Chapter Text
“Daddy? I have a question.” Diana’s lilted words sounded from the back seat. Lawrence took his eyes off the road to glance in the rearview; Diana’s face was scrunched in concentration as her fingers struggled to brush through her doll’s messy hair, but Lawrence knew her well enough to know that she was eagerly awaiting his response.
“Yes, angel?”
“Mommy’s getting married again.” Diana said. Lawrence waited a moment for her to continue, but the only sound that followed was the noise of synthetic doll hair being tugged through.
“That’s hardly a question.” He said, a little distracted: traffic around his apartment was always hell on Fridays, but that was the day he picked up Diana, so it was a hell he’d had to accept.
“I know that,” Diana huffed, wholly affronted at the notion that she may not understand something. Lawrence could acknowledge that it was an inherited trait.
“Very well.” Lawrence said, pulling up to a red light. “So what’s your question, then?”
Diana set her doll down beside her–no doubt a let’s get down to brass tax kind of gesture. “I was wondering if you were ever gonna get married again.”
The light turned green and Lawrence cleared his throat. Despite how much he’d been thinking about the institution of marriage lately—what with Alison getting remarried, and the increasingly lonely weekdays he’s spent wishing he had someone to come home to again—he was still thrown by her question.
Obviously, he and Alison had talked to Diana many times to explain the divorce situation, the many reasons they were separating, and to check in with how she was processing it. But apart from the one instance of Diana asking Lawrence if he thought Michael the Accountant was going to be good to her mother, she rarely broached the subject on her own. Certainly, she’d never asked her father about his love life.
“I suppose I might. One day.” He reached up to loosen his tie, only to realize he hadn’t worn one today. “It’s—well it’s a little more complicated for me, Diana.” Lawrence finally said after too long of a pause.
“Because you like boys?” Diana asked, unperturbed.
Lawrence sighed, hoping he could have maintained a little more tact on the matter. They’d brought his recent, life-altering , realization about his sexuality to Diana’s attention because she was wise beyond her years. And it gave the divorce more context; so it only made sense to tell her. She’d taken it in stride and never pried.“Yes, Diana. Because I like boys—Men. I like men. And daddy can’t get married, remember? It’s not allowed.” Lawrence looked into the mirror again; Diana was staring at her feet, her face twisted in thought.
“That’s stupid.” She concluded.
“That’s not a nice word, Diana.”
“Sorry.” she said.
“But, you are right. It is that word.” He said with a grin. Diana giggled behind him.
Just as they pulled into the apartment complex, and Lawrence thought he would be spared any further awkward conversations, Diana spoke up again.
“When are you gonna get a boyfriend , then?”
—
Lawrence stuffed the rest of his equipment into his work locker and slid his jacket on. He’d been in surgery since that morning, and he was anxious to take the groggy drive home and sleep till noon, but as he walked through the sliding doors of the hospital, his cell started ringing. The small screen on top of his flip phone lit up; Alison’s name was there in bright block letters.
“Hello?” He answered, a hint of confusion in his voice. Alison rarely called him when he didn’t have Diana.
“Lawrence, hey, glad I caught you; I know it’s a little late, and I didn’t mean to bother you—”
“No, no I’m just leaving the hospital.” He pulled open his car door and sat down inside. “Is something wrong? You don’t normally call me this late.” Alison huffed out a long sigh on the other side of the line.
“Nothing’s wrong—nothing serious, at least. I’ve just been so preoccupied with all the wedding planning that I forgot Diana had a dentist appointment tomorrow; it’s at one o’clock so I’ll still be at work, and—”
“I’d be happy to pick her up.” Lawrence said, interrupting Alison’s franticness. He wasn’t a perfect husband to Alison, but he knew her enough to know when she was spiraling.
He heard her thank him, but that was about all he could focus on before the chill of the early Fall air became too much to endure. He flicked on the car’s heat, the loud whir of the AC distracting him even more; he was busy pressing his frozen fingertips to the still-too-tepid vents when he thought he heard Alison utter the words, ‘your boyfriend.’
“Sorry, Alison, I—sorry what did you say?”
“I said that Diana mentioned something about you and a boyfriend. You didn’t tell me anything about that.” Alison said, not accusatory. Honestly, she sounded kinder than he’d heard her be in a while. He didn’t begrudge her that; he wasn’t always easy to live with.
“Ah, no I’m afraid I’m still… Single .” He winced. Lawrence, a forty-some year old man, hated the word . “Diana and I were just talking about… relationships, I suppose. And my—lack of one.” The heat in the car had finally kicked in, but Lawrence suddenly felt quite cold. Alison was quiet for a moment, he could hear the sound of some late night talk show in the background.
