Open Legs Said Daddy & His Best Friend I'm Their Biology Teaching Aid novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Sunday Dinner

Frank seats them together and sends Gabe to drive Eli home, and in the driveway Gabe stops an inch from Eli's mouth and says go inside, kid.

Sunday dinner at the Winslow house in Brookline had been a rule for as long as Eli could remember.

Pot roast, green beans from a can, and his father standing at the head of the table with a carving knife and a speech.

"Gabe," Frank said, "you take the chair by Eli."

"I usually sit by the window," Gabe said.

"The window's broken. The draft will kill you."

"The window is fine, Frank."

"Sit by my son."

Gabe sat by Eli.

He had arrived ten minutes late with a bottle of wine and a face that said he had not slept.

He had also said nothing to anyone about Thursday, and Eli had said nothing either.

That was the deal they had made in the garage without discussing it.

Frank carved and talked about the shop class bird feeders and a student who had nearly sawn off a thumb.

He was a broad man with a reddish beard going gray and flannel sleeves rolled to the elbow, and he laughed at his own stories before the end.

Under the table, Eli's knee was an inch from Gabe's.

Eli moved it one inch to the left.

The knee touched.

Gabe did not move away, and he did not look down, and he reached for the salt with his other hand.

Eli ate three green beans very slowly.

"So how was the volunteer thing?" Frank asked.

Eli's fork stopped.

"Fine," he said.

"Gabe, did he behave?"

"He was fine," Gabe said. "Very cooperative."

"Not too embarrassed?"

"Frank."

"I'm only asking. It's a lot to ask of a kid." Frank buttered a roll. "You know, the best thing about you two is how comfortable you are together."

Gabe put down his glass.

"Is it?"

"Of course. I always said it. Eli's always been easy with you. You should spend more time with him, Gabe. Take him out. Take him for a drink."

"He's twenty-four, Frank, he can take himself out."

"I'm saying he'd like it."

Eli looked up.

His father was grinning at the roll, with the blandest look on his face.

It was the look he got when he had slipped a twenty into a birthday card and wanted credit for the surprise.

Eli felt the back of his neck prickle, and could not have said why.

After dinner Frank pushed them both into the kitchen.

"I did the cooking, you two do the dishes. I'm going to watch the game."

"There's no game on a Sunday night," Eli said.

"Then I'll watch the pregame."

The door swung shut behind him.

The kitchen was small and yellow and had not changed since Eli's mother picked the curtains.

Gabe ran the water.

Eli took a dish towel and stood next to him close enough to feel the heat through two layers of sweater.

"Hand me that," Gabe said, not looking.

Eli handed him the pot.

Their fingers touched on the handle and neither of them let go for a moment.

"My father is being weird," Eli said quietly.

"Your father is always being weird."

"He's being specific weird. He wants us in the same room."

"He wants to feed me. He's wanted that since I was twelve and living next door." Gabe scrubbed the pot hard. "Dry the pot, Eli."

Eli dried it.

At nine-thirty Frank appeared in the doorway with Gabe's car keys already in his hand.

"Eli's car's still at the shop," he said. "Gabe, drive him back to his place. It's on your way."

"It's not on my way. Squirrel Hill and Oakland are opposite directions."

"Then it's a nice drive."

Gabe stared at his best friend, took the keys, and went to get his coat.

It was a nice drive.

It was twenty minutes of dark streets and wet leaves and neither of them speaking, with the radio low on an oldies station.

In front of Eli's building, Gabe stopped the car and left the engine on.

Eli did not get out.

"Go in," Gabe said.

"In a minute."

"Eli."

"I'm not nine, and I'm not going to say it all again," Eli said. "Just look at me."

Gabe looked.

The streetlight made his gray temples silver and his eyes darker than they were.

Eli leaned across the console very slowly, giving him time to say no.

Gabe did not say no.

He stopped moving altogether, and his breath touched Eli's mouth, one inch away.

Eli could smell soap and wine and the cold on his coat.

Gabe's hand came up and rested on the side of his face with the thumb along his cheekbone, and for one long second Eli was certain.

Then Gabe took the hand away.

"Go inside, kid," he said.

It was gentle, and it was unbearable.

Eli sat back and opened the door.

He got out, and bent down to look through the window.

"I'm twenty-four, Dr. Kelleher," he said. "It's on the form. You wrote it yourself."

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