by JD Chambers
It’s been too long since we last hung out. I’d forgotten that Mal is nothing if not persistent. And cocky for a reason, because they rarely fail once they’ve set their mind to something. I have a feeling that something is going to be me spilling my guts over fries and a greasy burger tonight.
20
Zach
I’m so glad Ben is here with me. The thought keeps circling around in my head as I stand by the bar, gripping my glass way too tight. The condensation makes it slippery, and I place both hands around it like a toddler, which seems pretty fitting. The hordes of confident men, whether demanding a drink at the bar or slinking together on the dance floor, which includes Craig with some unknown guy wrapped around him, makes me feel so naïve and out of place.
When I got his text inviting me out tonight, the knots of worry that had started to tie up my stomach began to loosen. Well, they’re back, and now I’m wondering why he invited me at all. If he wanted to stop seeing me, he could have just said so. I honestly didn’t take him for a coward, but I guess crickets don’t lie.
He stumbles on the dance floor, and I realize it’s because he’s seen me. Ben has been strangely quiet next to me, but as Craig and the stranger approach, Ben holds out his hand.
“Hey man,” Ben nods to Craig, then introduces himself to the exotic-looking man half-draped across Craig.
“Mal,” Craig’s friend practically purrs at Ben before taking his hand. “Let’s dance,” he says and leads Ben to the dance floor. I don’t even warrant a first glance, much less an introduction.
Craig’s eyes can’t seem to find mine, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s drunk or avoiding me. He watches our friends walk away, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Definitely avoiding me.
“So, that’s Mal. He seems … friendly.”
“They.” His eyes finally connect with mine, but they’re distant and glassy. Also definitely drunk. “Mal’s non-binary. Use they pronouns.”
“Oh.” Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that. “Okay.”
I could kick myself for my stupidity Thursday night. This is Eric all over again, except Craig is a decent guy who is trying not to be a dick about the whole thing. I’d say we stand and stare at each other for the next few minutes, but neither of us can actually meet the other’s gaze. It’s more like we look in the general direction of each other’s head, but then focus on something just off to the side.
“I think I’m going to go. I’m really tired from the drive.” The tiny piece of me that was hoping he’d stop me, buy me a drink, ask me to dance, anything, dies when he nods. I can practically see the relief wafting off him.
My throat tightens and I’m determined not to let him see that he’s affected me. I text Ben to meet me at the car and exit the club. The brick wall of the alley beside the club is familiar, as is the ache I’m feeling inside.
Why do I always do this to myself? A sob catches in the back of my throat, and Ben’s arms are around me before I even realize he’s found me.
“Oh sweetie,” he whispers into my hair, “Let’s go home.”
My eyes were almost swollen shut from all the crying last night, so Ben fixed a cold pack for me to help with the puffiness. He also made coffee, and although I appreciated that he was just trying to show his support, in a way it only made things worse. It reminded me of how totally fucking pathetic I am, a grown man who is unable to have a relationship because they either run from my social oddities or from my disgusting perversions.
At least I can be assured that Craig will be the last thing on my mind now that I’m at my parents’ house. They should be home from church any minute, so I go ahead and let myself in, and the scent of pot roast fills the air. Standard Sunday lunch. My stomach growls, which isn’t a surprise given that I haven’t been able to eat anything since the disaster at the club last night. I grab a spoon and scoop out a carrot.
The door from the kitchen out to the garage opens, so I stuff the carrot into my mouth, then promptly spit it out onto the floor.
“Fuck! Hot!”
“Language, Zachariah,” my mother says from the doorway. She tsks at the mess and makes a big show of setting aside her Bible to get a wet paper towel to clean up the single carrot on the floor. “What were you doing?”
“Testing to see if the carrots were done?”
She shoots me a long-suffering look and tells me to go wash up, and I leave, feeling like I’m twelve again. This seems to be a recurring theme with me. The only time I don’t seem to feel young and inadequate is when I’m working.
