Chapter Six

Chapter Six

A STRAINED SMILEplastered across Vic’s face, his eyebrows raised in what he hoped read as “Please have mercy.” He considered trying to tap out HELP ME in morse code to Gloria in the next booth, but she was so deep in chatting with her own customers that she wouldn’t have noticed if Vic hired a skywriter to fly past overhead.

Vic knew he looked young for his age—his thirty-one generally read as college age to the general public. That combined with an artistic career usually led to a lot of unsolicited opinions from people who “knew better.”

The conversation started innocuously enough. “Oh, have you been doing this long? Are you from that fashion school an hour away?”

“No, I’m from out-of-state.” Typical chit-chat, if pushy.

“Oh. So you already went to college.”

“No.” He’d hoped the short answer would discourage the middle-aged woman from prying further, but Christmas miracles must have been in short supply.

The woman—Vic thought her name was Midge or maybe Madge—narrowed her eyes as if she’d caught him committing tax fraud. “So what does that mean? Are you saving up to go to college?”

“No. It’s not something that’s really worth it to me. I’m happy where I’m at.” Vic desperately tried to catch anyone’s eyes, to invite them over to start a conversation about the holidays, or scarves, or even how cold it was. “Can I help you with anything else?”

Because he looked younger than he was and smiled easily, he often got targeted by would-be mentors trying to “fix” his life and put him in a box. Gross. Maybe they meant well, but it was boredom, not kindness, that motivated them.

Midge leaned over his table, her brow furrowed in what she likely considered to be motherly concern but was really just pushiness. “Do you realize what a degree could do for you, though? With a skill like yours, you could open a real shop. You could become a big fashion designer like Marc Jacobs or Calvin Klein.”

“I do have a real shop,” Vic said. “Aside from this, I also sell online. And I don’t need to be a big brand name. Again, I am happy where I am.”

It wasn’t as if Vic hadn’t gotten similar well-meaning encouragement before, usually from bored do-gooders who wanted an overgrown doll to dress and boss around. But this woman had fixated and would not be deterred. She seemed to think buying his holly-patterned scarf entitled her to a free session of practicing her life coaching skills. For 45 minutes she’d been needling and nudging him while he slowly went out of his mind.

Midge frowned at him. “Honey, don’t you want a future?” Vic bristled, crossing his arms. She continued as if she hadn’t noticed, obviously allergic to being contradicted. “I’m sure you could get a scholarship. There are all kinds of grants you could—”

“Ma’am, let me stop you right there.”

Vic blinked and looked to the woman’s left. The man speaking to her had been obscured by the hanging scarves at the edge of his booth, but as he leaned forward, Vic realized why the voice sounded so familiar.

It was the guy from the other day, with the wavy black hair and beautiful eyes. Those eyes were perfectly ridiculous in the best of ways. Vic thought so the other day and he thought so on second meeting—especially with the sun out for a change. The man stared at Ms. University-Recruiter from beneath raised eyebrows with a look Vic could only describe as baffled distaste.

“Excuse me!” said Midge, clearly not pleased at being interrupted mid-flow.

“I wish I could,” said Vic’s new friend. His voice was firm but not angry—a tone that allowed for no argument. “So, the thing is, I do have a degree in Communications. I work in web design. Do you think my clients ask about my college degree? Do you think the agency I work for asked for a degree? No. The guy in a cubicle three desks down from me? Makes about the same amount, and he has a GED he earned after three years working for the Red Cross. He speaks four languages. You want to know what I have over him?”

“I—” Midge blinked and gawped. Clearly she didn’t realize the question was rhetorical.

“I have student debt that I’m still paying off and a piece of parchment in a cheap frame. That’s it. Not everyone has to go to college, and unless you’re paying for it and the room and board and all the other costs that go with it, you don’t get a say. It’s rude.”

Vic could feel his cheeks reddening. The guy was giving this bossy boomer a masterful dressing down, taking charge without being crass or callous. It was kind of hot.

Midge scoffed, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “Well, excuse me for trying to be helpful to a young man in crisis.” She swiveled, her stiff helmet of hair gleaming as she strode away in a huff.

Gloria, having caught the last half of the conflict, perked up and called after her. “Ma’am? Ma’am? Did I hear you right? Are you handing out college tuition for free? I got a nephew who’s majoring in couch potato.”

