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There was a pile of books on Kamet’s kitchen table, and he was frowning at them, deep in thought.
The pile of books had been there, more or less, for an entire semester. Sometimes books were added to it, or taken away—he had just recently returned an entire stack checked out of the library exclusively for the classes he was TA’ing, and celebrated by checking out an entire stack of older, shabbier, more obscure books he would need for his thesis. He should pick up one of those and start reading, because there were only a few precious months of the year when he didn’t have to balance research with teaching and he needed to take advantage of them. But it was also the first day of summer break, and he had been led to understand that there was something deeply pathetic about working on the first day of break.
Unfortunately, pathetically, he didn’t have any other plans either. He picked a book off the top of a random pile and opened it to find an old Ensur dictionary, and then he put it down. No, reading a dictionary really was too much. I could read something for pleasure, he thought suddenly. That was a novel concept—literally—when was the last time he had read a novel? He would get a new one, he decided, and take it to the park and read outdoors—that was a very summer thing to do. Even Laela would approve.
He leaned against the kitchen counter and took out his phone. There was a bookshop Laela liked that was fairly close by. She said it was one of those cramped little places that was so packed full of books that it seemed both smaller and larger on the inside, with random armchairs tucked in random corners. But he should call ahead before he went, she advised, because you were never really sure if it was staying open four hours later for an impromptu open mic (she had wheedled/commanded him to come several times, but he had never got around to it), or opening three hours late in the morning because several bottles of wine had been cracked open at the open mic and the owner was in no hurry.
The first time he called, the phone rang out. Kamet checked the posted hours on Google Maps; the store should have been opened half an hour ago. He tried again. This time it was picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?” an impatient voice answered, and Kamet was momentarily taken aback.
“Um—is this The Grapevine?”
“Yes.”
“When do you open?”
There was a sharp, dramatic sigh.
“Well, usually it’s eleven, but I’m in the middle of a lover’s quarrel, so today it’s more like twelve.” There was a burst of indistinct conversation on the other side of the line. “It’s my own damn shop, I can say whatever I want—”
“Thank you,” Kamet said hastily, just before the phone hung up.
He stared at the phone in awe for a moment, and started scrambling for his satchel and his shoes. Maybe it was nosy, but… well, he had never been able to resist a good story.
---
It was nearing a quarter to twelve when Kamet reached the bookstore, but he could tell at a glance that he wasn’t too late. The shop was housed in a former Victorian-style house, with a low staircase leading towards the door. The wooden sign in the glass door was still turned to “closed,” and there was another customer loitering at the bottom of the steps, leaning against a brick wall that held back some hedges in need of trimming. Even from the bottom of the steps, Kamet could hear muffled conversation through the door, and he drifted closer in hopes of listening with more clarity.
“Um, I think they’re opening late today,” the other customer offered sheepishly.
“I suppose so.”
It was harder to eavesdrop with someone else there—morally speaking. Kamet frowned and took up a place on the other side of the path, crossing his arms. It was mid-May, and starting to get warmer. Not warm enough for him to leave the house without a heavy cardigan, but warm enough for him to have worked up a sweat under said cardigan when he rushed halfway across town. He flapped the collar a few times to cool down and tried to breathe slowly and evenly. He didn’t want to look like (too much of) a wimp next to the other waiting customer, who looked like he could jog across three towns without breaking a sweat. He was some variety of sports bro; Kamet had a vague idea that basketball players were supposed to be tall and football players were supposed to be broad, but beyond that he didn’t know enough to guess what variety this guy was, because he seemed unnecessarily big in both directions. He was wearing shorts even this early in the year, as well as an Attolians shirt. That was the local college team, although he looked a bit old to be an undergrad. Grad student, maybe, or an overly-nostalgic alumnus.
There were more interesting things here to focus on, Kamet reminded himself, and he stared straight ahead and strained to make out any words from inside the store. The glass door helped. He heard the word “dramatic” once and then repeated in a more outraged voice. Then there was near-silence. He found himself leaning back, trying to hear more clearly, and saw the Attolians fan doing the same.
No, it wasn’t silence—it was just furious whispering, too insubstantial for the sound to carry this far. And then—
“Fine!” An unfamiliar voice, prone to booming—not, Kamet thought, the store owner. “I don’t know why it matters, anyway!”
