3. Ryan
Ryan
There was something about a shopping mall that I loved.
I know, yeah, a guy my age should be all about online everything, and while I did do some shopping on the web, there was nothing like spending hours at a mall.
Maybe it was my bouncy gender that enjoyed perusing both men’s and women’s clothing stores.
Not that I was anywhere near brave enough to be seen around Rochester in feminine apparel.
Sure, Dad was cool with the makeup, and he’d now seen me in a caftan which was decidedly girly.
He’d complimented me on the flowing material then said he might get one for lounging around.
My father was the best father in the world, hands down, bar fucking none.
So, the mall. I was lost in the noise of shoppers, the beautiful carousel cranking out music amid childish laughter, and Sephora.
I was gazing into the stunning store filled with beautiful women as if I were about to enter Nirvana.
If I could work up the courage to actually cross the threshold, I would for sure be in paradise.
Now to get my feet moving. I dared to wear satin slippers instead of high tops today.
No makeup, obviously, or anything else that might be construed as effeminate.
Dad was a big part of the Copperheads team, and I also worked for them.
Not to say that the culture of hockey is toxically masculine, but it’s toxically masculine.
There were some queer players on the team, some rather vocally out, others not so bold.
But they all presented pretty damn male.
They were big, strong, rough. They did not wear makeup or womanly clothes on their femme days.
There had been rumbles from some of the Copperheads about having gay players in the locker room, so imagine if I entered in a skirt with my face and hair done.
I’d be whipped into meringue. And Dad would have to suffer the embarrassment of having a kid who not only was a recovering drug addict but also liked to prance around in pretty dresses.
Yeah, no. I’d keep my fluidity a secret until it felt safe to do otherwise.
Inhaling deeply, I drew in the smells of an outdoorsy shop next to the merry-go-round.
My stomach rumbled to remind me I’d not had breakfast, and it was now lunchtime.
Squaring my shoulders as if headed into battle, I took two steps.
The smell of pine disappeared as the rich aroma of fine perfume enveloped me.
I stood just inside the shop, taking in the glory of so many choices of cosmetics, scents, and skincare.
With Dad’s acceptance—and encouragement to buy new beauty goods—I managed that big step.
I’d bought from this store before, but never in person.
Pride swept over me as I found myself drawn to a display of eyeshadows in every shade for every skin tone.
A glittery palette of warm gold, copper, and caramel browns with a few brighter colors like plum, olive, and mossy green spoke to my ginger soul.
“So beautiful,” I whispered to the little yellow box resting in my hand.
I felt like crying. I almost did, but several women were nearby, so I took the eyeshadow palette to a skincare display.
There, I tried several lotion testers, then went back to the makeup section to check out eyeliner.
I rarely used foundation as it caused me to break out, so my main focus was lips and eyes.
An hour passed in the blink of an eye. I had to force myself to check out before I’d dropped my whole paycheck in one store. Toting the little black-and-white bag out of the store made me feel ten feet tall. My stomach roared.
The food court called. I took a moment to watch the children on the carousel, my bag of beauty goods clutched to my chest, then smiled warmly at the kids with their parents. My father used to bring me here a lot when Mom was too high to parent properly.
Shaking off the melancholy her memories always stirred up, I made my way to the large court upstairs.
I noticed a soft pretzel stand next to a pizza shop and moved through the crowds of weary adults trying to get their kids to sit still and eat, the call of salty dough and nacho dipping sauce like a siren call.
The line was long, so I pulled out my phone to kill a minute or two when a deep, gentle voice spoke my name right behind me.
I spun to find Gideon smiling awkwardly down at me.
“Oh, hey,” I said, wondering to myself how someone could have such blue eyes.
They were the same color as Lake George.
Dad and I had gone camping in the Adirondacks right after I’d been discharged from rehab.
Fresh air, fishing, campfires. He’d thought that would be good for me, and it had been.
I’d spent hours beside that brilliant sapphire lake, watching the water lap against the shore as I tried to make sense of the mess my life had become.
Staring up at Gideon Taftwell, I felt the same wonder.
The depths of his gaze seemed the same as well. Untold fathoms in those stunning eyes.
“You shopping?” I asked, feeling suddenly stupid. No, Ryan, he’s at the mall to scuba dive. Dork.
“Yeah, uhm… I need a new hat,” he replied, his shoulders high and tight.
