16. Embry
16
Embry
January was usually my least-favorite month. It was cold and gray, and the holidays were over, so the pretty lights were gone and there was nothing to look forward to. This one was very different, though.
It was definitely an unusual situation to live with someone I’d just started dating, but I was enjoying every minute of it. Ever since Christmas, we’d been sleeping in the same bed, and that was the best thing ever. Bryson was warm and cuddly, and both falling asleep and waking up in his arms felt wonderful. Of course, sex whenever we wanted it was another excellent perk, but I also loved doing the simplest things together, like baking, or taking Dusty on long walks, or sharing meals.
“I have to keep reminding myself we’ve only been going out for a few weeks, because it looks and feels like a serious, long-term relationship. Not that I’ve ever had one of those, but this must be what it’s like,” I told Hal and Vee, on a random Wednesday three weeks into the month. I’d brought Dusty over for a playdate with the cat and was happy to discover both of the guys were home. Between Vee’s job at a hotel and Hal’s design school schedule and three part-time jobs, this didn’t happen often.
“My advice? Just enjoy yourself and don’t overthink it,” Vee said, as he leaned back and spread his arms across the top of the couch. “You and Bryson have a good thing going.”
“You should be careful too, though,” Hal chimed in. He was definitely the most practical of the three of us. “I know it must feel super intense because you’re living together, but you’re right that it’s a new relationship. I’m worried you’re getting in too deep, too fast, and that you’ll get hurt if it turns out Bryson’s not quite where you are.”
“I’ve thought about that. I’m also a little worried, because I’m the first man he’s ever dated. Maybe he’ll decide he wants to explore his bisexuality, or maybe he’ll realize I’m not really what he wants...”
My voice trailed off, and Hal asked, “Have you two talked about your relationship and where it’s going?”
“Yeah, and we agreed to take it day by day.”
“Makes sense.” I nodded and started picking at my chipped, pale blue nail polish. After a moment, Hal added, “Assuming that’s what you want.”
I just wanted Bryson. I was falling hard for him, but I wasn’t ready to admit my feelings. The last thing I wanted was to scare him away by asking for too much, too soon.
Hal’s phone beeped, which took the focus away from me. Good thing too, because I didn’t know what else to say. He glanced at the text and grinned, and Vee teased, “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Is that another message from Buck McHorseshoe?”
Hal frowned at his friend. “You know his name is Ryder.”
“Close enough. If he sent you a dick pic, you’re contractually obligated to share it with your housemates. Especially me.”
“He’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t do that.”
“That’s very sad. So, what did he send you?”
“Just a silly video,” Hal said, as he held up his phone to show us. “Whenever something makes him laugh, he sends it to me.”
I chuckled at the clip, which was of a bear awkwardly climbing into someone’s backyard hammock. Then I asked, “So, when are you going to see him again?”
Hal shrugged and returned the phone to the pocket of his black cardigan. “I’d like to fly out and visit him this summer, after I graduate. But if I get the internship I’m hoping for, it might be tough to get away.”
I pointed out the obvious. “That’s a long time from now. Can’t he come here?”
“He’s going to try, but it’s even harder for him to get away. The only reason he was able to travel to Las Vegas that weekend was because his cousin was visiting. Someone needs to look after the ranch and all the horses, and chickens, and whatever else lives there.”
“Does that mean he usually looks after an entire ranch on his own?”
“He has part-time help,” Hal said, “but he takes care of most of it himself.”
“It’s such a bummer that you and Ryder can’t be together,” I murmured. “The connection you two had in Las Vegas seemed pretty incredible.”
Hal looked so sad all of a sudden. Since he usually kept his emotions neatly tucked away behind a mask of indifference, that was pretty unexpected. “It was. But his life is in Texas, and mine’s here. That’s just the way it is.”
“But… does it have to be that way?”
“Yeah, it does. He’s not going to abandon the ranch he inherited from his grandparents, and I’m not working this hard to become a fashion designer, just to give it all up and chase a man halfway across the country.”
Vee asked, “Not even if that man turned out to be the love of your life?”
“That’s not possible. We have nothing in common, aside from a desire to fuck each other’s brains out.” Hal stood up and abruptly changed the subject. “I’m going to make myself some tea. Anyone want anything from the kitchen?”
We both said, “No, thanks,” in unison, and once our friend was out of earshot, Vee sighed. “He’s afraid to want this guy. You know Hal’s last boyfriend cheated on him, right?” I nodded, and he said, “I think that pretty much destroyed his trust in men, especially since they were living together and talking about getting married. I don’t know what it’s going to take for him to move past it, but right now it’s way too easy to use the distance between him and Ryder as an excuse to not even try.”
