180 Seconds

  CHAPTER 22

  DANCING

  Simon reties his apron yet again and surveys the kitchen. “Okay, I think we’re in pretty good shape. Does Esben like cheese? I hope he likes cheese!”

  I can’t help laughing. “Why are you more nervous than I am? He’s going to love you. And the cheese. All the cheeses.” I glance at the tray. “All nine of them.”

  “Did I go overboard?”

  “I would expect nothing less.” I go to the sink to wash my hands after shaking my head over the plate of rather gloppy deviled eggs I just made. Obviously, I don’t have Simon’s cooking gene, but it seems his best effort to teach me today has failed wildly. “So, Simon,” I start a little cautiously, “now that even I am dating, I was wondering about you.”

  “Wondering about me what?” Simon is leaning over the cheese platter for a bird’s-eye view while he obsessively rearranges the positioning of the cheeses.

  “Wondering about you dating. I mean, are you? You haven’t mentioned anyone.” I dry my hands and then pause. “Oh. But maybe you wouldn’t have. Because I’ve been such a closed-off shrew.”

  “Allison!” He stops fussing with the cheeses and glares at me. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. I do not have a boyfriend, nor have I been dating. I don’t know how to meet people, really. What am I going to do? Go cruising a gay club at my age?”

  “You’re only forty-three! But I’m not sure a club is the best idea. What about online dating—”

  I am interrupted by the doorbell.

  “He’s here! He’s here!” Simon shouts. “Where are the grapes? Oh, never mind. I’ll add those later.” He tears off his apron and beams at me. “Are you ready? Do I look okay? Should I answer the door? Do you want to make an entrance?”

  Simon has gone bananas. “You look very handsome. How about I answer the door, and you finish your wine.”

  “Yes. Good thinking. I will be right out.” He takes a big drink. “You look very pretty in red, by the way.”

  I’ve got on one of the things Simon bought me yesterday, and I must confess that I’m enjoying wearing the fluffy red mohair pullover. Paired with the black leather pants he insisted I buy, it’s an outfit Steffi would approve of. I make my way to the door, and I’m actually delighting in the lights and garlands and endless decorations that grace the house. When Simon goes all out, he really goes all out. And I pretty much love it.

  I’ve barely opened the door when Esben starts talking. “I know it’s ridiculous. I’m sorry. My mother made me wear a suit. I told her it was crazy, and no one goes to dinner at their girlfriend’s house wearing a suit, but at a certain point it became easier just to put it on than to convince her it was not 1940.”

  The last thing he should be doing is apologizing, because he looks absolutely . . . well, dashing. He’s wearing a black suit with a red button-down shirt and swirly multicolored tie, and I am so taken aback that I cannot speak. Or move. Or do anything.

  “Oh God, it’s that bad? I’m sorry. I should have thrown some clothes in the car and changed in a McDonald’s or something. Allison? Please say something before I strip down here on the front step out of sheer humiliation.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” I smile. “Although, that does sound pretty tempting . . . you look gorgeous. Seriously. I think I love your mother.” I swing the door open wide and shiver from the chill.

  “And I think I love those pants that are painted on you.” Esben’s hands go to my waist, and his mouth goes to the spot just below my ear that he knows drives me crazy.

  The gift bag in his hand crinkles against my lower back while he snuggles against me. I’m used to seeing him every single day, so even the very short time that we’ve been apart has left me wanting. But there’s Simon and his beef Wellingtons to consider, so instead of plastering Esben up against the front door, I take his hand and lead him into the main room. My father is desperately trying to look casual while setting a smoked-salmon tray on the coffee table next to the insane cheese festival and my mangled eggs.

  Simon stands up and smiles warmly. “Based on the way Allison is now glowing more than that hideous inflatable Santa across the street, you must be Esben.”

  “Simon!” But I laugh.

  Esben steps forward and shakes his hand. “It’s really great to meet you, sir. I’ve heard so many nice things about you.” Esben indicates the gift bag he’s holding. “So, my mother sent this with me. I think it’s an ornament.”

