The Remaking of Corbin Wale

  Alex was quite used to Gareth’s high standards and knew that he’d tip generously, but his manner had Corbin as skittish as the first day Alex had met him.

  “It’s okay,” Alex reassured him. “He’ll calm down as soon as people taste the first dish and ooh and ah over it.”

  But Corbin didn’t seem calmed. In fact, Corbin had been skittish all day. His head popped up at every noise, and Alex had felt his eyes on him from across the room. It was almost like Corbin was waiting for something.

  Mira and Sean had spent every minute they weren’t serving customers during the day decorating the shop. Alex had wanted it to look festive but not garish, and he thought they’d hit the mark perfectly. Blue and silver garland draped the counter, and on the tables were centerpieces of glass bells that held glittery blue and silver stars. At the door, a blue-draped table was laid with dreidels and bags of chocolate gelt. They’d covered the counter in blue velvet and turned it into a bar, with one of the servers bartending behind it.

  All in all, it looked cozy and festive, and Alex couldn’t have been happier.

  True to form, his mother and Lou were the first to arrive, arm in arm.

  “I can’t believe it’s the same place,” she exclaimed for what had to be the dozenth time since he’d opened, and Lou shook his hand and echoed the sentiment.

  “Corbin!” his mom said excitedly, and Alex turned to see Corbin, who had been creeping out of the kitchen, suddenly freeze under her attention. But when she approached him, smiled warmly, and held out her arms for a hug, Corbin walked into them without hesitation, and let himself be held.

  Something fluttered in Alex’s throat. Envy. That Corbin could so easily touch someone who wasn’t him.

  More guests arrived and Alex shook the envy off, introducing everyone who wasn’t already acquainted and passing around drinks.

  When Orin arrived, Alex was legitimately happy to see him. “You remember Corbin?” he said, and Orin shook Corbin’s hand solemnly and smiled.

  “I’m glad to see you again,” he said.

  Alex tugged Gareth over, too. “This is Orin Wright, Lou’s son. He runs the Art Association I told you about. Orin, this is my best friend, Gareth Kelly. He’s a chef. He prepared the food for tonight.”

  Orin’s eyes were locked on Gareth, and he held out a hand as if in slow motion. Gareth’s trembled slightly as he took it. “Pleasure to meet you,” Orin said, voice low and rough, as Gareth said, “Hey.”

  Alex caught Corbin’s gaze over their clasped hands, and Corbin’s eyebrows went up, his eyes widening. Alex winked and inclined his head, and he took Corbin to the bar and got him a drink, putting himself between Corbin and the growing crowd.

  “You don’t need to protect me,” Corbin said, gesturing to the people milling around. “They think I’m a freak, but I’m used to it. This has been my whole life.” He scuffed his toe, eyes glued to the ground.

  “What if I do need to?” Alex asked, something about the festivities making him bolder with Corbin than he ever had been. He had never felt like it was his right to exert any control over his partners. He had known his whole life that people tended to do what he said.

  You sounded like you knew what you were talking about, his college boyfriend said when he offered a wild theory, so I believed you.

  You said it like you were sure, his friend insisted, lost in North Carolina after Alex had said he thought that maybe, possibly, that highway would take them to Durham.

  Gareth hadn’t been the first to notice it, just the first to point out the pattern to Alex. Alex had already known that if he swept in and simply took care of things, people tended to let him. Even if they didn’t actually want to.

  But though he usually kept the impulse in check, he still burned sometimes with the desire to take control of things, set them to rights. It felt like if he could just reach his hands in to the heart of the problem and put the pieces back together—if his friends and lovers would just relax and let themselves float while he tinkered—he could fix it all.

  Ego much? Gareth had said when Alex had once told him this. Alex knew it was true. And yet, he still felt it. He saw Corbin suffering from the sidelong looks and whispers, and he wanted to step between him and those things, take the blow. And he wanted Corbin to want him to. Needed him to.

  “Why would you need to,” Corbin asked, but his pupils dilated, and Alex thought he saw him swallow hard.

  “I feel very protective of you, Corbin. It’s just how I am. Does it bother you?”