That made me sad, but there wasn’t anything I could say or do to help. Hal didn’t even want to talk about it. When he came back from the kitchen, he distracted us with another subject change.
At least he and Ryder were still in touch, though. As long as that was happening, there was hope.
I got home a little before six that evening, and when I unfastened Dusty’s leash, he took off running to find Bryson. The dog had gotten very attached to him over the past few weeks.
Then again, so had I.
Now that the holidays were over, Bryson was trying to get serious about preparing for his new restaurant. He couldn’t do anything about the location until he got his inheritance, so for now he was focused on developing new recipes.
His plan for that afternoon had been to come up with some winter squash dishes. When I went into the kitchen, it looked like it had been decorated for Halloween with several different types of pumpkins. But they’d been pushed aside, and he’d started making something else entirely.
Bryson was sitting cross-legged on the floor, petting Dusty, and his face lit up when he saw me. “Hi, baby. I’m glad you’re home.”
I bent down to kiss him and said, “Me, too. How’s squashapaloosa going?”
“Badly. I think I hate pumpkins, and squash, and all of that, pretty much across the board.”
“Then why are you forcing yourself to use it?”
“Because I want to offer a seasonal menu, and there’s only so much that’s at its peak this time of year.”
He got to his feet and washed his hands before picking up a dish towel, which he used to pull a sheet tray out of the oven. It held a variety of golden-brown puffed pastry appetizers, and I said, “Those don’t look or smell squashy.”
“Nope, no squash here. I had some ideas for our next Embry dinner.”
After I’d mentioned wanting him to feed me a meal, he’d turned my request into a weekly event. He kept evolving his ideas, and this one was finger foods with a theme, which turned out to be cheese. I was very excited.
“I’ll give Dusty his dinner if you want to go upstairs and change,” he said. “I left a present in your bedroom for you, but obviously wear whatever you want.”
I grabbed him in a hug and buried my face in his chest as I mumbled, “You didn’t have to do all of that.”
“I wanted to. This is fun.” He kissed my forehead and added, “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes. I thought we could eat in the lounge.”
I nodded and hurried upstairs, before I teared up. I wasn’t used to being with someone who was that sweet, kind, and considerate. Part of me didn’t think I deserved it. Another part worried I was taking more than I was giving. I wished I knew how to be the kind of boyfriend Bryson deserved.
Tonight, he was really going above and beyond. These dinners were meant to be a sensory experience and all about comfort, and the present turned out to be the softest, fluffiest rainbow unicorn onesie I’d ever seen. I stripped down to my briefs and pulled it on, and it felt like a warm hug.
When I returned to the kitchen, the sight of Bryson in a onesie of his own made me smile. His was black with a white panel on the front. I thanked him for mine and said, “You look cute. I never thought I’d see you in something like that.”
“They looked cozy, so I decided to get one for myself. But I wasn’t paying that much attention when I ordered these online. I thought mine was just black and white, but there’s a little more to it.” He pulled up the hood, revealing cartoonish eyes and round, black ears. Then he turned around to show me the stubby tail on his butt, which made me giggle.
“You’re the cutest panda ever,” I told him.
He turned back around and grinned at me as I wrapped my arms around him. “If you tell anyone I wore this, I’ll deny it.”
“Your secret is safe with me. But I’m going to need you to make peace with the onesie, because you’re extra cuddly.”
“Only if you promise not to snap any selfies. I don’t want photographic evidence of this particular ensemble.”
“Fine.”
He kissed me before saying, “Dinner’s ready, so go get settled in the lounge and I’ll bring it to you.”
“Can I help carry stuff?”
“No thanks, I’ve got it.”
He’d been busy while I was out. There was a cozy seating area on the floor of the lounge, with tons of pillows and blankets, and there were several framed photos on the mantel. He must have finally gone up into the attic, because there were a couple of storage boxes in the corner that I’d never seen before.
I circled around the pillow nest and went over to the fireplace, so I could get a better look at the photos. There were two of Bryson as a little kid with his dad, who looked just like him, and a shot of Bryson at maybe the age of ten with his dad and grandfather, in front of a Christmas tree. The other four were of him and me.
He’d framed the picture of our epic lift in front of the Las Vegas sign, along with a photo one of the rugby guys had taken during our wedding ceremony. There was also a cute selfie of the two of us with Dusty. Finally, there was a group shot of Bryson and me with the entire Pink Victorian crew, which we’d taken last Sunday when they’d invited us to dinner.
