Memento Amare: All About the Memories Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  i. Copyright & Disclaimer

  ii. Preface

  All About the Memories

  About G. D. Cox

  Other Books by G. D. Cox

  MEMENTO AMARE: All About the Memories

  G. D. Cox

  MEMENTO AMARE: ALL About the Memories

  Copyright © September 2017 by G. D. Cox

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Cover artist: G. D. Cox

  Image/art disclaimer: License material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events, existing locations or brands, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PREFACE

  ALL ABOUT THE MEMORIES is a 5,000+ word companion piece to my debut M/M romance novel, Memento Amare. (You can read its synopsis and see a list of stores selling the ebook in the Other Books by G. D. Cox section.)

  It's set in the near future and written from the perspective of an anonymous shopper in a supermarket who meets the two male protagonists of Memento Amare there, Phelan Cole and Clyde Barnett-Cole. It can be read as a standalone or even as a teaser story before reading Memento Amare. I do recommend however that you read Memento Amare first, if only so you can enjoy this short story already knowing the life histories of Cole and Clyde.

  This short story was also written in appreciation of all the readers and reviewers of Memento Amare. Thank you for giving my debut novel a chance and for your kindness and support.

  The soundtrack I listened to while writing this was Alexandre Desplat's Love Returns.

  G. D. COX

  7 September 2017

  All About the Memories

  SHE'S BROWSING THROUGH a row of delicious-looking chocolate spreads on the supermarket shelf and carrying a shopping basket with her left hand when she sees the two men for the first time. They're ambling down the long aisle while pushing a half-full shopping cart. She glances at them, then back at the transparent plastic bottles of chocolate spread. Then she swivels her eyes in their direction again.

  They're side by side behind their cart, so close to each other that there's next to no space between them. Their arms constantly brush. They walk together like they're attached by some invisible bond, like they're meant to be there at each other's sides. There's no doubt that they're more than just friends, that they're lovers. Maybe even more than that.

  That's not what gets her attention, though: gay couples are as regular to her as any other couple, and it's just weird to her that there are still people out there who think otherwise. She was just a toddler when marriage became legal for LGBTQA people across the country. She grew up in a world where it's the law for said people to be able to marry the ones they love and know their rights are protected and that their loved ones will be protected too regardless of their sexual orientation. Even so, she's not so naive that she isn't aware of particular communities and religious establishments that stubbornly persist in trying to set things back to the Dark Ages for LGBTQA people (and everyone else, really, when you think about it). She's not so naive that she isn't aware of how crazy and unfair this vast world can be even with such laws in place. But things are getting better and better, a little more with each day, she thinks.

  No, what gets her attention is the way the slightly taller man of the pair glances at the other man from time to time, with all that warmth and wonder in his large, unguarded eyes. He gazes at the other man as if he can't quite believe that he's there with him. He gazes at the other man as if he's going to wake up any moment now and realize that everything was just a beautiful dream, and he still can't believe that it's all real instead.

  Her lips curve up in a small smile when the other man glances at the slightly taller man and neither one look away. If they've been together a long time then their honeymoon years must be more like honeymoon decades, the way the slightly shorter man of the pair bumps his forehead on the other's and then whispers something with a tender smile like young lovers in puppy love do.

  She's still smiling to herself when she glances back at the shelf and picks up a big bottle of Nutella and puts it in her basket. Her little brat of a brother's been hankering for it for days and she did tell Mom that she'll get it for Sammy the next time she pops into the supermarket. Sammy had better do his homework like he promised for this -

  "I dunno, babe, you really think we should give brown sugar a try?"

  "We've been using granulated and powdered white sugar so far. I don't think it hurts to at least experiment and see how our cakes turn out."

  "Ma's original recipe said white sugar. The brown sugar might change the taste a bit, or the color."

  "Probably, yes."

  "Hmm. Yeah, I guess it doesn't hurt to try at least once."

  "If it's no good, we'll just go back to the original recipe. But if it is good, maybe we can offer an alternative range of cakes for people who prefer brown sugar."

  "Yeah, okay."

  She turns her head and finds the two men nearer to her now, their eyes flitting all over the intimidating rows of packages and boxes of sugars. They halt in front of a row of white packs of brown sugar.

  "Ya think we should get this one, or that one?" says the slightly shorter man with a low, rasping voice and what sounds like a Missouri accent. "There's light and dark."

  He's standing nearer to the shelf and he picks up one of those white packs with his left hand. He appears to be in his early or mid-forties, an attractive man with large, wide-set blue eyes and spiky, thick, golden hair the color of wheat at sunset and a sculpted jaw. His prominent nose on its own may not be deemed conventionally pleasing by other folks, but in combination with those full, pink lips as well, the man's whole face is an arresting sight. His black leather jacket, combat boots, white t-shirt and jeans make him stand out even more in the baking ingredients aisle.

  She can't help noticing how his white t-shirt molds to a lean, muscular torso and a defined abdomen. His jeans cling to a pair of strong, long legs like that of a runner's and she's sure that under that black leather jacket, his arms are just as brawny with scarcely an ounce of extra fat anywhere. This is not a man who lazes on the couch all day and guzzles beer all night long. This is a man who uses his body and keeps it in top shape.

