A Family for Christmas

By A. T. Weaver

When Tom and Ken meet, they spend several weeks telling themselves the age gap is too big. However, time and mutual interests change their minds.

Through Tom, Ken finds love again, and through Ken, Tom finds a new family to replace the one that threw him away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. T. Weaver
• Release date: Mar 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310346156

A. T. Weaver

A. T. Weaver(Alix the Weaver) is the pen name of a senior citizen and great-grandmother who started writing gay love stories at the age of 60. She has published five novels which are also available on Amazon. She is currently working on a follow-up to First Impressions.

Book preview

A Family for Christmas

A. T. Weaver

Chapter 1

Tom stepped off the bus in an unfamiliar area of town. Why did I let Lisa talk me into staying away from the apartment until midnight on a Friday night just so she and Roger could have some time alone? Well, at least they should be finished with their bedroom gymnastics by the time I get home, and I won’t have to listen to them. He stopped in front of a diner. A lighted sign on top of the building said, Frankie’s. This looks like the place Don told me about. There’s the diner, and I see a movie marquee down the street.

A sign in the window of the diner advertised the day’s special: "Chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, vegetable, salad, roll, and drink, $7.99. That doesn’t sound bad. Don said this place has good home-style food. It’s been a while since I’ve had chicken-fried steak. Mom used to make it a couple of times a month.

He opened the first of two doors. A rack to his right held several publications, including the local gay magazine. He picked up a copy of that and continued through the second door. The interior of the diner resembled something out of the late 1950s or early 1960s. Black and white vinyl squares covered the floor. The outside walls held booths of red faux-leather, several of which were occupied. An old-fashioned juke-box selector sat on the wall side of each booth’s table. Large framed pictures of celebrities from the 1960s hung over the booths. Black-topped tables with chairs upholstered in the same red faux-leather as the booths occupied the center of the room, and a bar with black-topped stools formed a U-shape around the wait station. The kitchen was visible at the back of the station. Cooks could be seen busily preparing food. A pedestal sign invited him to sit wherever he chose.

A young blond waiter in tight, black jeans and a t-shirt with the diner’s logo called, Sit anywhere you’d like, Sugar. I’ll be right with you. His voice had a lilting quality to it.

Tom walked to an empty booth and slid in.

The young waiter approached with a glass of water, a packet of silverware wrapped in a napkin, and a menu. Hey, Sugar, my name’s Jimmy. What can I get you to drink? Coffee, tea, soda?

Tom noticed a smattering of freckles across Jimmy’s nose. I’ll have an iced tea with lemon, he answered. He watched as the young man walked away, the jeans clung to his butt and outlined it invitingly. Down boy. I know it’s been a while, and he’s cute, but I don’t think he’s on the menu. He might be good for a fling, but he’s a bit over the top for my liking.

The several items on the menu looked inviting, including a ‘big, juicy burger’, but Tom decided he’d try the day’s special.

Jimmy returned with the iced tea. Have you decided what you’ll have, Sweetie?

Is the chicken-fried steak any good?

We sell a lot of it, even when it isn’t on special. Jimmy winked. I’ve never actually tried it. I’m a vegetarian.

Tom smiled. Okay, I’ll have that. What’s the vegetable?

We have mixed veggies or corn. I’d opt for the corn. But then I’m not fond of carrots.

Corn it is then. Does the salad have cheese on it?

Yes.

Could you leave the cheese off? And I’ll have ranch dressing.

No problem at all. I’ll get that right out for you, Jimmy said and walked away.

Tom opened the magazine. An ad for a drag show at a bar just a few blocks away caught his eye. I haven’t been to a drag show for a couple of years. Maybe I’ll try it instead of a movie.

Jimmy brought Tom’s salad. He pointed to the ad. Have you ever been there? It’s a funny show. A little vulgar maybe, but funny.

Tom frowned at him. Don’t you have to be twenty-one to get in? You don’t look old enough.

Jimmy cocked his head to one side. I’ll have you know, I turned twenty-one two weeks ago. Some of my friends took me to the show to celebrate.

Sorry.

No problem. Jimmy shrugged. I’ll be right back with your dinner.

When Tom got his receipt, the total was $8.50. He pulled a $10 bill and a couple of $1s out of his wallet, dug in his pocket for two quarters, and left it on the table. A $4 tip on an $8 order, but the conversation was worth every penny. Plus he’s cute, and I may come back. He’ll remember me as a good tipper.

* * *

After dinner, Tom walked the few blocks to the bar. As a group of men brushed past him and into the bar, he hesitated and looked down at his khaki pants and red polo shirt with his embroidered name. I’m not really dressed to go to a bar. I should have taken a change of clothes to work with me this morning. It appears jeans are the norm around here.

He walked in and showed his ID to the doorman. The volume of the music made hearing difficult. Is there a cover charge? He spoke a little louder than normal.

Not until nine. The man handed back Tom’s driver’s license. Show starts at ten.

Tom looked at his watch. 8:30. It’s a long time until the show starts. He looked around. An open door to his left led to a room with small tables and chairs. A stage took up the far end. To his right, a bar circled the barkeep’s station. A television over the bar displayed a silent baseball game. Tall tables and bar stools were scattered on both sides of the bar. Several were occupied. Beyond the bar, some men and women played darts and pool. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. I feel a bit out of place. Not just my clothes, but most of the guys here are older.

A man seated to his left asked. Are you sure you’re old enough to be in here, and are you sure you’re in the right place?

He’s good looking. A little old. Looks close to Dad’s age, but I like the grey at his temples. And he has a nice smile. I wonder if he’s trying to hit on me. I hope not. Well, I’m 23, this is a gay bar, and I’m gay. Does that answer your questions?

You’re half my age, but you look a lot younger. The man looked down and back up.

Tom returned the look. The man wore a button-front shirt with the top three buttons undone. A gold chain nestled in a sprinkling of salt-and-pepper chest hair. Tight, black jeans hugged his legs above well-shined boots.

Do you need to remember your name? the man asked.

I just got off work and haven’t been home to change, Tom answered. I forgot to take extra clothes with me this morning.

Why not go home first?

I promised my roommate I wouldn’t come home before midnight. He took a drink of his beer. She’s fixing an intimate, romantic dinner for her boyfriend’s birthday and asked for some privacy. Hopefully by the time I get home, I’ll be able to get some sleep. The walls in our apartment aren’t very thick. The last time he spent the night, I had my television turned up so loud to block out the sound I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call the cops.

The man shook his head and smiled. Do you get the same consideration? He winked.

Tom grinned. I might if I had a boyfriend.

The man chuckled and held out his hand. My name’s Ken. His smile was reflected in his light brown eyes.

Tom took his hand. Nice firm handshake and a soft hand. I like the feel of that. Tom. He brushed his almond-colored hair out of his eyes.

Yeah. That’s what your shirt says. Ken said. I’ll bet your ‘mommy’ still calls you Tommy, doesn’t she? He tilted his head and nodded. In fact you kind of look like a Tommy.

I wouldn’t know, Tom replied. I haven’t talked to or seen my mother for almost five years. But, yes, she still called me Tommy then.

Oh? Ken arched an eyebrow.

Tom took another sip of beer and nervously reached for a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar. Am I talking too much? His questions don’t seem too invasive. Just friendly. "When I came out right after high school, my dad said he’d pay for my college since my grandparents started putting money into