Page 41 of Toy Boy
“Come on. Help me take some of this outside.”
I open the French doors and pick up the plate of naan breads and another one piled high with poppadums, while Xander brings the beer and plates.
The sun’s still beating down, although most of the yard is now, thankfully, starting to move into the shade, so the string lights are shining that little bit brighter, and it’s all very pretty. Cosy. It’s reminding me how much I love this outdoor space. My own little haven.
“I’ll just go get the curry and rice. Sit down, drink your beer, relax. I won’t be a…”
His arm catches my waist and he gently pulls me against him, his mouth on mine before I can finish that sentence, and for a second I’m not sure whether I’m angry or excited that he’s done this. But, as his lips – and his hard, taut body – press against mine I think I’m leaning towards excited.Damn!There’s a part of me that wanted to resist him, but as he kisses me I’m not sure that was ever really going to be an option.
My skin’s tingling, my head’s a little all over the place, and I’m desperately trying to regain some control because I don’t want him to think I’m giving into this – intohim– as easily as he might think I am... I am, though. Aren’t I? So, I pull back first. A little reluctantly, I’ll admit, I was kind of enjoying that, but I still pull away. I let go of him and I smile because I don’t want him to think I didn’t want that. I did. Ido. He just caught me by surprise, that’s all.
“I’ll go get the food.”
He senses the atmosphere hasn’t changed, that I’m fine with what just happened, and he smiles, too. We’re okay. We’re good. And as I go back into the kitchen I can still feel his eyes on me, and my cheeks flush, my heart beating an unsteady rhythm as I lift the lid off the slow cooker and begin to ladle the curry into a serving bowl, which isn’t easy when your hands are shaking.
Setting the curry to one side I do the same with the rice, sprinkling a handful of chopped coriander over both dishes before I take them outside. Xander’s checking out the small but colourful raised flower bed at the back of the yard, which is teeming with purple, white and yellow summer pansies, dusky pink begonias, and cascading violet lobelia.
“I try to make the most of the limited space.”
He turns around and throws me another knee-weakening smile, and I’m just glad I’ve already set the curry and rice down on the table.
“One small flower bed and a few pots scattered here and there, it’s all I need. A little bit of color.”
“It’s very pretty. The small garden at my place isn’t much more than a patch of grass and a tiny, paved terrace, but that’s about all I can manage.”
“Gardening can be quite therapeutic at times, even if it’s just sticking a few plants in pots.”
Oh, Jesus, I’m sounding like a grown-up again. Therapeutic gardening? Really? But he’s still smiling, even though there’s every chance it’s out of pity now.
“Come on, sit down. Let’s see what you think of this curry.” I start to pile rice onto plates, and hand him his. “Help yourself to curry, bread and poppadums.”
I spoon some curry onto my plate and spear a piece of lamb with my fork, breathing a silent sigh of relief as I see the meat fall apart the second it’s touched. Just the way it should be, there’s nothing worse than tough, rubbery lamb. And it tastes just as good as I remember, with a strong – but not overpowering – kick of chili and spice, and a warmth to the flavour that’s actually quite surprising. I’d forgotten what a great cook I can be, when I put my mind to it.
“This is really good,” he comments as he tears off a piece of his naan bread and dips it into the curry sauce. “I mean,reallygood.”
“Thank you.” I know there’s a big, ridiculous grin on my face, but I don’t care. I’m here, at home, with a man I genuinely like being around, one who doesn’t make me feel like I need to be something – someone– else. And that matters. I raise my beer to signal a toast, our eyes locking. Man, those eyes… “To friends. And whatever the hell this might turn into.” Did I just say that? Out loud? He doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he picks up his bottle and clinks it against mine.
“To whatever the hell this might turn into,” he repeats, and as the sun starts to go down, and the birds carry on with their late evening chatter, all I’m feeling now is calm. A beautiful, peaceful calm…
Scott
I’m not enjoying myself, but everyone else seems to be. Drinks are flowing, people are mingling, and it’s good to see so many old friends all together in one place again. Even if some of them are still placing their loyalty card very much on Megan’s deck. They’re still here, though. Still drinking my wine and whiskey, still eating my food; smiling at me and telling me how much they’ve missed me, but did they? Really? Or am I still being uncharacteristically paranoid?
“Great party!” Tim gives my shoulder a friendly slap and hands me a tumbler of whiskey. “Here Try this. It’s a ten year old Irish single malt I’ve been keeping back for a special occasion.”
I take a quick sip. “This is a special occasion?”
“Of course it is! Look, Scott, I know I’ve been a bit vocal since you got back, as far as you and Megan are concerned, but it’s only because I care about you. Both of you. You’re my best friend, and I only want what’s best for you.”
What’s best for me is to have my ex-wife back, to let her know that I’m sorry… I’m sorry. And that’s a word that never really came easy for me, in the past. But when shit happens, and your world changes,youchange. Eventually. Once the dust settles and reality hits you like a punch to the gut.
“I know that, Tim.” I look at him, and I smile, because I’m glad he’s still here, that he’s got my back, even though he doesn’t need to do that. “It means a lot, that you still care about me, after everything I did.”
“People make mistakes, Scott.”
Some of us make more than our fair share. “Yes. They do. Where’s Greta?” I crane my neck and glance across the room, looking for Tim’s wife. “She did come, didn’t she?”
“She wasn’t going to miss this, she’s been dying to get a look inside Neville’s old place for years!”