That You Are Here

Chapter 3

3

Andrew sat at the dining room table and watched Mark’s reflection on the stainless steel refrigerator door. He was struck by Mark’s inherent sweetness every time he looked at him. There was something so open in Mark’s demeanor that Andrew envied.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Andrew asked. “I can at least set the table.”

Mark shuffled from the stove to the cupboard where they kept their plates and glasses. “It’s fine, Andrew. Sit. You’ve had a long day.”

“You’ve had a long day too. I can still be useful.”

Mark shook his head. “There’s nothing for you to do. Here.” He slid on his oven mitts, pulled the spinach lasagna from the oven, plated it, and set it before Andrew. “I even made your favorite.” Mark plated some lasagna for himself and sat beside Andrew. Andrew popped the cork from the bottle of red wine and poured the wine into two glasses.

“Now that is being useful,” Mark said. He kissed Andrew’s cheek and downed his wine in one gulp. Andrew refilled Mark’s glass. Andrew emptied his own glass and sighed.

“I have an early meeting tomorrow,” Andrew said.

“You always have an early meeting.”

“You sound like C.C. Besides, that’s what happens when you have a job.”

“Is that a crack at me? I have a job.”

Andrew shook his head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just mean I don’t work at my family’s bakery like you do. I can’t show up whenever I want.”

“I don’t show up whenever I want. My parents and I have a schedule like every other place of business. My dad works the early baking shift most mornings and gets everything ready while I work the later baking shift. I help my mother with the customers when we get busy.” Mark shifted in his chair, staring hard into his empty plate, ready to be annoyed, if he wasn’t already. Andrew knew he was getting himself into trouble, and he hated it when he got into that kind of mood where he was ready for an argument whether he had one coming or not. The problem was, despite the fact that he squabbled for a living, he was never good at talking himself out of snags in his personal life. If he were being honest, he would admit he only made things worse.

“That’s not what I meant,” Andrew said. “I only meant that I have a different type of job with different responsibilities.”

“I love what I do,” Mark said. “I like that people smile when they look through the bakery window. I like that I can make people happy with a slice of pie or a chocolate raspberry tart.”

Andrew took Mark’s hand. “I like your chocolate raspberry tarts, Mr. Bryce.”

Mark shook his head. “I don’t want to argue with you, Andrew, but you’re so grumpy lately.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes.”

Mark went into the kitchen for more garlic bread. He brought a slice for Andrew and a slice for himself and he dug into the butter with a knife.

“Do you like your job?” Mark asked.

“How can you ask that? I work more than 60 hours a week.”

“It’s a simple yes or no answer.”

Andrew sighed. “It’s a good job, Mark. The firm has a national reputation, representing some of the biggest corporations in the country. Old Mason and Harris are retiring soon, so there will be room for new partners. It pays well, very well in fact, and if they ask me to work a few extra hours every week…”

“A few?”

“Most lawyers work overtime. It goes with the territory.”

Mark fed Andrew a bite of the garlic bread. “If you eat it too then you can’t complain about my garlic breath later.”

Andrew smiled as he chewed. “As if I would.”

Mark poured himself another glass of wine and closed his eyes as he listened to the snapping melody of the Mozart piano concerto on the radio.

“Why did you become a lawyer?”

“Why did you become a baker?”

“Because I didn’t want to be a candlestick maker and I’m a vegetarian so I can’t be a butcher. Don’t answer a question with a question, Mr. Whittaker. Your lawyer tricks don’t work on me.”

Andrew leaned toward Mark and grinned. “Dessert?”

“Maybe. Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’ll answer your question if you bring me dessert.”

Mark sighed and pulled a lemon custard pie from the refrigerator. While he sliced the pie, Andrew brewed some coffee, grabbed clean plates from the cupboard and forks from the silverware drawer, and set everything on the dining room table. While they were eating their pie and drinking their coffee, Mark nudged Andrew with his elbow.

“So here’s your dessert. Why did you become a lawyer?”

“I always wanted to be a lawyer.”

“Did you? Or did your father talk you into it.” Mark spoke in a bad southern accent: “The Whittakers have been lawyers since Moses handed down the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai...”

“That’s not what he says.”

“It’s not far off.” Mark took another slice of pie. “I think you’re trying to please your father. I think you settled on a career you don’t care about because you think your father will approve of you if you follow in the Whittaker footsteps.”

“At least I have that. He wouldn’t approve of anything else in my life.”

“Is that another crack at me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Mark...”

