The mid-40s are that time in a gay man's life when his major paradigm shifts from sexy to Sansabelts. But when Barry Grooms's partner of twenty years is killed on Barry's forty-fifth birthday, his world doesn't so much evolve as it does explode.<br><br>After navigating through the surreal conveyor belt of friends and family, he can't eat another casserole or swallow much more advice on what constitutes grief. Still numb, he leaves his homestore and design business in the care of others as he escapes to Key West, then New York. There he gets a thankless new job working for a crazy lady in a poncho, then has too many drinks with a narcissistic Broadway actor. Next it's a nude exercise class that redefines flop sweat, and from there he's on to a relationship with a man twenty years his junior.<br><br>Yet no matter how great the retreat from the man he used to be, life's gravity spins Barry back to the small town where he grew up for one more ironic twist that teaches him how to say goodbye with grace.

The Cool Part of His Pillow

Dee takes messages. Kerrick opens mail. Potsy lies a lot.


Others, like LezbyAnn, try to busy me with excursions. She invites me to a grocery Dumpster to help catch fresh rats for her new python. As appealing as rabies sounds, I still say “no.” Tracy and Matt invite me over for game night. I don’t feel real lucky these days; I beg off. I finally leave the house when Stan takes me to the southern part of the state to shop for gourds and pumpkins and walk among the fall colors. A recent chemical peel has left his face vaguely feminized, almost like he’s wearing a rubber mask. He has brought a new Protégé. Fade describes both the boy’s haircut and the way he finishes most sentences.


I lean in, ready to hear why, but that’s it.


Chapter 21