Middle of Somewhere Series Box Set

by Roan Parrish

  I need to get some dinner, go home, and put myself the hell to bed if I want to finish this tomorrow. I gather my stuff and trudge downstairs.

  “Daniel?”

  I spin around and find myself face to face with Rex—well, face to throat; damn, he’s tall.

  “Hi,” I say, smiling at him. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I’m just picking up some things, and I needed to look up some stuff.” Well, that was specific. I nod, though, too tired to press him. “What are you working on?” He guides me over to the bench next to the wall and brings me down next to him. I lean into him a little.

  “I have to give a paper at this conference in Detroit on Saturday. It’s the biggest annual conference in my field and my panel got accepted over the summer, which is great, but I kind of forgot about it, what with moving and teaching and everything. Then this morning I looked at my calendar and realized it’s, you know, really soon.”

  Even as I’m telling Rex this, my stomach is tightening. It’s the first panel that I’ve proposed that has been accepted at a really prestigious conference, and I was jazzed about working on a new project when I wrote the abstract. Of course, sitting down this morning to start writing it, realizing I only have a few days, is a different story.

  “I’ve got to finish it tomorrow so I can practice it and time it. Then I’m driving down Friday afternoon and coming back Sunday. I can’t believe I left it this long. I just started it this afternoon. It’s going to be crap because I’m throwing it together.”

  My stomach lets out an audible rumble even though I’ve moved past hunger to sheer anxiety. I’m blocking out hours in my head as I talk—three hours for teaching tomorrow, then I can work on the paper, then I need to do laundry so I have clean clothes for the conference; I should definitely check my car before I leave—and I miss something Rex says.

  “Sorry,” I say, “what?”

  Rex narrows his eyes at me.

  “I said when was the last time you ate?”

  “Um. Breakfast?” I say. Which is technically true, even though breakfast was half a bagel I found in my bag from yesterday.

  “Daniel, it’s after seven.” When Rex gets worried, that damned wrinkle in the middle of his forehead comes out—the one I can’t help but associate with his face clenched in pleasure. I reach out absently and smooth it with my finger. His expression softens.

  “Hi,” I say, and I kiss him. I don’t generally kiss in libraries, it’s true, but no one can see us, and I can’t resist touching him when he’s this close.

  He smiles and squeezes my hand. “Hi. So, can I take you to get some food?”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I say. “I was just going to grab something on my way home. I’m gonna crash out early, I think, since I have to try and finish this tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” he says neutrally. “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, that sounds great—oh shit!” I grab my calendar from my bag and flip through it. “Shit, shit. I can’t. I’m having dinner with Jay tomorrow. I forgot.”

  “Who’s Jay?” Rex lets go of my hand.

  “He teaches in my department. He’s helping me with this committee I’m accidentally chairing—don’t ask. Anyway, we’re having dinner tomorrow so he can explain everything. Sorry.”

  “Oh. So, I guess I’ll just see you when you get back?”

  Rex’s eyes are slightly narrowed, and I can’t tell if I’m supposed to offer to cancel dinner with Jay so I can see Rex before I leave for the conference? Am I supposed to invite Rex to come?

  “You could come to dinner with us?” I say, and it doesn’t sound at all sincere. “But it would be really boring for you because we’re just going to talk about work stuff. Do you want to come over to my house after dinner?” I ask, hoping maybe this is a good compromise. “You could keep me company while I pack?” That is the lamest thing I’ve ever said. Only Ginger wants to hang out with me while I stuff things into a bag. But Rex smiles.

  “I can do that,” he says. He pushes my messy hair back and kisses my cheek, which stokes a small warmth in my stomach. I lean my head on his shoulder for a moment and breathe in his smell.

  “Hey, are you falling asleep?” Rex says.

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me? I’ll cook you dinner.”

  I groan. That sounds amazing, but all I really want is to go to bed.

  “Thanks,” I say, “but it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow night?” He nods. “Probably around nine? I can text you when we’re done.”

