Shoulder Season Page 8

  “Sorry, my friend,” said Ben as he clasped Solvin’s elbow to tug him closer. “This one’s on me. It’s my turn.”

  “Okay,” said Solvin, and he tried to pout about this as though he were displeased, but instead the pout turned into a smile. “You’re so easy to be with.”

  “So are you,” said Ben, and he meant it.

  “WE HAVE a table for two by the window, if you will both come this way,” said the restaurant’s host.

  They waggled their eyebrows at each other, and Ben led the way, holding Solvin’s hand as they went between the tables, which were all classily arranged with white tablecloths and sparkling glasses. Ben didn’t know how it happened, but they ended up at a two-top table that overlooked an inlet that came off the main part of the lagoon. There was not a lot of sunlight, as the clouds overhead gathered thick enough to threaten snow or at the very least a hard rain, but that made the rising fog all the more delicate and mysterious.

  “Will this do, gentlemen?” asked the host with a little bow from the waist.

  “Takk fyrir,” said Solvin. “Thank you very much.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Ben.

  He took Solvin’s cane and pulled out a chair for him, both to show Solvin what a gentleman he could be and to make sure Solvin had the best view. He had a feeling Solvin would try to make him take the best view, when actually Solvin provided the best view, in Ben’s eyes.

  The host handed them two menus, and a waiter came over to pour them some water from a tall, elegant bottle. Ben wondered if the water came from a spring or a tap, but before he could ask, the waiter swirled the bottle in a towel to wipe off the moisture, and smiled at them.

  “The water comes from one of our glaciers and tastes extremely pure,” said the waiter. “We do have bottles for sale in our gift shop, if either of you are interested in taking some of it home with you.”

  Solvin said something in Icelandic, and he and the waiter shared a small chuckle. Then the waiter bowed and left them alone with their menus.

  “I told him that all the water in Iceland comes from glaciers, which he already knew,” explained Solvin. “But it is very good water.”

  They toasted each other silently with their water glasses, and then Ben had to turn his attention to the menu, as he had not yet eaten and was starving.

  “Cod, lamb, or beef,” said Solvin, but his voice was low, as though he were talking to himself. He looked up. “I honestly don’t know because I’ve not eaten at this restaurant. I’ve eaten at the café before, as my friends thought it would be more fun.”

  “Was it?” asked Ben, thinking about these friends of Solvin who didn’t seem to quite fit who Solvin was and what he liked.

  “Yes,” said Solvin as he tipped his head to one side, thinking. “They’re good people, but rather like your Alan, they’re not into museums or white wine and things like that.”

  Ben thought about reiterating the fact that Alan was no longer his, but before he could say it, he saw a look in Solvin’s eyes that indicated he just realized what he said and how it might feel to Ben.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Ben. “I’m still doing it in my head, but it’s going away.”

  “I’m glad,” said Solvin. He turned his attention back to the menu, but he flicked a glance at Ben that said he was not only glad, he was very glad.

  In a few moments, the waiter came and took their order, and unintentionally they both ordered something different. It might be nice if each were willing to share, as that way they’d get to taste a bit of everything.

  “Could we have a pitcher of iced tea?” asked Solvin. “And some of those lovely rolls I’ve seen being delivered?”

  “And some butter too, please,” added Ben.

  Both Solvin and the waiter turned to Ben as if he’d said something astonishing.

  “But of course,” said the waiter. “We serve only the best butter.”

  As the waiter went away with the menus tucked beneath his arm, Solvin laughed under his breath.

  “We Icelanders eat a lot of butter, which used to be made from sheep’s milk, but now, of course, it is made from cow’s milk.”

  “I see,” said Ben, and if he thought he could get along with Solvin before, now he knew it. “The whole country is made of foodies.” He waved his hand as if to encompass the entire population of Iceland.

  “Foodies?” asked Solvin.

  “You know, people who love good food, real food, and who sometimes can get picky about the kind of cheese they eat, or whether the vegetables are organic and so on.”

  “Oh yes,” said Solvin with a flash of a smile. “That is exactly right, we are very much foodies.”

