16. MAX #2
I scanned the room. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t modified for a wheelchair user, with cabinets set high up and no space under the counters for my legs.
It was actually not much different from Lucas’s kitchen, but somehow it felt less welcoming.
I could live with it, though; I wasn’t likely to find a fully accessible kitchen anywhere in my price range.
Lucas set his hand at the top of my back, above where my chair ended.
“You couldn’t reach the cabinets,” he pointed out, leaning over and lowering his voice to exclude Santi from the conversation.
“And the stove is set higher than mine, I think.” He gave my shoulder a comforting rub.
“Can you really see yourself here long-term with those issues?”
I turned my head, bringing my lips almost in contact with his, and whispered back, “I’m kind of going to have to deal with those issues no matter what, unless we come across the perfect, absolute unicorn of an apartment.
” I glanced back at Santi, who was watching us with furrowed brows and tight lips.
Suddenly, he looked a lot less warm. Was he realizing how many changes he and his roommate would have to make to accommodate me?
“Any chance I can claim one of the bottom cabinets for my food storage, and you can move whatever is in there up?”
“What?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Uh, yeah, sure. Hey, look, are you guys, like…” He waved a hand between us and wiggled his eyebrows.
I blinked and looked at Lucas, who looked just as confused as I was. “Are we what?” I asked warily. There were a lot of places that question could go, and most of them weren’t good.
Santi shrugged. “I mean, like, are you a thing?”
How the hell did I answer that? Were we a thing?
We weren’t, really, but if he was worried about us having too much sex and disturbing them in their rooms, then he was probably more interested in if we were fucking at all than if we were an actual thing.
“Sort of?” I finally eked out halfheartedly. “But I know how to be polite, and -”
He was already shaking his head. “I dunno, man,” he said, backing away a step.
What, was he afraid the gay was catching? I scowled. “Don’t know what?”
“I just, like...you do you, but Charlie’s kinda religious and I don’t think he’d really want…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. “Uh.”
Fuck. I hadn’t expected to get this treatment in San Francisco, of all places.
I opened my mouth to say something, though I wasn’t quite sure what, but before I could, Lucas was talking.
“You know that’s illegal, right?” he snapped.
“The city prohibits housing discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.”
Santi gave a start. “Hey, look, I’m not saying we’re discriminating against you. You could live here. I’m just saying you’d have to, you know, take it elsewhere when you wanted to do...stuff.”
“So you’re not discriminating against me,” I shot back, “you’re just asking me not to live my life in my own home?
” Man, fuck this guy and fuck his roommate.
“You know what? I don’t think this is going to work.
” I backed my chair out of the room and spun it toward the front door.
“Thanks for letting me see the room. Good luck filling it.” There, that had sounded calm and mature, right?
It wasn’t obvious that I’d rather have taken a swing at him than wish him good luck?
Lucas wasn’t so circumspect. “Assholes,” he spat over his shoulder as he followed me to the door. “Welcome to the twenty-first century. You should try living in it.”
Damn, my reserved nice guy had an attitude when he wanted to. I smothered a grin at his mama bear act and led him out of the apartment. Once we were back in the elevator, I tipped my head back against the back of my chair and sighed. “What the fuck?”
“I know,” he agreed. “Like, literally what the fuck.”
“I just didn’t expect to get that in SF,” I confessed. “I hardly ever even got it in New Hampshire, and that’s a lot more rural than here.”
He rubbed my shoulder comfortingly. “If it makes you feel any better, that’s the first time in a very long time that I’ve run up against homophobia here. Not everyone is like that.”
I forced a smile. “That does make me feel a little better. The next place is owned by a little old lady, but hopefully she’s less conservative than these twenty-something douchebags.”
“Dude, Atilla the Hun would be less conservative than these douchebags,” he said with a derisive snort.
The elevator dinged our arrival, and we made our way back to the street.
Lucas fetched the car and together we folded my chair into the back.
“On to the next prospect?” he asked, trying for a bright tone and falling miserably short.
