"Can you pass the salad, dad?" Sandra asks. The four of them are sitting in what is now Ellen's house for their Saturday dinner - Luis only comes when he feels up for it, which tends to be about once a month. After yesterday's evening, the comfort of his family soothes Edwin's nerves. He and Caroline went home shortly after midnight, but despite his exhaustion, he lay wide awake until 4 am. When he slept, it was restless and he woke again at 8, his head heavier than before. No shower or tea could wash that grogginess away. He went jogging, but his mind outran him and mindless TV turned into a background buzz that couldn't keep his attention.

Eventually, he came over early and helped Ellen prepare dinner, chatting about books and movies and The Voice of Flanders. The house is warm and lively and the changes since he moved out have become familiar too. It's still their space, the home of their family, the keeper of their memories. Edwin wonders if the air in the rooms ever aches with emptiness, or if Ellen talks to herself to fill the holes.

"Have you thought about selling yet?"

Ellen shakes her head, chewing on a potato. "Not changed my mind. Too set in my ways, I think." She accompanies her words with a wry smile.

"Are you sure?" Sandra insists. "Because this is a lot of space for just you."

"That's what I said," Edwin agrees.

"I hear you." Ellen sighs. "But I just ... Moving seems like such a hassle. And we've gone to all the trouble of legally sorting this out for the divorce. If I feel lonely, all the more reason to invite people over."

"Throwing parties?" Sandra teases.

"Always," Ellen smirks. "I'm the life of any party, remember?"

"But seriously, if you wanted out, Luis and I could totally buy the house from you. We've been thinking about something bigger."

"Maybe in a few years," Ellen dismisses the proposal. She's never gonna sell the house. Not before she's retired. Maybe she needs the walls with scratches from children's toys and the coffee table with a paint stain to feel at home.

"Dad, do you throw parties now that you live alone?" Tamara pipes up. She leans on her hand and studies him.

"I haven't done that yet, but I've gone out a few times."

Sandra oohs. "You go to the parties!"

Edwin chuckles. "Just with friends. And they're more get-togethers than actual parties."

"Have you made new friends? No one has seen you since you stopped coming to the basketball trainings." Worry underlies Ellen's statement. It's unfair. He didn't choose to lose most of his friends by virtue of being the husband first and the friend second.

"Benjamin is a homophobe and the rest of them weren't much better, so I quitted. But I met a few gay men who invited me to join their team and Caroline took me to an LGBT bar in Antwerp." He will say more another time. When his children aren't watching.

"Oh, that's great! She probably knows a lot of people." Ellen's enthusiasm lights up her face, crinkling her eyes.

"You knew she is bi?"

"You didn't? Jeez, Ed, she hung up this pride flag a few years ago and her lock screen is literally the bi colours."

"I don't know the bi colours." Something hot curls up in Edwin's neck. He should have known. She's his oldest friend; they met when he and Ellen had only been dating for a few weeks and her support has never wavered.

"Dad, even I know the bisexual flag," Sandra exclaims. "And I thought I was thicker than you."

"Yeah, yeah, we've established I'm completely oblivious, as shown by the fact it took me fifty years to figure out I want a man, not a woman." The words leave an acidic aftertaste on his tongue.

"How's that looking for you?" Ellen questions.

"I'm taking my time." Or is he lying to himself? Is he still uncomfortable, like Vincent implied? Homophobic? That's such a ridiculous notion. He's gay - he has accepted he's gay. He's not uncomfortable around Patrick or any of his teammates, just Vincent who flirts and pokes and loves to watch him stumble. "For now, I'm happy to have more gay friends."

"Are they single?" Sandra asks with a cheeky smile.

"Some," Edwin allows. "But I can handle my own love life." Which is currently non-existing, and he can handle that too.

"Hey, just checking for potential. You never tell us anything."

"I tell you plenty."

"But nothing juicy."

"Yeah, tell us the good stuff," Ellen joins in. Her eyes twinkle.

"You can gossip with each other," Edwin grunts.

"Come on," Sandra whines. "Give us something to work with. When was the last time you went to a party?"

"It wasn't a party." Edwin hesitates. "But Caroline and I went back to that LGBT bar yesterday."

"Was it nice?" Tamara's voice staves off an onslaught from Sandra or Ellen, but she always asks the questions that matter. He can never evade her.

"It was fine. Better than the first time."

"When was the first time?" Ellen inquires.

"May. Shortly after I moved out."

"Was it that bad?" Sandra leans in and absently puts a salad leaf in her mouth. He had hoped she wouldn't ask that. It feels too intimate, but if not Sandra, it would have been Tamara.

Edwin looks at his own plate and gathers a bite on his fork. "Not really. It was mostly that they're Caroline's friends and they all know each other and there's nobody like me. Who came out when they were older, I mean. But they're nice."

"I bet you just gotta give it time. They'll appreciate you when they know you." Edwin smiles at Sandra's sweet words. It probably is that simple. He exchanged numbers and e-mail addresses with Eliane yesterday and more people had put in an effort to talk to him this time. People other than Vincent. How is it possible that both of his visits to the bar, Vincent stars in most of his memories? He is like a field of gravity, sucking up attention, drawing everyone into his orbit, weighing him down. Edwin would rather forget him.

"What do you think about men wearing make-up?" he blurts out.

"Why would that be an issue? I don't understand." Sandra's voice rises with stupefaction.

Edwin rests his gaze on Ellen. She shrugs. "It's a free country. I don't have to understand their reasons or find them attractive if that's what they wanna do. Not my business." The air in Edwin's lungs is heavy when he breathes in.