  “What a very kind thought. And that bag over there,” he says, gesturing to a velvet bag on the sideboard, “is for your parents. It’s a bottle of red from a California vineyard I’m crazy about.”

  California. I think of Steffi immediately. This cruise she’s on better be stupendous, because I would love to have her here with us right now.

  Esben glances at the coffee table as he starts to sit. “Oh, a cheese platter! Look at that bad boy.” Then, to Simon’s delight, Esben leans over and examines it from above. “Nice placement. I’m hesitant to disrupt your artwork, but, if I’m not mistaken, that’s a Saint André, right?”

  Simon is beaming rather smugly at me. “It is! Please, help yourself.” He hands Esben a plate, and I sit back and smile as the two begin an in-depth discussion about cheese. I knew I had nothing to worry about.

  Simon’s dinner proves to be another culinary success, but, even better, Esben, Simon, and I talk nonstop. The conversation flows easily, and there is more laughter than there’s been at this table before.

  We do run into a small hitch during dessert, however. With Simon’s guidance, I’d been responsible for the trifle and its layers of whipped confections, sugared berries, chestnut mousse, and chocolate shavings, and it certainly looks gorgeous. As I sit back to watch the two men in my life take their first bites of my labor of love, it only takes one bite for me to realize something is very wrong. Both make valiant efforts to conceal that there’s a problem, but it’s of no use.

  “What?” I demand. “What is wrong? I did everything you said, Simon!”

  Simon wipes his mouth and holds the napkin against his lips for a moment while he composes himself. “There is a slight issue. With salt.”

  “Salt? There’s no salt?”

  I taste the trifle. It’s horrible, and I immediately spit out my bite into my napkin. “Oh God!” I look at them apologetically, but they’re both too busy giggling.

  Esben takes a big drink of water. “It was . . . it was a really beautiful trifle, though.”

  “Yes,” Simon agrees kindly. “Aesthetically, you were right on target. But since we are now without a dessert, why don’t we venture into the North End. It’ll be very festive there this time of year.”

  Esben perks up. “I bet I know what you’re thinking! Mike’s?”

  “This kid is good,” Simon says, looking at me. “Exactly! A little chocolate cheesecake!”

  Simon drives us to the North End, Boston’s Little Italy. This area of the city is tremendously charming, and the old-world feel of the neighborhood has me enchanted tonight. Wreaths hang from arches above the streets, white lights twirl up and down lampposts, and we pass a Santa Claus standing on a corner, collecting donations.

  When we are all seated at a small table inside Mike’s Pastry, I stare at my plate, taken aback by the size of my slice of the chocolate mousse cake that dares me to tackle it. “Both of you pose with your desserts made for giants. I need to post this important moment.”

  “I’ve created a social-networking monster,” Esben explains to Simon. “Sorry.”

  “Quiet! Hold up your plates!” I take at least ten pictures of them and then go on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook to post and check in at Mike’s Pastry. I tag the picture #singledadtakesusout, #boyfriendesben, and #dessertporn. After my picture goes live on Facebook, some weird window pops up. “Wait, Esben, what is this? It wants me to use something called Nearby Friends?” I show him my phone.

  “Here.” He takes out his own phone, and, within a few seconds, he?
??s showing me his screen. “See? If you enable this feature, then when you’re out and about, you check in places and can see who on your friends list is close by. I don’t use it much, because the majority of people on my personal page aren’t really people I actually know.” Esben taps his screen, and a list of six people show up. “See? A few people are around. This person is pretty close.” He looks again. “Actually, more than close. He checked in to Mike’s!”

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  He frowns. “Christian Arturo. He comments on my stuff sometimes.” He clicks on Christian’s profile and taps through a few pictures.

  “He’s kinda hot,” I whisper.

  Esben yanks away the phone. “Hey!”

  “Well, he is! But don’t worry. He looks a tad young.”

  “Yeah, it says he’s in high school.” Esben looks around the room and then smiles. “There he is.”