“Oh, cool. There’s a place on the second floor that sells ball caps,” I said as the line moved slowly forward.
“Biggy’s Ball Cap Bonanza. I found a cap for Dad there last year for his birthday.
He’s a member of the Bills Mafia and all that, so I got him a pretty sharp snapback to wear when they play.
He’s funny that way. Thinks his cap will help them win, but I guess hockey players have their own superstitions.
I noticed you always wear green laces. Not that I’m like scoping out your skates in particular or anything, but the neon green stands out.
I like green. Green is the color of spinach. I love spinach.”
Oh, my fucking God, shut up, Ryan. You’re babbling. The man does not care if you like spinach.
“Yeah, me too.” His gaze darted over my shoulder. “You’re next.”
I whipped around to find a terribly bored pretzel seller staring at me. “Oh, sorry. Uhm, can I have two jumbos with extra salt and double cups of nacho dip? Oh, and a large Dew with no ice.”
“Ten forty,” the bored dude in the pretzel hat said after typing my order into the register.
I tapped my card and stepped aside to wait.
Gideon ordered the same as me, shuffled over to stand at my side, his arm brushing my shoulder as we waited for our food.
When our trays were filled, we both paused to scan the court for seats.
“There’s a small table for two by the fountain,” he said, gesturing to the tiny water fountain in the center of the court.
“Yeah, okay, that’s cool.” He waited. I waited.
“Oh, me, yeah.” I went first, tray held high to avoid any contact with children’s heads as they darted around.
Our table was small, bright red, with two hard plastic chairs.
The fountain burbled along sweetly, its base filled with pennies and wishes that perhaps had been or had not been granted.
I placed my bag on the table, unwilling to set it on the floor for all the stickiness, and doubly unwilling to hang it on the back of my seat.
That was too easy for little fingers to dive into.
I’d not spent two hundred bucks to allow some greedy kid, or some shoplifter, to delve into my bag.
“So, uhm…” Gideon began, while I stripped the wrapper off a straw and jammed it into my Dew. I took a sip as I glanced at him. “This is a nice mall.” He grimaced.
“Are you in pain?” I asked as I tore off a small bite of my hot pretzel.
“No, I… cramp in my foot. So, this mall is nice.” He pressed his lips together before smiling at me but showing no teeth. He seemed so awkward. It was cute. He was cute. “Do you come here often?”
“When I want to shop, yeah.”
His gaze moved to my bag beside my tray. “Sure, me too. You picking up stuff for your mother?”
Shit. “Oh, uhm, no, my mom died years ago. This is for a friend. A girlfriend. Not a girlfriend, though. I’m not into girls. She’s just a friend. Who likes makeup. It’s her birthday today. We’re having a party tonight.”
The lies tasted vile as they fell out of me in a cascade. “Oh, that’s nice.” He rolled his lips over his teeth. “Sorry. I’m using the word nice far too much. What’s her name?”
Shit. “Penny. Hofstadter.”
His eyes widened. “Like on The Big Bang Theory?”
Shit. “Oh, not like that. Cough. Cough-stad-ler.”
You suck at lying. This is why you were such a terrible junkie.
“Oh, okay, cool. That would have been a really wild coincidence. So how long have you known Penny?”
“Years. We were like besties way back in kindergarten. Yep, Penny and I are so close. And she loves Sephora, huge fan, so I like to spoil her on her birthday. What about you?”
God yes, get us away from fictional Penny Coughstadler. Dork.
“I don’t know Penny, but she sounds nice.” He lowered his pretzel to frown at it. “Sorry. Nice is stuck in my head today.”
“It’s cool. I wasn’t asking if you liked Penny; I was asking…” What the hell had I been asking? “Do you like Sephora for your girlfriend?”
Obvious much?
“I don’t have time for a romance. Hockey is my everything right now.” He took a bite of his pretzel, the band of a gold watch peeking out from under his long sleeve.
“Totally get that.” I dipped a tiny chunk into the spicy cheese as a kid raced past with a balloon that bonked some old guy eating a burger in the head.
The old guy was not happy. Kid was oblivious.
“It takes total dedication. Sport is hard. I don’t do much sport aside from checkers.
” That made him smile. A pure smile, which had my tiny painted toes curling inside my slippers.
“You smile, but checkers is a brutal sport.”
“Blood checkers?” he asked, his tone lighter now.
