Coda Books 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (MM)

slapped him and came forward with his hand out. “I’m Cole. Welcome to our home. Can I get you something to drink?” But even as he shook her hand, I sensed there was something wrong. He was too stiff, and the cadence of his voice was all wrong. “I have Sprite, or ginger ale, or apple juice.” He turned to me. “What else?”
    “Or there’s San Pellegrino or some sparkling cider.”
    “Sprite would be great.”
    Cole went to get it, not bustling and fussing like he normally would have, but slowly, his paces deliberate. Taylor, Thomas, and I sat there in silence. I glanced around our spartan living room. Like nearly everything else in the house, the furniture had been chosen by Cole long before we met, but it hadn’t been chosen for comfort. Despite being expensive, it was barren, the cushions thin, the lines of the room sleek and unforgiving. I wished I’d invited them into the family room, but I hated to ask them to move again now that Taylor was sitting.
    Cole emerged from the kitchen. I watched him cross the room again, holding the glass in his hand. It was strange to see him wearing shoes in the house. Maybe that was why he was walking differently. “Thomas,” he said as he handed the drink to Taylor, “I didn’t even think to ask what you wanted. I’m so sorry, swee—” He stopped short on the word “sweetie,” pulling himself up straight as if he’d been slapped. “Can I get you anything?”
    And in that moment, I realized what was wrong—he wasn’t acting like himself. He wasn’t swaying, or swishing, or using pet names. He wasn’t gesturing or flipping his hair. He was speaking slowly, the upbeat cadence of his speech restrained, and he was holding his hands still at his side. He was, in a word, trying to act straight for the first time since I’d met him. Quite possibly for the first time in his life.
    I knew instinctively nothing good could come of it, but now that I’d put my finger on the problem, it seemed I had no power to stop the train from wrecking.
    “Nothing for me,” Thomas answered. He gestured toward Cole’s face. “What happened?”
    Blushing, Cole put his fingers on the faint bruise. “I was moving too fast in the kitchen and ran into the pantry door, if you can believe that. I’d hoped it wasn’t noticeable.”
    Thomas frowned at him, then over at me. There was something disconcerting in his gaze, and I found myself shifting uncomfortably in my chair.
    “Is it time to eat?” I asked Cole.
    “Yes, but….” He wrung his hands some more. “It’s a mess, Jonny. I’m so sorry. The sauce is scorched, and the pasta is far past al dente. Practically mush. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He stopped short and shook his head. He touched his slender fingers to his lips. “What should we do?”
    “We could go out?”
    He nodded. “Okay. Yes. We could, couldn’t we?”
    But that was wrong too. He wasn’t a fan of restaurants to begin with. He thought they were loud and impersonal. He always preferred to stay home, especially for any kind of important occasion. There was nothing he hated more than trying to have a private conversation in the middle of noise and chaos.
    I turned to Taylor. “How about if I have something delivered? Pizza or Thai?”
    Taylor shook her head. “Thai doesn’t like me much these days, but pizza’s fine.”
    “What do you like on it?”
    “Pineapple, artichoke hearts, and roasted garlic.” She blushed a bit and shrugged. “I never believed in those crazy cravings you hear about, but I swear, I can’t seem to get enough pineapple. I ate a whole one for lunch the other day!”
    Normally something like that would have sent Cole on a crusade. He would have been on the phone not only ordering pizza, but making sure it had more pineapple on it than any crust could hold. He would have been sending me out the door and down the street to the grocery store to get a fresh pineapple to add to the fruit salad for dessert. Then again, the Cole I was used to wouldn’t be standing halfway between us and the kitchen, looking lost.
    “I’ll order it,” I said.
    “No!” Cole said, and I froze, halfway out of my seat. “I’m sorry, Jonny. You stay sitting. I’ll take care of it.” He practically ran from the room.
    The pizza came. We sat at the table and washed it down with cans of soda, but nobody ever managed to relax. The tension was paralyzing. I wished over and over again for my father’s comforting presence. Cole