“Well, hey, if you were interested, Michael’s cousin is single now— ”
“No, no, that’s quite alright, Allie. I appreciate it, but I don’t need the charity.”
They ended their call with a number of reserved pleasantries, and then Lawrence drove home. It was one of those nights—most likely one spurred on by mentions of boyfriends and marriage—where Lawrence could really feel the emptiness of his apartment. He was more thankful than ever that tomorrow was Friday, and at least he’d have Diana. He didn’t feel like showering, so he crawled straight to bed, but he checked his phone one last time, and was surprised to see a text from Alison.
Alison:
It’s not charity. Believe it or not, I still care about you. You deserve happiness too.
Then, under those words was a phone number that Lawrence didn’t recognize. The text continued:
His name is Adam. You can call him, or I can set you up. But think about it.
He set his phone down—too tired to text back, or to do anything, really.
Still, he didn’t sleep well that night.
—
Friday and Saturday went by in a blur. He and Diana ordered pizza, she showed him her latest Gameboy game, they played in the park, and Lawrence hardly registered any of it. His conversation with Alison was an insistent shadow on his mind. He hated to admit it, but he’d gone back to her last text more than a few times. Adam . Maybe he was nice. Maybe Lawrence didn’t have to be lonely for the rest of his life.
And maybe he was kidding himself.
On Monday, Lawrence said goodbye to Diana for the week, and after some consultation work at the hospital, he went home early. Lawrence was accustomed to the hollow feeling that followed his weekends with Diana, but just because you’re accustomed to something doesn’t mean you like it. He flipped through the channels on TV, and found some old romantic comedy. He left it playing in the background while he went through his wet bar, ultimately deciding on a gin and tonic.
Somewhere between the first and the third drink, Lawrence pulled out his cell phone. He tried to avoid the inevitable for as long as he could—pressing random buttons just to occupy his hands and hear the different tones—but it didn’t take finishing his third gin and tonic before he clicked to his texts. And there was Adam’s name. Adam’s number.
Alison told him he could do this himself, or she would help. While it felt immature, teenage almost, to leave it up to Alison to set them up, he’d been out of the game for more than ten years. He wasn’t sure how any of this worked anymore, especially not with another man.
So he typed a response to Alison before he could think better of it, and sent it. He didn’t check his phone for the rest of the night—self preservation and all that.
But that could only go on for so long before he had to look. When he did—sitting in the breakfast nook later the next morning—Alison’s response made Lawrence’s stomach drop, even if it was precisely what he’d been hoping for.
Alison:
Mike got into contact with Adam. He’s free Friday if you’d like to meet him. He’d like to meet you.
And don’t worry about Diana, I can watch her.
Oh.
This was very real now.
He set his fork down, letting it clang loudly on the glass plate. His appetite was gone, nonexistent. He wanted to crawl back into bed and throw the covers over his head like a child, he wanted to pretend that somewhere out in the city, there wasn’t some unknown man who knew his name, and that he was interested in meeting up.
Lawrence set the cellphone down and lay his head in his hands. He was deep in it now. And the worst part about all this was that Lawrence had known he’d have to get back out there someday. He’d decided as much after Alison and Michael sent out their wedding invitations, which came complete with printed, professional photos of the two. They looked happy. Allie in particular—the image of her glossed lips curled high, as if caught mid-laugh, and her bright-eyed gaze warmly fixed on her fiancé—looked happier than Lawrence could ever remember her being. And Lawrence was jealous. Not of Michael, or his ownership over Alison’s heart, but of Alison herself. She had the same dating setbacks as Lawrence: early forties, divorced, in partial custody of a young child, and yet she still strived and found love.
But Alison had always been like that: easy to be around, easy to talk to, easy to love. If she wasn’t so kind-hearted, so understanding, Lawrence may never have found anyone that would put up with him as long as she did.
And now Lawrence was kidding himself, thinking that he could date again, or find someone—a man this time—that would stick around once Lawrence had shown his true self.
But he’d decided—promised himself, really—that he’d try. After all, you could only get so lonely before you got desperate.
And Lawrence wasn’t desperate.
—
Maybe Lawrence was desperate.
And really, he didn’t think that under his specific circumstances that anyone could blame him for that, but still.
He had steeled himself and told Alison that he’d go through with the date, and in response, she’d texted him Adam’s number. He supposed there was only so much she could do for him before he had to take over. And since Friday was only four days away, he knew he had to get a move on.
