Dad always takes off his shoes in the living room and forgets them there. For countless times I've told him to pick them up and carry them to his bedroom. Today is no different. However, he is still in the living room, quietly reading something, probably a financial magazine or his paper. I can still ask him to collect them and put them away. I come and tell him it's time he takes his shower, because if I don't remind him, he'll surely spend all evening reading and sipping his whisky.
"It smells good in the kitchen, son. What's for dinner?" Dad folds the paper and fixes his glasses.
"Hey Dad, don't you think you'd better be taking your shower? Dinner is going to take a little longer to be ready. And please, don't forget your shoes in the living room. Remember, we're having guests coming over."
"Oh, geez! I've nearly forgotten that!" Dad bends over and picks up his shoes.
"They should be here soon, Dad, so hurry up. Wait, did you order the cake I asked to be delivered?" I just hope he hasn't forgotten that.
"Well, they're going to deliver it at seven P.M., just like we've agreed this morning. They were rather nice and I was very impressed with their service." Dad's shirt is open and his tie loose.
"Dad, you'd better take your shower then. I've got to go back to the kitchen."
"All right, big boss!" Dad walks slowly to his bedroom carrying his shoes in one hand and his leather belt in another.
"Hey, Dad! You're forgetting your briefcase in the living room!" I shout just in time.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He takes everything away.
God! This is going to be a lot of work! I hear him moving to the bathroom and closing the door. Nice that he has remembered to close the door. He always showers with the door open.
Just as I'm about to resume my work in the kitchen, the intercom rings. I pick that up and drop it, for my hand is wet. Then I pick that up again. It's Jarbas, my friend from cooking class. I love him for he's very punctual. I asked him to come earlier to give me a hand to prepare dinner!
We're basically the only boys in that class of twelve students. I, a young gay Nipo-Brazilian man of twenty-four, and Jarbas, who is a big bear. He has a full-grown black beard, which I love to stroke. Though it's thick and full, it's also soft. He is also bald, just like Dad. He is also anti-social, and he rarely talks to others during our cooking class. I think he's in his early forties. So, being the only boys in class, we've bonded right away. Besides, I love big hairy guys.
I put the intercom back in place and resume my cooking. I'm so glad I've remembered to invite him over. Besides being a great helper, he also needs to go out more, the poor thing. He lives alone in a big old house that he's inherited. He's such a nice and sweet guy, though he looks threatening, big, and quite reserved--just like a lot of bear types.
Jarbas works in a large bank. I think he works with logistics. He is extremely calm and rational. He's the opposite of me, who's extremely talkative, social, and explosive. The funny thing is that he's never told me anything about his past or former relationships. Like I said, he's as eloquent as an oyster, but he's learning to loosen up with me.
To think of it, I don't remember him mentioning having dated any boys. I think he just makes the ideal friend and companion, for he is super gentle. I hear a knock on the door. I wonder why he doesn't ring the doorbell like everybody else.
"It's open, Jarbas!" I scream at the top of my lungs. Dad hates when I do that. But I'm too busy with my cooking and can't let the sauce burn. Jarbas comes in and brings me some roses.
"Hi there! What happened to your kitchen, Carl? Has your dad been here?" This big man never smiles. I smile and stroke his beard. I take my roses, red, and kiss him on his balding head. Not in his mouth this time. It's his punishment for having teased my cooking, since he's spoken indirectly about the state of my kitchen. He remains stiff and bites his lower lip.
"Thanks, dear. They're lovely. About the kitchen, you know Dad doesn't know how to boil an egg, or even boil water for that matter. Look, I'm preparing the sauce Mrs. Fortes taught us the last time. Hey, don't stick your finger into that. And put that back, for it's for the guests!"
"Ok." Jarbas puts the fat chocolate covered strawberry back on the platter. This big man always follows my orders.
"Now, where was I?" I speak to myself. Jarbas is rinsing his big hands and putting my apron on his large waist. "Jarbas, the salad! We've got to make that first. Isn't that what we often serve first? So, get the lettuce from the fridge, dear! I think we can decorate that with some watercress, tomato slices, radishes, mushrooms, etc. Hey, do you still remember how to make roses out of radishes?" I stir the sauce and drink some water.
"Isn't that from tomatoes?" He sniffs and eats a small cherry tomato, the poor man, must be starving!
"Did you just come from the bank, dear?" He nods. Then, he explains he was downtown working at the headquarters.
"Geez, if you were downtown, how come you're here on time? Did you come here flying?" He shakes his head. I feed him a large chocolate covered strawberry.
"Nope." He chews it slowly, to taste the treat in his mouth. "I rode my Harley!" He then licks his lips. Like any bears, he loves sweet stuff! He takes the little paring knife and looks around. "Look, Carl, I don't think you have enough lettuce. By the way, for how many people are we cooking tonight?" He brings a large head of lettuce and some tomatoes.
"We're cooking for six people. Dad, Júlia, Alberto and Flávia, you, and I."
"Alberto and Flávia?" He is already breaking the lettuce leaves.
He twitches his small nose as he sniffs things. He's always sniffing things. Even when we hug, he sniffs my cologne. When he sleeps in my bed, he likes to sniff my pillow. He says he loves the scent of lavender from my bedding, and the scent of roses from my clothes.
"They're old friends of Dad. By the way, Alberto is Dad's business partner. I think I've told you Dad has joined his consulting business with his old friend." I taste the sauce and wonder whether it needs more salt. "Here, Jarbas, taste it! Tell me if the sauce needs more salt." I hand him the small spoon. He sniffs the sauce, takes that in his fat and hairy fingers, and tastes it.
"Delicious! What did you put in?" I can see by his wide-open eyes that he is being honest.
"Thanks, dear. You're just the best." I tell him of an old recipe book with Italian cooking tricks. I've had to go to three different supermarkets to get all the right fresh herbs!
"That's the best tomato sauce that I've ever tasted, by the way." He continues slicing the tomatoes. Just then, Dad comes to join us.
"Hello, Jarbas big boy! I see that Carl is already bossing you around too, uh?" Dad shakes hands with Jarbas, then they hug.