No Sunday lunch would be complete if we didn’t start out by holding hands and praying first. I didn’t find it so creepy when I was younger. Now that I’m older, and it’s a thing they do no matter who’s in attendance, I realize I’ve had to hold hands with some pretty random people over the years. Gives me the creeps. I bet Craig would find it hilarious, and I cringe when I remember that I can’t text him about it.
Once we’re finally able to start eating, I pull out all the paperwork that I collected yesterday in Denver. I don’t think Dad even notices, but I swear Mom has a full-blown internal debate between having “work” at the dinner table and wanting to plan Shelby’s party. Planning wins. Thank god, because my brain has already started on a downward spiral, and I absolutely refuse to cry over a boy in front of my mother. I’d put a fork in my leg first.
I spread out all the brochures, starting with the smallest (and only) room available at such short notice, which still has room for one hundred guests. There’s a sticker with the quoted price for our two hours fixed to the top corner. Dad sees it and chokes on a potato.
“Now, honey, that’s not too unreasonable, given the location,” Mom says as she reaches over and pats his back. I’m glad he’s not really choking, because she’s not putting a whole lot of effort into it.
“Actually, that’s just the base rate. It doesn’t include the catering, which is per person, or the AV rental that Shelby requested.” Yes, Shelby has decided it would be lovely to have her sonogram video playing on repeat for the whole party. Because nothing’s more appetizing than looking at a woman’s insides over finger foods.
I hand over those figures and enjoy the show. Mom still tries to desperately wave away the expense as totally normal while Dad’s color changes based on a large variety of fruits and vegetables – tomato to cherry and ending at beet.
“Did you put down the deposit?” Mom asks as if she doesn’t notice that Dad’s about to have a total brain hemorrhage.
“You said you’d put it on your card,” I remind her, while hoping that my father makes it through lunch. “The guy I met with said he’d hold the room for you to call him today with the info. He’s also going to want to know which catering package you want. I’ve already told him the AV is a definite.”
“That’s just fantastic, darling. I can’t wait to call Shelby tonight and let her know.”
Mom excuses herself from the table so that she can start making calls.
“Sorry, Dad. I tried.”
Dad grumps and we both start to clear the table. Mom will probably be busy for the rest of the afternoon at this point. The sooner I get the dishes done, the sooner I can get back to Fort Collins and have another breakdown in private.
When I get in the car, my phone buzzes. I pull it out to let Ben know I’m on my way back, figuring the text is from him. Instead I find a slew of texts from Craig that came in during lunch.
Craig: Hi
Craig: I was wondering if you would like to go to the fireworks with me on Tuesday?
Craig: I was hoping we could talk. I’m sorry for shutting you out the past few days.
Craig: And for last night. I just
Craig: Never mind. If you want to talk, I’d like to.
The last text was the one that had just come in. I don’t text him back right away as my brain weighs all the possibilities. I arrive at my apartment parking lot without even remembering the drive home, and I’m texting him
before I even realize I’ve made a decision.
Zach: Okay
21
Craig
I couldn’t sleep last night, and not because I’m going to be stuck on this stupid float all day. Zach agreed to meet me at the fireworks tonight and I’m so fucking nervous. I know I should have talked with him about everything that happened instead of freaking out, but I can’t take it back now. And even if I could, I’m not sure if I have a self-regulating ability like some people do. I needed to have that freak-out and experience what it felt like to push Zach away to come to the realization that I don’t want to push Zach away.
But I don’t have time to think of that now. I have to head to the store. I don’t even bother with a shower because I’m going to be ripe after four hours in the heat in my costume. I really hate Ted sometimes.
Ted and his nephew Jonathon must have already arrived, because the back door to the store is propped open. The trailer base that we covered with crepe paper and our “Happy 4th of July from Game Over!” banner last night sits in the open parking lot, waiting for the finishing touches. That would be four giant cardboard boxes that we painted to look like arcade games and four employees dressed up like founding fathers. I suppose it could be worse. Ben suggested that we reenact Hamilton on our float. Unfortunately, the part of that suggestion that stuck was the costumes.