“I thought you should have a family photo on the mantel, too,” he said softly, when he came up behind me. “That’s why I framed the one with all your friends.”
“Thanks for doing that. I love this photo.” Bryson had held his phone at arm’s length, and everyone had piled into the frame. Even the dog, cat, and Vee’s parakeet had been included.
“I know. I love it, too.” He put the tray he was carrying on the coffee table and said, “Be right back,” before returning to the kitchen.
After convincing Dusty to move over—because of course, he’d curled up in the center of the pillow nest—I took a seat and glanced up at the mantel. Bryson’s grandfather was coming to dinner tomorrow night, which would be the first time in four years that he’d set foot in the house. That was obviously why Bryson had put up the photos.
It felt weird to still be selling the fake marriage, since we were actually involved now. I liked the genuine photos, the ones that showed our real life. The two from Las Vegas felt fake.
We couldn’t take our foot off the gas, though. As much as I wanted to be done with that lie, and as guilty as we both felt for deceiving his grandfather, we still had eleven months of this ahead of us.
Bryson needed that money. It was the only way he could hold on to the house he loved, and the only chance he had of getting to try again with a new restaurant.
I had to keep reminding myself of those things. They were my motivation to keep going, far more than my own dream of a cake business. Bryson had already given me the tools I needed to succeed at that—but aside from working with the designer on my website, I didn’t have a clue where to begin. How was I going to find people who wanted to buy my cakes? And why did I think I could run a business? I was worried about losing all the money I’d be getting from Bryson’s inheritance, if this was what I spent it on.
Bryson pulled me out of my thoughts when he came into the room. He was carrying a pitcher and two glasses, and he placed them on the coffee table before sitting down beside me. We both leaned against the couch, and when he put his arm around me, I curled into him.
I loved hearing the excitement in his voice when he told me, “I feel like I really dialed in tonight’s menu, and think you’ll enjoy it.”
No wonder he’d become a chef. He was a caretaker through and through, and making food for people fit perfectly with that. That was probably also why he seemed to get a lot out of very literally feeding me.
Letting someone do that for me—and admitting I needed and wanted it—made me feel vulnerable, but it was totally worth it. I’d never felt more cared for in my entire life. It was intimate and soothing, and it made me feel safe. I had no idea why. It just did.
Bryson picked up one of the beautiful morsels he’d prepared and held it to my lips. It was a small, golden-brown sphere, and I had no idea what I was biting into. It turned out to be warm and savory with melted cheese in the middle, and after I tried it he told me, “This is called arancini—risotto balls stuffed with mozzarella cheese, then breaded and fried.”
I meant it when I said, “It’s amazing.”
We went through the entire meal this way, with him feeding me one perfect little thing after another. He’d made enough for both of us, and while he occasionally popped something into his mouth, his focus was on me. The risotto appetizers were followed by caprese salad bites, made with hothouse cherry tomatoes, sliced in half and sandwiching fresh basil and little balls of marinated fresh mozzarella. The main course was mini calzones with homemade marinara and ricotta, and for dessert there were teensy cherry cheesecakes that looked like they’d been baked for a Barbie party. I ate four of them before I had to admit I was full.
“Thank you, Bry. That was absolutely delicious,” I said, as I climbed onto his lap.
Bryson kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You’re so kind and patient. I don’t know why you indulge me like this.”
“Because I enjoy it, and you do, too.”
“I don’t know how you managed to make all of that so perfect, especially the tiny cheesecakes.”
“Through trial and error. My first two batches were dry and crumbly.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a distraction.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were going to spend the day working on winter squash recipes for your restaurant,” I reminded him, “but this ended up taking a lot of your time.”
“That was totally by choice. I’m having a form of writer’s block, I guess, when it comes to the restaurant’s menu. I just don’t feel inspired. As far as this dinner goes, you never asked for a bunch of miniature foods. I could have made a regular meal and cut it up. But I did it this way because it was fun and challenging for me, and because I wanted to make you happy by presenting you with cute things you weren’t expecting.”
All of that made sense, but I felt guilty anyway. That was just how I was wired.
We relaxed for a few minutes, and then we cleaned up the kitchen together before turning our attention to the storage boxes. I said, “I know you hadn’t been in the attic since the house was remodeled and a bunch of stuff got packed away, so how was it?”
“Bittersweet.” He pulled a stack of photo albums from one of the boxes and sat back on his heels. “It made me miss my dad, which I knew it would. I teared up more than once, but I also found myself smiling as I went through a few boxes and made some discoveries.”