  Corbin blinked wide eyes and peered at Alex, a flush creeping up from the neck of his sweater.

  “No.”

  An answering heat kindled in Alex, low in the pit of his stomach.

  Corbin opened his mouth like he was about to speak, when Gareth clapped Alex on the shoulder and said, “It’s time.” Gareth could feel the energy of a crowd and know when food or drink or neither were needed.

  “Okay,” Alex said, and signaled the server standing by the kitchen. To Corbin he said, “You’ll sit with us, right?” He held out a hand, wanting so badly for Corbin to take it easily, the way he’d shaken Orin’s hand or hugged his mother. Corbin stared at it, narrowed eyes flicking up to Alex’s face like he was reading something only he could see. Then, slowly, he slid his hand into Alex’s, blinking quickly at the contact.

  Alex felt the disarrangement inside his chest ease.

  At his table sat Corbin, his mother, Lou, Gareth, and Orin. His mother and Lou were smiley and bright-eyed, turning in their chairs to talk to everyone, even the servers.

  Gareth and Orin spoke intermittently, their eyes locked, but their gazes roamed over each other when the other wasn’t looking.

  Corbin sat beside him, occasionally talking to Orin, answering the questions his mother asked, but mostly leaning, as the dinner progressed, closer to Alex, inch by inch, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it.

  Alex looked around at what he’d built and felt a surge of pride. He couldn’t believe how utterly different his life was than it had been mere months before. The impact of the change had perhaps not quite caught up with him until this moment, when he sat at the middle of a group he was now a part of.

  The food was wonderful, and though Gareth’s nostrils occasionally flared when the plating was not precisely what he’d asked for, people were clearly enjoying it. The latke-crust apple pie with sour cream was the hit of the night, and Gareth endured more praise for his cleverness than he was used to. Ann Arbor consumers were not New York City diners, and Alex could read his pleasure, and then his annoyance, on his face.

  After the pie, there were delicate cheese blintzes with chive and horseradish mustard, and a salad of spicy arugula, roasted golden beets, and slivered fig. The main course was braised brisket kreplach dotted with a minted pea puree and watercress, the dumplings firm and savory, the peas and cress light.

  Gareth’s eyes roamed the room to make sure people were enjoying it, and Alex forced himself not to grin when Gareth corrected Orin about what an ingredient was and then went on to explain every component of the dish in detail.

  And through it all, he felt Corbin next to him, a welcome presence. He felt Corbin’s curious eyes on him even as they ate.

  When the plates were cleared away and more drinks had been passed around, Gareth signaled for dessert service.

  “Corbin came up with the idea for dessert,” Alex said to his mom, loudly enough that everyone could likely hear, and Corbin dropped his chin to his chest so his hair hid his face.

  When the plates of sufganiyot, blueberry jam, and vanilla cream came out, Alex couldn’t help but think of the container in his room at home that held the rest of the doughnuts that Corbin had made for him the morning before.

  He’d eaten another in the afternoon, and yet another when he woke up this morning, and was, frankly, sick of doughnuts. But Corbin had made them especially for him, and it had clearly meant something to Corbin to see him eat one. Alone in his bedroom, as if he were
hiding a secret in his own home, Alex had closed his eyes as he’d eaten another, chewing slowly and picturing Corbin’s hands all over them. Corbin’s hands kneading the dough and stamping them out. Corbin’s hands smothering them in cinnamon sugar. Corbin’s hands running over blueberries and choosing the juiciest ones for jam. Corbin covering them with a towel to keep them just for him.

  He’d allowed himself to imagine they were something more than dessert. That Corbin had offered Alex a proxy for himself. Then he’d imagined those same hands all over him and felt a tug low in his belly. Along with it had come a yearning—the kind of desire that wells up in search of answering desire. He wanted to consume Corbin’s sweetness just as he’d consumed each bite.

  By the time dessert plates were scraped clean and the dregs of drinks quaffed, Alex was ready for everyone to leave. The air of celebration kept people around for another hour, playing dreidel and talking about the holidays. Alex was glad Chanukah had fallen early this year so that he could have this without it being swallowed up by Christmas, as it was the years they coincided.

