ChrisMyths by Amy Lane

Author:Amy Lane [Lane, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-64108-499-4
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2022-09-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7: Baking Cookies Solves Everything

Earlier on the day the pipe broke…

“I CAN’T believe I’m doing this,” Andy grumbled, throwing flour into Porter’s mother’s giant mixer. That’s why they were making the cookies at Porter’s mother’s house—she used to run a bakery and had kept some of the industrial-sized appliances. And her kitchen was top notch.

“Baking cookies or making a mess?” Porter asked, grinning.

Andy gave him a remorseful look. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking a moment to wipe down the counter so he could continue to bake cookies. “I’m just distracted. I should be in Brooklyn right now, you know?”

“Yeah.” Porter blew out a breath. “Man, that sucks, what Eli’s going through. I wish I could be there. I’m getting damned good at fixing plumbing. You sure your dad’s got a guy?”

Andy nodded. “He does. And as worried as I am about that, it’s the presents that are killing me. You don’t understand. We’ve been budgeting since August to get those kids the stuff they need. There were laptops in that room for the kids graduating and going to college. There was high-end makeup for our trans girls—their identity is so tied up in their appearance at this age, and feeling pretty and made up is so important for their self-esteem. Binders for our enby or trans boys so they can feel like themselves. Or, hell! Just clothes that don’t have holes or haven’t been worn by anyone else, phones to help them get jobs—”

“Or surf porn,” Porter said with a wink.

“Well, yeah, teenagers.” Andy chuckled because he and Porter had been that age together. He sobered, grateful for the lighter moment. “But you know, important things for kids growing up without the support system they thought they’d have.”

“I get it,” Porter said. Then he paused and sort of shifted on his feet. “Uhm… so, how picky are these kids? I mean, does it have to be Aeropostale and Abercrombie & Fitch?”

Andy squinted at him, not sure of what he meant. “I know you were the clotheshorse in school, Porter, but these kids were out on the street. They’d be pretty happy with Old Navy.”

Porter looked abashed and all but dug his toe in the tile of his mother’s kitchen floor. “But, you know, could it be handmade?”

Andy thought about it. “I know a number of the kids are nuts about my mom’s sweaters, if that’s what you’re asking. Why? What do you have in mind?”

“Hold on a sec,” Porter said. “I’ve got to go clear it with my mom and Pastor Dan first.”

Andy stared at him. “Pastor Dan?” he asked, at a loss. “What happened to Pastor Martin?”

“Pastor Martin retired to the old Unitarian’s home or whatever last year. Pastor Dan took his place. He’s, uhm”—Porter blushed—“sort of young.”

“Is he cute?” Andy teased, not sure how else to explain that intense pink between Porter’s beard and his eyes.

And then it got darker.

“He, uhm, comes a few nights a week for dinner,” Porter said. “You know. My, uhm, mom asked him the first time, and then, well, it became a thing.

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