I apologize. You seem new to all this, but this is my life's work."
I don't think he's talking about the cheese specifically. "You mean…cooking and cleaning? That kind of stuff?"
"Homemaking," Julian insists without losing his smile. "It's called homemaking. I can help you with it. Please, let me help you."
Well, okay. I nod my head and do my best to return Julian's smile. "All right. Please, help me."
I have to admit it'd be nice to learn how to be better at homey things. And learning from Julian would be better than scrolling through videos and articles online.
"You certainly have your work cut out for you. As do I." Julian washes his hands at the sink. "Let's get started."
◆◆◆
I can't believe Julian made us clean the kitchen before we got started on the new dish for dinner. Still. It is nice to be cooking in such a neat and tidy space. Smells better already too. Julian pulled out a bunch of cleaning supplies I didn't know Trevor and I had in the house.
The faint smell of artificial lemon lingers in the air along with the very real smell of tomatoes I'm cutting up. Underneath Julian's direction, of course. Apparently, I've been holding knives wrong my entire life and at risk of lopping my thumb off.
Who knew?
Not me. But Julian does. He seems to know everything.
"How do you know all about…homemaking?" I correct myself at the last moment and avoid calling it stuff. "Cooking. Cleaning. And your eye for design. Did you go to college for some of it?"
"No, no. I was born into it, really. The military brat to dependent pipeline. Though I didn't plan that. I actually have a degree in political science. Now, where is your wine? A white would pair perfectly with this."
Oh, wow. I never would have guessed that for him. Julian's already sticking his nose in the fridge before I can tell him he won't find what he's looking for. There's no way my grape soda counts. "We don't drink wine. Trev drinks beer though?"
Julian shuts the door to the fridge like something is trying to escape. "I see that. Well, you at least need to get a bottle of cooking wine. Add that to your grocery list. You do keep one of those, don't you?"
"Well, no. Trevor's just been picking up whatever we need when he's off the base."
"We're army, sweetie. Call it post."
I blush as red as the tomatoes. I didn't know that. I should have known that. Trevor's never corrected me about it before. I'm so embarrassed. I don't know anything about being gay or military life. "Right, post. Sorry."
"It takes some getting used to, but you'll adjust to this type of life. Give it some time. And practice. Plenty of practice." Julian sets up next to me and minces up the garlic into fine little pieces. In the time it takes me to cut up two tomatoes, he's entirely finished. He wields the knife like it's a magic wand.
Julian's so…perfect. It's kind of scary. Even after all his lectures and reassurances. The cleaning and prepping food. Not a hair on his head is out of place. Not a single drop of sweat. He moves and talks as easily as breathing.
"You should be making the tomato paste all by hand, but the canned we'll use is fine. For now. The little tomato bits you've cut will help make the dish pop with a little more authenticity. Let's get the cheese grated."
Julian's done more than get my kitchen sorted out. He brought some of his kitchen over to mine. After the clean-up, he did a run-over to bring some of his gourmet cheese collection over. Plus some herbs and a cream thing.
And a second grater for some reason.
As we get to work grating, Julian continues to talk. I'm mostly focused on not slicing my fingertips.
"I noticed all your chips," he comments. "Are you planning a party? Is that why you're so keen on learning to cook now?"
From the gleam in Julian's eyes and the over-eager edge in his voice, I know if I say yes he's going to designate himself as both the head and body of the party planner committee.
I can't let him know about Marlon's visit tomorrow.
"Um, no," I lie. "We just really like chips. Maybe too much. I tried out the ziti because I want to know how to make Trev a nice dinner."
"How thoughtful. He must be so pleased with you."
I hope so. I'm starting to realize I want to please Trevor more than anything, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to do what Julian does. He's like the perfect retro housewife but he's a proud gay man. And that could never be me.
Right?
I'm lost in a daze as Julian guides me through the last steps of getting the creamy tomato pasta ready. I can't help but wonder what doing all this would be like on my own. Cooking meals. Tidying up. Keeping things nice for Trevor so he doesn't have to worry about anything when he gets home.
It's not real…but what if it was?
As Julian directs me on how to cook the dish on the stovetop, the fantasy my neighbor projects is at odds with the reality of who I am.
If it was real, really real, I'd be a horrible house spouse.
Yet there is one redeeming angle to it. Maybe I can be good at the sex stuff…