  But his smile falls away as he takes in the boy on the opposite end of the café. Christian is even more handsome than his photos indicate, with dark hair and dark skin that stand out against his white shirt. And on second glance, I see that it’s a tuxedo shirt and that his jacket rests on the back of his chair. He’s slumped in his chair, his cannoli untouched, and he radiates a sadness that makes me want to scoop him up in a hug.

  “Go back to his page,” I say quietly.

  The three of us lean over Esben’s phone and read through the posts near the top of Christian’s page.

  “He was . . . going to his winter formal,” Esben reads. “Rented a tux . . . it was going to be a big night . . . and his date got food poisoning.”

  “Oh no. That’s too bad.” Simon glances furtively at Christian. “He looks so depressed.”

  Esben is still glued to his phone, but I can tell he is thinking, deciding what to do. Because this is Esben, and he can’t do nothing. I suspect he’s hesitating because we’re with Simon, so I prompt him.

  “Esben?” I touch his shoulder. “Go. Go get him.”

  Without even looking at me, Esben smiles. “You know me well, don’t you?”

  Simon appears confused for a moment, but when Esben gets up and crosses the room, understanding passes over Simon. “This boyfriend of yours? He’s quite extraordinary.”

  We watch as Esben gets to Christian’s table, shakes his hand, and sits down for a moment. Simon and I keep eating, our eyes glued to the table across the room. In only a few minutes, Esben and Christian stand and come to our table.

  “Allison and Simon, this is Christian. I invited him to sit with us.”

  “Of course. We’d love to have you.” Simon pulls out the chair next to him, and a clearly flabbergasted Christian sits.

  “Hi,” he says shyly. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you. I, uh”—he looks nervously at Esben—“I follow Esben. This is so weird. Dude, you’re so cool. I can’t believe you just came over to me. And now I’m sitting at your table.” He looks at me. “You’re Girlfriend Allison. And you’re Girlfriend Allison’s father, right? I know my hashtags.”

  I’m all kinds of crazy flattered, but Esben is as embarrassed as he always is when someone compliments him. “I was sorry to hear about your dance tonight.”

  I nod. “Yes. That’s disappointing. Your date got sick?”

  “Gosh, Allison,” he says shyly. “You’re even prettier in person. You guys are my favorite couple ever.” Then he giggles a little nervously. “Yeah. I got a call ten minutes after I left my house. I didn’t want to disappoint my mother, because she was so excited about me being in a tux and going to a dance and stuff, so I just came here instead. A little cannoli comfort.” Christian sighs. “This night isn’t exactly going as planned.”

  “You didn’t want to go alone?” Simon asks.

  “Well, no . . .” Christian shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “My date? It’s . . . well, it’s a boy.” He braces for us to freak out and almost seems more flustered when we don’t have a reaction. “So, yeah. Okay, I guess you’re all cool with that. His name is Doug, and I really like him, and he seems to like me, and . . . this was going to be our big night, because, well . . .” Christian glances around the table. “Is anyone drinking that water?”

  Esben smiles and pushes the glass his way. “Go on.”

  “Look, I assume everyone at school knows I’m gay, and everyone seems fine with it, but I haven’t exactly officially come out, you know? Tonight was going to be that official night. Mostly for myself, I guess, but my parents didn’t know that I wasn’t going with a girl. It was going to be a big night, you know? I just wanted to go to the winter formal and dance with a boy and stand under twinkle lights, and . . . I don’t know. It’s dumb probably. It’s just a dance.”

  “It’s not dumb,” Simon says immediately. “It was important to you. It’s also important that you had a fun and safe way to come out. God, I wish I’d had that,” he says with a laugh. “You kids have it so much easier than I did at your age.”

  Christian visibly relaxes. “Yeah? I guess you’re right. The kids at my school are really nice. It’s still just nerve-racking, though. In a good way, I guess, but I was all amped up to go with Doug and finally be up-front about it. I’d really like to do that. For myself.”

  “You could still do that tonight,” Esben offers. “Or something like that. If you want.”

  “What do you mean?” Christian sits up straight, his interest piqued.