“Neither do I!”
There was some quiet conversation, and then the sound of a door opening and a jangling bell. Kamet nearly leapt out of his skin and reached automatically for his phone. He swiped across the screen for a few moments without even seeing what he was doing, and then looked up surreptitiously as someone blew by him. Another unnecessarily tall and surprisingly handsome man—albeit gone mostly to grey, not that that was entirely a bad look. He was scowling heavily, but… still not a bad look. He turned down the sidewalk and strode away.
Kamet heard a clattering sound and looked up just in time to see the Open sign settling into place. He straightened. The Attolian did the same, and then made a gallant “you first” gesture.
He entered the bookshop to find the owner leaning against the counter, drumming his fingers and glaring at an electric teapot as though his irritation was compelling it to boil. He greeted both of them, somewhat tersely, and Kamet replied with an automatic smile before ducking into the stacks. The store was exactly what Laela had described, and he wandered happily for a few moments until he found the fiction section. He needed something enjoyable and completely unrelated to Mesopotamia or the Mediterranean or anything that would make him think of his students. He liked the classes he TA’d for, really, but there was only so many times he could hear “I’m taking this class because I just really like Greek mythology, I guess” in a history course before hitting his head against a wall.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Attolian awkwardly hovering at the cap of the shelf, like he knew exactly what he needed and Kamet was standing in front of it. Obligingly, Kamet stepped to the side, in front of the F section. That put a few E.M. Forster novels at his eye level. He saw Maurice and plucked it off the shelf. Perfect—it was something he had meant to read for a while, old enough that the writing style wouldn't be entirely brain-numbing, and from his vague idea of the plot he was reasonably confident it would provide the gay drama he had missed with his failed eavesdropping.
The Attolian had been leaning over to squint at the bottom row of books on the shelf. As his eyes traveled to the top row of Kamet’s shelf beside him, they rested briefly on the book in Kamet’s hand.
“Oh, is that good?” he asked.
“Um. I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet.”
Which is why I’m buying it now, he kept himself from saying, with difficulty, but the words hovered in the air between them, and the tips of the Attolian’s ears turned red.
“Right. Yeah. I’ve heard it’s good.”
“Yeah, me too. Excuse me.”
It was a tight squeeze, edging past the Attolian without brushing against his broad back, but Kamet managed it without tripping over a stack of books that apparently just lived there on the floor—there was no empty spot for them on any of the nearby shelves—and made his way back to the checkout counter.
“Find everything okay?” the owner asked, seemingly on autopilot, as he carefully bobbed an infuser over his cup before dropping it into the saucer.
“Yes. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but I found something.”
“Mm, that’s the goal, isn’t it?” He took a sip of tea and looked at Kamet with shrewd hazel eyes. “You’re the one I spoke to on the phone, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Kamet said, immediately changing the subject to one that felt less awkward. “My friend Laela recommended this place. She comes here for the open mic nights.”
“Of course, I know Laela. She’s a regular. Are you the friend she promised to peer pressure into coming for our next one?”
“Probably. My name’s Kamet.”
“Yes, that sounds familiar. Well, you should.”
“I don’t really write my own work, though—translation isn’t exactly the same.”
“Translation is an art and would be more than welcome. And if I remember correctly, Laela’s main selling point was that you know how to read poetry out loud, which, trust me, is by far the best skill to bring to an open mic. I’ve been hosting these for a while, and you’d be amazed how many of these kids come in and read some truly wonderful writing with all the charisma of an elementary schooler giving their first book report. Good choice,” he said as he finally pulled the book towards him. “My name is Relius, by the way.”
“Kamet. Nice to meet you. I hope everything’s okay,” he added impulsively. “With the—when I called, it seemed like a bad time—”
Relius rested his chin in his hand and waved the other dismissively, forgetting the book immediately.
“Oh, it’s fine. It was actually a very insignificant quarrel, in the end… I think.” He sighed. “I’m not entirely sure. I don’t know why it became a— I won’t mince words, it was a fight, and I have absolutely no idea how it escalated to that point, so I can’t say whether it ended well. I’m not even sure I was right, which is profoundly annoying.”