  Soon the waiter came to their table with a wooden platter with different slices of breads and rolls, along with a large bowl of soft butter, and these he delivered with a smile before he went away. Both Ben and Solvin reached for the same roll, but Ben was quicker to pick a different roll so Solvin could have the one he wanted. Ben slathered butter on his roll and ate half of it before taking a breath, and he sighed after swallowing. And caught Solvin watching him, a small smile on his mouth, his eyes bright.

  “I love bread,” said Solvin. “Especially Icelandic bread. It just tastes better somehow.”

  When the waiter brought their meals and the pitcher of iced tea, they ate for a few moments, not talking, but it was a companionable silence Solvin obviously didn’t feel the need to fill just to have the sound of voices. Ben was fine with that. Besides, the ambient noise of the other diners in the restaurant was at the right level to fill the high-ceilinged restaurant with a convivial feel. After a bit, Ben shared some of his lamb with Solvin, and Solvin shared some of his cod, and it was so nice to be where he was that Ben knew he never wanted to leave, either Iceland or the lovely restaurant. And especially Solvin.

  “So tell me how you met Alan,” said Solvin, somewhat unexpectedly.

  “What?” asked Ben with his mouth full. “What?”

  “Well, you met him and liked him, obviously, so I’m wondering what happened where it ended up with him yelling at you on the phone when he’s the one who broke up with you.”

  “Oh,” said Ben. He felt his brow furrow and was surprised but not displeased when Solvin reached over to stroke his forehead and tuck his hair behind his ear. It was such a sweet gesture, so full of tenderness, that Ben leaned into it just so it would last longer. When at last he had to sit up straight, he wiped his mouth and nodded.

  He told the story of the college Christmas party at the end of his last semester at CU where he and Alan met, and how the melancholy season turned into something more festive and fun when Alan was around. Then Alan invited Ben skiing with his parents in Aspen, which was a blast, even if their lovemaking had to be kept silent so as not to wake everybody in the large rented ski apartment. Their relationship was never one Alan’s parents approved of, though they never openly expressed their disapproval. But Ben could see it during subsequent visits to Aspen or their large home in Cherry Creek, or during their vacation at the rented villa in the wine country of Sonoma over the previous summer.

  It didn’t take long before Ben realized the story Alan was telling to himself, to his college buddies, and especially to his parents was that he was dating a downtown boy. Only Ben decided to ignore this because being with Alan was fun and exciting, and Alan was handsome and rich, and for a long while, it felt good to be with him, to be part of that, to turn heads wherever they went.

  Only wherever they went never seemed to be anywhere Ben chose or pointed out or suggested. Museums were dismissed out of hand, or botanical gardens or hikes in the low foothills above Boulder. Drives across the national grasslands were almost laughed at, as were the suggestions to go camping and swimming at Lake McConaughy in Nebraska. This was all due to the one inescapable fact that the places Ben wanted to go weren’t places you would go to see and be seen, where being a riotous drunk never had the right audience, and where the silence might overpower any
act of jocularity Alan determined he needed to make.

  Ben explained this as best he could, making an effort to not paint Alan in too bleak a light, though, as Solvin had already witnessed and overheard several phone calls, he didn’t have to.

  “What’s a downtown boy?” asked Solvin, his brow furrowed.

  “You know,” said Ben as he wiped his hands on his napkin. “The Billy Joel song about him being a downtown boy falling in love with an uptown girl.”

  “I know that song,” said Solvin, and he made a wide hand gesture as if to encompass the meaning behind the lyrics. “He’s a mechanic—”

  “Yes, with grease under his nails like I have—”

  “And he fell in love with a sophisticated and beautiful woman, and she with him because she wants someone down-to-earth,” said Solvin. “Are you a mechanic?”

  “Currently I am,” said Ben. “I’ve got an engineering degree, but engineers are thick on the ground in Colorado, so I’m working at a garage in North Boulder at the moment and sending out résumés.”

