Mulligans

5. Turkey Dinner in July

Nathan closed his eyes and tipped his head back, enjoying the warm water rushing over his face. The shower was a welcome sanctuary after the golf game. It hadn't been his best: he had shot a whopping fifteen over par. He would have stopped keeping score early on if it hadn't been for Tyler gloating every time he got to bring out the little pencil and scorecard to tally the strokes. Truth was, his mind had been far from the game. There was a strange feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite place, almost a nervous excitement. Anxiety, maybe? It was his first week of vacation. He was probably just winding down from the stress of the office. Without the minutiae of work weighing him down, he was relishing the opportunity for his mind to wander.

Chase was an artist—he'd learned that much on the golf course. Well, he definitely wasn't a golfer; that had become pretty apparent. Nathan imagined Chase working late on a canvas in a studio. The image blurred to one of himself seated at a drafting table in his office working late on plans for a new restaurant. An artist, most likely a lone wolf. That could explain the lack of discussion about girlfriends. He was definitely handsome enough. That odd sensation crept back up into his gut, pulling at him from the inside. He took several deep breaths to quell the sensation, then turned off the shower and shook the excess water from his hair.

As he dried and dressed, Nathan found himself looking in the mirror. No, not just looking, but really observing. Like he was an outsider watching this person go through the routine of readying himself. He found it disturbing. He didn't know who that person was. The whole manner was so procedural, orchestrated, and anything but spontaneous. When had he become the man staring back at him?

"You're thirty-six," he whispered to the reflection, looking it deep in the eyes. "Crow's-feet, laugh lines, widow's peak... it's all you. You've earned it all."

Nathan had always kept himself in good shape. He hit the gym, he played squash a couple of mornings every week in town, and he ran. The other guys at the office thought he was obsessive. That was hardly it. He'd just never wanted to become his father. He'd seen him suffer the unnecessary pain and hospital time of two heart attacks. Genetics might have had something to do with it, but it had been his father's horrible grasp of fundamental nutrition and lack of exercise that had really done him in. Nathan had no intention of following in those footsteps. He also recognized that already his body wasn't what it used to be. It seemed he had to run farther, lift heavier, and exercise longer just to maintain his body every year.

After pulling on a shirt, he buttoned top to bottom and then began unbuttoning again when he looked in the mirror. Too stuffy. He walked to his dresser and flipped through a stack of folded T-shirts, selecting a heather gray one. After pulling it on, he walked back to the mirror and nodded, noting the slight stretch over his chest and biceps.

Nathan walked into the living room and paused when he saw Chase staring at a family portrait on the wall. He seemed deep in thought, like he was in the middle of a complicated equation. Nathan cleared his throat and then joined Chase in front of the portrait. "Sight for sore eyes, huh? Your family do them too?"

"No, haven't in a while," Chase answered without taking his gaze off the wall.

"I'd really rather hang art there, but Stacey insists. Maybe one day we'll have one of your pieces. I'd love to see some of your work."

"I sold everything I had left at college. Coffeehouses, a few little galleries and stuff. No big deal. Good way to make some pocket change, right?"

"Well, if you're selling all your work, you must be pretty decent."

"Half-decent," Chase corrected.

"So what do you paint? Landscapes and stuff?"

Chase turned from the family portrait. "No, people are more interesting to me." He smiled that half smile again, somewhere between shy and mischievous, before his attention turned to an open box of photos on a credenza. "Is it all right if I look through these?"