“Mm,” Kamet sympathized. “Yeah, you always want to end up being right.”
“I know! And I thought I was at first, until it turned into whatever the hell that was. My partner invited me to go camping,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Now, you have known me for all of, say, three minutes. Do I strike you as the type of person who enjoys camping?”
Kamet considered the man before him, drinking loose-leaf tea out of an antique Turkish cup (he had no doubt it was authentic), surrounded by books, wearing a red velvet vest with no regard for the warm spring weather.
“No,” he admitted honestly, without having to think very hard.
“No, I do not. And somehow the whole thing spiralled into an argument about me putting my interests ahead of his, which is absurd. He’s a teacher, and I have spent more evenings than I can count sitting in front of a Ken Burns documentary with takeout while he worked through a stack of papers, or attending midwinter football games, or any number of things that, frankly, I would rather not do.”
“That sounds fair to me,” Kamet shrugged. “You have to draw the line somewhere, right? If camping isn’t for you, then it’s for you. I think you’re in the right.”
“Well—”
Kamet looked over his shoulder to find the Attolian standing closer than he had expected, two books clutched in his hand and a guilty expression on his face.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Relius said, waving him forward. “I’m crowdsourcing advice, apparently. You have something to say?”
“Just that—that’s your side of the story. Of course everyone who hears your side of the story is going to think you’re right. If you want an objective judgement, we would need the other side, too.”
“What else do you want to know?” Relius said, befuddled.
“Like—is there a special occasion or something? Like, a birthday, or a meteor shower or an anniversary…?”
“No, not that I’m aware. Both of our birthdays are in the winter, no meteor shower was mentioned, and we don’t really have an anniversary. Getting together was a process,” he said at their inquiring looks, with another dismissive wave. “Long story.”
“Okay… when was the last time you went on an actual date?”
“In general, or with Teleus specifically?”
Kamet glanced at the Attolian’s face and saw the same expression of mild surprise that was surely on his own—and then just a very faint hint of smugness as their eyes met, which he wasn’t sure he liked even if it was rather attractive.
“Both.”
“Well, I did go to a show with someone last Saturday… and, to be fair, Teleus had asked me to dinner that same night, but the other person asked first, and I wasn’t going to cancel on a whim. And for the record,” he added, with an eye roll that made Kamet think he rolled his eyes a lot, “we haven’t been exclusive for ten and a half of the last eleven years, so I’d say we’re well past the adjustment stage for that.”
“And even if it was new, that wouldn’t be your fault,” Kamet added, glancing at the Attolian. “Because presumably that was a conversation, and if he were unhappy with the—general state of affairs—it would be his responsibility to start another conversation and talk about it. You can’t just expect your partner to read your mind and pick an unrelated fight when they don’t.”
“But people don’t always recognize their feelings right away. It’s not always a matter of ‘I’m mad at you so I’m going to pick a fight,’ sometimes it’s just a vague feeling that there’s something wrong, or that something is really important, and you don’t know why until you’ve already done something stupid.”
Kamet crossed his arms.
“Okay, fine,” he said shortly. “I still think yelling in public crosses a line. I think it’s not a mature way of dealing with conflict, and it makes people shut down and it’s not healthy.”
“Yeah,” the Attolian said, dragging the word out, and he cast Relius an apologetic sidelong glance. “But I was outside longer than you were, and. Uh.”
Relius heaved a sigh.
“We were both yelling,” he admitted. “We covered a lot of ground, somehow, and dug up some old arguments and whatnot.”
“So, back to my question,” the Attolian pressed. “When did the two of you last go on a date?”
“I suppose last Thursday. He had a lot of tests to grade, and I stopped by for a few hours.”
“Wait, so that was a grading-and-Ken-Burns night?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a date, that’s hanging out.”
“I thought ‘hanging out’ was just what people your age called dating,” Relius said, flicking his hand to indicate their general youth.
“No, no, no, no,” the Attolian said, shaking his head, and Kamet nodded along.