  “Oh, I don’t text,” Rex says, straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders.

  “Hunh. Okay, then, Mr. Technophobe. Well, we’re just going to the pizza place around the corner from my apartment, so if I’m not at my place at nine, just come there.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Can I at least drive you home?”

  “Sure.” He goes back to the computer he was using and puts what look like a few CDs and some printouts in his bag.

  When Rex stops his truck in front of my apartment, he turns off the engine and turns to me.

  “Listen,” he says. “It’s not going to be crap.”

  “What?”

  “Your paper. You said it’s going to be crap because you’re writing it at the last minute. I know that isn’t true. You’re too hard on yourself. I’m sure it’ll be great.”

  “You can’t be sure,” I tell him. I hate it when people say things like this almost as much as I hate it when they assume my writing’s going to be bad. “You’ve never even read anything I’ve written.”

  Rex pulls his hand from mine and his jaw clenches. He looks out the window.

  “Sorry,” I say. I thought my tone was pretty matter-of-fact, but I’ve clearly hurt his feelings.

  Rex shakes his head.

  “No, you’re right. I’ve never read anything you’ve written. I’m sure it’s all real over my head.”

  He sounds disgusted and I feel like I should apologize, but all I did was state a fact.

  “Good night, Daniel,” he says.

  He sounds far away. I lean over and give him a kiss and his hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck.

  “Night.”

  I wasn’t looking forward to dinner with Jay, since I thought I’d need every last second to finish my paper. About an hour before we were set to meet up, though, it all just kind of came together. A rogue example turned out to be the perfect introduction, and it let me pull out a thread that had been lurking but that I hadn’t known what to do with. I finished it in a flurry and I’ll have time to check it over tomorrow night when I get to Detroit.

  Dinner turned out to be good, though. Once I wasn’t panicking about my paper anymore, it was nice to just chat with Jay about Sleeping Bear and what a weird place it was. He was in grad school in Phoenix, so the weather hit him even harder than it has me. He gave me the scoop on other folks in the department, affirming that Peggy was kind of the antichrist, and went over how he’d approached the student essays last year. He’s a really nice guy, and very easy to talk to.

  “So, I have to admit,” Jay says after we’ve talked about the committee, “I was really excited when you took this job.”

  “Oh?” I say.

  “Yes. Honestly, I was enthusiastic to get someone who came from a different background. You know, not the typical four-year college to grad school route. I imagine going to community college gave you a different perspective on teaching too.”

  He doesn’t sound judgmental about it at all, which is pretty uncommon among professors. Most think going to community college is embarrassing. My advisor told me I shouldn’t list it on my CV.

  “It did, yeah,” I say. “At CCP—the community college—people were there because they wanted to be. They were mostly older, or they were going part-time while working to pay for it. And some of the professors were really great. But a lot of the classes were easy. I mean, the English classes were good beca
use the teachers would always talk about other books than were on the syllabus, so I could go find those and read them. But, yeah, they weren’t very challenging.

  “I could only afford to take a few classes a semester, but I went during the summers too, so when I transferred to Temple to finish out my degree, I only had a year’s worth of credits left. That was all I could afford there. I mean, honestly, I wouldn’t even have done it except I knew I could never get into grad school straight from a community college, so my degree needed to be from Temple. It’s shitty, but that’s how it is.”

  Jay nods, his attention intense.

  “Anyway, I was really lucky because one of the professors I had for an English class was an adjunct at Temple. I would go to her office hours and we’d talk about books and stuff. She gave me a lot of good recommendations. She’s the one who told me that if I was thinking of grad school, I’d need to transfer. I really didn’t have a clue about how academia worked back then.”

  “I was on the hiring committee; I’ve seen your trajectory. It’s very impressive, Daniel. Really.”

