Free Good Enough to Eat by Stacey Ballis Page B

kid. And then my folks disowned me when I came out first quarter. I was living with Phil, who hadn’t anticipated that the boy toy he picked up at Sidetrack would show up with a suitcase two months into the relationship. I knew I didn’t just want to be a little housewife. I was so scared and defensive, but you looked at me like I was something, like I was a force to be reckoned with, and you made me see that part of myself. You were so good that you made me want to be even better than you so that you would still look at me like that. When we graduated, I was stuck. Phil and I were so great, and had fallen into a nice routine that neither of us wanted to let go of, but the only places that had the fine dining sensibility I like all wanted someone full-time, a million hours a week and home at two in the morning. This job is everything I want, and the fact that I get to do it with one of my best friends is a daily gift. Don’t ever forget that.”
    The tears swim in my eyes as I look at this young man, young enough almost to be my son, and I see the respect and love in his face.
    “Don’t streak your mascara!” he yelps, throwing me a side towel.
    “I love you, Kai. Always.”
    “I love you too, Ittie Bittie. Let’s feed the people.”
    We take the platters out to the crowd, setting up the buffet, milling around, refilling glasses and accepting compliments and well wishes. People wander in and out, the platters slowly emptying, the glasses filling the wash sink. Before I know it, most of the guests have straggled out, and I am sitting with Kai, Phil, Delia, and Nadia, surrounded by the detritus of a good party.
    Kai goes into the back and gets a bottle of Krug he and Phil brought, and pops it open. He fills our glasses.
    “A great party!” Phil says.
    “A great year!” Kai adds.
    “Cheers to that,” Delia pipes in.
    “To new friends,” Nadia offers.
    “To lots of life in our living.” I raise my glass and clink around the table. We all drink, savoring the light sparkle on our tongues, and I completely understand what that famous monk said upon drinking his first-ever glass of champagne, “I’m drinking stars!”
    “Nadia, will you escort our fearless leader home?” Kai says. “Our gift to you, we are cleaning up!”
    “No way.” I shake my head. “This place is a wreck, I can’t let you do that!”
    Phil laughs, running a hand through his short dark hair. “Way!” he says. “You go home and relax, and let the three of us take care of it. We want to. Besides, with this whirling dervish at home wreaking havoc in the kitchen, I’ve become a really good dishwasher.”
    I was so prepared to hate Phil, way back when. I was so protective of Kai, and wondered what this man eleven years older than Kai was thinking, and worried that he was using my young friend. When Kai came rolling into knife skills class five minutes late, clearly still wearing the clothes he had been wearing the day before, and regaled me with the tale of the handsome man who had wooed him with frothy frozen drinks and hearty, if somewhat off-key, renditions of show tunes, I laughed at the easy fun of his hookup. But a few short weeks later, when Kai came out to his family and was summarily dumped on the street and chose to land on Phil’s doorstep, I was worried. A one-night stand, no big deal if everyone is safe and in it for fun. A couple months of fun, also no big deal. But a boy of twenty, just out of his parents’ house for the first time, adrift without family, is easy prey for an older Svengali type, especially a Svengali with money. And then what happens if things go south? I was fiercely protective, tried to get Kai to come stay with me and Andrew, cautioned him against being overly reliant, emotionally and financially.
    And then I met Phil.
    Phil is so kind and wonderful, and so clearly in love with Kai, not in a desperate or possessive way, but loving him with an amazing openness. He credits Kai with bringing depth and joy