Dinner at Home

Chapter 1-3

He lifted the pan off the stove and scraped the eggs into the garbage disposal, turned the water on, and set the appliance to whirring. He hoped the disposal enjoyed them. He followed the eggs with his cup of coffee, now gone cold, much like his emotions.

He was numb as he sat back down with Walker. He thought he should shed some tears, holler with rage, something, but all he felt was…nothing. Empty. He swallowed, then forced himself to look at Walker who, Ollie had to admit, now appeared scared, nervous. You should be. Ollie summoned up some air to force behind the one word that was on his mind. “Why?”

Walker rubbed his arms up and down, shivered. “Chilly.” He got up and left the room. Ollie heard the creak of the closet door in their bedroom, followed by a drawer opening and then slamming shut. When he returned, Walker had slid into a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats. He gnawed at his lower lip, drew in a breath, and then said, “There’s someone else.”

Ollie guffawed. “What? When would you have time?” He and Walker hardly ever spent an evening apart.

“I work with him.”

Walker was a financial planner with a firm in Bellevue.

“Office romance?” Ollie said. “How scandalous. What? Did you hook up in the supplies closet? Xerox your junk for each other? Have naughty lunches at fleabag motels?” Ollie stared down at the table, finding suddenly he could no longer look at Walker. He yipped out a short laugh that contained not one whit of humor.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Ollie smiled. He turned in his chair to peer out the window, studying the raindrops as though they were something new and novel. “That’s a good one. They never mean for it to happen. Remind me again which soap opera you pulled that line from.”

“Don’t, Ollie. You’re not mean. This isn’t you.”

Ollie blew out a breath. “What do you want from me, Walker? My best wishes? For me to say I understand?”

“No, no, of course not. But bitter just isn’t you.”

“Well, maybe you should allow me a bit of bitterness. Maybe I’m entitled.” And now, Ollie could feel something: a slow-burning rage that was gradually heating up and threatening to burst into flame.

“I don’t understand, Walker. I think it’s bullshit.” He sneered. “You didn’t mean for it to happen. Hah! If you didn’t mean for it to happen, it wouldn’t have.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Shut up!” Ollie snapped, surprising even himself. He was always such a nice guy. He looked over at Walker, whose mouth hung open. “I need to say this and you will sit there and listen.” Ollie swallowed, feeling a wave of acidic bile rising up from his gut and splashing the back of his throat. With sheer force of will, he held the nausea at bay. He would be damned if he would let Walker see him cry, let alone vomit.

“People who say they didn’t mean for something, especially something like this, to happen are deluding only themselves. You just don’t want to take responsibility.” He shrugged. “Much as it hurts me to say it, there must have been something lacking here. Although God knows what, since I couldn’t have been happier.” And now his emotions shifted, and he wanted to burst into tears. He drew in a great breath, forcing the sadness and despair away—for now.

“You were open to it, Walker. God knows why. If it were just s*x, I could understand it. But the fact you’re telling me it’s over between us tells me this is something more than sex.” Ollie couldn’t go on for several moments. “And that hurts. Deep.” He shut his eyes, stayed mum for a full minute or two. “Guys have s*x. I’ve known lots of guys with wandering hands, wandering c***s, wandering libidos. I can almost accept that. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” He forced himself to meet Walker’s gaze and was surprised to see the tears standing in his eyes. “You love this guy?”

Walker nodded. A tear slipped down his cheek. “I hate hurting you,” he said softly.

And Ollie—damn him—had a sudden urge to comfort Walker. Wasn’t that ridiculous? He shook it off, cursing his damn need to nurture, even when he was being betrayed. “Sure you do.”

“Sure I do. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I was committed to this relationship. I was happy. Then Paul started at the firm last summer and—” Walker’s gaze moved to a distance only he could see. Ollie didn’t want to imagine just what his former lover might be envisioning.

Paul?

“What do we do?” Ollie wondered, his voice barely above a whisper. He had settled into this little house, had imagined that, in the spring, he would paint the living room a pale blue and maybe the bedroom a similar shade. He had wanted to talk to Walker about pulling up the carpet to see if there was hardwood beneath.

This was home. He had pictured his future here.

How could it just fall apart in a few seconds? He stared at Walker, the man with whom he had planned to spend the rest of his days, and wondered if he had ever really known him. Who was this man? How could Ollie have felt so secure when his very foundation was crumbling beneath him?

“So what happens now?” Ollie wondered. “What are our next steps?” He gazed around the kitchen, its false yellow brightness, and suddenly felt excluded. He had sold most of his belongings when he moved in here a few months ago and had donated the rest. At the time, he wondered why they would need two couches, a bedroom set with no room for it, two desks, a third TV. The list could go on and on.

Walker had it all now. A home. A new love. Stuff.

Walker got up from the table and looked briefly out the window. He turned back to him. “I know you gave up everything when you moved in here.”

It was as though Walker was reading his mind. “And why wouldn’t I? I thought this was a forever thing.”

“I did too,” Walker said softly.

