Page 67 of Grave Beginnings

“Yes.”

I swallowed my sigh and made my way to the kitchen to make dinner. Grandpa said Ivan was scattered. Maybe this was what he meant, that Ivan wasn’t really good at independence? Not that he needed to be yet. He was young. But it was something he’d have to learn eventually. I pulled out wonton wrappers, a bag of broccoli slaw, and a couple of cans of chicken. Easy, fast, and full of nutrition—that was the plan.

My phone pinged and I glanced at it.

Angel: You eating?

Making dinner.

“So, you really like guys?” Ivan asked as I lined the wonton wrappers on a baking tray draped over the back side of a muffin tin to make them into a bowl shape.

“Uh, I did say I’m queer. Why?” Did it bother him? Would he have freaked out about Angel? Could I bury my attraction to Angel if Ivan protested? Fuck, I’d never been this attracted to anyone in my life before. It hurt to have the idea that someone really clicked for me and we had a chance severed before it could begin.

“You have a lot of naked guy art on your walls.”

I blinked, wondering what the hell he was talking about. I didn’t. I didn’t even own any pornography. “What?”

He pointed up to the pictures above the back of the couch. Some were of pop idols, mostly Asian, others were anime characters. Almost all of them were portraits. None of them were naked.

“Nikki drew all those. And they aren’t naked.”

“Lots of bare chests.”

I waved away his comment. Was it weird to put my best friend’s art on the wall? She was really good. People paid her unreasonable amounts of money for things she gifted me all the time. Maybe she’d draw me one of Angel.

“Do they bother you?”

“No.”

Okay, then…

“Would it bother you if I dated someone?” I asked.

“It’s your place,” Ivan said.

“But I want you to feel safe here, too.”

He grunted, but offered no further commentary.

Dinner came together fast. The wontons crisped as I warmed the slaw and chicken with a homemade sesame ginger sauce. I set the table, while Ivan remained on the floor petting Peanut Butter.

“Come eat, please,” I asked as I filled our glasses with ice water. Maybe I should have made tea or something. Grandpa liked iced tea, but I’d never been a fan.

Ivan slipped into the seat opposite me, frowning at the food.

“I can make something else,” I offered as I filled three wonton crisps with the chicken and slaw mix. As dinners went, it was messy, but fast and delicious. “If you don’t like this.”

“What is it?” Ivan asked as he picked up a shell, studying it as though he’d never seen one before.

“That’s a wonton wrapper. I oven bake them instead of frying. The mix is broccoli and cabbage with chicken and dressing. Sort of like an Asian taco. It’s not spicy like a regular taco, more a mix of sweet and salty.”

“Taco?” he said, as he scooped a heap into his shell, turning it back and forth like he wasn’t certain how to eat it. Hadn’t he had tacos before?

I took a bite to demonstrate, devouring my first wonton in three bites, not realizing how hungry I’d been. A man could not live on cake alone. I picked up my phone and took a picture to send to Angel.

Proof I’m eating.

Ivan took a tentative bite, his taco falling apart all over his plate, which made him frown, but he scooped up the filling on pieces of his broken wonton shell and nibbled.