Vic laughed, then smiled at his rescuer. Now that he wasn’t in verbal combat, he’d turned back into the same flustered, adorable kind of hunky nerd Vic met the other day. “Well, you picked a good time to come back.”

The man smiled, showing off dimples he probably didn’t even know he had. “I hate when people do that. Treat your life like a toy they can pick up and drop. Especially with how high the cost of school is, it’s cruel to pretend that some dumb degree will magically make your life easier or happier. This is what you get for being so charming.” His blue-green eyes glittered.

“I don’t know about that.” Vic blinked and blushed. “Say, nice scarf you’ve got there.”

The man reached up and touched the scarf that laid neatly over his crisp button-down shirt. “Are you sure you can say that without seeing the artist’s degree first?”

Vic laughed. “Oh, you’re right. Can’t be too careful when it comes to appreciation.” The crowd around them was starting to thin out. Business tended to come and go like a tide, and Vic sensed it might actually be slow for a little while. He looked up at the taller man. “Sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Kyle.” His hand wandered to the back of his head to stroke it; a nervous tic, Vic guessed. “Kyle Zigler.”

Gloria leaned out of her booth. “And I’m Gloria, in case anyone’s curious.”

Kyle jumped almost imperceptibly, as if a little startled Gloria was there.

She could have that kind of effect. Maybe it was her thick cat’s-eye glasses with scratched rhinestones that made her eyes look twice as big as they were. It could have been her pale gold wig, piled high and adding at least half a foot to her already startling height. Her booth held a variety of fiberglass light-up mini Christmas trees, actively flashing and changing colors on the table, as well as a variety of Christmas ornaments, mostly glass prisms in several different holiday-themed shapes. Tiny chandeliers hung from her ears that, yes, also lit up.

“How ever did I miss you, ma’am?” Kyle breathed, staring at the chandelier earrings.

She smiled and squeezed his finger. “A gentleman! If I blush anymore I’m going to pass out. Customer!” And just like that, she dropped back out of sight.

Vic laughed. “You get used to her. Hey, listen. I gave you a free scarf the other day, but I’d like to buy you lunch for throwing me a lifeline back there. You have time?”

Kyle blinked a few times, as if Vic were speaking in Urdu rather than English. Once the sentence seemed to filter through properly, Kyle brightened and his wide shoulders relaxed. “I’d be del—honor—” He frowned, as if searching for the right word. “That sounds—wonderful.” That blush looked adorable on him.

“I know this place that does a phenomenal lobster roll.” Vic squeezed around his table to free himself from the booth. “Hey, Gloria?” he asked as he rolled down the front of the white tent. “Would you mind watching my booth for, like, a half hour or so? If you see anyone stealing those snowman ones—help them do it, huh? I have a surplus, and it’s not my best work.”

“Sure thing. But my compensation better be a funnel-cake.” Which was yes-get-going in Gloria-ese.

Vic shot a finger-gun at her and joined Kyle at his side. “Thanks again for helping me out of that conversation. Sometimes I feel like a magnet for makeover junkies, people who collect strays as a hobby.”

“My pleasure.” He smiled. “I mean, what do I know? But if there’s one thing you don’t need, it’s a makeover.”

“Gotta say: it’s refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t give me grief about the fact I skipped college. You’d think the stigma might’ve died off by now, but….”

“All kinds of stigmas that still need to die off,” Kyle pointed out.

“Oh yeah. Believe it or not, I’ve actually been judged more for not going to college than for being gay.” Just in case Kyle was wondering which way he swung, Vic liked to make it as unambiguous as possible straight out of the gate.

“That’s crazy.” Kyle didn’t sound surprised.

Well, I apparently can’t pass as straight for anything. “Yeah, I didn’t even have to tell my parents. I remember my dad shouting from the other room, ‘Vic’” —he put on his best straight middle-aged man voice— “‘I don’t care if you’re gay, just please stop listening to ABBA on repeat.’”

Kyle chuckled. “I remember my mother and I in the car alone. Out of nowhere, she tells me, ‘Just so you know, I’d love you no matter what.’ And I’m like, ‘Well, then.’”

“So you didn’t have to come out either?” Vic guessed.

