12. That’s a Lot #2
This breakfast, the goofy meandering conversation, the bounces between sincerity and silliness, the totality of it was new to him and he wasn’t sure he liked feeling this uncertain. He especially wasn’t sure he liked the way he couldn’t predict what Connor was going to say or do next.
But he wasn’t bored. That was quite novel, too.
“The concert starts at 7:30. What about a picnic?”
This was in fact happening. A hookup was asking him to go on a picnic, and he was about to say yes even though he’d never once been on a picnic with a man he’d fucked.
He didn’t think he’d ever even been on a picnic with a man he’d wanted to fuck.
He’d only been on one picnic, in Central Park for a concert with classmates.
It had rained. The baguette had been a mushy disaster and he’d ruined a pair of shoes.
He’d never gone back to the Sheep Meadow to sit on a dirty gross blanket when he could go to a bistro in his neighborhood for much less hassle.
Jonathan grabbed both plates and the cutlery from the table and fled toward the kitchen sink. “What about it?”
“Is that a yes?” He didn’t have to see Connor’s face; he could hear the smile in his voice. He smiled all the fucking time.
“Yes, damn it, it is. I am saying yes to a picnic in a park on Saturday night.” Yesterday he’d been ready to take the next step to functioning adulthood, but today he wasn’t sure.
He yanked open the dishwasher door.
“With me.” That was the satisfied-sounding voice of a man who had eaten three pieces of brioche French toast, a fried egg, and Jonathan’s cock.
And he wanted to take Jonathan to a concert in a park and it would be endurable. Maybe even enjoyable. Maybe.
“Yes! With you, Connor.” He aligned the plates with the others in the lower rack.
A fucking picnic.
Normally, Jonathan was happy when his Thursday shift overlapped for half of the day with Lily’s morning schedule, but today it was a less-than-optimal situation.
He wasn’t precisely late to work, in fact, he wasn’t at all late to work, but his time at home to change out of yesterday’s clothes might best have been described as a pilot doing touch-and-go landing practice.
“You look less shiny than usual and simultaneously tired, as if you didn’t have time for your skincare. But you also look sort of smug with a strong je ne sais quoi vibe. Like very, very je ne sais and like you enjoyed a really big, juicy piece of quoi.”
“Your French is nonexistent and makes no sense. You make no sense.” He smoothed the cashmere in the cardigan draped over his chair. It was soft. If he wore it Saturday night, Connor might like to touch it.
“Stop petting your emotional support cardigan. It’s a librarian cliché. You have to give me the dish.”
“But your lack of making sense makes my brain hurt too much to talk.” He dropped into his desk chair and spun it in a half-circle, the better to avoid meeting Lily’s gaze.
“Wait! I just realized!” She gave a theatrical gasp, and he didn’t have to spin back facing her to know she would have fake big eyes and an open circle mouth. “You’re not wearing black! Not one single item!”
“That’s some big clue? I switched to my summer palette and you suddenly think what?” He liked teasing his friend far too much.
She was going to flip out when she saw the contents of the plastic container Connor had given him.
“Listen, Jonathan. I will mess you up if you don’t tell me what happened after you left.
Suddenly my gay best friend has quit our buddy comedy to star in a rom-com and left me in a one-woman-show I did not audition for.
I have no life outside of these walls. I need to believe someone, somewhere, is getting something. ”
“Then I suggest you read more of those magazines from the box you’re hiding under your desk.” He bent to open the flap of his messenger bag, stowed on the floor under his own desk.
“You are quite literally the cruelest man I’ve ever met, and I’ve met some wonder-workers.”
“I do not think that word means what you think it means.”
Lily was wrapped up in her wheedling and didn’t see that he’d pulled a repurposed plastic gelato container out of his bag.
“C-R-U-E-L. Look it up in the dictionary. You’ll see your face, Jonathan.”
“I meant the word literally. Please, don’t abuse me with your figurative shit.”
They stared at each other, then burst out laughing.
“Tell me what I need to know.”
“Connor gave me these to bring to work. Is that something you need to know?” Jonathan held out the container of chocolate chunk oatmeal cranberry cookies. “He said they’re for that low energy part of the day, but I think this is an emergency.”