This is where his desperation comes in.
He sent the new number a quick, but professional text.
Lawrence:
Hello, Adam. This is Lawrence.
He could have sworn that his heart was beating out of his chest just waiting for a reply. The last time he was attempting to court anyone, he was fortunate enough that text messaging wasn’t a thing. He wasn’t versed in all this, and he didn’t know what to expect when Adam finally did reply. It certainly wasn’t,
Adam:
heya larry,, so ur mikes wifes ex
Lawrence stared at his screen till it dimmed and blacked out. He pressed the select key, his phone lit back up, and he stared some more. Even if it wasn’t taking him several minutes to even decode the message, he’d still stare some more just to give himself time to question his life’s decisions.
He thought about not responding. The only reason he nixed that idea was the threat of an awkward runin at Alison’s wedding—with some as-of-yet faceless man stalking up to him and demanding, ‘ aren’t you that closet-case that needed a rebound, but couldn’t even text back?’
No, no Lawrence would rather go down like a man than a coward. Even if this horrid date led to an unfortunate encounter later on, he’d rather be able to reasonably defend honor. So he moved his thumb over the keys, typing out the only thing that came to mind.
Lawrence:
They aren’t married yet. But yes, I am Alison’s ex husband.
There. A perfectly fine enough response.
Lawrence sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. The couch was still relatively new, so he preoccupied himself with trying to get comfortable on the too-firm cushions. Shifting so his stiff back was comfortable, he finally relaxed.
Adam didn’t respond for a minute or two too long. And while Lawrence was bound and determined to flick through the channels and act like he didn’t care, there was still that diminutive niggling that told him he’d screwed this up before it even got started. He was, unfortunately, remiss to let that happen.
Lawrence:
Were you still interested in meeting up Friday?
Adam:
yeah mike told me you were a doctor,, ive only been out w artists b4
i like food.we should get sumthing to eat
Despite every red flag, Lawrence’s desperation was kicking in, and the idea of someone actually being interested in going out with him—even after his abrasiveness shone through—was intoxicating. There wasn’t a single thing that could turn Lawrence off from this doomed date.
Lawrence:
Right. Well, I know a nice Italian place in town. I can send you the address and we can meet there at 6?
This was going better than he could hope. A little more than a year after his divorce and he was already planning a date. And it didn’t matter if this Adam proved to be an absolute wreck, because Lawrence was still making strides—no matter how small. And maybe that was worth something.
Adam:
sounds good lar
Lawrence clapped his phone shut and pretended he didn’t see that last bit.
Small strides, he told himself, small strides.
—
Lawrence stood under the awning of the Seghetto da Traforo restaurant. The evening sky had already darkened above, but over the tops of the tall buildings around him, he could still make out the gloomy clouds. They’d been hanging overhead all day, threatening sleet or snow, or more likely, both. Surely an omen of things to come.
Lawrence smoothed down his wind-blown hair for the hundredth time and kicked himself for being so pessimistic. His additional conversations with Adam over the last couple of days hadn’t instilled any more confidence in him, but he’d promised himself he’d actually try tonight.
He squinted at his wristwatch in the dispersed glow of the streetlights. 6:24. Adam was late. Though he wasn’t surprised, he was disappointed; he huffed out a long sigh and watched his breath turn white and fluffy in the cold air.
“Hey.”
Lawrence turned to find the source of the voice. There, walking up the street towards him, was a short man with his hands tucked into his too-thin jacket. “You Lawrence?” The small man asked.
“Yes.” Lawrence confirmed. “You must be Adam.” It wasn’t a question but Adam still gave him a slight nod.
He wasn’t what Lawrence was expecting. That wasn’t exactly a bad thing—it was just. A thing. Adam looked like a twelve-year-old that had lived a rough life; he had to be at least ten years Lawrence’s junior. His clothes were too big for him, and the ends of his jeans—he wore jeans to the nice Italian restaurant—were frayed and dragged on the dirty sidewalk. Despite all of this, he wasn’t entirely unattractive; he had intense eyes that weren’t really green or blue, but somewhere in between, a cleft chin that gave distinction to his face, and when Lawrence had first said his name, he’d smiled shyly, drawing attention to his full lips.
Lawrence coughed, realizing he’d left Adam standing in silence for a moment too long. “Would you like to go in?” He asked.
“Hell yeah.” Adam grinned.
Lawrence gave a tight smile in return. “Right.”
