Chapter 9
“Harold! I saw that!” Emmett called, rushing across the room to the eighty-eight-year-old diabetic in a wheelchair, stealing a slice of cake. Slipping the small plate from his hands, Emmett set it back down with the others and grabbed the handles of the chair, steering him away from the temptation.
“Dammit, Emmett. You always ruin all my fun,” Harold grouched at him, crossing his arms over his chest.
“By preventing a diabetic coma? So sorry about that,” he said lightly, pausing next to the other table covered in cupcakes instead. “You can have one of these.”
“Sugar-free?”
“Yes.”
“Disgusting.”
“Harold…”
“Fine, I’ll take a chocolate one,” he muttered, stooped shoulders somehow slumping even farther.
Emmett stared down at his shiny, bald head and worked hard not to laugh. Once he could move without it breaking free, he handed Harold a chocolate, sugar-free cupcake with chocolate, sugar-free frosting. “There you are. These are actually very good. I tried one.”
That was maybe a slight exaggeration. He had tried one, and they weren’t terrible—unlike the ones from the last bakery—but they weren’t the same as their sugary counterparts and never would be.
Harold harrumphed and gestured across the large room. “Push me over to Delilah over there. She’s looking mighty fine today in that dress, don’t you think?”
Emmett maneuvered him through the crowd, nearly the whole facility seeming to have come out for the monthly birthday party.
They couldn’t celebrate everyone individually, or they’d be having parties every other day, so when Emmett had come on as assistant activities director, he’d suggested doing one big party for everyone in the month.
His boss, Thea, had loved the idea and handed the reins over to him without a second thought.
Which had been terrifying.
And exhilarating.
No one had ever trusted him like that before.
His family had rolled their eyes when he’d gotten the job at Sunny Pines Assisted Living after withdrawing from college at the end of his first year.
The classes had been fun, for the most part, but he’d really struggled with managing his own time and assignments, setting his schedule, finding study partners.
After a couple of anxiety attacks, he’d finally thrown in the towel and informed his parents he wouldn’t be going back the next fall.
Considering how successful his siblings were, they couldn’t understand why he was doing it.
It had caused several arguments that had left him shaking and closed in his bedroom. He hated fighting, hated any kind of confrontation. Wouldn’t even send back raw chicken at a restaurant kind of hated it.
He’d gotten a job as an aide at Sunny Pines that summer, thinking he’d work there until he found something more permanent or felt ready to go back to college.
But he’d fallen in love with the place and the residents.
A few years later, when the assistant activities director position opened up, he’d almost talked himself out of applying, but he thought, if nothing else, it’d let management know he was interested in moving up at the facility.
That would show his commitment to the place if nothing else.
No one had been more shocked than him when Thea had chosen him for the job after ten minutes of casual small talk during his interview.
As he and Harold neared the table Delilah and some of the other women were sitting around, delicately eating their desserts and chatting lively, Harold said loudly, “Oh, that’s right. You don’t like the gals. You like other fellas.”
He did his best not to show a reaction as several heads turned to look over at the comment, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was, his face warming against his will.
He’d never made a secret of his sexual orientation, but he also didn’t advertise it, necessarily.
Some of the residents could be pretty… old-fashioned in their thinking.
Not Harold, who didn’t seem to notice the looks they were getting, setting his cupcake on the table as Emmett pushed him up to it. “More pretty ladies for me.”
The women surrounding him tittered like he was the most charming man they’d ever met. If nothing else, he was probably the most confident.
Deciding to ignore Harold’s proclamation and outing, Emmett smiled at everyone and asked, “Everyone having fun? Does anyone need anything?”
He noticed Mrs. Beck—no one was allowed to call her Lily since they were little more than the help to her—was struggling to open her napkin, her shaking hands seeming worse that day than normal.
He made a mental note to mention it to the nurse working in the unit where Mrs. Beck lived and edged around the table to get closer.
“Can I help you with that, Mrs. Beck?” he asked lightly, keeping his hands at his sides. If she was in one of her moods, he’d get a tongue-lashing if he tried to help before she agreed.
She raised her head and eyed him suspiciously, though he wasn’t sure how well she could see anymore. Her glaucoma had gotten much worse since her family had moved her in two years ago. “I suppose that’s alright. My hands are giving me fits today.”
