Chapter 27 Darío
My kitchen counters are overflowing with ingredients for Friendsgiving, and I’m beginning to regret signing up for this.
In the past, I’ve had my mom, sister, and Harlan here to help, since my family came here for Thanksgiving.
Antonella decided to take my parents on a cruise this year, so I’m very much on my own.
I’ve gone over my menu at least fifty times and triple-checked my shopping list. As far as I can tell, I have everything I need.
Dinner is in two days, and I’m confident that I need to start cooking today to make sure everything is ready.
I’m also supposed to bake pies, so that’s going to be a fucking disaster.
I consider the fact that I should have enlisted help, but my options are limited.
AJ and Jules are in charge of the drinks because neither one of them is any good in the kitchen.
Wes is making dinner rolls, and Penny is bringing sweet potato casserole.
Harlan is bringing mashed potatoes, but that hardly matters, since I still have to make my own, superior mashed potatoes.
Of all the years for Antonella to whisk my parents away, it had to be this one.
Craig’s nails clacking against the floor draw my attention to my short-legged buddy.
He looks as confused as I feel when he takes in the chaos of the kitchen.
“I know, dude. I have no clue where to start. I should have had it catered, huh?” He huffs at me and sprawls out on the floor, his back feet sticking out behind him in the perfect sploot.
I send a text in the group chat to AJ and Julian, asking if they’d be disappointed with pizza on Friday, since I’m not sure I’m going to pull this off.
I’m assuming the guys are doing something fun, since my message goes unanswered.
Organization will probably help, so I start separating the ingredients by recipe, and make sure all of the cold things are stored in the fridge as I go.
Staring at the groceries hasn’t fixed anything, so I figure it’s a good place to begin.
With that out of the way, I locate the pie dishes that Harlan insisted we needed.
At the time, I thought four dishes were excessive, but now that I’m preparing to make four pies, I’m grateful for his insistence.
I confirmed with my mom that four pies was a good number, since leftover pie is a necessity.
With the pumpkin pie in the oven, I begin washing and peeling apples that AJ delivered to me, fresh from his sister’s farm, for the apple pie.
Just as I drop my fourth apple into a bowl with lemon juice, the doorbell rings, causing Craig to shoot to his feet and hustle to the door.
I meet the menace in the foyer, grabbing his collar so he doesn’t run out into the street the moment I open the door.
I find Harlan on my front steps, with his hands full of bags.
He’s smiling from ear to ear, but I’m confused, so I make no move to invite him in.
“I hear you may be in need of some reinforcements,” he says brightly. “You can start by letting me in.”
“Jesus, Harlan. I’m sorry! Of course, come in.
Let me take some of those from you. What is all of that?
” I let go of Craig, who wouldn’t dream of leaving the house with Harlan here, and I reach for a few of the bags.
He lets out a relieved sigh and redistributes some of the bags as he follows me into the hall.
“I wasn’t sure what we’d be working with, so I brought some of my dishes, utensils, and spices,” he ticks off as he unloads the bags to the floor.
I want to remind him that he stocked this kitchen, and I didn’t get rid of anything, but I refrain from making it awkward.
He’s like a tornado as he starts emptying bags and setting things aside that I assume he doesn’t need right away.
“I…um…you didn’t have to do all of this.
I was figuring it out. Sort of. I have the pumpkin pie in the oven, so I’m not totally useless.
” Just then, I realize that I didn’t set a timer for the pie, so I rush to the oven and open it to a cloud of smoke billowing in my face.
“Fuck!” The smoke detector starts blaring, causing Craig to start barking.
Once I have the oven mitt on my hand, I pull out the charred remains of a pie.
Harlan opens the kitchen window to clear the smoke, while I silence the alarm and stare at the tragedy I created. “Should have just had this catered,” I mutter through a coughing fit. He tuts as he fans the smoke with a towel, but he offers me a sympathetic smile.
