TWENTY-EIGHT It’s Complicated
N OAH
I never receive the extra minutes I need to find out anything about Tristan. I end up scheduled to work back-to-back shifts—including some night shifts—until Thanksgiving Day, which gives me zero free time. It’s only as I’m packing up my stuff to stay at my parents’ place that I cross paths with Tristan while retrieving my load of laundry from the dryer.
“Sorry. Hope I didn’t hold you up,” I say when I find him there with the washer full of his clean but still damp attire. I know it’s his because everything the man owns is black. During another discussion I might ask him about his dreary garment choices—is it a chef thing or a Tristan thing?—but not with him wearing such a disgruntled expression. Tristan grunts his response without meeting my eye. “You feeling better?”
Another noncommittal grunt. I don’t know if he’s been preparing meals again or not because I haven’t been home.
“Good talk,” Jackson remarks from the doorway, his features in their typical sardonic configuration. I didn’t even hear him come in. “There’s the talkative culinary artist we all know and love.”
I purse my lips at Jackson’s interruption. Any chance I might’ve had for unearthing the truth about Tristan being even more circumspect than normal just flew out the window. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t deal with any drama here. Not when I might have another shovel of it once I get to my folks’ place.
The traffic is a bear. They live about an hour outside of the capital, and due to an accident, I wind up trapped inside the city for a solid hour and a half. But once I arrive, everything with my family is all smiles and hugs. I roughhouse a bit with the twins and even get a chance to play hoops with Aaron. But when our Thanksgiving lunch is ready, Mom starts in with the questions.
“So how come we never ever see you, Noah Spencer?”
Fantastic. She’s middle naming me. Sister Amelia is back.
I take a bite, lengthen out how long I chew and swallow.
“Just super busy.” Then, I make the mistake of thinking about how busy I’ve been with Elle and feel my ridiculous cheeks heat.
And, of course, my mother latches onto this like a frog on a buzzing housefly.
“Busy. I see. Are you dating anyone?”
How on Earth can I answer that? I go with a modified version of the truth.
“Kinda sorta.”
“Kinda sorta, huh?” she echoes with a grin. “That sounds fascinating. Will we ever get to meet her?”
“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
Her grin only widens at that. Uh-oh.
“I like the sound of that.”
But I shake my head. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Too late,” Aaron mumbles where only I can hear him.
“I love hearing that you’re putting yourself out there again.” This is the closest Mom will ever get to mentioning Ruthie. Bringing her up would mean bringing up our excommunication disaster, and that’s one thing my loved ones never do.
“It’s just casual.” I focus on my mashed potatoes. “We’re not exclusive or anything.”
Mom’s face falls, and Dad frowns.
“You’re not exclusive?” he asks, and I wish I’d lied and told them I wasn’t dating anyone.
“It’s complicated,” I say again, feeling like I’m making things worse instead of better. “I’m concentrating most of my efforts on professional pursuits.”
There. That’s accurate.
I save myself any more thorniness by funneling the rest of the conversation back around to what’s going on with them. We moved to D.C. in the first place because my dad had a senior accountant opportunity, but after his stroke, it took him a few months to recover. After that he found something else, but it’s only entry-level with a fraction of the salary.
Mom has since parlayed her part-time librarian position into full-time, but even then, it doesn’t pay much.
At fifteen, Aaron needs to focus on school, and Oliver and Kayden are only in the seventh grade. Thankfully, my earnings through Elegance have been able to cover their rent and car payments.
I couldn’t have handled that extra financial load had it not been for working with Elliana. Firefighting is rewarding, but it doesn’t offer much better compensation than library work. We conclude our holiday meal and laze about for the rest of that day. The next morning my dad pulls me off to the side.
“Thank you, son.” I know this is about the money. But I couldn’t not help out. He doesn’t need to know how.
“No biggie.”
“Actually, it is.” Dad sounds peeved. Yet I didn’t mean my response to be flippant. Not at all. “And we’re going to pay you back.”
“I’m not worried about—”
“We will . End of discussion.”
Internally, I sigh. I feel this chasm opening between us because I’m keeping so much from him. So, so much. And I don’t know how I’ll ever close it.
Driving home is an exercise in trying to untangle the web I’m somehow stuck in, but I come up with no meaningful solutions. The short answer is I can’t afford to stop working for Elegance, and I have no desire to end my contract with Elle.
I can’t tell my parents about my secret employer, nor do I feel like I can sit down and discuss some of the revelations I’m making about my sexuality. In an attempt to do something productive, I use the AI on my phone to answer some questions. I saw Tristan asking his phone to call out the ingredients in a recipe once, and I’m curious about whether it’ll work for me.
“Hey, Siri, how do I know if I’m gay?” I say the term “gay” in a whisper, then want to kick myself. I’m alone in my Tacoma, for goodness’ sake.
She says, “Here’s what I found for you on the internet,” and rattles off several LGBTQIA+ sites and support groups. That’s useful, actually. But I can’t read and drive.
“Hey, Siri, tell me about the different types of sexuality and what they mean.”
She reads off several definitions for a variety of sexual orientations, and honestly, it’s all extremely overwhelming. I’m attracted to Elliana, no question. I know that much. And I was attracted to Ruthie, even if we only ever shared a couple of kisses that I now know were incredibly tame. I never even tasted her tongue.
But I liked being next to her and holding her hand. I remember how she smelled faintly of vanilla. Back then, sex was off-limits. I may have been aroused by her on occasion, but I’d always done my best to shut anything like that down.
There’s no shutting down this carnal need I feel for Elle. Well, I should probably call it what it is... lustful desire. I know I should feel bad about the thoughts I have about her, about how often I wake up from wet dreams about her. But while there’s a niggle of remorse there, it’s not much. I glory in being with Elle too much. Beside and inside her.
Not sure what that means for my eternal soul.
I force myself to relive what scared me so badly before. Not only Jackson having sex within inches of where I’d been laying but also witnessing Tristan’s seed splattering onto Elliana’s rich dark skin.
I’d very nearly come right there on the spot. I know every inch of Elle’s body like the back of my hand, and since that night, I can also likely draw Tristan’s member as well as I can my own.
And shoot , just thinking about all this makes me hard.
I like Tristan. He might’ve started out keeping his distance, but his exuberance when explaining his birthday surprise for Elliana was catching. We worked side by side with Jackson to make what Tristan envisioned a reality, and I enjoyed it.
I enjoyed toiling to accomplish something nice for Elle. It was a nice camaraderie. Yet it’s a different type from what I feel around any other group I know. More charged.
But is it sexual? Do I want to have sex with either of those men?
I imagine it. Imagine what it might be like to touch another man or to have him touch me. And while it’s not repulsive in the least, it’s not specifically what I’m craving, either.
Then, I visualize them rubbing up against me while I’m having sex with Elle. I picture watching their naked bodies undulating, the four of us moving in the same rhythm.
And boom , my erection throbs in my jeans.
What kind of sexual orientation is that?
By the time I pull up into Elle’s garage, I’m not sure if I’ve gained any clarity about myself or not. But in the end, it’s a moot point because everyone in the house is in an uproar. It’s a Friday evening, and Elliana worked in her store due to it being such a big sale day for holiday shoppers.
And sometime during this day she received another of those horrible cards. Only this time there wasn’t any vandalism, and it didn’t get delivered through the mail.
Instead, it was sitting on her jeweler’s bench inside her locked second-story workshop.