Jonathan’s lugging one of the boxes out the door when he spots me. I wave hi even though he can’t wave back, and get a grin and a nod in return. I help him get it placed in the right spot on the trailer, and he pulls the roll of duct tape off his wrist so we can strap it down. Ted has the next box situated by the time we finish, so we move on to the next one.
I tap Jonathan’s arm, and when he looks up, I sign, “How are you? Long time no see.”
Jonathan worked at Game Over during his first couple of years at CSU. I’m not very fluent in sign language, but he’s the reason I know as much as I do. His junior year, he stopped working for Ted so that he could do an internship with the Forest Service. Every once in a while, if Ted is really hard up, Jonathan will fill in at the store.
He grins and signs back, “Good. School’s fine. This is going to be fun.”
He might not hear my laugh, but he can see my eyes roll, and it makes him smile even bigger. “You’re crazy.”
“I can’t wait,” he signs.
Ted yells for us to get the other boxes, so I motion for us to go back inside. By the time we return, Ben, Laura, Jason, and Dave have gathered around the trailer. Laura’s wearing a sparkly red, white, and blue top and gets to trail after the float with a bucket of candy for the kids. Lucky. Ted couldn’t find a costume for her.
Ben barely helps, because that would take him away from scowling at me. It’s the first time we’ve worked together since the disaster at the bar on Saturday, and I was obviously mistaken if I thought he’d remain a neutral party in all this. Not that I blame him. I’ve been a total dick to Zach. But at least he and Mal seemed to hit it off on Saturday.
“What did you do to him?” Jonathan asks me.
“I’ll tell you later,” I respond, angling away from the others. Laura and Dave both know a little sign language for the same reason I do, and I don’t want to be the subject of workplace gossip.
“Okay,” Jonathan signs and starts to go back inside. Once the others get the last two boxes taped down, all that’s left is getting our costumes on, and although I want to wait until the last possible minute, Jonathan can barely contain his excitement. “Showtime!” he signs with a grin and jazz hands, while the duct tape still jangles on his wrist. I can’t help but laugh when I’m around Jonathan. His happiness is infectious.
“Dude, can you bring the tape back?” Ben calls after him, and I realize that Ben’s never met Jonathan before. He’s never this rude to strangers, and I feel bad that Jonathan is bearing the brunt of my actions, even if unknowingly.
“He’s hard of hearing,” I tell Ben. “Hang on.”
I chase Jonathan down and point to his wrist. He giggles and poses, like duct tape is his newest accessory, before handing it over.
“Come meet Ben,” I tell him, and we walk back to the float.
“Ben, this is Jonathan,” I say, spelling out Ben but using Jonathan’s ASL name, which is the letter J in a swoop across the forehead. “He worked here for years before getting an internship for school. Ted is his uncle. Jonathan, this is Ben. He’s new. He’s been working for a month now.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jonathan says in his signature high and breathy voice as he signs. Since he’s hard of hearing, he does speak a little, especially if it isn’t too noisy at the time.
I’ve never seen Ben look so uncomfortable, but he gives a curt nod and smile, and takes the tape from me so he can return to work.
Jonathan frowns, but quickly shakes himself out of it. “It’s my fault,” I tell him, because it’s true. I can’t imagine anyone not liking Jonathan. “I’ve been dating his best friend and screwed it up.”
“Isn’t that the right way?” Jonathan signs with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
In return, I give him the universal sign for “fuck you.”
The parade is as hellacious as I feared. Spending hours in a powdered wig, breeches, and a tailcoat in July feels about like you’d expect – like your brain is melting down your back. Now that I’ve had a chance to shower and rehydrate, I can focus on this evening and what I’m going to say to Zach.