They had barely made it five steps inside before the maitre d’ held up a prim hand and informed them that Adam’s clothes weren’t acceptable.
“Oh, well, I have an extra tie in my car—”
“That is not enough.” the maitre d’ said, literally turning his nose up in the air.
“Hey, that’s bullshit!” Adam erupted from beside Lawrence. The entire restaurant, server and customer alike, was focused on the scraggly little man shouting obscenities at the host. Brilliant, Lawrence thought, my first date with a man and his machismo is going to get the cops called. The maitre d’ hadn’t dignified Adam with a response, not even when he stomped forward, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.
“I bet you’re just homophobic, huh?” Adam’s voice cracked. “Well jokes on you, buddy, cause I’m not even totally gay!” He finished, as if he’d accomplished something. Lawrence, for his part, had been shocked into stillness for the first of the barrage, but he finally found his footing and grabbed Adam by the loose arm of his coat. He didn’t bother apologizing or trying to save face, he just dragged Adam behind him, out into the night again.
“What the hell was that?” Lawrence demanded. He knew his face was burning red, but whether it was from embarrassment or anger, he didn’t know.
“What, Larry? That guy was being a dick. I mean, who ever heard of having to dress a certain way just to eat?”
“Everyone but you, apparently.” Lawrence sighed. He knew he wasn’t exactly winning any affection by siding with the maitre d’, but at this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted Adam’s affection. “I told you it was a nice restaurant, didn’t you bother to dress up at all?”
Adam’s face fell. Only for a moment before the indignation returned, but Lawrence still knew he’d hit a nerve.
“Sorry not all of us are doctors, Larry. We can’t all have backup ties in the cars that we don’t have.” Adam squared his shoulders and stuck his chin out ever so slightly as he spoke, clearly begging Lawrence to fight with him. Lawrence didn’t feel up to that, he didn’t feel like he wanted to do anything now but go home.
“Don’t call me Larry.” He said. It was a weak rebuttal, but it was all he cared to say before continuing on. “Look, Adam, this night clearly didn’t go the way either of us had planned, and I, for one, am very sorry for that, but why don’t I just drive you home and we’ll call it a night?”
The anger on Adam’s face slipped off bit by bit, till there was only a questioning visage left. “We’re not gonna get anything to eat? I mean I didn’t have lunch today so I was pretty hungry when I got here—”
“We’ll go to a drive through.” Lawrence said, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and ease the headache he felt coming on. “Whatever you want, I’ll buy you food, then we can end this night without being too worse for wear. Alright?”
Adam looked like he was truly considering the offer for a moment. The pause gave Lawrence the chance to really look at Adam again. Some of his hair had fallen down into his face during the argument, and Lawrence hated to admit that it was cute—the idea that name calling a maitre d’ could get someone so worked up that their hair gets messy.
Maybe Lawrence would only see Adam one more time in his life—and frankly, he was absolutely fine with that—but when he did have to see him again, at least he’d have a good view.
—
Twenty minutes, and a trip to the local Taco Bell later, Lawrence pulled up to Adam’s apartment complex. It wasn’t exactly the best part of town, and Lawrence hated just leaving Adam by himself—not because it was Adam, Lawrence wouldn’t want to leave anyone by themselves here, he swears—but Adam jumped out of the car as soon as Lawrence had stopped; no hesitation whatsoever. He grabbed his two bags filled to the brim with tacos, tucking one under his arm so he could route in his pocket for his keys. While he did, he looked at Lawrence with that same innocent look he had worn when they first first met. Lawrence didn’t think he was putting on an act when he made that face; Adam just seemed like the kind of person that was wildly different depending on who he was around.
“Well, Larry, it’s been real.” Adam said, digging out a cigarette with the same hand that was now holding his keys. Lawrence refrained from making a disgusted face; those things will kill you.
“It has, in fact, been real, Adam.” Lawrence said, exhausted. Adam laughed around his cigarette.
“You joke, but I actually had a good time.”
“Taco Bell and accosting a maitre d’ is a good time to you?” Lawrence asked, his forehead straining in disbelief. Adam simply nodded his head with a shrug that nearly dislodged his bag of food.
“If you’re ever up for another,” Adam said, as shyly as he smiled. He didn’t tack on the word ‘date,’ but Lawrence heard it nonetheless. “Well, you know how to find me.”
He turned and walked away, into the apartment doors and out of view.
Lawrence drove away, laughing to himself, thinking about what Adam had said. Another date. That man must be some kind of delusional; Lawrence was never going on another date with Adam.
Never.
Ever.