Page 37 of Boy Friends
Jacob doesn’t seem discouraged. ‘I’m new here, I come with a pair of fresh eyes. I’ll show you a new side of Lombard.’
His tone is confident without being cocky. I take him in, really look at him, maybe for the first time. He has a wide nose, gently curved eyes and a square chin. He makes me feel curious and comfortable at once, because his gaze never strays from me. It’s nice to have someone’s undividedattention, especially when that someone has the lush hair of a nineties teen-movie star.
‘You’ve lived here what, a couple of months? You’ve seen what there is. But go ahead, I’d love see Lombard in a new light.’
‘You will,’ he says. ‘And hey, if you ever want a change of scenery, what about a trip to the city?’
‘The city?’
‘Yeah, you know, somewhere where the only place with good coffee isn’t owned by your—’
‘Dad,’ I say, when he suddenly appears by our table and places a chocolate-chip muffin in front of Jacob. We officially ran out of them an hour ago, but I saved some for Simo and my grandparents.
‘New kids get free muffins,’ Dad declares.
‘Since when?’ I ask.
‘My cafe, my rules. Also, this is a reminder that we’re expecting high-ranking and highly self-important visitors any minute. And that you got us into this, so you will be entertaining them.’ With that he’s off.
‘I should go,’ Jacob says. He rises to his full height and somehow manages to balance the headstone-sized book, his iced coffee and the muffin. ‘Thanks for the book.’
‘Any time!’
‘Also, it’s not true that your dad’s the only gay person you know. You have me now,’ he says.
We lock eyes, and my heart does a little stumble. By the time it’s found its rhythm again, Jacob is out the door. I sit and watch his silhouette disappear down the street before I remember I’m meant to be helping Dad.
I don’t get the chance to demand an explanation for giving away my secret stash of muffins. The big table by the window holds nothing but a reserved sign, so I do my best to cover the wear and tear beneath place mats and bowls of hummus, salted nuts and cucumber sticks.
The moment I hang the coffee-stained apron in the hall, I hear Dad shouting my name through the entire cafe. He sounds strained and threatening, which can only mean one thing. As I re-enter, Dad points his parents to the window table. The room’s chatter has mellowed to a low hum. Clearly my grandparents’ arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed, but people are polite enough to stare only when they think we’re not looking.
When Dad spots me, relief floods his expression. ‘Where were you?’ he whispers with an accusatory tone. I was gone a full three seconds, tops.
‘Handsome as ever,’ Graham says as I turn to him. I know it’s shallow, but I like hearing him say it. Relieved that they’re taking the lead, I let myself be pulled into hugs, because I’ve still not found the manual on how to behave like a grandson.
‘The place is much busier today,’ Anna notes. ‘Last time I came it was so dead I worried it might be a dud.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Dad says drily.
I’d rather not be reminded of the moment that I first met my grandmother and realised Dad had been lying about having dead parents. To keep my hands busy, I grab the jug of homemade lemonade and fill everyone’s glasses.
‘It’s quaint,’ Graham adds, assessing the room. From the way Dad’s lips tighten, I can tell that ‘quaint’ isn’t acompliment coming from the mouth of a Brandenburg.
‘Yes, or dilapidated, as some might call it,’ he retorts.
Admittedly, Anna and Graham’s regal appearance clashes with the relaxed atmosphere of the cafe and most of its customers. Anna’s velvet wrap-around dress is likely worth more than every other item in here combined, espresso machine included.
‘Simo is gonna join us in a bit. He’s got a family thing,’ I announce before Graham gets the chance to shoot something back. Simo and I agreed that he’d give us a head start, let us settle and adjust, which now seems like a reckless idea. Fewer people means more chances for Dad and his parents to exchange poorly concealed insults.
‘I’m glad he’s able to make it. After missing out on so much of your life already, we can’t wait to meet your friends.’
Dad, who is grinding his teeth so hard I can hear it from across the table, gets up and stomps to the kitchen. I hope he dunks his head in a bucket of ice or finds another way to release his frustration. When he returns, there’s a fake smile plastered across his face. ‘Forgot the salt and pepper,’ he says, and sets it down in front of us.
‘What’s going on in the store across the street?’ Graham nods to the corner shop.
‘It looks like the scene of a crime,’ Anna remarks, eyeing the graffitied and boarded-up windows suspiciously. A group of construction workers stands huddled around the entrance.
‘There is no crime in Lombard, Mother.’