“Don’t you dare repeat that you didn’t mean for it to happen. Is this thing with this Paul person a forever moment too?” Bitterly, he asked, “For how long? Until the next guy comes along?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is fair, Walker. Why wouldn’t it be?” He didn’t give Walker a chance to respond. “So, what? You want me out of here?” The prospect was not as daunting as Ollie would have imagined. This home was no longer that; it was merely a house now, a shell that wasn’t his. No wonder they had never gotten around to putting Ollie’s name on the mortgage. Had Walker ever been as committed as he? Or had he simply been doing a “wait and see” kind of thing?

“You can take your time. How about a month? Two? Would that be enough to give you time to find yourself a new place? And I can appreciate you got rid of all your furniture and stuff.” Walker drew in a breath. “I could give you some money toward new furniture and whatever you need to set yourself up again. That would be fair.”

“I don’t want your money.” Ollie had plenty of his own. His job as a creative director at an advertising agency in Pioneer Square paid him well. His parents back in Chicago were, as Walker had once said, “loaded,” so he also had that safety net. Walker had never allowed him to pay anything toward the monthly mortgage; his savings were healthy.

“Are you sure?” Walker asked. “No. Let me give you a few thousand. It’s only fair.”

Ollie shook his head. “Keep it. I don’t want to complicate things any further. I want you to begin your new life with Mr. Paul unfettered.” He smiled, but could imagine how bitter the expression looked on his face. “Footloose and fancy free.”

Walker came over to him and began massaging his shoulders. Ollie shrugged his hands away. “Don’t,” he whispered.

Walker stepped back, and Ollie felt a prickle at the back of his neck with Walker standing behind him. Like Greta Garbo, he wanted to be alone.

Walker said, “Well, if you change your mind about the money, let me know. My offer will always stand. And do take your time looking for a place; you have a home here.”

Oh God, that is rich! What Ollie precisely did not have was a home. Home was defined not by bricks and mortar, but by the people who lived under a common roof—and that was gone like a wisp of smoke. So easy. Ollie stood and moved toward the kitchen archway. His fight or flight instinct had kicked in, and suddenly all he wanted to do was flee. Being here was like having something hot inserted beneath his skin, burning and painful.

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen and turned back to Walker. “I’ll be out by this afternoon or this evening.”

“There’s no need. Paul and I aren’t moving in together or anything.”

“No. It’ll be better this way.”

“I’m really sorry, honey.”

“No! No. You no longer have the right to call me honey.” He laughed. Ollie moved quickly away, heading toward the bedroom, where he thought the best thing to do right now was to begin emptying his drawers and hiding the gorgeous white-gold ring he’d wanted to give Walker later that day as an anniversary present—and as testimony to their enduring love. To think, he had once thought the ring could one day be converted to a wedding band.

What a fool he was! How blind! Didn’t someone once sing some song about being the “Queen of Denial”? That was him. There had to have been signs, he thought, opening drawers, I just didn’t want to see them.

He expected Walker to come into the room, to try again to make amends, but all he heard as he removed his clothes from the drawers and closet was the sound of Walker putting on his running shoes and softly closing the front door as he left Ollie alone.

The fucker’s probably relieved. I made it easy for him. Big of me.

Ollie slumped down on the bed, staring at the bottle of lube still on the nightstand from last night, and finally allowed himself to cry.

He stayed curled in a ball on the bed for a long time, thinking Walker would return. He even imagined that he would come back and spy Ollie there on the bed, in a fetal state, with his face puffy, red, and wet from all the tears, and would relent. He would slide next to him on the bed, gather him up in his strong arms, and whisper, “What was I thinking? I could never live without you. I’m sorry. Let’s just forget this morning ever happened.”

How pathetic was that? After a while, Ollie forced himself to sit up. He went into the bathroom, peed, blew his nose, and splashed cold water on his face.

He peered at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror above the sink. He was surprised to see that, other than the hint of puffiness around his eyes, he looked the same. He almost expected some startling transformation, as though the shock of being dumped would have aged him ten years or his hair would have turned white or something. But the same Ollie looked back at him—the same olive skin, dark brown eyes, beard, and a mien that people almost invariably got around to referring to as “kind.”

He went back into the bedroom and thought maybe it was time to stop being so “kind.” Look where it had gotten him! Alone and now homeless.

Kindness was overrated.

He began stuffing clothes into the bags he had pulled from beneath the bed, finally stopping when he realized he was flinging in the garments furiously, without regard for how they would look when he took them back out.

He wondered why it was taking Walker so long to go for a simple run. He glanced at the iPhone dock and alarm on Walker’s nightstand and saw it was now going on eleven. Walker had been gone for almost two hours.

The realization hit like a powerful punch to the gut. Of course. He was with this Paul person; the two of them were probably celebrating. The coast was now clear for their young love.

How f*****g sweet.

Ollie decided a break was in order, unless he was going to let the bitterness he felt eat him alive.

He wandered back into the kitchen, where all the ingredients for that morning’s “celebratory” breakfast were still aligned on the counter. He got busy making scrambled eggs and toast—for one.