“Totally Jean-Claude Van Damme style. Every time you get kinged, you get a roundhouse to the kisser.” He snorted in amusement so loudly that Old Burger Man gave him a dark look. Happy Gideon was a sight to behold. His blue eyes lit up. I liked this side of him.
“And where does one watch blood checkers?”
“ESPN.”
That broke him up. Deep, rich laughter filled the food court. Several people turned to stare. My cheeks got red at the attention, but I’d sit here with a flaming face forever if I could keep Gideon laughing.
“You’re funny,” he said after the guffaws had lightened.
“Not really.” I looked from him to my pretzel. A long moment of comfortable silence settled over us as we ate, our gazes meeting from time to time, our cheeks full of pretzel.
“I think you’re funny,” he stated once more. My attention lifted from the last drops of cheese in my final cup of dip. “And nice. Sorry, uhm, but nice. To be around. Would you like to hat shop with me?” My eyes flared. “You always look good. Pretty clothes.”
“Oh,” I whispered, wondering if he meant pretty as a good thing.
It sounded like he might have, but then again, maybe he was just unsure what term to use.
I’d not done anything too outlandish today, or what most guys would consider girly.
A sweater, some jeans, and my Nikes. A little pomade in my hair to tame the wild red waves slightly, but that was it.
With my new purchases in hand, I planned to go home and, before I went to work, paint my face to the gods, as the drag queens say.
“Thanks. Dad says I’m a clotheshorse, but I don’t have all that many things. I like to be, you know, presentable.”
“I get that. Some guys in the pros have stylists. I’ve never really been much into what I wear.
” He glanced down at his Copperheads hoodie, his dark blue jeans, and some battered sneaks.
Then his attention returned to me as I took a bite of pretzel.
“Do you think you could dress someone for, say, an upcoming charity thing?”
I had to hurry to swallow. “Me?” He nodded. “Uhm, maybe? Who are we talking about? And what charity thing?”
He drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Me.”
“You?” He bobbed his dark head. “Oh, okay. Well, sure. I can help you pick out a suit or something. Oh, is it the Copperheads Casino night in a couple of weeks?”
“Yeah. We’re raising funds for a mobile dental clinic, and we’re all supposed to show up in suits to help work the tables.” He seemed tense. His shoulders had climbed back under his ears. “I have like one suit that I wore when I graduated high school.”
“Does it still fit?”
“Not really.”
I would imagine not. He’d probably beefed up since high school. “Well then we’ll get you something stylish that will bring all the boys and girls to your yard. Or your roulette table.”
“Thank you, Ryan. You’re really very nice.” His cheeks got red. “Nice is my default word when I don’t know what other word to use. But you are nice. Kind. Your smile is genuine.”
Oh wow, that was lovely. I’d been fortunate enough to get clean before my K addiction harmed my teeth or bladder. There was some sensitivity to really cold things, like ice hitting my teeth, but otherwise things were okay. I’d been really lucky.
“Your laugh is genuine,” I replied, a sincere compliment for a sincere compliment. He lowered his head slightly, then handed me his extra cup of dip. “Is this my payment for agreeing to be your personal stylist?”
“Sure, we can call it that.” He gifted me one of those warm chuckles that turned my knees to rice pudding. He was really very cute. Very, very cute. “Do you have time for hats and maybe a suit today? Or do you have to go home to get things wrapped for Penny’s birthday party?”
“Penny?” He tapped the Sephora bag with the back of his large hand. “Oh! Penny. Right. Penny. Penny’s party. Penny’s party is much later. She works nights. At a go-go lounge. I have time. Always time to shop!”
“Cool, thank you.” He pushed the cheese cup closer to my side of the table. “Go ahead and eat your payment.”
I couldn’t stop my smile. I dipped my large pretzel bite, swirling it in the cheese, then hurried to shove the dripping bit into my mouth. Cheese coated my lips. I had to lean up to avoid dripping onto my fall sweater.
Gideon reached out, a napkin in hand, to dab at my chin.
My reaction was immediate. Fear propelled me back into my seat with such force that the chair squealed over the tile floor.
Gideon’s blue eyes went round. I had to choke down my bite, my face flaming with embarrassment as I shot to my feet while anxiety slapped a chokehold on me.
“Sorry, sorry. I… I… sorry,” I wheezed then bolted for the escalator as every living soul in the food court—and Gideon with the lovely laugh—watched me make a total ass of myself.