"I think it's brave," Tamara offers. "Society says make-up is feminine and that men can't be feminine, so it takes courage to defy those expectations. Same with men wearing dresses. Maybe even more so." Men wear dresses? Everyday men who are not performing? Edwin's lungs shrink with every breath.

"You think it's a good thing?"

"I do." Tamara is firm, piercing him with her gaze.

"Same," Sandra says.

"I think it is what it is." Ellen's voice is low and even. "It's no different from women choosing to wear their hair short or men wearing it long."

"I think gender roles are too rigid and we need more people to break them. Nothing will change if everyone conforms to the same, old norms over and over again." Tamara leans back, her plate clear.

"Luis let me do make-up on him once."

Edwin's eyebrows shoot up. Sandra looks smug. "He did?"

"Yeah, but he didn't like it. Said it itched and he didn't have the patience to sit still with me in his face for so long. I think it was just in his head." Her lips form a thin line.

Edwin considers his next question. "Do you think some men wear make-up purely because it's not the norm?"

He looks at Ellen, but Tamara answers: "Possibly. But I assume the reasons men wear make-up are as diverse as the reasons women wear make-up."

"Why do you all wear make-up then? Sometimes?"

"Because I like to hide?" Tamara replies with a self-deprecating laugh. "But seriously, I started when my acne was really bad and now I do it when I want a confidence boost."

"I like testing out different things," Sandra shrugs.

"I would wear make-up less often if it wasn't what is expected of me to look beautiful," Ellen says.

"I didn't expect that?!" Edwin is sure he's told her she's beautiful with or without.

"Not you. Society. And you don't count."

"I know a beautiful woman when I see one!"

"Yeah, but I don't need to impress you. Or attract you." Ellen draws up one corner of her mouth in a wry smile. "We are judged much more harshly on our looks than men in our daily life."

"And that's why you wear make-up? Because you are expected to look perfect? Or expected to wear make-up?"

"Both. And on some days, yes. Other days, I do it for myself. Or if I want to look nice for someone else." Me, Edwin understands. Or it used to be me. Does Vincent wear make-up to look nice for someone? For himself? He dares to express himself. Maybe Edwin should take those words at face value, or not question Vincent's reasons at all.

"Why all the questions though?" Sandra inquires. "Do you want to try? I'm always willing to help." Her grin is way too eager for Edwin's taste, like a cat who has seen a toy and will jump at the slightest movement.

"Absolutely not. I just had a discussion yesterday that made me wonder."

"Ah." Sandra slumps in her chair and stays silent, her curiosity apparently finding no more ground to grow roots.

***

Sandra and Tamara leave around 9. They hug and Edwin avoids Tamara's gaze. She'll notice too much anyway, but he likes to pretend she doesn't read people like she reads books. He's lucky she won't call, like the other women in his life would. House empty, Edwin nestles in a corner of the couch and zaps through channels. It's the couch they have had for fifteen years, but it's not his spot. He mostly sat in the armchair, which is now in his apartment. Ellen sits in the other corner, close yet so far. She holds out her hand for the remote and turns down the volume to zero.

"So, you had a discussion yesterday about make-up." Ellen is not like Tamara, but she knows him too well. Of course he can't fool her. She's gonna dig and he wants to clam up, but they're alone and they've shared their joys and woes and life for over three decades; he can share this.

"There's a guy Caroline knows who wears make-up and we ... argued." And now Vincent's words stick to him like glitter. Yeah, Vincent is the glitter he can't wash off.

"About make-up?" Ellen's tone is even, no judgement.

"Kinda. He's a walking stereotype and he makes me uncomfortable." Edwin crosses his arms, as if Vincent is watching him, judging. It sounds worse when he recounts it to Ellen.

"Because he wears make-up?" Ellen doesn't relent. She's holding back, baiting him.

He bites. "Yes! No! I don't know. He said that too."

"He thinks he makes you uncomfortable because he wears make-up?" The question burns like ash raining down on his skin.

"Basically." He elaborates, the words tumbling out like a waterfall, but they're acid. "And a bunch of other things. Not my best moment, but he gets under my skin. He's a holier-than-thou type."

Ellen purses her lips. "Can't fault him there, if you implied make-up is a bad thing."

"No! Not that. I only implied - ... said - men shouldn't wear make-up."

Ellen straightens. "You're not still thinking that, are you? Because Sandra and Tamara have a point and it's really not up to you to police other people's looks. Can't get more judgemental than that."

Edwin tastes ash. "I get that. I still don't understand why any men would choose to wear make-up, but that's not up to me."

Ellen nods. "I'm glad you're not a rock unwilling to change. God knows there's enough men out there who blow up at a spat of colour on their tower of masculinity. How did the rest of the conversation go? You apologised, right?"

The brief pause is answer enough, but Edwin utters the words anyway: "I should do that the next time I see him."

"Edwin!" Ellen shouts. "You didn't! You better seek him out. I take it the whole conversation went poorly then?"

"I think he was tired of me at the end." He pushed me, Edwin wants to say, but the fire has left him. Pushed him to what? Feel inadequate? Cornered, insulted? Correct his opinions, be better?

Ellen's gaze is heavy like the air filled with the scent of fire and ash. "You might not be a rock, but you can sure be stubborn." Ellen's chuckles are a balm for his heart.

"I'm very good at not seeing what I don't want to see. Can't expect everyone to put up with it like you do." He should take her advice to heart. Vincent is tough, but he was unfair. No dislike can justify hurting another person with his wilful blindness. He can never make it up to Ellen, but he can apologise to Vincent.

"I've been trained," Ellen jokes. "And you make up for it with thoughtful gestures."

***

Author's Note: There will be no more recommendations from now on, so no regular author's notes either, but I'd love to hear your feedback and thoughts on any aspect of the story! Or just come say hi, that makes me happy too.