Chapter 1

I was supposed to meet Derrick, my soon-to-be ex, at The Mug Shot, where we could work out how to separate my stuff from his stuff from our stuff, without the ability to kill each other, as we would have had in private, at our shared condo. He was in the process of moving out, and, as it had already sold, I was going to be left to rearrange what was being sold with the place from what was mine and what else I wanted. I looked as if I was about to become homeless or to learn how to couch surf off my friends. I wasn’t in a very good mood.

The line was long and slow, and they were out of my favorite scones. I had to wait for my drink, and the guy making it was new or from a different shift. I watched him like a hawk; he was so young, I felt like a chicken-hawk, ha ha. But when he tried to read my name and looked up bewildered, I couldn’t be angry with him if you’d told me he had killed my dog. Of course, I didn’t have a dog; my ex had got him in the divorce. Yes, a gay couple had divorced. Not my choice, his, but there you go; we really are just like anybody else.

So, the new barista, whose name tag said Troy, mumbled out, “Climax?” and his voice broke. How old was he, anyway, fourteen? He looked older, physically, but he looked, well, he looked broken, so he could have been older.

A few people in line chuckled as I went up and took my drink. “It’s Clement, like Samuel Clement.” I couldn’t tell if I was angry, embarrassed, or just amused.

The boy answered, “Who?” He still sounded fourteen, but his eyes looked fifty.

I gave him my best smile, and, having worked retail at one time, it was brilliant and as phony as hell. He flushed and looked a bit less confused and terrified.

Some homeless guy was at my favorite table. Well, it used to be ourfavorite table, where we’d go every Sunday and chill out. Grumpily, I took another by the wall. Derrick would want to plug in his laptop to go over his list of Our Things.

I watched people coming and going, nodding to a few but trying to look disinterested in talking. I knew Derrick would be late; he always was. Today was no exception. He plunked his laptop and notebook down and got in line for his coffee.

When he came over to sit, he said, “Did you see that little queer they got working? I’ve seen him at The Gateway. He’s older than any of these kids here. I saw him get carded once, and he’s twenty-two, for fuck’s sake. What a loser, working here.”

Derrick was good-looking in a dark, almost Italian way. Curly black hair, flashing eyes, big muscles. That was always the kind of guy who caught my attention, except, now, he’d ruined it for me. I know, I know, not all the people who look like him are jerks, but still, it lingered in my mind like a bad cup of coffee, full of spoiled milk and the wrong amount of sugar.

“I talked to my lawyer friend, and he said,” Derrick droned.

I actually tuned him out. I no longer cared who got the china or the silverware we’d picked out together. What was I going to do with them, give them to my mother, who’d never accepted my being gay anyhow and hadn’t even come to my wedding? It galled me that she’d said we wouldn’t last five years, and she’d been right. I wondered if I’d have to go back and live at home until I got enough money saved up to make the down payment on another condo or first and last and damage deposit on an apartment. I wondered if she’d let me. I needed a housemate to make ends meet. I loved my job. I’m a family therapist for Children’s Hospital and the juvenile court system, a certified good guy if you will, but my salary was not the best.

Derrick ended his little lecture with, “And the china closet. Do you have any input or do you disagree with any of this?”

He already had the dog; what else really mattered? Everything else could be replaced. Then I remembered the one thing I did want.

“I want the collection of red cut glass my mother gave us. She always liked those herself.” They were worth quite a lot, and maybe I could buy myself back into my old bedroom with them for a bribe.

“Well, then that cuts down on your half of the cash in the savings, which comes to…”

“I need a refill. Do what you fucking want; you always do anyhow!” I hadn’t meant to be so loud, but people looked at me as I stood up, looked at Derrick, and quickly looked away, except the new boy, or man, Troy. He kept looking at me, and his eyes were deep, dark pools.