Chapter 13: Separate Rooms

On Friday night the guest room was full of boxes.

Evan had four of them, and a duffel, and a shoebox of cables that he would not let a mover touch.

His grandmother called while he was taping the last one shut.

"Are you eating?" she said.

"Yes."

"What did you eat?"

"Toast."

"That's not eating, that's an apology to your stomach."

He laughed, and sat on the bed with the phone against his ear.

"Is Ethie there?" she said.

"Down the hall."

"Go and stand next to him for a minute. Just stand. Men like that don't know how to ask for things, so they stand very still and hope you notice."

"Gran."

"I'm eighty percent right about people and you know it. Eat something real. Love you."

She hung up before he could say it back.

When he looked up, Ethan was in the doorway.

He wore a black T-shirt and nothing on his feet, and he was looking at the boxes.

"Four," Ethan said.

"And the duffel."

"It's a small apartment, then."

"It's a one-bedroom on Harbor Row. It has a kitchen and a window."

"I can give you a bigger one."

"I know you can."

Ethan came in and sat on the arm of the chair.

He picked up a roll of tape and turned it over in his hands.

"You'll be back by the end of the month," he said.

"Is that a bet?"

"It's a fact."

"Then put it in writing, Ross. You like writing."

Ethan's mouth moved, not quite a smile.

He set the tape down.

"I'm not going to stop you," he said. "I want that said. I'm not locking a door. You can walk out of here tomorrow."

"I know."

"But tonight you're still under my roof."

The room was very quiet.

Evan stood up and crossed the carpet until there were two inches between them.

He did what his grandmother had said.

He stood very still, and looked at Ethan's mouth, and waited.

Ethan took him by the back of the neck and kissed him.

It was not gentle.

It tasted of whisky and the mint he'd been chewing, and Evan's knees went loose.

Ethan stood without breaking the kiss, and walked him backward until his shoulder blades hit the wardrobe door.

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