“Yeah, actually he’s right on this one,” he admitted. “It’s different. ‘Hanging out’ is when the relationship is too new to be categorized as dating or when one or both parties are too emotionally immature to acknowledge that they are dating. Although,” he said as an aside, talking more to the Attolian than Relius. “At some point, a relationship is so established that it involves more hanging out than dating, and I feel like eleven years definitely qualifies.”
“Sure, but there still needs to be actual dates at some point that aren’t hanging out while doing chores, otherwise then you’re basically just roommates. And they’re not even roommates.”
“I’ll concede that.”
“Fine, fine fine.” Relius exhaled and his eyes flickered toward the ceiling. “I suppose… oh, I guess it has been a while. Two months, maybe. We’ve seen each other fairly frequently in that time, but I suppose no outing that meets your criteria.”
“Okay. So, yeah, I’d say that—and I don’t want to put words in anyone’s mouth or anything, because I don’t know you, and I don’t want to say that anyone’s right or wrong. But from my perspective it seems like camping was supposed to be like this big romantic gesture—”
“Camping,” Relius repeated, and he and Kamet exchanged an incredulous look. The Attolian looked nonplussed at their incredulity.
“Yeah.”
“What part of camping is supposed to be romantic?” Kamet asked.
“I don’t know, being alone together with no other people or email or TV or distractions, stargazing, cookouts, sharing a sleeping bag—”
“No showers, lots of bugs, burnt food?”
“You know what can also be romantic?” Relius interjected. “Posh hotels, with comfortable mattresses and room service and jacuzzis.”
“My point is, it sounds like maybe this was a way to make up for not having a lot of time together lately. You know, to show that your relationship is a priority and you’re both willing to put in the effort to maintain it. And depending on how you turned down the camping, or the date from the other day, I can see how that would put you in the wrong. No offense.”
“I think you’re overstating it,” Kamet said with a frown. “I mean, sure, don’t be a dick to your partner for no reason, that’s fine, but if he’s feeling like they haven’t spent time together lately, he’s an adult who can pick up the phone and extend an invitation. If he’s feeling jealous and wants to renegotiate the terms of the relationship, he can start the conversation, and if he wants to go on a peace-offering trip, he can spend a few minutes thinking up something they’ll both enjoy. A relationship is a shared effort and you can’t expect one person to manage the other’s schedule and emotions if they’re not willing to put in equal work.”
“Sure, in a perfect world, but things aren’t always split 50-50, especially if you’re looking at a longer period of time. Over the course of eleven years, people are going to take turns being the idiot. And I’m not even saying that you are wrong,” the Attolian said earnestly, turning back to Relius. “But I think in situations where emotions are strong, it can put everyone at ease to start by apologizing yourself and—”
“Apologizing?” Kamet interrupted. “No, absolutely not.”
“What?”
“Why should he apologize for not accepting a gift that was completely ill-thought out in the first place? If he’s never enjoyed camping, I don’t see why he should feel bad for not suddenly changing his mind.”
“Well, no, he doesn’t have to feel bad, but it never hurts to apologize—”
“I would one thousand percent rather someone be honest than give me a fake apology.”
“Look, every relationship needs a little give and take. Trying to keep the peace doesn’t necessarily mean the apology is fake.”
“I don’t see the point of ‘keeping the peace’ at the expense of real honesty. What’s the problem with just sitting down and saying ‘The last conversation didn’t go well, let’s talk about the real issue’? Why does he have to start by pandering to someone else’s ego when they were being unreasonable to start with?”
“I think that’s a pretty big assumption—”
“Oh, and you weren’t making assumptions?”
“I was just asking—”
“Asking pretty leading questions—”
“—besides, at some point you have to compromise—”
“—but that doesn’t mean compromising on your own comfort—”
“—a compromise means giving up something, that’s in the definition—”
“For the record, our relationship isn’t a complete trainwreck—”
And then there was screaming. Very loud, very high pitched screaming. Kamet jumped, the Attolian swore, and Relius dropped his head in his hands. Kamet whipped his head around, looking for the source of the noise—and for the first time noticed the teenager curled up in one of the shop’s overstuffed armchairs. He vaguely remembered hearing the tinkling of the bell while he was browsing the shelves, but he hadn’t been paying attention. The teenager was resting an open book in his lap, holding his place with one hand while the other lifted up a tablet displaying a video: Screaming Goat, 10 hour version.
