Maybe This Time

Chapter 1 Winston Abernathy followed after his grandmother as she pushed her shopping cart up and down the grocery store aisles. So far she’d managed to load the cart with exactly four items. Milk, butter, ground chuck, and an apple. She’d crossed the store six times, often going down aisles she’d already been through once. “Gran, wouldn’t it be easier to have a list and just fill up your cart during one straight trip through the store?” She waved one frail hand. “This is the way I shop, dear.” Win sighed and stopped next to her cart when she paused in front of the cereal boxes. “I thought you were buying food for your get-together.” “I am, but I need a few other things, too. What do you suppose you’ll want to drink?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Who all is coming again?” “My friend, Molly, and her gay grandson.” He straightened. “What? Wait.” She peered at him through her glasses. “Yes?” “You didn’t tell me he was gay.” “Didn’t I? Tsk tsk. Anyway, why should that matter? You’re gay yourself.” Win opened his mouth to argue, but shut it. He was. How could be deny it? He’d come out seven years before when he was eighteen and just out of high school. “All right, but, Gran, I don’t want you setting me up.” Gran snorted and reached for a box of crispy rice cereal and put it in her cart. “I’m not setting you up, Winnie.” He winced and quickly glanced around the aisle. “You aren’t supposed to call me that,” he whispered. “Not in public.” “Sorry, dear. I’ve been calling you that since you were a little boy.” She paused at the top of the aisle. “Drinks, dear.” “It’s just me, you, Molly, and this other guy?” “Yes. Molly says he just moved back here and doesn’t have a lot of friends. Lived in New York for a while. I thought with you both being gay you could help him get situated.” He frowned. “Situated?” She waved her hand again. “You know, introduce him around, help him to meet men.” “I’m not a dating service.” “I know that. But you know lots of men, I’m sure.” He didn’t. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was something of a geek. Well, sort of. More of an introvert. Whatever. “What’s he like? Did Molly say?” “I thought you weren’t interested.” “I’m not. I just meant I’m trying to think what he might like to drink. If he’s the rugged sports loving type we should buy some beer. That kind of thing.” Gran started moving her cart again but in the opposite direction of the store’s liquor department. Gritting his teeth, Win traipsed after her. “What exactly are you making?” he asked. “I thought I might make shepherd’s pie, you know like my mother used to make.” He nodded. “Yeah, I remember. You used to make it for us when we were kids.” She smiled and stopped in front of the cheese section. “Then Molly told me her grandson is a vegetarian.” “Oh.” Win grimaced. “That does sort of change things. Did she say if he’s a regular vegetarian or a vegan?” “What’s the difference?” “He wouldn’t eat cheese or any dairy if he were vegan. They don’t consume any animal products.” Which, of course, Win thought was weird. He could never be a vegetarian. He loved his meat. And the double meaning on that made him laugh. “She didn’t say,” Gran said. “I thought I’d make cheese lasagna.” “Hmm. Maybe we should ask Molly.” He fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans. “That’s a great idea, dear. Her number is 555-8392.” Win punched the number into his smart phone and waited through four rings before a soft-spoken feminine voice said, “Hello?” “Hi, Molly? This is Win, Emma’s grandson.” “Winnie? Hello. Is something wrong?” He rolled his eyes at the horrible nickname. “No, everything’s fine. Listen, we’re at the grocery store getting some stuff for tonight and wondered about a few things.” “Oh, yes?” “Gran says your grandson’s a vegetarian so we wonder if he’ll eat cheese. She’s thinking of making cheese lasagna. Will that be all right?” There was a slight pause. “He had pizza last night, so yes. But, well, he says it’s easier to say he’s a vegetarian, but he’s a pescetarian.” “A what?” “Someone who eats fish, but no other meat,” Molly explained. “Excellent. Thank you, Molly. One more thing, what does he like to drink?” “Oh. Well, he likes green tea.” Win frowned. “Tea? No wine or beer or anything like that?” “No, no. He’s very strict about that sort of thing. Well, you know he’s a dancer.” No, he didn’t, but he supposed that did explain a few things. “All right. Got it. Green tea it is. Thanks, Molly. See you tonight.” “Bye, Winnie.” He returned his phone to his pocket. “Lasagna it is. And let’s get a bottle of wine.” “You said green tea.” He nodded. “For him, yes. I need a drink.” * * * * Win had moved in with his grandmother just a month earlier. Since she had turned eighty, Gran had seemed frailer, and though her doctor said she was fine, Win decided she needed someone to stay with her. Of course, it had been no coincidence he had just broken up with his boyfriend of a year and needed a place to live. She’d been grateful for the company and so far everything had worked out pretty well. The doorbell to his Gran’s condo buzzed at six minutes after six o’clock that night. Win knew Molly lived in the same condo complex, just a few doors down. “I’ll get it, Gran.” Win had decided to dress in jeans and a long sleeved red T-shirt. The shirt was one of his favorites and he thought he looked pretty good in red. Not that he was trying to look good or anything. He was not interested in Molly’s grandson. He opened the door and saw a petite elderly woman, somewhere around the same age as Gran, dressed in a bright purple flowered dress. She was alone. “Hi, Molly. Come in.” “My grandson’s coming along in a minute. Said he had to add some finishing touches.” She laughed as she stepped inside the condo. “Gran’s in the kitchen. Can I get you something to drink?” She eyed the glass of white wine he held. “What are you having?” “Chardonnay. Would you like some?” “Yes, please.” He followed her into the kitchen and she immediately went to Gran. The two started chattering while he took a wineglass out of the cabinet and filled it with wine. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to her. “Thanks, Winnie.” And then she continued gossiping with Gran. He really hoped the two old ladies wouldn’t refer to him as Winnie in front of Molly’s grandson. The doorbell buzzed again and Win went to let Molly’s grandson in. * * * * Randy Lincoln checked his appearance in his little pocket mirror one last time. He’d given himself smoky eyes with a little bit of eye shadow and liner, had applied a dusting of fuchsia blush, and smoothed just a touch of clear gloss over his lips. Makeup looked perfect, he decided. He shoved his little mirror into the back pocket of his skintight jeans when he heard the approach of footsteps. He had no idea what to expect of his grandmother’s friend’s gay grandson, but Randy had never been one to let opportunity pass him by. Randy hoped moving back to California would be a good thing. Ultimately, anyway. Trying to make it New York, on Broadway, hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped. He’d gotten a few chorus line roles, but no leads. One of the other dancers had told him he needed to sleep with the directors if he wanted more important roles. He’d tried that and all it got him was a sore ass and a “call you in the morning.” That call had never come. The door handle turned and Randy held his breath. “Hi, come on—in.” The guy inside the condo stared at him, his mouth hanging open. “Oh my God, it’s you.”