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

When Marjorie arrives one evening in a black cape with a pointy collar, Artie dashes the length of the shop, warning coworkers, “It’s Dracula’s daughter! Cover your necks!”


When I tell Mom all of this, she states, “Marjorie’s a bully. Hit back.”


I have dealt with overcompensating women who conveniently became frail and cry when a superior overrules her decision; I beat back the pasty middle managers who issued endless CYA memos and went through office waste cans late at night, conniving for an edge; I have handled the Machiavellian stunts pursued in the name of a promotion.


I can handle Marjorie, but I don’t hit back.


Chapter 56