“Thank you for your contribution, Pheris,” Relius said loudly. “I think we get the point.”
Pheris lowered the tablet and closed the video with a crooked grin. His fingers flew over the surface.
“It’s no big deal,” he said, somehow managing to sound smug even via the slightly robotic voice of a text-to-speech converter. “They fight like this every other week.”
“That’s excessive,” Relius frowned. Pheris raised an eyebrow.
“Every. Other. Week.”
“Are you going to buy that book or not?” the shopkeeper asked in an icy voice. “Because I think it’s been much longer than two weeks since you did anything in this store except loiter.”
“No, I’m almost done.”
Pheris settled into his chair again and Relius turned back, rolling his eyes. Kamet glanced at the Attolian, whose forehead was creased with his lips slightly pursed. Kamet had no doubt his own expression looked similar, and when the Attolian quirked an eyebrow at him, he nodded his head in Relius’s direction. Go ahead. You ask.
“Wait, is he right? Do you actually fight like that all the time ? My advice was kind of based on the idea that it was a rare thing.”
“It is rare that one of us storms off before it gets resolved. And usually I know that I’m right without the assistance of random customers. But yes, I suppose we do argue more than some other couples—maybe every week if we include bickering, only don’t tell Pheris I said that,” he added in an undertone.
Kamet glanced at the Attolian again.
“That sounds… unhealthy,” he said slowly. “Um. Not exactly on the ‘set boundaries and have a conversation’ level, more on the… seriously assess whether it’s worth preserving level.”
Relius’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked from Kamet to the Attolian, who shrugged uncomfortably—and then he laughed.
“Oh for God’s sakes, of course it’s worth preserving.”
“Are you really happy fighting that often?”
“Arguing. I am perfectly happy arguing that often, yes. Teleus is always lecturing me about something or other and I’m always needling him for it, but I know that he wouldn’t lecture if he didn’t care and he knows that bickering about it is how I accept his advice without sacrificing my pride. If we were really trying to control each other, if we couldn’t bicker, and if it didn’t come from a place of love, one of us would have walked away a long, long time ago. And it’s not all arguing, of course. I’ll admit we’ve let the dates slip a bit recently, but in between there’s still been grading papers and takeout and Ken Burns, and inventory days and coffee and folk music on the radio.” His voice had gone soft. “It’s been—”
They all jumped again at the sound of screaming goats.
“PHERIS!” Relius shouted. This time the teenager was quick to silence the video, although his expression was even smugger. “What am I going to do with him,” Relius muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He took a sip of his long-forgotten tea, and before he had set it down, the shop phone began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID briefly, then did a double-take and lifted his eyebrows. “It’s Teleus.”
Kamet had the wild desire to ask him to take the call on speakerphone. Unfortunately, he was far too polite to do so. He looked at the Attolian, who looked equally curious and equally resigned. Damn. Relius answered the phone, put it to his ear, and angled his body away from them just slightly to give the illusion of privacy as he spoke.
“Hello?… Hi… I am, too. That has to be one of our most ridiculous fights about nothing, and there was no cause for it…” He huffed. “Yes, I suppose you were due… Yes… Thank you… Well, I’ve been thinking about it. I know we’ve both been busy lately, and—” He glanced at the Attolian with half a grin. “I have been informed that a significant number of people think camping is romantic, somehow, and I’m willing to give it a try, as long as there is no tent involved. Is there some sort of cabin somewhere? With real beds?…” He laughed. “I was thinking of your bad back, you reprobate. You are too old for sleeping bags on top of rocks, and I am far too high maintenance.”
So, Kamet thought. That was that. Happy ending. Good. He fiddled with the strap of his bag and glanced down at the floor as his cheeks began to warm. This now seemed like a very private matter to be intruding on—especially as the potential amenities of a cabin were being discussed—and in retrospect, his advice was starting to sound… dramatic. Or at least unnecessarily revealing.
He waited for another minute and then stepped closer to the counter. He held up his book and waved it to catch Relius’s attention.
“I have to go,” he mouthed.
Relius tilted the speaker away from his mouth and waved him off.
“Take it,” he said in a hushed tone.