“No way. Thanksgiving isn’t the same if it’s not home-cooked,” he argues. Once he’s satisfied that he’s cleared the air enough, he examines the pie. “Those poor pumpkins. Sacrificed for nothing. This is why we set timers, Darío.”
“First of all, you interrupted me. I was going along just fine.” This is a lie, and we both know it. He pats my shoulder and gives me the most condescending smile he can muster. “Since you have become a professional chef, apparently, why don’t you take over?”
“Ah, see. This is why I’m here. You’re welcome.” With that, he demands to see my menu and starts creating a list, starting with what we’re making today, what I have to make tomorrow, and what needs to be made on Friday.
We work seamlessly once he gets us started, and we spend the next several hours baking, prepping, and cooking dish after dish, with no more catastrophes.
Craig enjoys frequent trips to the fenced-in yard out back, allowing us to stay focused on the very strict timeline Harlan has set for us.
As pies are set to cool and vegetables are washed and sliced, it finally seems likely that we’ll have a successful Friendsgiving.
I’m a bit over cooking, though, so I'm hoping we can call it quits soon. I stare at the pile of pots and pans needing to be washed or put in the dishwasher and groan. “Are we done yet?” I recognize that I’m whining, but this shit is a lot of work.
I’m also hungry, since it’s well past dinnertime.
“Go order us some takeaway, and I’ll finish wrapping up these dishes,” Harlan instructs while gesturing to a tray of green bean casserole and a tray of Brussels sprouts.
I don’t have to be told twice, so I leave him to it.
Once I’m in the living room, I open a food delivery app and scroll through the options before landing on sushi, since it’s one of Lan’s favorites.
Harlan appears in the living room, Craig not far behind.
He’s been Lan’s shadow all day, the traitorous little shit.
“I ordered from that sushi place a few blocks over. It should be here in twenty minutes.” I took a chance on his order, assuming it was the same as always.
Edamame, miso soup, California roll, and a spicy tuna roll.
He rattles off his order, and I grunt an affirmative. “Some things never change,” he says a bit wistfully. No, they don’t, I think to myself as I watch him fold himself into ‘his’ corner of the couch, right where I always put my feet. Like no time has passed, I shift my legs to give him room.
“What are your plans for tomorrow? I know how much you love eating as many Thanksgiving meals as you can,” I joke. He pinches my toe and throws his head back on a laugh.
“I have to make up for last year, you know? I didn’t have anyone to celebrate an American holiday with.
” The thought of him alone on one of his favorite days of the year leaves an unpleasant feeling in my chest. “I’ll be with Penny’s family tomorrow.
I’m sure it’ll be loads of fun, with both sides of her family under the same roof.
She begged me for moral support, so I couldn’t say no.
Wes invited me, too, so I had options. What are you doing? ”
“Since Antonella has my parents cruising the Caribbean, I’ll be hanging out on my own.
AJ wanted me to go to his sister’s, but I wasn’t feeling it.
Besides, I wanted to give myself tomorrow to make sure I had everything ready for Friday.
” I see the sadness flicker across his face.
“I’m ok, I promise. I didn’t want to leave the dog, so it’ll be fine.
Plus, you know how chaotic Friday is going to be. ”
The food arrives shortly after, and Lan grabs it while I get us drinks.
The familiarity is unsettling because we’ve done this countless times in this same room.
The nostalgia has me wanting to rip the wounds open and talk about all of it with him.
I want to ask him where his heart is at.
I want to try to understand where mine is.
This friendship is so new, and I don’t think I can survive fucking it up.
“Hey, do you want to watch a Christmas movie while we eat?” His eager smile is stunning.
I’m a firm believer in not watching Christmas movies or listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving, but he is ready for all of it on November 1st. His excitement is adorable, so I find myself agreeing as he reaches for the controller on the ottoman.
I wake up to a dark TV screen and a weight on my lap.
Stretching my fingers, I realize my hand is in Harlan’s hair, and he’s passed out, using my thigh as his pillow.
So much for watching a Christmas movie. I allow myself a few moments to run my fingers through his riot of curls, and I have to fight the urge to stroke the clusters of freckles on his face while he snores gently.