“I wish you’d waited until I was home. We could have gone up there together.”
“I wanted to do it on my own. I was afraid I’d totally break down, and I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“Why not?”
Bryson shrugged. “I guess I didn’t want to look weak. Not that you’d judge me.” He frowned and added, “I have no idea why I’ve always felt it was wrong to show my emotions.”
“I think most boys are taught that while we’re growing up. I had the most unconventional childhood imaginable, but the message that I needed to be tough and hide my feelings still managed to find me. Maybe I got it from books, or movies? I don’t know. It’s not like I actually had any male role models as a kid.”
“I did though, and I know my dad never taught me that. He’d always tell me it was okay to cry or show my emotions, but I automatically tried to hide them.”
“Speaking of your dad, you look just like him. I’m glad I finally got to see a photo.”
“Would you like to see some more?”
“I’d love to.”
He returned to our pillow nest with one of the albums, and after we settled in side-by-side he carefully folded back the cover. “Granddad always took photos at family gatherings, which is what most of this album is. It spans about ten years. I thought it was annoying to have to pose for pictures when I was a kid, but now I’m grateful that he captured those memories. He got some great photos of the whole family, and of my dad and me together.”
“He didn’t take any pictures when we were at his brother’s house for Christmas.”
“No, he stopped doing that when my dad died. I think Granddad couldn’t stand his absence in the group photos.”
I turned the pages, enjoying Bryson’s progression from a serious kid to a serious teen. He was adorable with his thick glasses, unruly dark hair, and questionable fashion choices.
We’d almost made it to the end of the album when the doorbell startled us. Dusty leapt to his feet, and I looked around and murmured, “What time is it?”
Bryson glanced at his phone. “It’s almost eight. Who’d be dropping by?”
I got to my feet and scooped up the dog. “Maybe it’s Toshiko from across the street. She mentioned getting together to talk about designing a birthday cake for her daughter. I’ll go tell her I can come over tomorrow, after breakfast.”
I brought Dusty with me as I hurried to the front of the house and took a quick look out the peep hole. Surprisingly, Edmund Baudelaire was standing on the porch. I opened the door and said, “Hi there, Mr. Baudelaire. This is a nice surprise.” Actually, Bryson was going to be horrified, given what he was wearing. I wished I had my phone on me so I could send a quick text and give him a heads up—not that he’d have enough time to change.
I took a step back and held the door for Bryson’s grandfather. He looked sharp in his three-piece suit, tan overcoat, and fedora—a very different vibe than my rainbow unicorn onesie.
“I’ve told you to call me Edmund, or better yet, Granddad.” He stepped into the foyer and held up two bottles of wine. “Sorry to drop by unannounced, but I just acquired a few bottles of a very nice Pinot Gris. I thought I’d bring these by ahead of tomorrow night’s dinner, so they can be properly chilled.”
That sounded an awful lot like an excuse to drop by when we weren’t expecting him. Was this some sort of test to see if we were really living together? Or was I being paranoid?
“Come on in. Bryson is in the lounge, at the back of the house.”
After I shut the door, I put Dusty on the floor, and he wagged his tail enthusiastically. Edmund handed me the bottles and bent down to scratch the dog’s ears as he said, “Hi there, little fella.”
We started to make our way down the hall, but Edmund paused at the entrance to the living room and murmured, “I knew my grandson had remodeled, but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”
“Bryson took his father’s passing really hard,” I said softly. “This was an attempt at coping with that loss. He was worried you’d think he was trying to erase his dad’s memories, but that wasn’t it at all. It was about trying to keep from drowning in grief.”
Edmund turned to me with a sympathetic expression. “That wasn’t a criticism. In fact, I understand it more than you realize. I’ll admit I’ve purposely stayed away, because I didn’t know if I could handle the onslaught of memories. I’m glad Bryson found a way to cope, instead of selling it.”
“I’m glad you get it.”
“When my son passed, it tore a hole in my heart. The only person who loved him more than I did was Bryson. So, yes, I understand my grandson’s grief, and I’d never judge him for what he had to do to get through it.”
On impulse, I gave him a hug—a little awkwardly, since I had a bottle of wine in each hand. “Now that you’ve taken this first step, I hope you’ll come over a lot more often. Maybe we can turn our family dinners into a weekly event. I know Bry would love that, and I would, too.”
He seemed emotional when I let go of him and stepped back. “You’re a nice boy, Embry, and I can already tell you and your little dog have brought a lot of life and joy to this house.” Dusty had been watching us closely, and he wagged his tail, as if he understood what was being said.