  I’m embarrassed, so I change the subject. We talk about the trip to New York that Jay’s just returned from. He’s trying to get an international Latino/Latina literature and theory conference started, which sounds great, and he was schmoozing with some folks he knows. We slip into the topic of other conferences and Jay realizes that he went to grad school with one of my professors, whom I’ll see at the conference in Detroit. I swear to god, the academic world is frighteningly small.

  I’m just describing my conference paper to Jay when Rex walks in and comes over to our table.

  “Hi,” I say. “Sorry, am I late?” I fumble for my phone to see the time, but it’s only 8:40.

  “No,” Rex says. “I was early and I saw you guys, so I thought I’d come over. That okay?”

  “Yeah, of course. Rex, this is Jay Santiago. Jay, Rex Vale.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jay says, standing to offer his hand, and he seems to wince the slightest bit at Rex’s handshake. Rex nods at him.

  “You too.”

  We’re all standing when the check comes, so I shrug on my jacket and grab my wallet.

  “I’ve got it,” Jay says.

  “No,” I say. “You were doing me a favor. I’ve got it, please.”

  “No, no,” Jay says. “You’re the new hire; consider it a welcome to the department.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  “Nonsense,” Jay says. “I’ve got it.” And he hands the waiter his credit card without looking at the check.

  “Wow, okay, well, thanks, Jay,” I say, feeling a little awkward. “I appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure,” he says, pulling on a black wool overcoat and leather driving gloves.

  We start to walk out, Rex keeping pace with me.

  “Enjoy the conference,” Jay says. “Give Wendy my regards.”

  “Will do,” I say.

  “And the paper sounds wonderful, Daniel, really.” He claps me on the shoulder.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says again to Rex, and Rex nods.

  Inside my apartment, Rex pushes me against the door and kisses me aggressively. My head bangs against the wood and Rex pulls back, breathing heavily.

  “Sorry,” he mutters.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  Is he still pissed from last night? If it were Ginger I’d tease her. Say, “What, are you jealous?” But something tells me Rex wouldn’t appreciate that.

  “Nothing,” he says. “Did you finish your paper?”

  “I did, yeah. It all came together. You were right; it’s going to be fine.”

  He smiles and looks a little sheepish.

  “Listen,” he says. “I didn’t mean to be unfriendly. It was just harder than I thought to see you out with another guy.”

  “Well, you weren’t so much unfriendly as you were totally menacing. And he’s not ‘another guy.’ He’s a colleague.” I pat his chest and walk to my closet, grabbing my duffel bag and starting to toss things into it.

  “But he likes you,” Rex says, as if it’s a fact.

  “I mean, as a friend, maybe,” I say. Wow, I guess he really is jealous. It’s not a great look on him.

  “No,” Rex says. “More than a friend. I could tell by how he was looking at you.”

  “And how was he looking at me?” I ask.

  “Like… like he was… appreciating you,” Rex says, slowly, looking at the floor. I stop.

  “I don’t even know if Jay’s gay,” I say. “I hope he isn’t, what with the easy rhyme and the cruelty of children.”

  “He is,” Rex says.

  “How do you know?”

  “Um….”

  “Oh my god, did you date him?” I ask. It would make sense. It’s not like there are that many gay guys around here. At the thought, my stomach goes all funny.

  “What? No,” Rex says. “I just met him. But, when you first moved here, I overheard….”

  “You overheard,” I encourage.

  “Just some idiots talking about the town being overrun by gay snobs.”

  I shake my head. I’m not that surprised.

  “Anyway,” Rex continues, the set of his shoulders stiff, “we haven’t really talked about any of that. I mean, if you were to go out with him as more than friends, I… well, I guess that’d be your prerogative.”

  “Well, I better get to be Bobby Brown and not Britney Spears,” I say, to cover the fact that my head is now spinning. He’s talking about us dating other people. How it’s okay if I date other people. Is that what he wants? Does that mean he’s dating other people? My stomach feels sour. The idea of Rex with someone else… it makes me feel sick, and… sad.

