Page 37 of Penny For Your Thoughts
The first smile I’d seen all afternoon crawled across Diem’s face. He met my eyes with more confidence. “He mentioned you didn’t enjoy it.”
“Understatement of the century. Do you know what fishing entails? Let me fill you in. It involves hooking worms and minnows. Impaling them. Stabbing their wiggling bodies with a sharp object. And no, according to Heath, hot dogs are not a suitable substitution, no matter what the Boy Scouts taught me.
“You have to suffer long, long, looooong periods of time at a boring lake, waiting for your bobber to bob or a nibbling tug on the line that willnevercome. Watching paint dry would be more exciting. No music. No TV. No flushing toilets for miles. You want hot water? Forget it. The coffee is shit, and the bugs… My god, the bugs. Heath likes to fish with his thoughts and won’t engage in extensive conversation.
“Then, if you’re lucky enough to catch something, which I generally was because god hates me, you have to touch it. With your bare hands, Diem. And carve its guts out. You thought stabbing a worm was bad? No. This is way,wayworse. You get to use a knife, and you aren’t allowed to chicken out. Then, you have to pretend you’re excited to eat it even though you feel nauseous. So yeah, fishing is not my thing. No thank you. I’d rather get my fish already dead, gutted, and beheaded from the grocery store in cellophane like a normal human being. Or, if I’m feeling especially frivolous, I’ll order it battered and deep-fried from a restaurant. God, I’m hungry again. Can we order fish and chips?”
The contemplative look returned to my boyfriend’s face, but it came with a side of humor this time. His lips curled at the edges, and he kissed my nose. “You ate two plates of dinner and a peanut butter sandwich beforehand because you couldn’t wait for the pasta to cook.”
“I burn a lot of calories in a day.”
“Sitting behind your desk and browsing your socials?”
“Shut up. It’s exhausting. Are you going to take Heath up on the offer?”
Diem’s smile faded.
“You know, if you want to be a contestant onAlone, you should probably learn to fish.”
“I… No. He wasn’t serious. He was making conversation. He doesn’t even know me.”
“That’s the point. He wants to know you.”
Diem stuck to his guns, certain the offer was made to be polite.
I didn’t argue or tell him he was wrong. Heath wouldn’t have mentioned it if he wasn’t serious, but since the thought of joining my stepfather on the lake seemed to make Diem uncomfortable, I let it go. Heath would reach out again in time, and those were Diem’s hurdles. My stepfather was a good man with a huge heart, and I had no doubt he would take Diem under his wing like he had me.
Before Heath came into my life, the only father figure I had known was the one who rejected his gay son. The one who ridiculed and teased me. The one whose verbal abuse was so subtle yet so vile, it took breaking free to see it for what it truly was.
Diem’s dad was worse, and unlike my mother, Marlow Krause had never advocated for her son. She’d let the abuse happen. She’d turned the other cheek and left Diem to drown. His escape had involved years of therapy and destructive habits that he was still dealing with on adaily basis. His scars ran deep. His trust in humanity was frail on a good day.
On evenings when we ended up naked in bed, I silently traced the history of Diem’s life as it was mapped on his skin.
He’d endured so much, but he’d survived. Diem thrived, although he didn’t see it that way. Not yet.
My one goal in life was to help him feel worthy. Show him that he was enough.
“I queuedAlone. Want to watch an episode?”
“Sure.” I imagined he was happy to change the subject.
We adjusted our bodies, so Diem lay against the back of the couch with me spooned in his arms. Although I sometimes took the role of big spoon after painful therapy sessions or intensely emotional sex, it didn’t work when watching TV.
Diem passed me my glasses, and I hit Play. Emotions were high. His confession about AA might have gotten buried, but it still coursed through his veins. Diem touched me subtly throughout the entire episode. For a man who had once been uncertain about showing affection—who didn’t knowhowto show affection—tonight, he seemed unable to stop, like he couldn’t get enough, like he was making up for lost time.
He ran his fingers through my hair and buried his nose in my neck, inhaling. He brushed his lips along my nape and across the shell of my ear, sighing and kissing. Untucking my shirt, he fanned his blunt fingers against my abdomen, tracing my navel, my ribs, and the curve of my hip. He moved his bare foot against mine, exploring under the cuff of my trousers with his toes. He weaved our legs together, hooked his ankle around my calf, and urged me closer still.
When he located the ring I wore on a chain around my neck, he threaded a finger through the loop and flattened his palm over my heart.
Every silent action was a declaration of love.
I wanted to shout,I hear you, Diem. I know.
8
Diem
Nana had good days and bad days. At her age and with her advanced disease, the bad days outweighed the good. I treasured every minute we had together, no matter how mundane or frustrating. I endured her confusion and accepted whatever role she cast me in. I could be my grandfather Boone one minute and my father the next. On occasion, I was the boy who lived next door to her as a child. I was the man who delivered the mail in the sixties. The cousin she hadn’t seen in four decades. Her nurse, a doctor, a long-dead friend’s ex-husband. Once, I was the guy who read her meter when she lived on her own.
