Page 49 of All That History
The thrift store regularscould be frustrating but they were at least predictable, and over the years I’d come to convince myself that predictability was preferable to surprises.Those, I’d never handled well.
Even as a kid, the couple of times my parents had tried to spring birthday parties on me had been disastrous.Tears, followed by muteness and a stubborn refusal to engage.There were photos in the family albums of me, at six or seven, wearing an expression of outrage while around me classmates played and shrieked.
My parents had learned their lesson eventually, though by then my antipathy was well-rooted.Catherine and Kyle called me a creature of habit, the critique in which seemed to vacillate depending on how difficult they thought I was being.My counter-argument was generally that I knew what I liked, and that the dumped bags of often-questionable donations at the thrift provided more than enough unpredictability.
A sort of unpredictability I thrived with, even.
Little things, at first: not quite diamonds in the rough, but something still more than warranted the five-dollar-sale for Mrs Gallagher.First editions among the checkout aisle paperbacks; Spode china sandwiched in-between dollar store plates.Enough to get me noticed, by the people at head office paid to notice those who paid attention.Enough to warrant a phone call, and a “temperature check” for a job offer.No longer just the guy who sifts through one store’s trash bags, but the guy who makes his rounds, unearths the gems all around the state.
I’d opened their letter, and read it, once, and then folded it back into its envelope.Set it on the shelf in my room.The surprise too much to handle, too real to consider.Representing too great an upheaval.
It was atypical, then - weird, even - for me to get so fixated on what an old friend I’d already mentally discarded might be doing with his day in the city.Even I could see this wasn’t normal for me, and I knew my friends would say the same if I dared actually explain it to them.
Attempting that would first involve figuring out what I was actually feeling though, a hurdle I wasn’t ready to tackle.That uncertainty was embarrassing, quite frankly, almost as much as the sting of rejection by Flynn outside the restaurant.When I’d been so confident about the signals I was sure I’d been reading, and then so thoroughly mortified by his gentle demurral.
The best thing to do - the obvious thing - would be to neatly file those feelings, those cringe-inducing experiences, into some box in the depths of my brain.Forget them, as best I could, and forget the warmth of Flynn’s hug and the scent of him as he wrapped his arms around me on that cold sidewalk.Shore up that sensible, practical wall between who you fuck and who you let close, and consign the tingle of his lips brushing mine to the same inky depths as every other stupid mistake and misread signal.The ones which you dared not recall, lest ancient embarrassment keep you awake until the early hours.
I told myself I was moving on, even as I pulled up the travel app on my phone and searched for the next weekend’s dates.Insisted that I was looking to make new memories, to replace these galling ones, as I picked the same hotel as the last time; as I filled in my credit card details; as I checked the box that said yes, fine, all bookings are nonrefundable.
I locked the phone, left staring at my reflection in the black glass.Flynn was not the only hot guy in the city, and the others had the benefit of not being skeletons dragged out of my closet.
Chapter Thirteen
I’d sold myself a lie, and I was damned if I was going to concede defeat on it.Parents warned not to expect me home on Saturday night; the weekend shift at the thrift store told to call if the building was burning down, but otherwise muddle through by themselves.That just left Catherine and Kyle, and honestly I considered simply leaving them in the dark.
“Another busy night at the sex club,” Kyle teased, grinning.
I flashed him an unimpressed look.“You have a far more lurid idea of what gay life is like than the reality.I’ll probably just go to a couple of bars or something.”
“My version sounds more fun.”
Frankly it did, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.Or that some app-surfing might also be on my agenda.It wasn’t like either of my friends had issues with casual sex, but I knew they thought it was an unnecessary risk, meeting up with total strangers.
“Does he know you’ll be in town?”Catherine was giving me the sort of stare which says ‘don’t bullshit me, I’ll know it.’
“Who?”