  His mother caught his elbow. “This was wonderful, Aly.” She hadn’t called him that in years, and Alex leaned down to see tears in her eyes. “Your dad would’ve loved it. He would’ve loved seeing you here—this place—everything you’ve done.”

  He hugged her, smelling the familiar scent of her shampoo and the perfume she’d worn since he was a child.

  “I can’t believe I’m here. I wish he could see it too.”

  She pulled him down to kiss his forehead, then left, Lou on her arm.

  Soon, everyone was gone, and the servers were clearing the room, evidence of the festivities swept away as if they’d never occurred.

  Gareth slid an arm around his waist. “Was it Chanukah-y enough for you? Did it feel the way you wanted?”

  It was teasing, but there was a tenderness to Gareth’s voice that touched him.

  “It was wonderful. The food was perfect. Thank you.” He squeezed Gareth’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I would ever have opened this place if it hadn’t been for you encouraging me that day.”

  “You would have,” Gareth said with certainty. And he was probably right. “Um, listen, I’m gonna take off, okay? I’ll catch up with you soon.”

  “Are you not going back to the house?” Alex asked, but then he followed Gareth’s eye line to where Orin stood just outside the bakery, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders raised against the cold. “Ah. Gotcha. I like him.”

  “Whatever, I don’t need your approval,” Gareth muttered. Then, “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I like him as person. I don’t know how he’ll be for you. Just . . . be careful, okay?”

  Gareth’s sigh contained everything unspoken. “I’ll try. I’m not very good at it. Being careful.”

  “Well, be as careful as you can be, and I’ll fuck him up if he hurts you, how’s that?”

  “That’s perfect,” Gareth said, and they both knew Alex wouldn’t hurt Orin. It was just how he expressed his care.

  Alex found Corbin pressed to the corner of the kitchen, clearly trying to stay far out of the servers’ way as they cleaned up. Alex’s head was throbbing and he was exhausted. All he wanted was quiet. And Corbin.

  “Hey, you all did a great job,” he called to the servers. “I’ll finish cleaning up tomorrow. You can take off, if Gareth paid you?” They nodded and scattered before he could change his mind.

  Then Alex and Corbin were alone, the wreckage of the kitchen disappearing around them as their eyes locked. Alex went to Corbin as if he couldn’t possibly do anything else, and Corbin breathed deeply, like he was smelling him.

  Alex was tired and a little tipsy, and Corbin was the most beautiful, most precious thing he’d ever seen. He put one hand on Corbin’s shoulder and felt muscle and bone beneath his skin. He put the other at Corbin’s neck, needing to feel the texture of his skin, the throb of his pulse.

  Corbin’s eyes fluttered shut and his breathing was shallow, but he didn’t pull away.

  “Happy Chanukah,” Alex said. At Corbin’s small, pleased smile, Alex opened his mouth and let the words escape, whatever they might be. He was done holding back, done censoring. “You’re a miracle to me, Corbin.” Alex’s heart pounded when he heard what he’d said, but he didn’t take the words back. He’d meant them completely.

  Corbin’s eyes flew open, searching Alex’s face.

  “I know it’s a little corny,” Alex went on, “but I’ve always loved the holidays because there’s something magical about them to me.” Corbin’s eyes flared, but he still didn’t speak. “It’s a time when the whole world seems different. People are kinder to each other, happier. They do things they might not ordinarily do, connect with people they might never speak to otherwise. And what is magic if not the possibility for things to happen that would otherwise be impossible?”

  Corbin gaped, and his hands came up to fist the fabric of Alex’s shirt. The color in his cheeks was high, his eyes brighter than Alex had ever seen them.

  “Corbin,” Alex murmured. And he imagined that Corbin had been right when he said that a name gives power over the named. He imagined that he could speak Corbin’s name over and over until the man was his. “Corbin,” he said again, leaning closer. Corbin’s breath caught.

  Alex cupped Corbin’s face in his hands, searching those dark eyes for a sign that this was welcome, that he was wanted. He saw such desire there, such need, that it rocked him to his core.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, running his fingers down Corbin’s throat. “Corbin, god.”