“Oh no, I tried to. I was scared to death, if you can believe it. Worked out a whole plan. I was all set to announce it on Thanksgiving.” Kyle ran his hand through his hair, giving a crooked smile. “I just remember telling everyone, in a very serious tone, that I was attracted to guys . My grandfather said, ‘Yeah, we know, can you pass the cranberry sauce?’”

The lobster roll booth was pretty close to Vic’s, but Kyle seemed the type to be more comfortable talking while on the move.

Vic knew all about introverts, if anything he had a weakness for shy dudes. Life in general had designated him to be a group’s token extrovert, to take hesitant hands and drag them through life. If anything, he got fascinated by the fidgeting, the nerves, and relished the quiet bloom into a chatterbox once he figured out how to unlock the box they’d built around themselves. It was part of what made Vic a natural salesman—his awareness that the world was filled with all sorts of people with their own insecurities and their own currency. “So, you were saying you’re a web designer? You like it?”

Kyle’s eyes wandered to the ice skaters on the rink as they passed them. “Oh, it definitely suits me. I mean, it took me a long time before I figured out things like up-front payment and contracts. And the magic words, ‘As noted in my last e-mail’….”

“Technology is my kryptonite.”

Kyle gave him a quick, warm glance. “You don’t have to be great at everything.”

The line for lobster rolls was blessedly short. Vic fished his wallet out of his pocket. “Do you want anything with it? They have these little jalapeno poppers.”

Kyle paused. His eyes flickered from the booth menu, then down to Vic’s wallet. “Oh! Oh, you don’t have to pay. I just—”

Vic waved him off. “Nonsense. Facing down Midge, all handsome and brave? That was a gallant rescue, good sir, and I’m seriously grateful. C’mon. I insist.”

Truth be told, if Kyle had put up a fight, Vic would’ve let him pay for his own meal. Some men found favors, especially involving money, terrifying: who’s in control, who has a say. Paying for stuff stirred up all kinds of weird pressure and expectations.

At the moment, Kyle did give the impression of someone who had just sneezed too loudly in a library. But after a little hesitation, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Well, in that case, it’s up to you.”

Vic was next in line. Tricia brightened at seeing him, greeting him by name before he ordered—a lobster roll for each of them, jalapeno poppers to share, and two black teas. They carried their bounty back to the skating rink—Vic figured Kyle might prefer to people-watch rather than face him one-on-one.

After sitting on a bench side by side, they dug into their lunch with relish. At least three minutes of contented silence passed between them before Kyle asked, “So I assume you already have a website?”

Vic nodded. “I was actually just about to ask you about that. I bought my own domain and hired a company to get something online. It’s… fine. But the format feels pretty clunky and outdated.” He gestured with the hand that wasn’t occupied with food, miming the unwieldy boxes of text that haunted him whenever he handed out his business cards. “I’m not sure if you’d be willing to help me out with that. Obviously, we can discuss rates, I’m not letting you do it for free, but technology and me… well, I’m a terrible millennial.”

Kyle nodded vigorously as he swallowed. “I’d be happy to. If you want to send me the link and just tell me what vibe you’re looking for….”

Okay, good, Vic hadn’t scared him off yet. Offering a reason for continued contact and collaboration was a good sign. Kyle seemed psyched by the idea.

Vic had dated both men and women. He was chatty and charming, so it was known to happen. His past relationships were generally short-lived, though. Something always fizzled as they got to know him. Despite that, he’d gained quite a few friends out of his string of short-term flings. Heck, one of his favorite photographers was an ex of his. Friendship had become his end-goal when it came to relationships. Some nice memories and an easy exit was all he expected these days.

Getting his hopes up for more only ended in trouble.

“I was actually coming by to purchase a scarf from you,” Kyle said. “Someone said they liked mine, and I thought I’d get another one as a gift.”

“See? I’m a genius.” Vic nudged him lightly with his elbow. “I told you you’d be the perfect billboard.”

Kyle blushed lightly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Glad to help. It felt almost wrong to get something this nice for free.”

“Consider it a perk for advertising my booth.”

Kyle brought out his phone to pull up Vic’s website. Vic got out his own phone and shared some of the vendor sites he liked, and they discussed some design tricks Kyle thought would work well for his branding. Somehow Vic wound up showing Kyle images of some of his other creations—his paintings, graphic design he’d done for friends, even his stained-glass.