The disappointment and self-disgust were really hitting me now, and I just grunted, nodded, and gave him the address of Evelyn Meyers’s home.
The GPS said it was going to take the better part of an hour to get there due to a massive accident on the way.
It was probably for the best; after cutting this visit short, and even considering the accident, we were still going to be a little early for my noon appointment. I hoped she didn’t mind.
Lucas set out without complaint about the slow traffic, and we chatted casually while he drove, both ignoring the elephant in the room of how bad homophobia could make a person feel.
Finally, we pulled up in front of a huge Victorian painted in shades of purple. “Shit,” I muttered, “stairs. She didn’t mention stairs.”
Lucas gestured to the side. “I think that’s an outdoor elevator.”
I followed his eyes and found a large white box on the ground that did, indeed, look like a somewhat crude elevator.
Good, the lady hadn’t misled me, at least so far.
I got my chair set up and transferred in, spoiling myself a little and letting Lucas push me to the elevator.
We fumbled with the controls for a few seconds before figuring them out, and then the elevator lurched upwards.
A second later, it was delivering us to the front door.
I rang the bell, and a cheerful chime rang out.
“Coming!” said a voice, followed by the sound of slow footsteps on stairs.
The door opened to reveal a stout woman with long, white hair.
Her eyes twinkled as she looked at us. “Hello there! Are you Max?” she asked, looking me directly in the eye and smiling.
I felt a burst of warmth, but cautioned myself to be careful. Statistically speaking, the older someone was, the more likely they were to be politically conservative and, more to the point, oppose basic human rights for gay people. Nevertheless, I held out a hand to her. “Max Dion, hi.”
She gave my hand a firm shake and then motioned us inside. “Evelyn Meyers. Come in, come in. Let me show you around.”
We followed her in, both looking around in awe.
Her home was beautiful, with original-looking moldings and woodwork in the foyer we’d walked into and gleaming hardwood floors under our feet.
We were facing a long staircase going up to the second floor; like she’d told me, there was indeed a stair lift running along the left wall.
She gestured to the left at an open doorway. “That’s the parlor. Or at least, that’s what it’s technically called. I call it the living room. I’m not fancy.” She grinned. “To the right is the kitchen—I expect you’ll be wanting to see that.”
“Yes, please,” I agreed, and we followed her to the right.
The kitchen was bright and spacious, painted a warm shade of yellow.
I noticed that there was a piece of counter that was floating, with space underneath for a wheelchair user to tuck their legs.
Fuck yeah. The stove and sink were still uncomfortably high for me, but I didn’t think it would be very easy to find, let alone install, wheelchair-level ones, so I didn’t blame her much.
“Right now I’m storing pots and pans in the lower cabinet,” Evelyn explained, “but I’m happy to clear a few out for you to use.
I know when my hip was broken I ended up having to store everything right on the counter because it was the only way I could reach things.
The pots would have to go up high in exchange, but if you let me know ahead of time, I’m happy to get down and leave out any of them that you need to cook. ”
I couldn’t hold back my smile at that. Yes, it was a little frustrating to not be able to reach everything on my own, but it sounded like she was willing to be more than accommodating. “Thank you, that would be great.”
She accepted that with an understated nod, clearly not feeling like she’d done me any great favor.
“Eli—that’s the guy on the third floor—and Margie—she’s on the second, like you—both have shelves in the refrigerator, and we can clear one for you as well.
The freezer is first-come-first-served for space; Eli and Margie label their things in there so you’ll probably want to do the same.
Hmm.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Is there anything else you’d need to know about the kitchen? ”
I considered that. “You don’t mind if I cook sometimes?”
“Oh, definitely not! You’re more than welcome to use the kitchen, though of course sometimes we have to coordinate who has custody of it when. Or, sometimes whoever’s cooking just makes enough for four; I’m sure we can make it five with no problems.”
I nodded. “Then I think that’s everything about the kitchen. Can I see the bedroom?”