Chapter 39
Chapter thirty-nine
Ellis picked the restaurant. A small Italian place in Carroll Gardens with dim lighting, cloth napkins, and a bread basket that took the edge off most nervousness.
Almost.
“They’re going to be here in twelve minutes,” he said, checking his phone for the fourth time since we sat down.
“I know.”
“My mom is always early. If she says seven-thirty, she means seven-fifteen. My dad will want to circle the block twice looking for parking, even though I told them to take the subway.”
“Ellis.” I put my hand over his on the table. “Breathe.”
“I’m breathing.”
“You’re hyperventilating in a nice shirt.”
He glanced down at himself. Three outfit changes before we left, a habit I was starting to think he’d caught from me. He’d settled on a navy button-down that made his eyes look even bluer, frankly unnecessary. The man didn’t need optical assistance.
“What if my dad doesn’t talk?” He leaned forward. “He does this thing where he goes completely quiet and just… observes. It’s terrifying. Like being studied by a marine biologist.”
“I’ve survived worse. Your mother?”
“She’ll talk. She’ll talk a lot. She’ll ask about your job, your family, where you went to school, what your five-year plan is.”
“Event planner. Complicated family. Didn’t finish college. My five-year plan revolves around keeping your son happy.”
His mouth twitched. “Lead with the event planning.”
They arrived at seven-eighteen. His mom, Linda, walked in wearing a cream blazer and an expression trying hard to be open-minded. His dad, Greg, shared Ellis’ jaw and the posture of a man who’d coached Little League for fifteen years, still standing like he was waiting for the National Anthem.
I stood up, wiped my palms on my thighs under the table first.
“Mom, Dad.” Ellis’ voice cracked on the second word. I pretended not to notice. “This is Jett.”
I extended my hand to Linda. She took it, grip firm, smile practiced.
“Nice to meet you, Jett.” The pronunciation came out rehearsed, like she’d practiced it in the car.
“Really nice to meet you, Mrs. Ashford. Ellis talks about you all the time.”
“Good things, I hope?”
“Always.” A small lie. But the right one.
Greg shook my hand the way men did when they believed handshakes revealed character. His eyes scanned my face like they were cataloging data. Marine biologist energy, except the specimen was me.
“Jett.” Just the name. No modifier.
“Sir.”
He blinked at the “sir.” His posture eased. In Greg Ashford’s body language, probably a bear hug.
The first twenty minutes were brutal, the way civil dinners go brutal.
Nobody said anything wrong. Nobody said anything real either.
We talked about the restaurant, the menu, the weather shifting toward real autumn, and whether the bread was sourdough or ciabatta.
It was ciabatta. We discussed it for six full minutes.
Linda asked about event planning. I described the Wellstead-Hong wedding I’d just finished. Two hundred guests, an outdoor venue, a last-minute rainstorm that forced the cocktail hour inside.
“What did you do?” The question was genuine. She was a problem-solver. Ellis had inherited that.
“I commandeered the hotel ballroom, moved every table in fourteen minutes, convinced the DJ to switch his set to indoor acoustics, and told the bride it was planned all along.”
“Was she fooled?”
“No. But she appreciated the audacity.”
Linda’s mouth curved. Not a full smile, but close. A crack in the cream blazer armor.
Greg said nothing for another ten minutes. Ate his pasta methodically, watched Ellis watch me, watched me pretend not to watch him watching. Somewhere between the main course and dessert, he set his fork down.
“Ellis says you make him laugh.”
The table went quiet.
“I try.”
“He also says you’re the first person who makes him feel like he doesn’t have to perform.”
I kept my eyes down. Looking at Ellis meant losing it.
“That’s… that means a lot, sir.”
Greg was quiet for a moment. His fork turned once in his hand. Then, without looking up: “Ellis called me after. Said he owed me honesty. That he’d been wrong to wait so long.” A pause. “He was. But I had more time to get there first. I didn’t.”
Nobody spoke. Ellis’ water glass caught the restaurant light.
Greg picked up his fork. Resumed eating. The marine biologist had concluded his study. Except the specimen he’d been assessing wasn’t me.
After dinner, walking them to their car. Greg drove despite everything. Linda touched my arm.
“This is new for us.” Her voice came quietly, while Ellis and Greg had some private exchange ten feet ahead. “I want you to know that. Not an excuse. Context.”
“I understand.”
“We love our son.”
“I know. So do I.”
The words came out before I could filter them, and I watched her face process them in real time. Surprise, then something softer.
“I can see that.” She met my eyes directly. “I saw it at the table, the way you watched him. Like you’re…” She struggled for the word.
“Terrified of losing him?”
“I was going to say proud.” She squeezed my arm once. Brief, deliberate. “We’d like you to come out to the house sometime. Sunday dinner, maybe. When you’re ready.”
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard.
“I’d like that.”
Ellis appeared at my side, radiating nervous energy. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” Linda kissed her son on the cheek. Gave me a nod that landed like the beginning of something.
They drove away. Ellis and I stood on the sidewalk in Carroll Gardens, watching taillights disappear.
“My dad spoke.” He sounded dazed. “He actually volunteered words.”
“He said I make you feel like you don’t have to perform. Did you tell him that?”
“I might have mentioned it. Once. Or several times.”
I kissed him under a streetlight. He tasted like tiramisu and relief.
“Your mom invited me to Sunday dinner.”
“She did?”
“On Long Island. The whole thing. Should I be scared?”
“Terrified.” He grinned. “But I’ll be there.”
“That’s all I need.”
We took the subway home. Ellis fell asleep on my shoulder between stops, his hand loose in mine, his breathing easy and even.
Nothing to perform, nothing to hide. A man who’d introduced his boyfriend to his parents and survived, leaning into the person who made him feel safe enough to close his eyes on a crowded subway.
I didn’t move until our stop. Wouldn’t have moved for anything.