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

From whatever dark, warm water she is sinking in, Mother bobs back up.


“Barry? You know what you have to do?”


I lay aside the magazine to join the neglected others. I can’t muster the energy to even finish the table of contents, much less completely read an article.


“You have to get the next one out of the way.”


“The one after Andy. The Next One.” I’ve never mentioned Jarod to her. “Only when you get that fellow out of the way will you recognize love again.”


“What does love look like the second time?”


“You’re asking the wrong lady, honey. In youth, you want someone to build a life with. After fifty, you just want someone who can handle salt.” Her smile is weak. “Your dad was it. Love is not the miracle. Lasting is.”


Her meal has gone mostly untouched. I mindlessly comment on how tasty the chicken pot pie appears.


Chapter 92