Frieda’s, this semi-cool dive Will and I come to sometimes. They have awesome potato skins with cheddar and bacon, a fact I mention to Buckley pretty much the moment we sit down.
“You want to order some?” he asks.
“After all that popcorn?”
“You’re too full?”
“See, Buckley, that’s the thing. I’m never full. I could eat all day long. I’m always up for some potato skins. Hence the flab.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Tracey. It’s not like you’re obese.”
“You’re sweet.” Too bad he’s gay. “So tell me about your failed relationship.”
“Do I have to?”
“Nah. Not if you don’t want to. We can talk about something more upbeat. Like…where are you from?”
“Long Island.”
“ You’re from Long Island?”
He nods. “Why do you look so surprised?”
“You just don’t have that Lo-awn Guyland thing going on. You know…the accent. You don’t have one.”
“You do,” he says with a grin. “Upstate, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“The flat a gives you away. You said ay-ack-sent. So where are you from?”
“You never heard of it. Brookside.”
“I’ve heard of it. There’s a state college there, right?”
“Right.”
“I thought about going there.”
“You’re kidding. Why?”
“Because it was as far away from Long Island as I could go and still be at a state school. My parents couldn’t afford private college tuition and I didn’t get any scholarships.”
“Really?”
“Why are you surprised?”
“Because…I don’t know. You just seem like the studious type.”
He grins. “Trust me, I wasn’t. With my grades, I barely made it into a state school.”
That really is surprising, for some reason. He just seems like the type of person who would do everything well. I like knowing he was just an average student, like I was. It doesn’t mean he isn’t smart, because I can tell that he is.
“So where’d you end up going to college?” I ask him.
“SUNY Stony Brook. I wound up staying on the island and living at home.”
“Why?”
I catch a fleeting glimpse of unexpected emotion in his expression. When he speaks, I understand why, buthis face is carefully neutral. “My dad died the summer after I graduated from high school. I couldn’t go away and leave my mom and my sister and brother on their own. So I stayed home.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but I can tell that it is. Or was.
“I’m really sorry about your dad.”
“It was a long time ago.” He bends over and ties his shoe, his foot propped on the bottom rung of his barstool. I wonder if the lace was untied, or if he just needed a distraction.
“Yeah,” I say, “but that’s not something that goes away, is it?”
He straightens and looks me in the eye. “Not really. Sometimes it’s still hard when I let myself dwell on it. Which I usually don’t do.”
“I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“You didn’t know. And anyway, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I ask, “What happened? To your dad, I mean.”
“He had been having stomach pains, and when he finally went to the doctor, they found out it was pancreatic cancer. By the time they found it, it was too late—it had spread everywhere. They gave him six weeks. He died five weeks and five days later.”
“God.” I see tears in his eyes and feel a lump rising in my throat. Here I am, wanting to burst into tears for the loss of somebody I never even met—the father of this guy I barely know.
“I know. It was horrible,” Buckley says. He takesa deep breath, then sighs. “But like I said, it was a long time ago. My mom is finally getting over it. She even went out on a date a few weeks ago.”
“Her first date?”
“Yeah.”
I try to imagine my mother going on a date, and it’s all I can do not to shudder. But then, maybe Buckley’s mother isn’t a four-eleven, overweight, overly pious, stubborn Italian woman in doubleknit pants
“You want to order some?” he asks.
“After all that popcorn?”
“You’re too full?”
“See, Buckley, that’s the thing. I’m never full. I could eat all day long. I’m always up for some potato skins. Hence the flab.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Tracey. It’s not like you’re obese.”
“You’re sweet.” Too bad he’s gay. “So tell me about your failed relationship.”
“Do I have to?”
“Nah. Not if you don’t want to. We can talk about something more upbeat. Like…where are you from?”
“Long Island.”
“ You’re from Long Island?”
He nods. “Why do you look so surprised?”
“You just don’t have that Lo-awn Guyland thing going on. You know…the accent. You don’t have one.”
“You do,” he says with a grin. “Upstate, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“The flat a gives you away. You said ay-ack-sent. So where are you from?”
“You never heard of it. Brookside.”
“I’ve heard of it. There’s a state college there, right?”
“Right.”
“I thought about going there.”
“You’re kidding. Why?”
“Because it was as far away from Long Island as I could go and still be at a state school. My parents couldn’t afford private college tuition and I didn’t get any scholarships.”
“Really?”
“Why are you surprised?”
“Because…I don’t know. You just seem like the studious type.”
He grins. “Trust me, I wasn’t. With my grades, I barely made it into a state school.”
That really is surprising, for some reason. He just seems like the type of person who would do everything well. I like knowing he was just an average student, like I was. It doesn’t mean he isn’t smart, because I can tell that he is.
“So where’d you end up going to college?” I ask him.
“SUNY Stony Brook. I wound up staying on the island and living at home.”
“Why?”
I catch a fleeting glimpse of unexpected emotion in his expression. When he speaks, I understand why, buthis face is carefully neutral. “My dad died the summer after I graduated from high school. I couldn’t go away and leave my mom and my sister and brother on their own. So I stayed home.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but I can tell that it is. Or was.
“I’m really sorry about your dad.”
“It was a long time ago.” He bends over and ties his shoe, his foot propped on the bottom rung of his barstool. I wonder if the lace was untied, or if he just needed a distraction.
“Yeah,” I say, “but that’s not something that goes away, is it?”
He straightens and looks me in the eye. “Not really. Sometimes it’s still hard when I let myself dwell on it. Which I usually don’t do.”
“I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“You didn’t know. And anyway, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I ask, “What happened? To your dad, I mean.”
“He had been having stomach pains, and when he finally went to the doctor, they found out it was pancreatic cancer. By the time they found it, it was too late—it had spread everywhere. They gave him six weeks. He died five weeks and five days later.”
“God.” I see tears in his eyes and feel a lump rising in my throat. Here I am, wanting to burst into tears for the loss of somebody I never even met—the father of this guy I barely know.
“I know. It was horrible,” Buckley says. He takesa deep breath, then sighs. “But like I said, it was a long time ago. My mom is finally getting over it. She even went out on a date a few weeks ago.”
“Her first date?”
“Yeah.”
I try to imagine my mother going on a date, and it’s all I can do not to shudder. But then, maybe Buckley’s mother isn’t a four-eleven, overweight, overly pious, stubborn Italian woman in doubleknit pants
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