The Hunk of Long Bay

The kitchen of The Maple Leave was very good. It had been ten years ago, but it was even better now. Everybody agreed on that. Brandon was digging into his French fries and roasted chicken with relish. He seemed to have shut out the adults at the table completely.



Chris envied him a little. He was sitting at the head of the table – a position he hadn’t chosen for himself but that was somewhat forced upon him by the choices of seats the others had made – and Amy smiled at him, strategically positioned at the other end.



He knew what she was doing, and he wished she wouldn’t do it. He welcomed the distance between them, which caused him to be out of her physical reach, but he disliked the fact that they were sitting opposite of each other. There was no avoiding her meaningful glances, her winks and the batting of her eyelashes.



She was drinking large quantities of red wine at a very fast pace. Chris didn’t approve of the abandon with which the beverages were served at their table. But then, Mary Patterson had to earn a living too. And this was a special occasion.



Being the son of an alcoholic had provided him with an aversion to alcohol. He considered it a dangerous substance. Over the years, he had managed to be a little more relaxed when watching other people drink – he had learned that it wasn’t his body being poisoned, not his impulses being unleashed – but he didn’t touch alcohol himself. Ever.



James was keeping up with Amy, drinking beer instead of wine. It made him loud, sentimental, and prone to touching. His right arm wrapped around Joanne, he used his left to squeeze Chris’s shoulder and stroke his upper arm between taking bites of food.



‘You know, Chris? You’re a jerk,’ he said, chewing. ‘But you’re also a hack of a curler. And I love you.’



‘You’re a fine curler yourself, James,’ Chris returned a little awkwardly.



‘Aren’t we all?’ Eddie put in. He had just finished his second beer and wasn’t quite as drunk as James. He shifted in his seat. When Lily rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, Chris was able to catch Neil’s eye. They held gazes for a significant amount of seconds. Neil’s face seemed to redden a bit, but Chris was the first to avert his eyes, being very much aware of the beating of his heart.



He concentrated on Brandon, who had finished his dessert and was yawning and rubbing his eyes now. Amy and Julie exchanged glances, then Amy asked, ‘Could you take him home? Could he stay with you for the night?’



Julie looked from her sister to Chris and back. She nodded. ‘Okay.’



Chris suppressed a sigh. He didn’t like being the stake of silent sisterly negotiation.



When Julie and Brandon had left, Amy asked him to come and sit next to her, on the seat that had been Brandon’s. Chris moved. He was perfectly aware of Amy’s intensions, and he dreaded the deliberate-accidental knee touching and the not-so-subtle stroking of his thigh that would ensue, but to turn down her request would look strange, as their table arrangement was somewhat out of balance with two vacant seats on one long side of the table.



And besides, sitting next to Amy meant sitting opposite of Neil, and at fairly close range.



As soon as he had sat down the knee touching started. He jerked away the first couple of times, but then decided that it was no use and held his leg firmly in place, as though it was made of stone.



As he had expected, Amy turned to heavier means by putting her hand on his thigh and moving her fingers over his jeans by way of caress. Under the table, Chris carefully took her hand and removed it.



He saw Neil slightly narrow his eyes and turn his head. A flare of both panic and hope run down his back. Oh god. Was it possible that Neil was … interested?



There were hints in this direction, like the jealousy he seemed to display right now, but Chris could very well be misinterpreting them. Loving Neil, wanting Neil, didn’t necessarily mean understanding him. Certainly not in this delicate matter.



He caught Neil’s eye and held his gaze, shaking his head slightly, trying to tell him that no, he didn’t reciprocate Amy’s affections.



The movement of Neil’s Adam’s apple caused him to burst into sweat and to fiercely wish they could have been alone, the others having gone. He imagined telling them ruthlessly to beat it, taking Neil upstairs to his room.



The picture stopped right there as it occurred to him that this didn’t need to be a fantasy; it could be a plan. Well, not the ruthlessness per se, but if he could keep Neil here at the inn when the others had left later on …



‘Chris?’ Amy was almost whining. She wasn’t getting the particular attention she was aiming for.



He gave her a faint smile. He wasn’t sure what he wanted it to express, but he made certain it was sufficiently aloof for Amy to grasp that he wasn’t interested, if she would care to notice.



She wouldn’t. She just rubbed his thigh more insistently.



He chose to ignore her, and to concentrate instead on the loud speech James was giving. It was a tribute. To him. James recalled their joint high school life, reminiscing their adventures and stunts, featuring Chris as their hero and leader.



Eddie was trying to balance things a little, saying that in fact James, and even Eddie himself, had been the initiator of some of the stories. He was perfectly right (even in not mentioning Neil, who had never displayed any resourcefulness whatsoever).



