Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Sex definitely wasn’t an option, not only because of the paper-thin walls, but because Kit felt self-conscious about messing around with his dad in the next room. So we spent our evenings kissing and cuddling, or playing board games, or carrying on hushed conversations about anything that came to mind.
I loved spending that time with Kit, and I also loved this glimpse into his past. He and his dad had moved into this modest apartment when Kit was around fourteen and starting high school, and he’d lived here until he was twenty-four. His dad had left the room completely untouched while he’d been gone, which gave it a time capsule feel.
Sketches of Kit’s designs covered each wall, drawn over a span of ten years. While his style had gotten more sophisticated, even the things he’d dreamt up as a teen were wonderfully creative. There were also pictures of his favorite drag queens, and tucked away in his closet were some of the earliest garments he’d sewn—all in his size.
He seemed embarrassed when he showed me those pieces, but I thought they were great. Most of them were made out of stuff he’d found in thrift shops or yard sales and cut up for the fabric, because that had been all he could afford. He kept telling me everything that was wrong with them, but all I saw were beautiful things made by a talented artist.
And now that I’d seen all of this, I finally understood how important drag was to him. He hadn’t randomly chosen drag queens as his clients when he set out to be a designer. Drag was a part of him, and it had been ever since he was a kid.
I was still committed to helping him grow his design business, but now I had another goal, too. I wanted to convince Kit to get onstage and perform in drag, because I believed that was his true passion, despite his shyness and a raging case of stage fright. If he’d written out his bucket list, and if he was being totally honest with himself, I just knew doing drag would have been in his top two.
There was only one thing he would have put before it—and before everything else. More than anything, he wanted to be able to help his dad. I could see why, given how hard Armando worked. I also understood what the diner meant to both of them, and to the community, and how important it was that it didn’t go under. So, over the last three days, I’d figured out how to help Kit cross the number one item off his bucket list.
On our last night in San Diego, Kit and I cooked dinner, because we knew Armando could use a break. After we cleaned up, we moved into the living room to play cards, but Kit ended up falling asleep on the couch. I covered him with a blanket and kissed his forehead before asking his dad, “Want a beer? We picked up a six-pack when we stopped off at the grocery store earlier.”
“Sounds good.”
We were careful not to wake Kit as we moved to the kitchen. Armando thanked me when I handed him a bottle from the fridge, and after we passed the bottle opener, we took a seat at the old, wooden table. All the furniture in the apartment had seen better days. But I liked this table, because Kit had shown me the hidden spot where he’d carved his name as a kid.
I reached under the table and traced the three small letters with my fingertip as Armando said, “It makes me happy to see how kind and caring you are with my son.”
He paused before adding, “I don’t know this for sure, but I don’t think his ex-boyfriend treated him very well. Kit refuses to talk about it, but he seemed pretty unhappy back then.” He glanced at me as he asked, “Has he ever told you about their relationship?”
“He told me a little. His ex sounded like a jerk, but Kit’s a strong person, and he cut it off completely. That guy’s not in his life anymore.” I didn’t think it was my place to go into detail.
“I wish Kit felt he could be more open with me. I’m pretty sure he only tells me about the good stuff that happens in his life, and he leaves out anything negative, so I never get the whole picture.”
“He doesn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m his dad. It’s my job to worry about him. Instead, he’s always worrying about me.”
“That’s because he loves you,” I said. “You know, I asked him once what he wanted to achieve in his career, and it wasn’t even about himself. He told me he wanted to make enough money to help you out financially. That’s how much your well-being matters to him.”