Craig is snoring, not so gently at all, somewhere on the floor by my feet.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this content.
I despise the thought of bursting this bubble, but I know it’s the right thing to do.
I gently shake Harlan’s shoulder, and he snorts and shifts.
The problem with the shift is that he rubs against my dick.
Naturally, I feel myself hardening at the contact.
I shake him a little harder. “Harlan, you have to wake up. Come on, sweetness,” I whisper, ignoring my erection.
His eyes flutter open, glassy with sleep.
I expect him to panic at our proximity, but he offers me a sleepy smile instead.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how tired I was. How long have I been asleep?” He stretches his arms above his head, letting out a noisy yawn. I don’t mean to look, but when his shirt lifts, I stare at the strip of skin that’s revealed. So soft and inviting.
“Not sure. I fell asleep, too.” My hand is still in his hair, and he nuzzles into the contact. The movement brings him closer to my very hard cock. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. I can’t help but notice, though.
“Mmm, I loved it when you used to play with my hair.” He closes his eyes while I continue to massage and scratch his scalp, threading his curls through my fingers. I’m barely breathing as we sit in silence, for fear that he’ll realize he doesn’t want this.
“It would always put you to sleep,” I remind him fondly.
He nods in acknowledgement, a soft smile gracing his lips.
The memories feel closer than ever with him here, and I’m tempted to ask him if he remembers them as often as I do.
There was a time when I’d be able to read him—to know exactly what he was thinking and feeling—even if he didn’t say anything at all.
As though he can still read my mind, he speaks into the weighted silence. “I can remember so many of our firsts. Date, kiss, argument. But I can’t remember the lasts. Not for the small things. The things I ended up missing more than I thought possible, you know?”
I spent so long combing through memories, trying to recall the small details.
“I know exactly what you mean.” It’s a dangerous place in my head right now.
Everything feels fragile with us, and I don’t want to steer us in a direction that neither of us is quite ready for.
“You don’t realize how you take the small things for granted until you don’t have them anymore. ”
Harlan sits up, disrupting the exploration of our personal time capsule.
The abrupt loss of contact is almost overwhelming.
I’m not prepared to unpack the complicated feelings that have been dragged to the surface tonight.
Not that they were buried too deeply. “At least we can make new memories.” Regret flashes in his eyes but quickly disappears.
I offer him a smile, hoping my own regret is masked. “Starting with Friendsgiving. You saved my ass today, so thank you.” There is no chance that I would have been able to accomplish all we did if he hadn’t appeared on my doorstep.
“I did indeed save your arse.” Harlan winks, his eyes sparkling. “It’s getting late. We should get the dishes done,” he says around a yawn, before letting out an adorable squeak.
Standing, I take his hands, pulling him to his feet.
“I will take care of the dishes. It’s the very least I can do after all your help today.
Are you sure you’re ok to drive? I can take you home, or you are more than welcome to spend the night.
” I cringe, realizing how that sounded. “To sleep, obviously. I didn’t mean—”
“Hush, Dare. I know what you meant,” he assures me, chuckling lightly.
“I’m fine to drive, I promise. If you’re sure about the dishes, I’m going to take you up on that.
I’ll be back bright and early on Friday morning so you don’t massacre any more unsuspecting vegetables.
” I reach to pinch his side, but he steps out of reach, his musical laugh enveloping the space around us.
“I maintain that it’s your fault the pie didn’t survive,” I sniff.
Placing my hand on his back, I guide him to the foyer.
“Thanks again for today. I had fun, despite the pie homicide. Please text me when you get home.” I almost choke on the word “home.” It’s hard to remember, especially after tonight, that this house is no longer his home.
“You don’t have to thank me, Dare. I’m happy to help.
Happy Thanksgiving,” he murmurs, stretching to kiss my cheek.
“See you Friday. I’ll let you know when I’m home safely.
” Once he’s in his car and pulling away, I raise my hand to the cheek he kissed.
I wonder if his lips still taste the way I remember.