  “What kind of engineer?” asked Solvin, and by the tone in his voice Ben gathered that Solvin was already familiar with the different types.

  “Mechanical,” said Ben. “I like to work with my hands, so the garage is okay, but I’d really like to use my degree, you know?”

  “That’s how you could fix the pipe in my kitchen,” said Solvin, nodding.

  “I could fix—” began Ben, meaning to go on with the racy statement about the kinds of pipes he could fix. He clamped his mouth shut so hard he almost bit his tongue, and he waited, chagrined, for some blast of recrimination, because really, that was moving way too fast, what with Solvin still recovering from his automobile accident. Besides, it was such a little joke, and somewhat off-color, that it didn’t bear speaking out loud.

  “Go on,” said Solvin, his eyes twinkling and the pink blush in his cheeks already on the rise. “Go on, please, I want you to.”

  “I—I could fix your other pipe,” said Ben in a deadpan voice, like he didn’t realize the insinuation of what he was saying. Obviously, he did, and Solvin did too, which made it come out all the more funny. Much to his pleased surprise, Solvin almost spit out his iced tea, though he was too mannerly to allow this to happen and hid his laugh in his napkin.

  “I could fix all of your pipes,” added Ben, which made Solvin laugh even harder into his napkin. Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes as he wiped them. Then, with his eyes sparkling with laughter and his smile wide, Solvin leaned close as though he were on the verge of kissing Ben right there in the classy restaurant.

  “Would the downtown boy from Colorado like to go home to bed with a village boy from Iceland?” asked Solvin very quietly. His expression grew a little serious now, though his eyes were bright and he was looking intently at Ben.

  “This downtown boy would like that very much,” said Ben. “But can we get dessert first?”

  With his mouth open, Solvin barked a laugh so loud that nearby diners turned to look at them, and finding only two young men amusing themselves while examining the dessert menu the waiter had kindly left, returned to their dinners. Ben felt well pleased with himself as he picked out a crème brûlée, and Solvin ordered the strawberries, which Ben looked forward to tasting. Iceland was turning out to be so much more than he’d anticipated, better and right, and yes, nice. So very nice.

  IN THE cab on the way back to Reykjavik, crowded with Solvin’s rucksack and cane and their slumped bodies so relaxed from the warm water at the spa, Solvin fell asleep in Ben’s arms. It was the combination of the pain meds, the beer, and the exercise that did it, and Ben had a feeling any intimacy either Solvin or he had imagined might be put on hold. But it was nice, just the same, to be driven along the black two-lane road with the rain streaking down the windows and the wipers doing a steady beat, making it feel as though they were all alone in a strange, bleak landscape.

  The cab driver, the same one from before, knew exactly where to drive, and within an hour they were on the street in front of the row of apartments. Solvin had left his front light on and Ben had not, so his eyes were drawn to Solvin’s door rather than his own.

  The driver said something in Icelandic just as Ben gently shook Solvin awake. Solvin mumbled something in return, and then, opening his eyes, looked at Ben and sighed. There was contentment in that sigh, and Ben rather felt it was waking up in his arms that had made Solvin so happy, though he didn’t want to ask in front of the cab driver, who had gotten out and gone around to open the passenger door.

  When the cool air rushed in the cab, Solvin woke up fully, and they crawled out of the cab, showed the driver Solvin’s pass, and then stood in the sluicing silver rain beneath the front light over Solvin’s door.

  “Will you come in with me?” asked Solvin.

  “Yes,” said Ben. “Yes, I will.”

  The little apartment was dark until Solvin flicked on the lights. The heat had not been turned on, so Solvin hobbled with his cane toward the thermostat until Ben threw the rucksack on the couch and beat Solvin to it. Or rather met Solvin there and encircled Solvin’s waist with his arm as Solvin fiddled with the controls. The thermostat had a digital clock on it.

  “It’s almost six o’clock,” said Ben. “Are you hungry? Even if you’re not, if you’re going to take more pain pills, you should eat a little something.”

  “No, I’m not hungry, but you’re right,” said Solvin. “I’m out of eggs, though, so maybe we could have soup.”