“But—”
“Oh, go on, you did me a favor. What do you have?” he asked the Attolian. The Attolian held up his two books. “Half off,” he said, gesturing for him to approach the counter.
Kamet still wanted to protest, but the creeping sense of dread was beginning to overtake him. He was going to feel the embarrassment very keenly in a moment or two, and the sooner he found a private bush to sit under and read his book, the better. He managed a mumbled thanks and made a beeline for the door.
“Wait up!” a voice called just as he reached the sidewalk. “Hey—Kamet!”
Kamet paused on instinct—a terrible instinct—and turned to find the Attolian hastening after him, books in hand. He smiled. He had a very nice smile, which seemed patently unfair given everything else he already had going on. Height and good looks and a very high EQ. Ridiculous.
“Sorry. I, uh, I just wanted to clarify—I’m not in favor of dragging people out into the woods without their consent.”
Kamet blinked at him.
“Well, that’s good to know,” he said cautiously.
“I mean, basically I would have agreed with everything you said if it had been an unhealthy relationship. I was just coming from the assumption that it wasn’t.”
“Right. Well, you were right.” Kamet crossed his arms and glanced away, pointedly looking in the opposite direction of the bookshop and its very visible windows. “I—may have dragged some baggage into the conversation that didn’t belong there. I’m sorry if I accused you of advocating for serial killers or something.”
“Nah,” the Attolian said with an easy grin. “You’re good. We all bring our own stuff into that kind of conversation, right? There’s a reason I’m sympathetic towards well-intentioned idiots.”
Kamet smiled, part politeness and part gratitude. The Attolian made no attempt to either continue the conversation or leave, and for a brief second Kamet wondered if— but no. No way. Sure, he had a vague familiarity with Maurice and was comfortable giving a strange gay couple relationship advice, and probably had a few inclinations in that direction himself, but the circumstances of their meeting were so supremely unromantic that— there was just no way. Kamet cleared his throat.
“I should—”
“Speaking of—”
“What?”
“No, what were you going to say?”
“I should probably get going…”
“Oh, yeah. Um.” The Attolian rubbed the back of his neck and again made no move to step away. “I may be totally off-base here, but would you want to… go out sometime?”
“Really?”
“I know, not exactly the best introduction, but in all fairness I probably would have said something anyway, if I could’ve come up with a better opening than asking you about a book you hadn’t read yet.”
Kamet felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and he did his best to suppress it. He needed to regain some measure of composure in this conversation, even if it was a lost cause.
“Will I have to go outside?” he asked lightly.
“See, I thought about that,” the Attolian said, beaming. When he smiled that wide, he had dimples. Fucking ridiculous. “And I have a compromise that hopefully won’t be too painful. I like the outdoors and you like classic literature, and this weekend there’s a Shakespeare in the Park thing—I’m actually really good friends with the couple playing Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, and it’s going to be incredible. They’re both super dramatic, and Gen— well, I’m not going to spoil it for you, but let’s just say the fight choreography is going to be like no live theater you’ve ever seen.”
“I’ve seen a lot of live theater,” Kamet warned him.
“I promise, it’ll be worth it.”
“Okay, we’ll see.”
“Great. Awesome. It starts at 6:00 on Saturday at Griffin’s Park, just up the road here—maybe we could meet there at like quarter of? Dinner after?”
“Perfect.”
“Cool.” He looked extremely pleased with himself. “Cool. I’ll see you then.”
“Um—” Kamet said as he turned to walk in the other direction. “We never really introduced ourselves…?”
“Oh, shit, duh, I’m sorry.” He turned back around and offered his hand. “I’m Costis.”
“Costis,” Kamet repeated with a smile, shaking his hand. “Hi. Kamet.”
“And I should probably give you my number, too, for Saturday.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
Kamet took out his phone and opened a new contact, and they swapped devices.
“Also maybe don’t look to your right,” Costis said casually as he typed in his number.
“Let me guess—we’re being watched?” Kamet asked in an undertone.
“Yep.”
“Both of them?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Shame.” He reclaimed his phone with a dramatic sigh. “Some people really have no respect for others’ privacy.”
“Damn shame,” Costis agreed, and they went their separate ways.