“You should see how tired you look, Andrew. You’re 28 and most days you look like you’re ready to pack everything in. What if you did what you wanted to do for a change?”

“I am doing what I want to do.”

“Fine.” Mark kept his eyes averted as he cleared the table. Andrew slid the plates and glasses into the dishwasher, avoiding eye contact as well. “What did you tell your mother?”

Andrew clanked the coffee cups on the bottom shelf as he closed the dishwasher door. “What did I tell my mother about what?”

“After we ran into her in Whole Foods the other day. I thought maybe you might have said something to her. You know, about me. You could have introduced me when we saw her.”

Andrew turned on the dishwasher and dropped exhausted onto the sofa. He flipped on the television. “I did introduce you.” He turned up the volume on the evening news.

“Some introduction. ‘Mom, this is my friend Mark. We were just grabbing some snacks for the big game tonight.’ Then you disappeared down the frozen food aisle so fast I could hardly keep up. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I promise I’ll introduce you properly.”

“It’s been a year.”

Andrew closed his eyes and smiled, the remembrance of that night in My Local warming him inside. “I knew you were watching me,” he said. “The night we met at C.C.’s. I kept wondering why. Was my shirt on backward? Did I forget to zip my fly? I couldn’t believe such an adorable boy would be interested in someone like me.”

“Someone like you? I’ve dreamed my whole life for someone like you.” Mark kissed Andrew’s hand, then sat on the sofa, leaning against Andrew’s side.

Andrew pressed his forehead against Mark’s and looked into the golden eyes he loved so. “I know you like to call me your beautiful boy, but you’re the beautiful one. I thought so the first time I looked at you.” Mark smiled. “Though it may have been your chocolate raspberry tart that won me over.”

“Whatever works.” Mark grinned and ran his thumb along Andrew’s bottom lip. “By the way, Henry and Oliver invited us over for dinner tomorrow night, and before you tell me no I already said we’d come. It’s Friday night. You can start your weekend on time for once.”

Andrew shifted, leaning away from Mark as though he were afraid of a book or perhaps a remote control sailing in his direction. Here we go, he thought.

“I’m going over to my parents for dinner tomorrow night.”

Mark stood from the sofa. “And still, even after I met your mother, it never occurred to you to invite me.”

“Mark...”

“I’m good enough to keep your bed warm, but heaven forbid your father or mother should know about me. My family knows you. They’ve known you since the night of our first date.”

“You assume everyone has a family like yours, but not everyone does. My father is…”

“I know what your father is. More importantly, I know how your father is. I know what he’s done to you.”

Andrew walked through their bedroom into the master bathroom where he locked the door and turned on the shower. It was a meager escape, but it would have to do. He could never hold his own against Mark in this argument, Ivy League educated lawyer that he was. He couldn’t hold his own because he knew, in that secretive, light-sensitive cave in his heart, that Mark was right. Escaping into the shower was the only place in the condo Andrew could be alone with his thoughts, even if his thoughts pecked him like angry birds at green pigs.

“Andrew?”

“We’re not having this conversation again,” Andrew said through the door. He turned the stream hotter and stronger, then undressed and stepped under the water.

“Andrew!”

Andrew heard Mark turning the knob, then the mutter when he found it locked. There was a bump against the wall, and Mark’s voice was muffled, as though he were leaning his head against the door.

“For the two seconds I saw your mother in Whole Foods, I thought she seemed very nice. Very kind.”

“She is both of those things,” Andrew said.

“Then you should give her more credit than you have.” When Andrew didn’t respond, he heard Mark sigh. “We’ve been together a year now. You’re going to have to tell them some time. Just get it over with. It’s like tearing off a Band-Aid. It stings for a second then it’s done.”

Andrew stepped from the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and opened the door. “You don’t know that. You know your parents love you. You know your brothers love you. You don’t understand what this means for me.”

Mark sat on the bed, his golden eyes weighed down by Andrew-didn’t-know-what. “You’re right.” The sarcasm split Mark’s tongue and left his words sharp. “My life has been a bed of roses from the time I was a teenager and I was stuffed into lockers and dumped in trash cans. You think you’re the only one to have problems? Get some glasses, Andrew, so you can see clearly. You’re not the only one who’s had to deal with shit.”

Andrew sat beside Mark on the bed, leaving a wet ring where he hadn’t dried himself. “I’m sorry, but this is the best I can do right now.”

“I know.”

Mark went alone into the living room, leaving Andrew to stare after him.