We continued down the hallway, and I told Edmund, “Just so you know, Bryson unpacked his dad’s photo albums for the first time today. I don’t know if you’re going to be up for that.”
“Actually, I’d very much like to see them.”
We ended up startling Bryson when we stepped into the lounge. He looked up from the photo album he was holding and blurted, “Oh! Hi, Granddad. Did I misremember our conversation? I thought you were coming to dinner tomorrow night.” I thought that was sweet. He knew exactly what they’d agreed on, but he was trying to take the blame, in case his grandfather had gotten the nights confused.
“He knows dinner is tomorrow, but he wanted to bring us some wine ahead of time,” I explained, as Bryson climbed out of the pillow nest and joined us.
Bryson looked around in dismay and murmured, “Please excuse the mess.”
“Nonsense.” Edmund gave his grandson’s shoulder a friendly pat. “It looks like you and your husband were enjoying a cozy evening. I apologize for interrupting.”
Bryson seemed flustered, especially when he glanced down and realized he was still wearing the panda onesie. He moved to my side and put a protective arm around my shoulders, maybe because he thought I might be embarrassed, too. “No need to apologize, Granddad. You’re always welcome here. Have you had dinner yet? If not, I’ll make you something.”
“I ate dinner at my desk, same as usual,” he said. “I just wanted to drop off the wine, which as you know should be chilled before we drink it. I also wanted to ask if I should bring anything else tomorrow night. My assistant could order some dessert, maybe a nice dacquoise from the French bakery that made my last birthday cake?”
“Dessert is covered,” I told him. “I’m planning to bake you one of my favorite cakes, butter pecan with a browned butter-cream cheese frosting. I was also going to make an emergency backup cake, in case you don’t like pecans.”
“Forgive me. I momentarily forgot cakes are your passion, Embry. I love pecans, and that sounds delightful.”
“Let’s go take a seat in the living room,” Bryson said, as he tried to direct his grandfather away from the mess. “It’s far less cluttered. Then I’ll make us some coffee, or do you prefer tea this time of night?”
“I prefer brandy. Embry mentioned you were looking at some old photo albums. Mind if I take a look?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course.”
As Edmund took off his hat and overcoat, Bryson and I quickly moved the blankets and pillows out of the way. He sat at one end of the sofa and picked up the album we’d just finished. When he opened it to a random page, he chuckled and told us, “I remember that Christmas. Bryson’s voice was changing. We tried to sing carols, and he sounded like squeaky brakes on a bicycle.”
I grinned at Bryson and whispered, “This is going to be fun.”
Edmund ended up staying almost two hours. We went through every album, and he and Bryson reminisced and told stories about many of the pictures. They both got emotional at times, but there were a lot more smiles than tears.
It ended up being a wonderful night for all of us. I learned a lot about Bryson, his dad, and the family, and I really felt included. I also loved the fact that I got to spend that time curled up at Bryson’s side, with his arm around me. That was my favorite place to be.
When Edmund finally mentioned he was getting tired, I asked if I could call him a Lyft. But he pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a message as he told me, “My driver is standing by. He’ll meet me out front.” I had to wonder what the chauffeur had been doing all this time.
We walked him out, and he turned to us with an apologetic expression when we reached the door. “I hadn’t planned on staying this long and taking up your entire evening. If you’d prefer to postpone our dinner plans, I’ll certainly understand.”
“No way,” Bryson said. “We’ll see you tomorrow at six.”
Edmund’s smile was warm and genuine. “I’m looking forward to it. Thank you for a wonderful trip down memory lane.”
After he left, Bryson leaned against the door and muttered, “I can’t believe my grandfather saw me in this outfit.”
“You look adorable.”
“I look like a furry.”
“He probably doesn’t know what that is.”
“Good.” He glanced at me and asked, “Do you think that was some kind of test? Was he checking up on us? Because that bit about chilling the wine seemed like a pretty flimsy excuse to drop by. He could have just stashed it in his office’s break room refrigerator before bringing it to dinner.”
“I thought the same thing. Maybe he wanted to see if we were actually living together. Or maybe he wanted a glimpse of what our real life looked like when we weren’t expecting company.”
“Whatever he was looking for, I think we probably passed the test.”
“Oh, for sure,” I said. “Good thing he dropped by on a night when we were being all cute and cozy.”
Bryson grinned. “Isn’t that every night?”
“Yeah, it is.”
I leaned in and kissed him. When it started to heat up, he nuzzled my cheek and murmured, “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
“Are you tired?”
He flashed me a huge smile. “Not even a little.”