Lily sprung for him. “Cookies? He gave you cookies?”
“Oh my god, you’re like one of those alien face-huggers popping out of a vent shaft. Get back!” He waved the container, and watched her head turn to follow it.
“He gave you homemade cookies?”
“Oh, honey, he gave me a lot more than cookies.”
While it had been Jonathan doing the giving and Connor the receiving pretty consistently, that was definitely too much information for Lily.
“He made French toast this morning.”
“Get all the way out,” she grumbled while she unsnapped the container lid.
Jonathan’s memory filled with images of Connor doing the reverse: pulling a cookie jar, a white ceramic one decorated with vintage black and white images of men fencing, from the back of the counter and transferring as many cookies as he could fit into this repurposed plastic container.
The man sent a hookup away with cookies.
Maybe hookup wasn’t even the right word anymore and it had only been two nights, two nights and two mornings. Maybe words were losing meaning.
“Ohmigod, these are delicious. So good. Did I say thank you?”
“I expect you to save two for me.” Jonathan lifted his third coffee of the day from his desk while he considered how to phrase his disclosure. “So. Connor and I are going on a picnic on Saturday.”
Lily coughed out a piece of cookie but caught it in her hand. Jonathan had to look away.
“A picnic? You”—she pointed at him far more dramatically than the information merited—“YOU are going to sit on the ground?”
Her look of disbelief encompassed his tan linen trousers, sky blue socks decorated with smiling cloud emojis, and buff suede loafers.
If he were more truthful, he’d admit that he didn’t have a specific summer wardrobe, especially since the library was a steady temperature year-round, but this morning he hadn’t felt like his usual black, gray and white work clothing staples.
“The ground is dirty, you know that, right?”
“I assume there will be a blanket or chairs.”
“You’re going to eat with your fingers?”
“Cutlery is portable. And I do eat finger foods with my fingers. I do. Give me one of my own cookies back and I’ll demonstrate.”
She clutched the container to her chest with the hand that didn’t have her second treat. “Ohmigod. A picnic. Where?”
“I’m not telling, because then you’ll show up and mock me. Because you have no life, like you said. So no, my lips are sealed.”
“What’s bringing this on? This new Jonathan? I think I like him, but where did he spring from?”
“I’m cosplaying as a better person.” He’d achieved everything else at this point, so maybe he could also have a significant other.
That seemed like a more fit description of what he could aspire to than boyfriend or partner, which he wasn’t even sure he wanted, or at least not until he’d unlocked some higher level of functioning-person status.
He wasn’t fixed enough to be someone else’s partner yet, but maybe if he processed a bit more parental trauma drama, he could be.
I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to be Jonathan. He could probably handle a low-key significant other.
Connor was clearly the opposite of low-key.
“Good for you, I support you. Now, moving on, the important question remains.”
“Which is?” Jonathan would not adopt Connor’s habit of saying ‘what.’
“What are you going to wear?”
“I hadn’t considered that yet.” He’d focused on a lightning-fast changeover to get to work, and until this moment had been trying to not focus on the picnic. Which was a third date.
Ish. Date-ish thing.
Who was he kidding.
It was a date. A third date. A real date, with a nice man who made no attempt to hide his interest.
“Oh, we will be talking about what to wear, Jonathan, we will.” Lily’s grin was the evidence of yet another evil person on this day smiling over Jonathan’s miseries, that’s what she was, not a friend, definitely not assistance in his time of need.
“I could bring over wine, and we could go through your closet?”
“No!” She couldn’t come over. He kept the good bicycle inside, his bar stools were basic big-box pine junk that clashed horrifically with his Mid-Century Modern couch, and the overall vibe made even his few nice things look worthless. His apartment wasn’t ready for guests. He wasn’t ready.
“No problem.” She made a calm-down gesture, almost like petting the air, with her empty hand. “Just an offer.”
His panic had made it weird, so he took a deep breath and reminded himself of how to smile. “Some other time, sure.”
“Really?” She cocked her head. “That would be fun. You have cool clothes.”
“Sure.” He’d said it. He’d agreed. And that meant he was going to have to follow through and that meant he must clean everything and re-organize his closet.
Or he’d be a liar.