Ben didn’t get any better as the day progressed. He smiled and waved at parade goers, but whenever Jonathan or I came into view, the scowl returned. I didn’t say anything because Zach needs to hear from me first. He’s the one I owe the apology and explanation to, not Ben.
Other than texts arranging the time and place to meet at the fireworks tonight, I haven’t heard from Zach, so it’s a surprise when my phone dings with a text from him as I’m getting everything ready for what I hope will turn out to be a date.
The text is a photo of the Game Over float in the parade. Jonathan looks adorable, waving to the crowd. Ben towers over the arcade games like he’s about to crush them. And I look like I’m two seconds away from having the paramedics called in for heat stroke.
Craig: I look like I’m about to puke.
I pack beer into a cooler and have a separate bag full of Thai Opal takeout. Not the most festive meal for July Fourth, but I’m hoping the reminder of our first kind-of date and the fact that he loves it matters more.
Zach: I know. I was worried about you. We can cancel if you want.
I have to lean against the kitchen counter to keep my legs under me. He was worried about me. The tiny glimmer of hope I was keeping tamped down flares to life in my chest.
Craig: Fuck no I’m not cancelling. Headed out the door right now.
Zach: Okay
Zach lives closer to City Park than I do, so by the time I find a parking spot, there’s a waiting text, letting me know that he has a spot near the baseball field. I drag my cooler and bag of food through the masses of blankets already spread out across the massive field in preparation for the fireworks. I have to dodge kids and dogs and Frisbees, but I finally see Zach and make it to his small purple quilt in one piece.
Zach sees me and stands. He looks like he wants to hug me, but holds back, and I can’t tell if it’s because things are awkward now between us or if it’s because I’m loaded down. He grabs the cooler and sets it on a corner of the blanket that keeps flapping in the wind.
“Hi,” he says, and pink immediately starts to spread across his cheeks.
I can’t stop myself from reaching out with my free hand and running a thumb across his cheekbone. “I’ve missed your blushing,” I say and it only makes his blush deepen. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
Zach’s hand reaches out and my heart pounds as I think he’s reaching for me, but he grabs the takeout bag instead. “You brought food?”
A lump catches in my throat, making it impossible for me to respond, so I no
d and gesture for us both to sit. Zach eagerly pulls out the food, inhaling and exhaling a satisfied sigh. “Thai Opal. Thank you.”
We eat quietly together as the sun drops below the horizon and street lamps dotted throughout the park pop on.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Zach says, digging through the cooler for a water. He eyes the beer in my hand with concern. “I mean after this morning. You seemed seriously dehydrated.”
“I’m okay, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll switch to water.”
He nods and hands me the water, taking my beer and dumping it into the grass beside us. When he looks back at me, there’s a defiance on his face that’s daring me to complain about it. But I can’t. If he wants to take care of me still, I’m not going to argue. The water lid twists open with a crack, and I fidget with it while trying to gather my courage.
“I am so sorry for the way I acted, Zach. And the way I treated you.” When I finally get the nerve to meet his eyes, they’re shiny behind his glasses, and I’m a total shit for ever making him feel like that. “I got freaked out, and instead of talking to you like an adult, I acted like an idiot.” He looks down at his hands, twisting them together. “Please tell me I haven’t ruined everything.”
It takes a few seconds for him to gather his thoughts, but it feels like an eternity to me, waiting to see if I still have a chance.
“I didn’t mean to say it. It just slipped out. I’ve only ever told one other person that I like things like that. That I want things like that.” I reach out and pry one of his hands away from the other and link our fingers together. I haven’t been here the past few days to give him anything, but maybe I can give him a little strength now. “It was a college boyfriend. Once he found out, he called me a freak and a slut. I promised myself that I’d never tell anyone ever again.”
I drop his hand so that I can cradle his face, making sure he’s looking at me as I speak to him. “You’re none of those things, Zach. I mean it. You’re beautiful and amazing, and anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth it, myself included.”
