faraway expression gathered in Yo-yoâs eyes. He lingered shyly up there for a little while, looking at the photos on the dresser. There were yellowing photos, in old-fashioned silver frames, of Jewish-immigrant grandparents. Color photographs of handsome, well-heeled, coiffed parents. And one of Daniel, probably in college, hugging or wrestling with a boy whom Matt surmised was his brother, possibly his twin. Matt smiled. Daniel was delicious in it, his cheeks fuller and smoother, his hair long and wild. He was clearly a little annoyed by his brotherâs wild grasp. The brother was pretty hot too, even though he looked like a goof with his hammy smile, as if saying âCheese!â better than anyone had ever said it before.
When Matt came into the kitchen, Daniel was closing the refrigerator with his elbow, his hands full of eggs. âSorry,â he said, âI meant to take you out.â On the stove sat a frying pan, of good quality and heavily used, Matt noted. As Daniel cracked eggs and put a slab of butter in the pan, he became quiet, and Matt said, âListen, thanks for having me. Itâs nice to get away. Iâll probably head back to New York tomorrow.â He sat in a kitchen chair and watched as Daniel deftly sliced onions and grated cheese. Snow was gathering silently along the bottoms of the windows. âHow do you live out here?â he asked Daniel, with perfect cosmopolitan snobbery. âI gotta be honest, Iâm feeling a little like Shelley Duvall in The Shining .â
Daniel looked at him and raised his eyebrows. âWho does that make me?â he asked. âA dull boy?â Matt laughed; he could tell he was making himself obnoxious. âI like it here,â Daniel shrugged. âIn the city, everyoneâs trying to be cooler and more stylish than everyone else. To me, thatâs a huge waste of time. And I canât handle the crystal thing.â
Matt nodded sagely; he couldnât handle the crystal meth thing eitherâthe extent of it scared and horrified himâbut he was also taking in the rebuke. He was remembering his initial attraction to Daniel, something he didnât know how to put his finger on. Certainly part of it was the whole Jewish intellectual vibe, the high forehead, curly dark hair, black-rimmed glasses that gave his face a touch of owlish severity. He looked as though he should be chain-smoking in a French café, devising a philosophical system that explained everything in the universe. He was soft-spoken, his voice slightly nasal, with a nelly sibilance to his s âs. The blend of masculine and feminine in him was exact, and perfect. His house was well tended without being fussy. Matt watched him stir the frying onions, and, being a restless person himself, was drawn to what seemed like a talent for immersion in the task at hand.
At dinner, Matt noticed that he was feeling self-conscious eating in front of Daniel, which surprised him a little. You could think in your head that you werenât into a guy, but there were certain signs that infallibly told you otherwise, such as being superaware of how you were chewing. He asked Daniel how heâd gotten to that party anyway, and they talked about the couple who had thrown it, their mutual friends Mitchell and Bruce. Mitchell was an old friend of Danielâs from Oberlin, and Matt knew Bruce from the gym. They dished about their relationship, agreeing with delighted shouts that the two of them were irritatingly symbiotic. âTheyâre all, â We like the Chilean sea bass,â â Weâre good friends with the proprietor,â â Matt mimicked, making Daniel laugh, which broke his face into an utterly charming sweetness. âDude, get a mind of your own!â Matt shifted, leaned a little closer over the table, getting confidential. âEnough about them,â he said. âWhat did you think of me?â
Daniel laughed again, and his eyes