  "We should get natural dark brown, I think," the other, slightly taller man replies with a sublime, resonant voice that has her head swinging in his direction and her heart pitter-pattering for a moment. "It's healthier."

  He's six feet tall and about an inch taller than his companion, probably a few years older. He's dressed in a v-neck, navy blue sweater with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, jeans and casual brown loafers. His dark, thinning hair streaked with gray does not a thing to lessen his classic movie-star handsomeness. He has blue eyes too, the azure of a cloudless sky at noon, almost like crushed diamonds, and a Grecian nose that's just the tiniest bit crooked as if he'd broken it a long time ago. Unlike his companion's lips, his are thinner and a darker pink, neither too full or too thin and just right. His accent marks him as a Chicago guy for sure.

  Although his clothing is loose
r, she has no doubt that he's equally fit and muscular. His chest is broad and the v-neck of his sweater reveals enticing curls going from dark brown to gray. His torso is trim with a flat belly and his legs are thicker than his companion's, like that of a fighter's that can take another man down with one kick. His bare forearms are sinewy. Every time he moves his arms, their muscles stretch and contract in a pronounced display of vitality. No, this is not a man who lazes on the couch all day and guzzles beer all night long either. This is a man who's very likely more robust than most men half his age.

  "Healthier sugar?" the blond man - Blondie, that's what she'll call him - says, his face scrunching up into an amusing expression of disgust. "Really? Is there such a thing? I bet it's that fake stuff that tastes sweet but is all lab-grown or something like that petri dish beef-wannabe those scientists were trying to make people eat."

  The deadpan face of his dark-haired companion - Mr. Classic Star, that's what she'll call him - is amazing to behold. She has to bite her lower lip to not smile even wider as Mr. Classic Star plays along and says, "Brown sugar isn't grown in a laboratory. It has molasses in it. The natural type has some nutritional value and minerals, which makes it better than refined white sugar." Mr. Classic Star raises one eyebrow at Blondie. "Consuming too much sugar isn't good for you anyway."

  They're gazing raptly at each other now, like it's just them in the world and nobody else exists. A girl would have to be blind as a bat to not see those two pairs of blue eyes twinkling with all that love.

  "So are you saying we oughta just cut out all the sugar from our cakes, hm?"

  "Nooo, but -"

  "What kinda chocolate cake isn't sweet? You tell me that!" Blondie waves around the white pack of brown sugar he's got in hand, his eyes wide with outward dismay. "Chocolate cake without sugar is like - like, I dunno, like putting mashed cabbage between two buns and calling it a burger!"

  Mr. Classic Star angles his head in thought, then raises both eyebrows and says, "Technically, that is a burger -"

  Blondie smacks the pack of brown sugar on Mr. Classic Star's broad chest.

  "No! No! Bad man! No!" Blondie smacks the pack of sugar on Mr. Classic Star's broad chest a second time. "A real burger has hot, sizzling meat wedged tight between two nice, thick buns!"

  Mr. Classic Star glances down at their cart and oh, that cute deadpan face is threatening to crack into a smile if she's reading those tremoring lips right. She covers her own tremoring lips with her right hand at Blondie's lewd double entendre. It becomes even funnier to her - and to Mr. Classic Star too - when it turns out that the double entendre was unintentional. Blondie notices his companion trying not to laugh and rolls those large, wide-set eyes and then punches Mr. Classic Star on the upper arm.

  "Get your head outta the gutter for a minute, Phelan Cole!" Blondie's own lips are also tremoring even as he does his best to maintain an outraged expression on his face. "My god, you'd think you would be slowing down at this age instead of getting even more active!"

  Mr. Classic Star's deadpan face returns in full force.

  "It's your fault," Mr. Classic Star retorts with those twinkling, bright blue eyes. "Nobody asked you to walk around in your birthday suit around me all day."

  "Excuse you! First of all, in our house I think I have the right to waltz around in my birthday suit if I want to! It's not my fault if my supreme hotness is too much for you to handle," Blondie shoots back, his eyes going even rounder, his lips tremoring even more with mirth. "Second of all, between you and me, I am not the one who goes around doing perverted things like that all the time! And no, a pair of browline glasses does not count as clothing!"

  She allows herself to laugh noiselessly behind her hand for a few moments. On one hand, she can feel her cheeks going warm from their raunchy repartee. On the other hand, she'd be lying her own ass off if she said the image of these two fine gentlemen in their birthday suits isn't pleasant. She can't blame either one for walking around in the buff in their own home if they choose to do so, especially when it gets hot and so humid in the summer.

  She lowers her hand and glances at them yet again as they continue to banter with each other. So Mr. Classic Star's name is Phelan Cole, huh? Now why does that name sound ... familiar?

  She squints at them. She scrutinizes their handsome faces. They don't seem to notice her presence at all, so wrapped up in each other, and she stares openly, her brain going ping with some remote tidbit of knowledge it'd stored but can't dredge up to the forefront right now. Yeah ... come to think of it, they look familiar too. She just can't quite remember where she's seen them before. But she's sure she's seen their faces and heard that name before. Was it on TV? Or in a book? Maybe she's confusing them with someone else?

