Chapter 2
“I’ve been invited to the Brockman, Pointe, Weller, and Phipps law firm’s holiday party this year,” I said, trying to save myself. “In the new Forsythe Hotel ballroom.”
“Fancy, schmancy.” Spencer headed toward the back.
“I’d like to bring some sort of confection there, too.”
“Sure thing. Just let us know when and—”
“I’m on it, Spenny. Go tend to your cookies.”
“Yes, boss man.” Spencer offered his baby brother a salute. “Good to see you, Noah. Help yourself to yesterday’s leftovers.”
“Thanks, Spencer.” I was almost sweating now, and not because of my furriness. “And thank you, Troy,” I sniped, once the coast was clear.
“You’re welcome.”
He’d been a tall, annoying baby back in high school—an eighth grader on the varsity basketball team, who played alongside Angel and I when we were seniors. We couldn’t stand him at first. No one could. When Troy and I shared the court again in 2010, since I’d been expelled the previous May and had to repeat my senior year, we became kind of close. Seven years later, he was still a giant pain in the ass, but I really dug the guy. I adored him with all my heart.
“Sarcasm, dude.” I took a black and white cookie. “Oh my God, these are good!” Being a UPS driver had its privileges. I usually got some sort of tasty treat from Troy every day—one free sample. It happened everywhere I went, every place where food was sold. No wonder I was getting a gut. Arriving at just the right time that day, to order my something special for someone special before the crack of dawn, I’d hit the Holiday Brothers’ Bakery motherlode. “The idea…in its entirety…is kind of a romantic walk down memory lane,” I explained, “all about being childhood sweethearts. This guy—”
“Is it someone I know?” Troy asked.
“Could be.”
He went back to work on his Hanukah cupcakes. “What you mentioned so far doesn’t sound romantic at all, Snowman. No Romeo ever gave his Juliet an erotic cake in a Hallmark movie.”
“I can be romantic, Troy, but we’re dealing with double Romeos, here. I don’t want to leave any doubt I’m also looking to…” I lowered my voice, even though Troy and I were the only two people left in the room and Kelly Clarkson was belting out holiday tunes through a speaker in every corner. “I want him to know I’d like to get between the flannel sheets, too.”
“Well, nothing sends that message quite like dirty devil’s food and frosting.”
“I was thinking the exact opposite. Whatever we come up with, I want you to make it. Don’t tell your brother.”
“He’s the expert on gay sex.”
“I know, but it’s embarrassing.”
“An erotic Christmas cake for Angel Ramos? How is that embarrassing?”
I took another cookie. “So, you figured it out.”
“I always knew there was more between you and Angel than basketball and getting in trouble all the time.”
Troy’s comment made me flinch. “There was, and I hope we can get it back. I need to remind Angel—”
“I love the way you say his name,” Troy teased, bringing his blue stained fingers to one cheek. “Ong-hel.” He rolled the l as I’d seen him roll croissant dough in the past.
“I took four years of Spanish because of him. At least I learned something. I want to do a secret Santa deal for thirteen days, culminating with the cake…as a bonus.”
“A porn cake…because you want to fuck him. For the first time or again?”
Angel and I had been together only once.
“Again,” I said.
It hadn’t ended well.
“Alright, Snowman! You, go, go, go man.” Troy added the wiggle the cheerleaders did when screaming the same thing at basketball games a lifetime ago. Then he poked me in my ribs with his elbow.
“Can I confide in you, Troy?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and I’m pretty sure I fell in love with Angel Ramos the first time we met.”
“Wow.”
“I pictured us as a couple from almost day one, like any other couple, with a house and a dog and some kids. We were maybe the first generation where two boys could openly explore those feeling…or two girls…and not think of it as abnormal. Or maybe we weren’t. Maybe your age group is…or your little one’s generation.”
Troy was a young father, with a one-year-old baby girl, Ashley. Half a decade older, I kind of envied him. The thought of passing on the Mann DNA was frightening, though.
“I figure boys falling in love with other boys felt natural back when the great big world seemed truly vast—like prehistoric times, even, when people weren’t bombarded with standards of normality and puritanical teachings hadn’t been introduced yet. Lusty teenagers probably just went about their business and felt how they felt. Art historians have found hieroglyphics substantiating the idea.”
“Ancient gay porn.”
“Yup. Consider how beauty was once defined by the image of voluptuous, Rubenesque women and that sexy bear Henry VIII with his big old drumstick.” I picked up another cookie, a bell shape dusted in red sugar. “Then think about the standards we apply to attractiveness now. Societal thoughts are easily swayed. In Ancient Greece, when a lot of man on man art was being made, you gotta figure growing boys were like, ‘Yeah! That’s what I wanna do,’ and parents probably said stuff like, ‘Look at our little Agamemnon holding hands with Thaddeus. Don’t they make a beautiful couple?’ What came naturally wasn’t squelched so easily, because all a person had was his feelings and his own thoughts to go on, not a billion other people’s.”
Troy held the piping bag still as if he was thinking about what I was saying.