My boyfriend and I are both competitive swimmers in our senior year of high school. Unfortunately, we attend rival schools and therefore, both feel it's best to keep our relationship quiet seeing as there's enough excitement and drama happening over those four years, especially for seniors. We don't see any benefit of making public our homosexual desires for our alleged foe. Marcus and I are essentially in a 'Romeo & Juliet' type situation except that, in our case, there's two Romeo's and no Juliet.
Thank goodness we have found a sneaky way to release our yearning, at least once or twice a week.
A dear friend of the family, Mrs. Witterson, lost her husband almost a year and a half ago. He was an avid gardener, and his widow tries her hardest to honor his memory by keeping up the herb and vegetable garden he'd planted soon after they bought the home, which just so happens to be directly behind my beau's.
After school each afternoon I 'plant sit' ever since the Misses tore a tendon in her knee eight months ago. I check the moistness and tend to each plant for her, and the elderly woman generously pays me twenty-four dollars per week to do so.
Once I've completed my task, I text Marcus to see if he's home, and slip through the back gate. A cabana his mother set up near the pool is often where we sit to chat, study, laugh, make-out or just enjoy being together. Every once in a while, especially in the winter months, we're bold enough to take a swim or sit together by the fire pit and laugh together for hours on end.
This afternoon I'm a little perplexed as I check out some of the leaves on the tomato vines and a few other stalks; there's holes and it looks like something's been taking bites out of the vegetation. My phone buzzing in my pocket breaks my thought cloud.
M: hows my favorite veg head?
E: 🍆
M: youre such a tease Evan
E: i'll be done in just 10 more minutes, I'm pretty sure your rainbow ass can hold on a little longer babe 😘
M: as long as you bring good eggplant farmer boy
I shake my head laughing under my breath at my boyfriend, doing one last check on moistre levels in the garden beds before heading back to the potting bench to put the yard tools and everything away.
Mrs. Whitterson spots my from a kitchen window, gives a gentle knock on the window, holding up a finger for me to wait, then slips out of view.
As much as try to avoid homo stereotypes, I take pride in having good, clean finger nails and I cannot stand finding dirt under my nails. Anytime I do I start to worry if there's little bug eggs growing them of if a little beetle might crawl out from under there and I get the heebie-jeebies!
I do get that caring about nail health and cleanliness isn't exclusively a girly or gay thing but I'm pretty sure my 'over-thinking' would give me away.
Fortunately, I'm finishing my thorough nail cleaning as Mrs. Whitterson pops out on her back patio, a medium Tupperware and a dark purple-ish glass jar on top with a tinsel bow. "Oh, Evan, I'm glad I caught you! I was able to make some vegetable salad with the cucumbers and tomatoes you picked for me Monday and I also made a batch of that Blackberry Jam your family enjoys so much!" she says, handing them over.
"Well thank you. You really don't need to do this Mrs. Whitterson, you already pay me more than enough as it is!"
"Oh, don't give it another thought Evan. I still can't quite get a hold on the idea of only cooking enough for myself lately and would much rather give out the excess than let it rot,"
I give her a grateful smile than say, "Thank again, then. We are definitely going to be enjoying this very soon and I will bring back your containers as soon as I can,".
Looping my arm through one of the straps of my bag at the end of the patio, I call out, "See you tomorrow, and leave the yard.
I duck after making a thin U turn, discreetly walking along the side fence to my boyfriend's back yard. With my hands full of treats from his generous elderly neighbor, I use my elbow instead to knock on the gate. Being the pain in the ass that I'm unfortunately attracted to, Marcus utters, "Password," in a less-than-quiet whisper.
Then I answer, "Let me in and I'll let you suck my eggplant,". I hear a soft snicker and the click of the gate latch, Marcus opening the gate and uttering, "I do love my fresh veggies," taking the salad from my hands to lighten my load as I walk in, giving a small pat on the butt after closing the gate behind me.
I drop off my bag and set the jar down on the deck table, Marcus setting the Tupperware next to it, suggesting, "What do you say we take a little dip?"
