Coda Books 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (MM)

Jon.
    Because being flamboyant and eccentric is exactly what’s expected of me, and although people may laugh, they have a certain amount of respect for my ability to not care about what they think. But if I let that go, Jon, this is all that’s left. I’m a fool, and I’m a coward. And I’m weak . And that’s the one thing a gay man is not allowed to be.”
    “I don’t underst—” But he held up his hand again to stop me.
    “I’d like you to leave now.” His voice was torn. It was almost his real voice, soft and quiet, yet choked with tears. But I could also hear the cadence of it changing again; the small lilt being forced back in. He kept his back to me and crossed over to the table. He picked up his wine and downed all that was left in the glass.
    “Can we talk about this, Cole? Please?”
    “There’s really nothing left to say.” It was still another moment before he turned to face me, but when he did, the affectation was there.
    His walls were firmly in place. He leaned back against the table and cocked his head to the right so his bangs fell away from his eyes. There were still tears on his cheeks, but his eyes were dry. “My plane leaves in five hours. I think you know where the door is, darling.”

Date: June 22
    From: Cole
    To: Jared
    It’s over. I finally did it. I feel certain that it was the right decision. I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.
    I miss him.

    I WOKE an indeterminate number of days later to somebody ringing my doorbell. I had absolutely no idea what day it was. A glance at my watch told me that it was four o’clock in the afternoon. I was still in bed. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to go back to sleep before I could think about whatever it was that had reduced me to this state.
    The doorbell rang again. I didn’t want to answer it.
    It was too late, though. The truth hit me hard, just like it did every time I surfaced: Cole was gone. That was why I was lying in bed with an empty hole in my chest, wishing I could slip back into oblivion.
    Whoever was on my front porch, waking me from my self-induced stupor, I knew it couldn’t possibly be him. And there was nobody else in the world I wanted to see.
    It rang again.
    Whoever they were, they were persistent. And I was already awake. With a groan, I dragged myself out of bed. I found a pair of sweats and a T-shirt on the floor and put them on. I glanced in the mirror on the way to the door.
    I was a mess.
    There was really no other way to put it. I hadn’t shaved in three days. I hadn’t been out running in longer than that. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make it lie flat. I was trying to remember if I had ever showered yesterday.
    The doorbell rang again.
    “I’m coming!” I yelled, and gave up on the idea of my hair. It was going to take more than a comb to disguise the fact that I was falling apart. I finally made it to the door and opened it.
    It was Julia. She had a casserole dish in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. “For Christ’s sake, Jon,” she said as she pushed past me into the house, “go clean yourself up while I put this in the oven.”
    “Julia, I’m really not in the mood—”
    “Not in the mood to do anything but hide in your house and wallow alone in your misery?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Too fucking bad. You can resume your pity party with me, after you’ve made yourself human again.”
    I didn’t have the energy to argue. I showered and put on jeans and a clean shirt. I debated shaving, but then Julia called out, “It’s ready!”
    I wandered out of the bedroom and sat down at the dining room table. “When was the last time you ate?” she asked as she put a bowl of something unidentifiable in front of me.
    “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It must have been yesterday.”
    She tousled my hair like I was a child. “Eat,” she said. “I’ll put some laundry in for you.”
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    “I know, Jon. Shut up and eat.”
    I looked at whatever was in the bowl. I tried not to think about the last time somebody had cooked for me. I tried not to think about sautéed pasta with lobster or cioppino or what wine went with each one. I looked at the empty chair on the opposite side of the table and tried not to wonder where he was or what he was doing. I felt myself wanting to cry again, and I pushed it down, fought it back, and made myself take a bite.
    It was good. It was chicken and rice, and I wasn’t sure what else, but by