  I walk into the bathroom, grabbing the jacket I hung on the shower door in the hopes of steaming the wrinkles out while I showered this morning. It looks passable.

  Then there’s a crash from the kitchen.

  Rex is kneeling next to what was—until, say, about ten seconds ago—my kitchen table.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “I’m fine,” he says, standing. “Shit, Daniel, I just leaned against the thing and it totally collapsed. Sorry,” he says. But he doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds embarrassed, and maybe a little pissed.

  “Oh, it’s not your fault,” I assure him, walking over. “It kind of bit it the other day and I just, like, propped it back up. Haven’t gotten around to fixing it yet. I should’ve warned you.”

  “Well, why didn’t you ask me to fix it for you?” Rex asks, sounding irritated.

  “Um. I didn’t think about it,” I say.

  “But it’s what I do for a living,” Rex says, his hands out in confusion.

  “Well, okay, I’m sure you’d do a better job than me, Rex, but I’m not some pathetic idiot who can’t fix a goddamned table.”

  “I don’t think you’re pathetic,” he says, sounding exasperated. “I just don’t understand why you won’t ever accept my help.”

  “What are you talking about? You fixed my wall and my light—”

  “That actually was my job,” he interrupts.

  “You rescued me from a snowstorm. You’ve cooked me whole meals.”

  “Because I wanted to! I like to cook for you.”

  “You just think I can’t do simple adult things,” I mutter. I’m not sure where that came from, but I’m pretty sure I believe it. Rex’s mouth drops open and at first he looks like he’s going to shake it off. Then he looks around at my apartment and kicks at a leg of my kitchen table, splayed like a broken dancer on the floor.

  “You live on coffee and bagels unless I cook for you,” he says. “Your car is a deathtrap that you’ve held together with a wire hanger. You won’t talk to your landlord about making your apartment safe to actually live in. You moved to Michigan and you don’t have a winter coat! It’s like you don’t even care about what happens to you.”

  “No! You
just think you need to rescue me. Even the night we met, you rescued me—me and Marilyn. That’s all you’ve done is rescue me, like I’m some damsel in distress. Well, I don’t need to be rescued! I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you?” Rex growls, advancing on me. “I’m not so sure.”

  “What the fuck!” My hands are fisted at my sides. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Do you know how long I’ve taken care of myself? How many times I’ve been jumped or mugged or gotten my ass kicked? And I’ve handled it. I’ve handled myself just fine. You know how many times I’ve gone to lectures for the cheese cubes and stale crackers at the reception because I can’t afford to buy food? Huh?”

  I’m shouting now, so furious that Rex apparently thinks I’m just as weak and pathetic as my brothers do that my heart is pounding.

  “I—I didn’t mean—”

  “Anyway, if you think I’m such a pathetic fucking mess then why are you even here?” I shove Rex’s shoulder. Not hard, just in frustration, but it’s like pushing up against a mountain.

  Rex freezes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, and then just shakes his head, hands on his hips.

  “Have a safe trip, Daniel,” he says evenly. Then he walks out, closing the door gently behind him. His truck starts outside.

  “Fuck!” I yell, punching the door. “Shit, ouch.” I always forget how much that hurts.

  I turn around and lean back against the door where Rex was kissing me a few minutes ago. My kitchen looks like a crime scene. The table is slumped onto the peeling linoleum, and the light over what used to be the kitchen table is swinging a little, casting eerie shadows. My duffel bag gapes open on the bed, my jacket on the floor.

  The whole place looks dingy and sad. It smells like ramen noodles and Band-Aids even though I haven’t made ramen noodles lately and I couldn’t tell you the last time I actually owned a Band-Aid.

  Goddammit, this is why I don’t date.

  8

  Chapter 8

  October

  I didn’t sleep well at all last night. Rex’s face kept drifting into my head—that expression he got when I yelled at him. As if he were holding out something to share with me and I knocked it into the dirt like a bully with an ice cream cone.