Open Mike Night [Sean]

[Mike Batista]

With all the busyness of the spring, evaluations and recommendations on the kids to write up, seniors to bulk up for later testing, Stefan's advances to fend off (slightly more frequent now that the roads were more reasonable), his fosters to teach and gently 'dad', storm windows to change out for screens (perhaps a bit premature, but Mike so loved letting in the fresh air after having the house closed up for winter), and of course, one of his bi-yearly physicals. As a trainer who often got more of a workout than his students, and as a newly minted sixty-year-old, Mike was very conscious of staying on top of any problems that might come up. Due to his age, body type, and ethnic group he was more at risk for diabetes than the average American, but his doctor had been very pleased and pronounced him in excellent health.

So... Mike didn't think a celebratory meal of carne asada with corn tortillas, a bit of beans and rice, and some grilled vegetables would be out of the question. And maybe a bit of wine? Aaaaaaand perhaps a piece of the fresh strawberry galette he'd picked up at Abe's? His fosters were out, and they were staying overnight at the dorms with some friends, so the old trainer had invited Sean over to join him. He'd invited Josh as well, but the pair of them often did things separately and the lawyer was otherwise occupied, though had (again) wished him a very happy belated birthday.

Part of his birthday present from his family had been a rather enormous box full of Californian food; a stack of corn tortillas nearly three feet tall, a bag of husks and another of masa for tamales, a package of queso fresco wider than his outstretched hand, and a lone can of Abuelita, amongst other things. Made him glad he'd invested in a chest freezer all that time ago.

Soft strains of the local '70s radio station played, a mix of pop, folk, and rock. The skirt steak, already sliced, was marinating in the fridge - it wouldn't take long to fry it up. The tortillas he'd pre-heated on the frying pan and then put in the oven on low with a pot of water to keep them from drying out, along with the roasted peppers. The beans and rice bubbled lightly on the stove, and in all, if he did say so himself, the house smelled delicious.

When the doorbell rang promptly at six-thirty, Mike finished wiping food-prep splatters off his glasses and answered the door with a smile. "Come in, come in," he said, clapping the taller man on the back. "Would you like some wine? I have red and white."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was glad that he was only turning fifty-eight this year, and not for several months at that, rather than turning sixty. He had had a stressful enough school year without having to worry about his birthday bouts worsening due to such a heavy milestone. Instead, he could focus on Josh’s fifty-fifth birthday, and spending time with his friend Mike after the older man’s sixtieth. Or, rather, the aftermath of his sixtieth birthday.

Since Mike liked to cook, the telepath hadn’t brought a side dish, instead letting the trainer plan the entire meal. Having cut back on the liquor had led to him bringing fewer alcoholic beverages as gifts, leaving him instead with a bundt cake that he’d made. Perhaps it wasn’t the most thematic dessert, but he hoped Mike would enjoy it after supper.

He smiled at the trainer when the door opened, barely finding the time to do that before he was ushered inside. “I’d love a glass, but you tell me what we’re having before I make my decision.”

If they were having red meat, he’d go with red wine. For fish or poultry, he would choose white. The telepath was traditional in his wine pairings.

He then held the covered cake platter out to the other man. “And where can I put this?”

[Mike Batista]

Mike had never had any fixation or paranoia, however small, on the number of his age. He kept it in mind for health reasons, but otherwise had resigned himself to being an 'old man' when he'd arrived at age 32. Anyone over 30 was 'old' to the kids, and he appreciated the irony, as he'd thought all the teachers and trainers and staff had been way stupid when he'd attended. And like, ancient.

He also preferred it when he cooked authentic that people didn't bring any main dish accessories; not to be snobby, but potato salad or steamed carrots broke the whole Mexican mood for him.

"Carne asada," he said, using the proper Spanish pronunciation. It felt good to roll those r's sometimes. "Beef," he added, in case Sean forgot what that entailed. His eyes lit at the cake. "Gracias, that looks delicious! Did Josh make it? We can put it in the kitchen."

The red he had breathing on his counter was lightly sweet, to counter the savory, spicy food. The white was in the fridge. Mike didn't hold much with wine pairings; he liked to experiment with combinations. And hey, a very dry white went great with grilled cheese.

"I haven't had one of these in awhile," he said, peering at the cake in admiration. "Is this the kind with the filling?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean had never gone through the adults are stupid; I know so much more than them phase, but he also hadn’t had a typical childhood. It was difficult to maintain such a myopic and ageist attitude when one quite literally depended on a man forty-years one’s senior to maintain one’s sanity, and when one’s social circle consisted primarily, if not entirely, on teachers. He understood the impulse in the abstract clinical sense, but he had no embarrassing memories of thinking that way.

And now (and for several years) the students thought he was ancient. When, in his forties, someone had thought he was sixty was, perhaps, the worst of it. Contrasted with Josh who was mistaken for his early forties when he was turning fifty-five this year.

Beef led to a simple choice for the telepath, who, while not an oenophile in the strictest sense, cared about matching wine selection to meal contents. “In that case, I’ll have red.” He trusted Mike to choose the specific bottle and vintage.

“It has chocolate ganache inside,” he said with a smile. “Josh and I made it together.”

His partner had taken up baking as a hobby a couple of years ago, and he had diligently kept up with his lessons and homework. As the telepath enjoyed baking, it gave them yet another point of bonding.

[Mike Batista]

Personally, Mike thought one of the things that kept Joshua looking younger than his years was the fire and brimstone he tended to unleash when he was passionate about something. Not that older adults couldn't muster the same emotion, but it was much rarer.

When Sean said red, Mike chose a pair of pleasingly globular goblets and poured each of them half a glass. He raised his own to the cake and then to his friend. "I'm sure it'll be excellent, did you make one for yourselves too?"

Sipping his wine, he sighed happily. "You ready to eat? I just have to fry up the meat. Won't take but a few minutes."

Setting his drink down and going to the fridge to take out the marinating carne, he asked, "So how are things?"

He left the question deliberatly open, not caring if Sean chose his home life, or anything going on at school. "I'm hoping that I can start doing sessions outside again."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean partially agreed with Mike’s assessment. He believed that one of the things that kept Josh feeling younger than his years was his passion, which managed to permeate all areas of life for better or for worse. He knew that kept his partner’s mind active, and it provided him both with excessive mental - and then physical - energy but also with a focus towards which to channel it. However, he also knew that Josh’s personality type played a role in that; he was so extroverted, and he had such a wide social network that he always found something or someone to energize him. By contrast, Josh looked like his father, and Bobby Bernstein’s round features had granted him the same youthful appearance that his son enjoyed. The fact that the attorney remained perpetually baby-faced, mostly unwrinkled, and had a full and dark head of hair made all the difference.

Briefly, his thoughts drifted back to when he and his partner had baked the cake. That had been a pleasant evening. “No, but we have enough at home anyway.” There never existed a shortage of baked goods in the Neville-Bernstein home, not even with the dietary restrictions.

At the question, the telepath patted his stomach with both hands. “I’m ready when you are. Do you want me to set anything out?” Although he didn’t expect to have to work, manners dictated that he offer.

“You and I both.” Although the psychiatrist’s sessions differed greatly from Mike, he enjoyed taking advantage of the nice weather. Some of the students opened up to him when they went for walks around the courtyard, and the winter made that impossible.

As for the rest of it, he shrugged. “You know how it is. Graduation is so close and yet still out of reach.”