  There's one way she can find out now.

  Still carrying her shopping basket with her left hand, she walks up to them and says with a polite smile, "Excuse me."

  The two men stop talking and glance at her in unison. They seem surprised to see her there. They turn to face her, their upper arms pressed together. A broad, amiable smile spreads across Blondie's face and, wow, suddenly she gets why Mr. Classic - no, Mr. Cole is with this guy. He's got a smile like the sun rising on the first day of spring after a dreary, dark winter. The kind of smile that you want to see when you wake up first thing in the morning and you need that zap of the best feelings in the world to get you out of bed to face that vast, crazy, unfair world.

  "Hi there," Blondie says. "You all right?"

  "Oh! Yeah," she replies, nodding once. "Actually, I was just going to - I'm sorry, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation about sugar." She clears her throat and turns to the tall and massive shelf of sugars. She points at a blue-and-white box of dark brown sugar above the white packs. "If you're looking for good brown sugar that's sweet and yet healthy, you may like this one. My grandma always used it when she baked cakes and cookies for everybody."

  Just mentioning Grandma still sends a pang of sadness through her chest. Grandma passed on almost a year ago but that doesn't mean she misses her any less. Grandma's cakes and cookies were the best. Grandma was always there to greet her and hug her tight when she came home for the holidays. Grandma always told her how much she was missed, how silent of song the house was without her. Grandma won't be there when she graduates and receives her bachelor's degree in a few months' time. That's the way life is, she supposes.

  "Yeah? This one?" Blondie puts the white pack of brown sugar back in its place on the shelf and then picks up the box of dark brown sugar she'd pointed at, studying its printed front side and then the back. "Okay, we'll give it a try. Thanks!"

  If Blondie has a dazzling smile, Mr. Cole has one that makes her heart skip a beat and her face flush hot and red. It's just a quirk of his lips and yet, there's something about the way his eyes crinkle and shine with genuine warmth that makes her feel safe and welcomed. Oh, Mr. Cole must have broken many hearts back in the day with that face and that smile!

  She lowers her eyes with a shy smile on her face. When she glances up at Mr. Cole again, he is still gazing at her with those warm, gorgeous eyes.

  "What kind of cakes and cookies did your grandmother bake?" he asks with that resonant voice.

  Her smile expands into a gladder one and she replies, "Oh, she really loved baking big, fat, chewy chocolate chip cookies. Peanut butter cookies, strawberry shortbread and lemon cake and almond honey cake and -" She bites her lower lip, chastising herself inwardly for letting her mouth run off like that. Her voice is lower when she says, "She just loved baking anything that tasted good and made people happy." She isn't certain herself why she decides to also say, "She passed away ten months ago. She was eighty-two."

  She expects Mr. Cole and his companion to just nod politely or something similar. What she doesn't expect is the empathetic gleam in their eyes, like they know exactly how she feels. Like they've just lost somebody very dear to them and they're still feeling the void too.

  "I'm sorry to he
ar that," Blondie says, and she knows that he means it.

  "You love her very much," Mr. Cole says and she doesn't miss his deliberate use of present tense.

  "I do," she murmurs, knowing for a certainty that they understand what she's feeling, that it's okay to keep on loving and missing somebody even after they've left this world.

  She smiles back at them with crinkled, warm eyes. She gestures at their half-full shopping cart of baking supplies with her right hand and draws the conversation back to neutral ground by asking, "If you don't mind me asking, what kind of cakes are you going to bake?"

  Mr. Cole answers, "Well, we'll make at least one six-layer chocolate cake with toasted marshmallow filling and malted chocolate frosting today."

  "And a chocolate pound cake with bacon bourbon frosting," Blondie adds while plucking another box of dark brown sugar from the shelf to put in the cart. "For Mrs. Flaherty."

  She blinks at them, her brow furrowing. A six-layer chocolate cake with toasted marshmallow filling and malted chocolate frosting? Now why does that sound familiar as well?

  "Okay," she says, her forehead smoothed out again, her smile almost a grimace, "this is kinda awkward, but ... I think I've seen you somewhere before. I just can't remember where and when. Were you guys on TV? Maybe?"

  She's treated to an amusing, wordless exchange between the two men: Mr. Cole waits until Blondie is looking at him again and then deliberately tilts his head in her direction. Blondie frowns in bafflement at him. Mr. Cole gives a pointed glance down at the vicinity of Blondie's right hip, where his jeans' side pocket is. Blondie frowns at him even more. Mr. Cole raises both eyebrows at him while narrowing his eyes. Then, Blondie's face goes slack with realization while Mr. Cole stares at him with that deadpan face that makes her press her lips together to stop herself from smiling. Blondie rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh.

  Yeah, a girl would have to be blinder than a bat to not see what an old, married couple they are, to be able to communicate with each other like that. To know each other like that. They don't even need those identical court-shaped, platinum rings on the fourth fingers of their left hands to tell anybody with eyes that they're as married as can be.