Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Are you?” he asks evenly.
“Uh, no.”
“Good. I’ll be there. You’ll never be left with the kids unsupervised.”
“I was just kidding,” I clarify. “Obviously. I wouldn’t hurt a kid.”
Rafael nods and an incredibly awkward silence engulfs the room. Yeah, that’s kind of what happens when you try to lighten the mood by bringing up child abuse, asshole.
Once the pizza arrives, Rafael explains the particulars of the workshop, then falls silent. He seems comfortable, but I hate the quiet. I’m hyperaware of the sound of my refrigerator running and the fact that I need to blow my nose because when I inhale there’s a slight whistling sound. So I start breathing through my mouth. That makes me hyperconscious of my breathing. Every third or fourth breath, I’m straining to breathe in fully.
“I want to be clear,” he says. “I’m gay. I was at that bar the other night to pick someone up. My sexuality isn’t an issue for me, and all the kids I work with know about it. I’m assuming that isn’t the case for you, and that’s fine. It’s not my business. I’m not going to bring up how we met in front of anyone. Okay? Does that help?”
“Help what?” I croak.
“Help whatever you freak out about every time you talk to me.”
I go into the kitchen and scoop some ice cream for us, trying to pinpoint what it is about Rafael that I keep reacting to so strongly. My mental picture keeps focusing on his eyes and his mouth and his thick arms, but that’s not it. That’s what I’d notice at the bar.
It’s more that Rafael is the first person who knows about… me. The first person who knows I’m—that I would let a dude suck me off—and who I’ve had an actual conversation with. I’ve been sitting with him, eating pizza with him, hanging out, and he’s gay. And knows about me.
A wave of heat flushes through my stomach and chest, and when I turn around to find him standing next to my hand-me-down red Formica table, looking at me curiously, I can’t quite meet his gaze.
“Having second thoughts?”
“No, no, I’m cool.” I hand him a bowl of ice cream and stand there awkwardly. “So, uh, how’d you get involved with the—what’d you call it? Organization?”
“My mentor, Javier, started it about thirteen years ago. At first it was an after-school program and some sports. Help with homework, football, safer sex pamphlets, stuff like that. As he got the word out and more people started using the resources, they got more funding. I started volunteering there a few years after it opened. Helping Javier out.”
He kind of smiles and frowns every time he says Javier’s name. It’s more of a reaction than he’s had to most things, so this guy must be someone important.
“I’ve been working there full-time about eight years now.”
I nod, but I’m not sure how this is supposed to go. I’m not good at actually talking to people. Small talk at the bar, shooting the shit, sure. But it’s easier to just joke around or talk about nothing. And honestly, that’s what I mostly do. Talk about nothing.
“So, was that your brother and your father at the shop the other day?”
The bowl Rafael washed is dripping water onto the counter below and my fingers itch to dry it. After resisting for as long as I can (about ten seconds), I reach past him, grab the dish, and dry it, irritated at myself for probably seeming prissy.
“I get those, uh, water bugs,” I say lamely. “Yeah, my brother Brian and my dad. Sam, my older brother, works there too.”
“Two brothers, huh. I always wanted a brother. I’m crazy about my sisters, but it seems nice to have brothers.”
“Three, actually.”
“What?”
“I have three brothers. My youngest brother, Daniel, doesn’t work with us. Actually, he just moved.” Why am I talking about Daniel? “To Michigan.”
“Oh, where in Michigan?”
“I don’t know exactly. Somewhere in the north. He’s an English professor.”
“That’s interesting. Where does he teach?”
“Um, I’m not sure the name of it,” I say, and it hits me for the first time, really, that Daniel lives somewhere in Michigan, but I don’t know where. I don’t have his address. I have his phone number, I guess. Unless he changed it. But if something happened to him, I don’t know where he is. Even though we’re not close anymore—hell, he drives me nuts—I used to be the one who looked out for him. And realizing that he’s out there, in god-knows-where Michigan, is… unsettling.
“Colin?” Rafael is looking at me, but I can’t tell if his expression is concerned or if he just realized that I’m a total asshole who doesn’t even know where his own brother lives.
“Huh?”
“I said I’ve never been to the Midwest.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
Rafael nods slowly and checks his watch. “I should go. How about I text you the address and the info for Saturday?”