He made a sympathetic noise and gently took the square napkin printed with brightly colored balloons. After unfolding it, he offered it back to her to place in her lap. “There you are. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, dear. That’s all.”
Dismissed, he smiled and turned to the others, about to ask once more if everyone was okay. He never got the chance.
With half his cupcake in his mouth, Harold barked across the table, “Found yourself a nice man yet, Emmett?”
Oh lord.
“You know, my great-grandson is a…” Catherine, sitting on Harold’s other side, looked at her tablemates, wild white brows furrowed. “What are we supposed to call them now?”
“My granddaughter told me that queer was okay now,” Delilah offered, wiping the corners of her mouth.
Catherine continued to frown, shaking her head, but before she could decide on a word—or Emmett could sink through the floor—tiny Henrietta, a Black woman in her late nineties, croaked out, “My great-grandson is non-bitey.”
Everyone stared at her.
“He’s what?” Harold said, the other half of his cupcake frozen in front of his mouth.
“That’s good he… doesn’t bite people,” Delilah said, sounding confused but smiling at Henrietta patiently.
“What?” Henrietta barked, leaning closer. She was notorious for forgetting to put in her hearing aids, but he sort of wished she’d missed the first part of the conversation altogether.
“Oh my gosh,” Emmett muttered, covering his eyes and wondering what was happening and how he could leave without just straight up fleeing the scene.
“I said, it’s good he doesn’t—” Delilah started again, voice raised.
“I think she meant nonbinary,” Emmett cut in and moved closer to Henrietta’s chair. “Is your great-grandkid nonbinary, Hen?”
“That’s what I said,” she said, like he was an idiot.
Gosh, he loved these people even when they drove him batty.
“What’s that?” Harold asked, eyeing the half a slice of cake left on Catherine’s plate.
“You don’t identify as a boy or a girl,” Emmett said, moving around the table once more. Before he could get there, Harold was reaching for the plate, but Catherine slapped his hand away.
“Your diabetes is barely under control,” she scolded him.
“It’s all the sweets he pilfers,” Delilah said, leaning around Harold to exchange a knowing look with Catherine. “I’m going to tell his son when he visits next week.”
“Delilah, darling, there’s no need to—”
“What a good idea,” Catherine said over his whining.
“Catherine, don’t encourage her,” Harold said pitifully, laying one of his hands over hers.
Emmett’s eyes shot wide at the identical affectionate looks Catherine and Delilah gave him, Delilah placing a gentle hand on Harold’s arm.
Were the three of them… Nope, he wasn’t going to finish that thought.
None of them had diagnoses that would prevent them from consenting to whatever was going on between them so it wasn’t his business.
He took a step back from the table, scanning the room to make sure no one needed him, but the aides seemed to have things under control.
One of them, Will, was carrying in the giraffe pinata and whiffle bats, and Emmett grinned at the sight.
Watching a bunch of octogenarians hit a pinata was the highlight of the party for him.
Before he could slip away, Harold turned and locked his watery eyes on him. “You never answered my question.”
Frowning, Emmett moved closer, trying to remember what Harold had asked him. He started to shake his head, then stopped as it hit him, his cheeks flushing hot. “Oh, uh.”
Harold had asked if he’d found himself a nice man. The answer was a resounding yes, combined with confetti and heart eyes. But he hesitated, not sure it was really appropriate for him to share something personal like that with the residents.
Or are you worried they won’t like you anymore if they know you really are gay?
He grimaced at the little voice in his head calling him out. That was really what was holding him back, wasn’t it? He liked his job and didn’t want to do anything to rock the boat.
But… Harold and Delilah and the others, they weren’t his family.
They wouldn’t ice him out if he said or did something they didn’t like or understand.
He’d known Harold for three years and Delilah for almost two—their kids sent him Christmas cards, for Pete’s sakes.
He knew they weren’t like his parents and siblings.
They never rolled their eyes if he talked about “kids” stuff.
They never ignored him. They never made snide comments about what food he ate, clothes he wore, or how excited he got over new activity ideas.
Heck, if anything, some of his residents seemed way too interested in his personal life.