  Soup out of a can did not sound very nice, but then this was Iceland, so maybe it would turn out differently. Ben helped Solvin to the couch and got a blanket from the bedroom, which of course was tidy, with little touches of Iceland, like the three sweater-clad wooden sheep on the windowsill and a framed photograph of the ocean over the bed. Hurrying back, Ben arranged the blanket around Solvin, gave him the remote control, and puttered around in the kitchen, as content as he could possibly be, especially since he had an entire evening to share with Solvin.

  Ben got to work heating up the soup. He also made toast and got out the yellow butter in its glass dish, and since he still couldn’t find a tray, brought everything over when it was ready. Solvin had found an Icelandic movie about two brothers and their flocks of sheep; there were English subtitles, so while they ate the soup (mushroom) and toast, they could laugh together at the brothers’ antics. After which they snuggled while the weather report came on and the weatherman waved at the various isobars, and even Ben could see the rain clouds were not moving from where they sat over the cartoon drawing of Iceland.

  “It’s going to keep raining,” said Ben, though he wasn’t surprised. It was the shoulder season, after all, which kept most of the tourists away.

  “We should go to the black beach tomorrow,” said Solvin.

  “In the rain?”

  “Yes,” said Solvin. “It’s very atmospheric at the black beach, and the rain makes it even better.”

  “Okay,” said Ben. He was happy to go wherever Solvin wanted to go, even in the rain.

  “Let’s have some skyr,” said Solvin.

  “Some what?” asked Ben.

  “It’s like yogurt, but not so sweet. We can put honey on it so it’s like a dessert.”

  “Okay,” said Ben. He got up to fetch the yogurt and the honey, but Solvin held on to his hand until Ben leaned down and kissed him. And thought that maybe, after all, he might be invited to stay the night.

  They ate the skyr and honey while snuggled together beneath the blanket, and watched the news until the crime show that they had watched together the night before came on. It was a different episode, but the colors were the same, and the tone of the show and the overcast skies in the background of the screen made Ben start to feel sleepy. Then Solvin mumbled into the blanket beneath his chin, and Ben turned his head to look at him.

  “Yeah?” asked Ben. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I want you to stay the night,” said Solvin,
lifting his head to clear the blanket. “But that would mean you going next door to get your things—in the rain—and then coming back.”

  “I’d do that,” said Ben as earnestly as he could. “I would, if you’d like me to stay the night. I most definitely would.”

  “Please.”

  At that simple request, Ben grabbed his key and his jacket and, turning up the collar, dashed next door to grab what he’d need for the night. The small apartment was even emptier and plainer than before after the comfort of Solvin’s place. He thought about just carrying everything in his arms, but that would be stupid because it’d spill everywhere, and in Solvin’s tidy, warm apartment would be out of place. So he grabbed his backpack and shoved in his shaving things and clean underwear and socks, along with a clean shirt and his sweatpants. It didn’t take him long to check the windows and the thermostat, and with a quick glance over the rest of the apartment, he was outside on the step, locking his own door.

  When he turned, he saw, beyond the sheet of silvery rain, that Solvin was standing in his open doorway with the blanket draped around his shoulders. A golden light came from behind him, casting a warm glow onto the sidewalk.

  “Come in, come in,” said Solvin. “I don’t want you catching cold, getting all wet.”

  “You’d warm me,” said Ben, feeling a little flirty as he walked into Solvin’s embrace. The blanket was warm from his body, and Solvin smelled like linen and sweat, and his mouth, when Ben kissed him, tasted like honey. Ben closed his eyes and kissed Solvin very gently. And sighed.

  “Is it bedtime yet?” asked Solvin.

  “It can be.”

  Ben left his damp backpack on the kitchen table, and Solvin left the TV on and all the lights as he led Ben into the bedroom. It was as before, tidy and plain, though Solvin took a moment to turn the three sheep with their little woolly faces toward the wall so they wouldn’t be watching them. This made Ben laugh out loud as he encircled Solvin’s waist with his arms, blanket and all, and pulled him close.