  I’m smiling, because I suspect what Esben has in mind. “Let’s get this bow tie back on you,” I say. “And your tuxedo jacket.” Meanwhile, Christian starts redoing the top buttons he’d loosened.

  When our winter-formal boy is ready, Esben takes Christian’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a dance. Of sorts.”

  Esben leads him from the pastry shop, with Simon and me following closely.

  “What’s he doing?” Simon asks excitedly.

  “Something awesome. Just watch.”

  Christian’s face registers a mix of doubt and anticipation, but he lets Esben lead him down the block and back to a trio of musicians we’d passed earlier. A light snow has started to fall, and, although it’s certainly chilly tonight, the cold is more than tolerable, and fifteen or so people are gathered, listening to some very romantic-sounding Italian music. I loop my arm through Simon’s and take in the scene.

  Esben stands directly in front of Christian. “It’s not your winter formal, but we have music, we have twinkle lights, and I’m in a suit. I would be honored to be your first dance.”

  It feels like forever until Christian replies, but when he does, it’s worth the wait, because of the sweet crack in his voice. “I would really like that. Oh God, I would really like that.” He moves into Esben’s arms. “Is anyone going to care?” He quickly peeks at the crowd, but no one has pulled out a pitchfork. “Can we . . . can we take a picture? I could . . .” Christian is having trouble speaking. “Maybe you could post it. I can come out in a really big way,” he says with a bravery I admire.

  “Whatever you want. This is your night. Pics and video, and then you choose.” Esben gives me a quick nod and then begins moving slowly.

  I whip out my phone and take a few stills before recording this dance, this pivotal moment in Christian’s life. Again, I am struck by Esben’s ability to be so caring and so genuine with a stranger. I am mesmerized by him and by this dance. The woman who is singing gives them a smile, and then another couple begins dancing. As the minutes tick by, Christian relaxes more and more, coming to rest his cheek on Esben’s shoulder. There are a few tears on his face, but the smile he wears makes those tears beautiful. Esben meets my eyes, and if he didn’t already have the entirety of my heart and my trust, he has them now. They dance for three songs, and when Christian slowly lifts his head, there are six other couples, all dancing closely on the crowded sidewalk. The musicians stop for a break, and as we clap, the vocalist also asks the crowd for a round of applause for the dancers. The clapping goes wild. E
sben spins Christian from his hold, raising his hand in the air in a celebratory move. The applause increases, and Christian’s smile outshines anything I’ve seen before.

  Simon tightens my arm in his. “What a guy. I could’ve used an Esben when I was younger.”

  His words mirror what I’ve said myself. Probably everyone could use an Esben.

  Christian looks up at my sweet boyfriend, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I will never forget this. Or you.”

  “Thank you. That was my first dance with a boy, too.” Esben grins and gives him a big hug. “Listen, I’m really happy for you. Now, let’s go post your coming out. Tell me what you want me to say.”

  Under his breath, Simon whispers, “Where did you find this creature? He is one of a kind.”

  “He found me,” I answer. “He found me.”

  On Christmas morning, Simon spoils me with presents, but the last one I open quickly becomes my favorite. The gift bag is stuffed with blue tissue paper covered in white stars, and I start smiling as soon as I lift out the gold Wonder Woman tiara. “Oh my God, Simon! It matches my cuff bracelets! I love this!”

  “Do you? Really?”

  I nod sincerely and put on the tiara.

  “Good,” he says happily, “because . . . hold on . . .” He rummages behind him and gets another bag from behind the tree. “I got one for myself, too!”

  Then we eat waffles with hand-whipped cream and fresh strawberries while we wear our Wonder Woman tiaras. And over breakfast, I hand him a box with a small final present, one I hope makes him happy.

  Simon removes the top of the box to find the framed picture. “Allison . . .” There is such joy on his face, and he sets a hand over his heart. “My sweet, generous girl. You got your picture taken with Santa for me.”

  “I did.”

  “This . . . this means a lot to me. Thank you, kiddo.”

  “I’m having the best Christmas ever. You kind of rock the holidays, Simon,” I tell him truthfully.