“This may sound odd,” Kyle said, brushing the crumbs off by rubbing his hands together. “But it never occurred to me until just now that people still make stained-glass windows. I thought it was almost a lost art nowadays.”

Vic flipped through his gallery. It wasn’t as well organized as it could be. He’d tried, at the beginning, but any time he tried to add new material, the format fought with him. “I love all things vintage. Expired Kodak film, typewriter portraits, phonographs, daguerreotypes….” As he swiped, he somehow closed out of his gallery and brought the screen back to the homepage. He frowned at his phone. “I guess loving vintage means I’m spurned by modern technology, eh?”

“Not that many people are as good at it as you might assume,” Kyle said “Yeah, there’s some jumpy code. Hidden gaps in the formatting. It should be an easy fix. And I’m thinking we could find a more flexible background that reflects your designs….”

On impulse, Vic took Kyle’s phone from his hands. It was such a casual motion that Kyle didn’t protest, like a doctor grabbing a wrist to take his pulse. Vic opened the Contacts page and added his name and e-mail, then turned the screen to show him. “Congratulations, you’ve got yourself a client.”

Kyle flashed a surprised smile, holding his hand out for Vic to return his phone. “I noticed you have a review section. Mind if I peruse your stock? I ought to be an actual customer to leave an honest review.”

Vic all but bounced as he walked Kyle back to his booth—the direct way, this time. “I was thinking of a purple/green iridescent one for you this time. It’s brushed velvet, but believe it or not, it’s not too flashy. It’d go amazing with your eyes.”

“It’s actually not for me,” Kyle corrected. “But my daughter did inherit my eyes.”

Vic nodded as he raised the tarp to reopen the booth, then paused as his train of thought screeched to an emergency halt. Daughter? His mind skimmed over the past half hour or so of conversation. Kyle had seemed interested, certainly. He wouldn’t be if he were married, right? Well, maybe he would. Vic had found out the hard way how much it sucked be the unwitting side piece. But Kyle really didn’t seem like the cheating type.

He could be divorced. Maybe he was a widower. For his part, Kyle offered no explanations….

As they wrapped up their transaction, nothing gave Vic the opportunity to ask the question. What was he supposed to say? “Cash or credit? And did you adopt or have a kid with someone? Were you married? What happened to her? How long ago? Is there still a lot of baggage?”

Speaking of bags….“Did you want that gift-wrapped, sir?”

“Absolutely, thanks.”

Vic shook his head, dismissing the thought as he laid a layer of tissue paper over the scarf. He was being ridiculous, even by his standards. He didn’t know for sure if Kyle was interested in him. Maybe establish that before getting ahead of yourself, eh, Vic?

The conversation seemed to continue on without him. Vic had mentally checked out, but Kyle hadn’t seemed to pick up on it.

Maybe he’s one of those dads that get his kids for weekends and holidays. Maybe the kid is already an adult and out of the house—okay, no, the guy’s, like, early-thirties. Don’t be stupid.

He checked back in with Kyle saying he’d take a look at Vic’s website that night.

“What’s your daughter’s name, by the way?” Vic heard himself asking before he knew it.

Kyle blinked at him about three times before answering. “Ah! Er, Alice. She’ll be twelve in April. There’s also Zach; he’s three years younger.”

“Oh.” Vic didn’t know what to say. I’d love to meet her. could be too much. I didn’t know you had kids. could sound like a judgment or even a deal-breaker. Was it a deal-breaker?

The moment to say anything else passed. Kyle gave a chuckle that sounded more like a nervous tic. “Well, I should be going. I’ll definitely take a look at your website, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely.” It occurred to Vic that it would have been perfectly acceptable to say Oh, that’s such a pretty name. or I hope she likes the scarf. But all he could do was wave at Kyle as he walked away.

Two kids. Two kids.

It probably shouldn’t be that big of a shock, but Vic had always been a bit startled by the way his peers matured. The first time he’d seen a sixteen-year-old friend working at a fast-food joint, he thought there’d been some sort of mistake. Weren’t they both still kids? Then acquaintances started having kids in their twenties. Now people his age were CEOs and grew gardens, for heaven’s sake. By now, some of them had re-married.

As Kyle’s tall, dark silhouette disappeared through the crowd, Vic couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could live out his twenties in his thirties.