  He could feel the flutter of Corbin’s racing pulse, and Corbin’s hands tightened on his shirt as if he thought Alex might pull away. The closer Alex leaned, the tighter Corbin held him, until they were pressed together, Corbin’s fists the only thing between them. Alex could smell woodsmoke in Corbin’s hair.

  Then Corbin flattened his palms to Alex’s chest and it felt like the last thing between them dissolved. Alex cradled the back of Corbin’s head and the side of his neck and leaned closer, closer, until their lips brushed, and the sensation of it blasted through him like lightning. Corbin made a small, desperate sound in the back of his throat and Alex surged forward, kissing him with everything he had.

  Their mouths crushed together. The kiss was frantic and clumsy and everything that Alex had ever wanted. Beneath the hint of blueberries, Alex could taste the wild, winter flavor of Corbin himself, and he’d never tasted anything so intoxicating.

  Corbin’s hands scrabbled at his back, pulling him closer, and he pressed his hips to Corbin’s, feeling the hardness that answered his own. He groaned into Corbin’s mouth and heard Corbin’s broken whimper.

  Then the whimper turned from arousal to something else, and Corbin shoved him away. Alex’s eyes shot open to see Corbin, chest heaving, one hand clamped over his mouth and the other gripping the countertop he’d been pressed against. His eyes were panicked and his throat worked convulsively.

  “Corbin?”

  Corbin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head over and over.

  When Alex tried to touch him again, Corbin curled into himself. “You can’t,” he sobbed. Then, “Alex, you can’t.”

  Panic gripped Alex as he stared at the empty space and his own outstretched hands. He didn’t know what he’d done, but it had ripped Corbin from him, turning intimacy to distance and pleasure to fear. He’d reached for something gossamer, and he’d shredded it with rough hands. The most beautiful kiss he’d ever shared had turned to dust in his mouth.

  “Why? What’s wrong? Tell me, please.”

  “You—you—you can’t understand, but . . .” He shook his head again. “I ruin everything I touch. Everyone I— I can’t ruin you. I can’t . . . I can’t hurt you.”

  The words tore through Alex like a bullet. “Oh, baby, no.” He moved toward Corbin again, but stopped himself at the fear he saw there.

  “No, I will, I— I tried to fix it,
but . . . I thought maybe I could make things okay, but what if— I can’t risk it.”

  Before Alex could regroup, Corbin flew out the door.

  Corbin wondered if a heart could break and still beat away, trapped in the cage of ribs, no matter its extremity.

  He walked through the wintry streets, letting himself be turned and twisted like a dry leaf in the breeze, his path toward home labyrinthine and untraceable.

  For the last week, he’d taken his cue from the Chanukah story Alex had told him. It was a sign that the oil was what he needed to dispel the curse. The challah had been a good start, but the doughnuts would clinch it. He’d sent the curse into the dough, then singed batch after batch in boiling oil, waiting for the miracle. Waiting for a sign that this was right.

  Finally, he’d felt something. Felt some lingering vestige of wrongness leave him, and he’d thought it was gone. Then, he’d made the last batch. Infused the dough with hope and joy, and fried them perfectly for Alex. You should cook with love when you’re cooking for someone you love. Just for Alex.

  And as he’d watched Alex take a bite, take part of Corbin’s hope and joy into himself, he’d felt the universe snap into place like a rubber band.

  All day today, he’d watched Alex for signs that it had worked. When Alex had touched him, he’d watched for signs that there had been no poison left to leach into the other man. No threat.

  Alex had glowed as beautifully as he always did. There was no sickly tinge of black in the air around him, no hint of taint or hurt. There had been a bright red, just next to his skin. Desire. And when they’d kissed . . .

  Corbin’s whole body shuddered at the memory. That kiss . . . that kiss had remade him. Dragged him to the blackest sky and the brightest stars and exploded him into something he had never known. Alex’s mouth and Alex’s hands and Alex’s body, yes, but mostly Alex. Alex wanting him, Alex needing him, Alex with him.

  It was what he had always yearned for, and what he’d thought he could never have. That he’d had it, for just a few minutes, and then lost it, tore a sob from his throat that the wind snatched away.