Gathered Up. Annabeth Albert

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СКАЧАТЬ of school, and I wanted to check on Mira anyway, see how she was doing.

      Iplik was two blocks down from People’s Cup, past the garden store that sold no plants, the pet store with the bulk organic “cookie” bins that looked tastier than the snacks I had for the kids, and the neighboring gift stores. Whatever awkwardness currently existed between Evren and me was nothing compared to those two competing store owners. Mira had been threatening to make them hug it out, which was something I’d pay good money to see.

      When I entered Iplik, a young woman was working the counter and I couldn’t see either Evren or Mira. My stomach dropped like one of the heavy balls of wool in the plate glass window. Maybe my motives were less pure than I’d thought. I shoved aside my irrational disappointment and surveyed the store because I’d never actually been inside, despite walking by almost daily. Iplik was less industrial than the building that housed the People’s Cup and more like an oversize teal-colored house with little Craftsman details on the exterior and homey print curtains waving on the upstairs windows.

      The store portion was bright and airy, three or four interconnected rooms displaying various fiber types and sample projects. I slowed down my trek to the counter to try to spot which sweaters and scarves might be Evren’s handiwork. A thick one-piece scarf adorned a mannequin. It was a maze of heavy cables and interlocking knots. Attached to it was a copy of a magazine article: “Trendsetting Designer Evren Demir Wows at Knit Expo.” A quick glance showed that Evren was indeed a Big Deal in the world of knitting designers. Yeah, no way would he be sticking around if Mira got well. Or if she…

      Not going there. I quickened my steps and continued toward the front of the store. The young woman brushed her heavy dreadlocks out of her face as she helped a trio of women I recognized from Knit Night. As I waited for her to finish, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs to the left of the counter. Evren appeared just as the customers departed.

      “Brady! What are you doing here?” He greeted me with surprise and a bit of nervous suspicion, as evidenced by his narrowed eyes and fluttering hands, but not outright hostility, which I took as a good sign.

      “Mira left her shawl behind.” I held it out. “I knew she’d want it back. It’s too pretty to lose.”

      “Ah. You are too kind. Would you like to give it to her? She is resting quietly with her TV, but she is embarrassed about earlier. I think a quick word from you might be just the thing.”

      “Of course.” I followed him up the stairs to a heavy wooden door with a “Private Residence” sign hanging on the front. Evren entered and motioned for me to follow. After a short entry hallway, we came to a living room, where tiny Mira was almost swallowed up by a giant recliner, a knitted afghan draped over her, and one of those tables like they have in hospitals across her with a remote and a big glass of ice water.

      “Hala, Brady has come by with your shawl.” Evren went and knelt down to her.

      “Oh, Brady dear. I’m so sorry. I left in such a rush…left my dishes out.” She sounded very forlorn and I went to stand next to Evren so that she didn’t have to stretch to see me.

      “It’s no problem,” I said. My throat felt thick. “You’re my favorite customer. I’ll bus your dishes any day.”

      “I’m so embarrassed…thought I could handle a little outing.”

      “You’ll get stronger again, Hala,” Evren said firmly. “But next time, maybe I will go with you for the soup.”

      The look he gave me was difficult to decipher. There was apology there for sure, but also something else.

      “Evren, offer Brady a piece of the revani cake you made.” Mira’s voice was thin but insistent.

      “Oh, no, I’m good.” I held up my hands. “I just wanted to return your shawl. I’ll leave you to your rest now.”

      “I insist. Besides…there is something I’ve been wanting you to try.” Evren’s voice was a bit uncertain, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the barest hint of a blush colored his cheeks.

      “Oh?” I was intrigued enough to follow him to a galley-style kitchen.

      “Have you ever had Turkish coffee?” Evren asked as he picked up a curiously shaped silver pot from the stove. “I just made some, but Mira was not in the mood.”

      “I haven’t actually.” I’d tried just about every other coffee variant out there.

      “Come. Sit.” He indicated a small table at one end of the kitchen with two wooden chairs. After fetching two small cups roughly the size of espresso cups, he poured the surprisingly thick brew from the pot. He added two small slices of a very moist-looking cake to two plates and brought them to the table. “Here. Enjoy. Sip slowly. Like brandy.”

      “Thank you.” I was grateful for the advice as it was scorching hot and overpoweringly sweet and strong. “Wow, that’s different.”

      “It’s not just the taste. It’s an experience. A ritual, if you will.” Evren’s elegant hands moved as he talked. I could have watched them for hours. Not to mention the things I wanted to have done by them. I was more than a little obsessed with his hands.

      He paused for a few sips before he spoke again. “And in this case, a chance to apologize.”

      “Apologize?”

      “I was…harsh the other night. Not kind.” He looked down at the white wooden tabletop, tracing a crack in its surface with a broad fingertip.

      I shrugged. “At least you’re honest. But seriously, what do you have against bi guys?” I kept my voice at a near whisper.

      Evren’s lips quirked. “It is okay. Mira knows I’m gay. You don’t have to whisper. And it is not so easy to explain.”

      “Try me.” I took another little sip of coffee. Evren was right—there was something to the experience of a small sip of thick coffee in between bits of conversation and bites of cake.

      “I’ve had two serious relationships. Both men were bisexual, and I knew it upfront. And both had…indiscretions. And one left me for a woman and the other for someone ‘open-minded’ enough to accept…dalliances.” His fingers drummed against the white wooden tabletop.

      “And so all bisexuals are now off-limits?” I shook my head. “Look, I’ve never had a real relationship for…reasons.” I wasn’t ready to tell him about my situation with the kids. “But whether it was with a girl or a guy, I’d have no issue with monogamy. Bisexual doesn’t mean you have to be poly or something to be happy.”

      “Ah. You say that, Brady, but it is not that easy.” He shook his head sadly. “Regardless, though, I squelched your kind offer of friendship. And for that I am truly sorry.”

      I leaned back in my chair. “So you’re saying you’re willing to be friends with the bisexual guy?” I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted.

      He frowned. “Willing is the wrong word. I know I am…overgeneralizing, maybe. My biases are…silly. But I see you being all casual about it.” He waved his hand as if to indicate me flitting about. “And I remember someone else, equally blasé. And I am not such a thing, no matter how much I should be. And I am trying to work on that really. I don’t know many people in Portland yet, but you are a true friend СКАЧАТЬ