Page 38 of True North
Brent laughed, as Canadians always did. “No, but seriously. I’ve always wanted to go.”
Misha wondered how Brent would summarize Canada in one sentence if asked. “It’s big country. Lots to see. Very beautiful.” Khabarovsk was beautiful, perched on the banks of the Amur River, with hot green summers and winters so cold the river froze. He wasn’t sure he would ever see that river again.
“Yeah, fair enough.” Brent took a sip of his own beer. “Listen, I talk too much, but I did come over here and talk to you for a reason. Lenny told me you’re looking for work, but it’s got to be under the table. Well, my brother owns a restaurant and one of his dishwashers just quit. If you’re interested, I could get you in touch with him.”
“I worked in kitchen before,” Misha said. “Prep cook.” He had actually worked his way up to line cook near the end of his time in Toronto, but he didn’t want to bring that up and give the impression that he thought he was too good for washing dishes. He would wash dishes.
“Oh, great, so you know how things work. He doesn’t need any cooks right now—”
“It’s fine,” Misha said. “Dishes is fine. Good.” He picked at the label on his beer bottle, fighting down a choking surge of humiliation at how he was being managed. People got jobs like this all the time. There was no shame in accepting help from people who wanted to help him.
“Great!” Brent said, beaming. His round forehead gleamed with sweat. “Let me give you his number.”
Misha made his escape after that. The yard was too crowded and too hot, and the shrieking children were too high-pitched. He said goodbye to Lenny and to the hostess, whose name he still didn’t know. Then he went back through the gate and around to the front of the house, a bottle of beer in each hand.
JT was sitting on the porch in the shade as promised, reading a paperback that he must have stashed in the truck. His flip flop-clad feet were propped on the porch railing, and he used that leverage to push the swing gently back and forth, creaking with each pass. Misha stopped to watch him for a moment, unobserved. He liked the way JT chewed on his lip when he read, and the faint furrow of his eyebrows, as if he was concentrating hard.
As if he could sense Misha’s scrutiny, JT looked up from his book, spotted Misha, and cocked his head. He dropped his feet from the railing and sat up. “Done already?”
A gentle breeze rustled through the big tree, shifting the patches of light dappling the grass. Misha climbed the low steps to the porch and sat down beside JT. He wanted to be close, but miscalculated and sat so close that their knees and shoulders touched. JT didn’t shift away. “I get a job, maybe.”
“Oh yeah?” JT closed his book and set it aside on the arm of the swing. “Tell me all about it.”
“It’s wash dishes,” Misha said. He tucked the unopened bottle of beer between his thighs to hold it in place. He could smell JT’s body, the good smell of him spiked with drying sweat. It was fucking distracting. “In restaurant. I talked to guy. He said maybe his brother have work.”
“Okay. So, that sounds good. Do you want to do it?”
Misha shrugged and took a swig of his open beer. He wanted to work; he’d been sitting on his ass in JT’s house for long enough. “Maybe it’s trouble. It’s um, in town. I don’t have car, so—”
“We’ll figure something out. If you want to do it.” JT took the bottle from Misha’s hand and brought it to his mouth, and casually—like it was nothing—tipped it back and drank down Misha’s backwash. He held Misha’s gaze from centimeters away as he passed the bottle back.
Misha had totally forgotten what they were talking about. JT’s tongue slid over his wet lip. He stretched his arm along the back of the swing,socasual, his fingertips brushing against the sleeve of Misha’s shirt. Misha was so attuned to him that he felt each one of JT’s breaths in his own body. A car drove by and Misha barely noticed. JT had been touching him more lately, little insignificant touches that meant nothing, but he’d never put his mouth on Misha’s beer bottle, right where Misha’s own mouth had been.
“You’re going to need a driver’s license at some point,” JT went on. “We might as well start trying to get your paperwork together.”
“Okay,” Misha said, struggling to act normal while his stomach trying to sink toward his feet. Everything was perfect right now, in this moment with the hot summer air stirring around them. He would agree with JT for now and deal with that problem later.
“So,” JT said. “Good cookout?”
“It’s fine,” Misha said. “Good I came. But I don’t like hot dog.”
JT laughed. “Yeah, they’re kind of terrible, aren’t they?”
Misha offered the unopened bottle. “You have this. Don’t drink mine.”
JT laughed again. “Oh, you don’t like sharing? That’s fine.” He twisted off the cap with a swift movement of his wrist. His knee was pressed against Misha’s, bony and damp with sweat. As soon as he had the cap off, he returned his arm to its perch on the back of the swing.
Misha’s heart jumped around his chest, jittery and excited. He didn’t know what was happening, but he also didn’t want it to stop. He braced his feet on the concrete porch and started rocking the swing, setting a slow, gentle rhythm. They should really be heading home, but JT wasn’t making any moves to get up.
“I have question,” Misha said.
“Hmm?” JT squinted up at the sky, looking at something Misha couldn’t see. “What’s that?”
“When you knew, like—you like guys?”
“Some light porch conversation, huh?” JT shot Misha a look. “Grade two. I had a crush on one of my classmates, and I just. I knew that’s what it was. I wanted him to pay attention to me.” He nudged Misha’s shoulder with his fingertips. “How about you?”
“Thirteen. My first kiss, and I knew it’s not—” Misha shrugged. “It’s not right. I didn’t like enough.”