The Pursuit of a Genuine Smile, Chapter 1
"Dammit!"
It was the second time that night Chris had cursed on account of yogurt-goat milk yogurt, to be precise-and the force of the curse greatly exceeded the appropriate amount of anger anyone should ever display at a dairy product.
The first time had been back at home just over an hour ago. Chris had purchased a container of goat milk yogurt a few weeks earlier, but the date was still good and he hadn't yet opened it. The craving for it came on with an unnatural force, and when he found a patch of mold the size of a quarter floating on top, he lost it. That shit was just expensive enough for it to seem like a tragedy; it was too expensive just to rot in his fridge, untouched. Mark never would have let it go bad like that.
When the thought came to him, he had sworn so loudly and swung his arm with such vigor that someone watching the scene would have thought he was trying to kill a goat hiding in the corner of the kitchen. There was no goat, but enough liquid remained in the container to shatter the picture frame by the stove.
Seeing the photo of him and Mark behind shattered glass with thick creamy yogurt leaking down it placated his anger quickly, if momentarily. It was the only picture of the two of them he kept on display. They had taken a cooking class together on their last vacation, and in the photo they were tasting a curry sauce prepared under the direction of the head chef at the Oriental Bangkok Hotel. It was one of those perfect moments you can disappear into, and he liked looking at it on the rare instances when he did any serious cooking, whenever that had last happened.
And there it was now, shattered and grotesquely violated by yogurt. It was a pretty metaphor, although Chris didn't care to figure out exactly what it represented. Ignoring the walls, which were displaying their own white battle scars, he reached for the fridge, resigning to settle for plain soy yogurt. That was also bad, of course. There was no edible yogurt in the house, and that simple fact was infuriating.
He slammed the door shut and used the momentum to propel himself out of the kitchen, out of the house, and into the car. He was getting goat milk yogurt, dammit, even if it meant wasting a quarter-tank of gas to get to the store that carried it. All reason had left him when the picture of Mark shattered, and he was behaving with the rationality of a four-year-old in the midst of a temper tantrum.
An hour later he was at the specialty food store that always carried the stuff, staring at the week-old expiration date on the single container they had on the shelf. He just wanted some goat milk yogurt. Why should it be so impossibly difficult tonight?
His anger caught the attention of another shopper just a few feet away. "Did you hurt yourself?" The question and the voice asking it were surprisingly gentle, given the broad frame and strong figure of the guy. There wasn't the slightest hint of sarcasm, just a genuine concern that some crouched down stranger had bumped his head or twisted his back while standing up.
"No, it's... it's a week old. Don't ask." Chris couldn't help but chuckle at himself. He was getting all worked up over yogurt, and no yogurt-no matter how special-merited this behavior. "Thanks for asking, though."
Before he shuffled off, he caught the smile the stranger flashed at him. It was innocent and happy, and the deep brown eyes had the softness of the first puppy your dad brought home when you were a kid.
The kind quality of the smile stayed with Chris as he wandered around the store. It wasn't hard for him to be distracted when he was here; the appeal of preparing food had all but died with Mark, and he ignored anything that wasn't necessary. He just didn't have his rhythm anymore, and his attempts at cooking alone were awkward and unsuccessful. How many parties had the two of them cooked for, preparing the perfect amount of food every time? And yet Chris couldn't get the knack of making only enough for himself. The leftovers just depressed him.
A few aisles away from the dairy section where he had first seen that smile, it came to mind again. He was drawn to it. It was a unique and wholly new sensation, and he hoped he would cross paths with the man one more time, but he left the store seeing neither the handsome smile nor a single item of food worth buying. The trip was wasted.
He called Justin on his way home, hoping his brother would be up for a beer tonight. Fortunately, Justin seemed glad for an excuse to meet up for a Guinness at their favorite bar. It was an English style pub, quiet enough on weekday evenings that they could talk and enjoy a well-poured pint.
"You look a bit out of it tonight. What's up?" They were on their second beer, and Justin had stopped himself in the middle of describing his eldest daughter's dance recital.
"Nothing. Why?"
"I dunno. I can't tell if you're happy or sad or just bored with my parent blabber," Justin said, not sounding impatient.
"Sorry. I don't know what it is, but I saw someone tonight..."
"About time!" Justin exclaimed, cutting him off. "You're too young to be a widower for life. Where did you meet him, or do I not want to ask?"
"No, no, I didn't even meet him. He just smiled at me," Chris said.
"So... some guy smiled at you and now you're off on cloud nine?"
Chris shook his head and paused to take a long drink from his Guinness before responding. "It was just some guy that smiled at me at the store, but I can't get it out of my head. I don't know why. It's like, for the first time since M..." he caught himself on the muffled M and shook his head again. "It's been a long time since I've wanted to get to know someone else."
"Chris, I know you like to keep your private stuff away from the family, but have you gotten laid since Mark died? It's been over a year and that kind of backup could kill a guy," Justin said.
"Yes, I've had sex." Chris stared down at his stout.
"What, like just once?" Justin asked.
Chris drew in a breath, looking up at his brother with a strange face before taking another sip of beer.
"I don't want to know, do I?" Justin said.
"Probably not." For the second time this evening, Chris laughed in spite of himself. He was open with his family, but not that open.
The laugh broke the serious mood that had fallen upon them, and they finished up their pints and left. When he was driving home, Chris felt a wave of affection for his brother. Justin had been the first to find out he was gay and had been remarkably cool about it. Still, Chris didn't want to tell him how much he had screwed around in the past year.
Chris loved sex, and the death of his partner had not destroyed that. He almost blushed thinking about the things he had done. There was no boredom in their bedroom when Mark was alive, but some of the adventures of last year made him feel like a professional man whore. Stuff that he thought was only done in porn films turned out to be quite real, indeed. He still had a scar from the time...
It was just sex, though. He never felt any kind of attachment for the guys he brought home and that made everything okay. Mark wouldn't want for him to shut down and be miserable, yet Chris couldn't allow for the possibility that someone might get close to him. That would be a betrayal of Mark's love.
Dropping his keys on the kitchen table, his heart sank: there was yogurt everywhere and the walls had a sickly slime where the viscous liquid had oozed down to the counter.
"Dammit!"
This is my first story, and I plan on it getting sexier in future chapters. I would appreciate any feedback: nartoff@hotmail.com. Thanks for reading!