James overruled him, though. ‘Nah. You’re lying. It was all about Chris. We couldn’t have done what we did without him. Chris is the best,’ he slurred.



He was most definitely drunk. And he certainly would be pissed if someone reminded him that he had paid a tribute to Chris tonight, when he had sobered up.



Amy mumbled something to the effect of that she couldn’t agree more with James; Chris was a true hero.



He exchanged glances with Neil. The gaze was long – uncomfortable yet arousing – but not very informative. Chris didn’t know if Neil still thought he was a hero. He definitely had when they were in high school, being completely transparent about it (to Chris) without voicing it half as loudly as James was right now. Chris seemed to have lost the ability to read Neil.



Lily announced that she would like to go home.



‘That’s fine with me, honey,’ Eddie said warmly. ‘It has been quite a day. Certainly for you.’



Good-nights and sleep-wells were exchanged. And then there were only five of them.



Chris could almost feel Amy counting down. Three to go. Only three more to go.



He would have to escort her home, see to it that she arrived safely before he returned to the inn. Maybe he could ask Neil to accompany him. Or he could perhaps suggest ending the party at this point, and dropping off James and Joanne first.



Mumbles of assent ensued when he made his suggestion. The smile on Amy’s face was one of horrifying delight.



‘I won’t be long,’ he told Mary Patterson.



She narrowed her eyes, but said, ‘Suit yourself, son.’



Outside, Chris helped Joanne to steady James, who declared his deepest love to the both of them alternately. Amy was leaning against his other side, butting her head against his shoulder like a cat. Alone, Neil formed the second row of their group.



James’s house wasn’t far. At the front door, Chris held his upper arms in a firm grip to prevent him from falling over, while Joanne searched his pockets for the key. James giggled.



‘Tickles,’ he explained.



When the door was opened, Chris shoved him inside. On his asking, Joanne declared that she could manage on her own from here, but thanks for the escort, and closed the door.



He turned toward to the remaining company. Amy was trying to smile seductively at him (and failing); Neil just stared. Waiting, as was his wont.



Chris took Amy’s arm. ‘Let’s get you home,’ he said.



‘Yeah, let’s,’ she repeated eagerly.



‘I’ll … go,’ Neil said.



‘You do that,’ Amy responded heartfelt.



‘No, don’t,’ Chris said quickly. ‘Take her other side.’



Neil obliged. He even tried to touch her, which earned him a crabby, ‘Keep your hands off me, jerk.’



At Amy’s front door, Neil uttered a tentative ‘good night’, but Chris kept him form leaving.

‘Don’t go,’ he said. His voice sounded urgent and desperate in the dark and empty street.



Even Amy seemed to notice that there was a meaning to it. ‘Aren’t you coming inside?’ she pouted. ‘You are coming inside, aren’t you, Chris?’



‘No,’ he said decisively, causing tears to spring from her eyes. She was very inebriated.



‘Why?’ she cried.



‘Because …’ He put his hands on her shoulders to force her to look at him. Her eyes were blurred, but she appeared to fight for concentration. ‘Amy, listen to me,’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry, but I do not reciprocate the feelings you have for me. You have to understand. Please.’



‘No!’ she screamed. He could smell her breath, which was disgusting. ‘No. You can’t-’



‘Amy, please,’ he interrupted.



She was crying harder now, sobbing that he was a bastard (which he could understand perfectly). He held her while unceremonially searching for her keys.



She clung to him as he opened the door, and tried to drag him along as he shoved her inside.

He withdrew and turned to Neil, saying, ‘Help me. We need to get her to bed.’



He didn’t think he really would require assistance with Amy, but at all cost he wanted to avoid Neil going home.



She liked to be carried upstairs. Her drunken brain probably gathered that all hope wasn’t lost yet.



He took off her shoes and covered her with the duvet, while Neil was watching. Amy put her arms around his neck and tried to kiss him. Chris braced himself, and tensed even more when he heard some kind of whimper coming from Neil. He felt his body react with arousal. To the sound, not to Amy’s proximity. God, he needed to know. Needed to act.



‘Good night, Amy,’ he said, freeing himself from her grip.



‘Chris,’ she whined.



‘Good night,’ he repeated, leaving the room, letting Neil go first.



Amy’s whining was still audible when Chris closed the front door carefully behind him.



He was quiet, waiting for a clue, any clue, about Neil’s feelings.



‘She … she didn’t expect that,’ Neil said, blinking under his gaze, but not averting his eyes.



‘And you?’ Chris said.



Neil swallowed. His face was very pale in the light of the street lanterns. And very beautiful.



‘Come back to the inn with me,’ Chris said.



‘Yes,’ Neil responded hoarsely.



They walked in silence. Without touching. Without even looking at each other. Tense and anticipating.