by Matthew Lang
The talks wrapped up with firm business handshakes and smiles all around, and after a hug from Amrit and a celebratory lunch, David sent a farewell text to George as he repacked his case. He was at the reception counter, checking out, when a pair of arms wrapped around his middle, and George’s chin came to rest on his shoulder.
“Did you really think I’d let you go away without saying goodbye in person?”
David sighed and relaxed into George’s embrace. “I thought it would be easier. You know, given this isn’t a permanent thing.”
“You know what your problem is, David? Coming from a professional armchair psychologist?”
“No, do tell.”
“You always think you know what’s best for everyone else. Where does that come from exactly? You think you know what I should be wanting. You think you know how your clients should structure their finances. You think you know what’s best for everyone. And maybe you do, but you go ahead and do things without asking everyone else if that’s okay.”
“I never….”
“Carrot and kale juice, David. You ordered me carrot and kale in a juice.”
“It’s nutritious.”
“It’s disgusting,” George corrected, his arms tightening around David’s midsection. “Now promise me you’ll stop doing that, and we can say goodbye properly.”
David wanted to refuse. He didn’t decide other people’s lives for them. He facilitated where needed but….
Hey, Dave, where are you going? Patrick’s voice rang in his head.
“All right, I promise,” he said, feeling heat rush to his face.
“Good.” George let go and David turned to see the man himself dressed in olive cargo pants, a slightly too tight T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. David grinned at him stupidly, and they stood there, staring at each other until a small cough snapped David’s attention back to the reception desk.
“Um, if you’ll just sign here, Mr Zhang,” the receptionist said, her name tag identifying her as Marie.
“Right, sorry,” David said, turning back and taking a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket before signing the final invoice.
“Quite all right,” Marie replied, taking the invoice from him and handing him an envelope. “Your copy and your card,” she added. “I hope you both enjoyed your stay with us.”
“Oh, it was just him,” George said quickly. “I wasn’t staying.”
Marie’s smile was warm and a little too knowing. “Of course. We hope to see you both again.”
“How did she know I slept over?” George asked quietly as they walked through the foyer. “You could have come to my place if I wasn’t avoiding it. Wait, they don’t keep track of whether your bed gets slept in here, do they? Was it the condoms in the bin? Tell me it wasn’t the condoms in the bin.”
“Two breakfasts, every day,” David replied calmly. “That’s not normal for me.”
“Normal? You have a normal here?” George glanced back at the sweeping, polished-wood staircase and brass railings. “You really do live in a different world to the rest of us mortals.”
David turned to him with a smile. “And yet I have so much to learn from you, still.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s your fault for being so sneakily insightful.”
The Sydney weather was still muggy, and the air humid when they stepped out into the sunshine. “Hey, does your hair go frizzy in this?” David asked suddenly. “Sorry, random question, but I’ve always wondered about long hair—especially on Caucasians.”
George smiled and pulled David’s head down for a long, passionate kiss. “Goodbye, Mister,” he said. “And no, my hair doesn’t get frizzy. Just tangled.”
“I remember,” David said, going in for a second kiss and feeling a familiar stirring in his groin. “Okay, we’d better stop. I have a plane to catch.”
George’s arms lingered on his neck. “If you ever need to talk or get your ass kicked for micromanaging everyone else’s life, call me,” he said.
David laughed. “Will do. Same to you, talk that is.”
“Thanks. I hope things get better for you.”
“You too.”
THE RIDE back from Melbourne Airport was quiet and not as bad as David had feared, given he was heading back in what was still peak-hour traffic. His watch said six thirty when he finally got to his front door. Stepping over the threshold, he entered an apartment that wasn’t quite the same as when he’d left. His personal phone lay on the charging mat on the kitchen island, its blue message light flashing at him. His discarded clothes from Saturday morning were gone from the floor, and a pair of large work boots sat next to the door. Glancing back around the room, he saw two apples, a kiwifruit, and three bananas in the wooden fruit bowl that usually only held loose change and his car keys, and he could hear the unmistakable sounds of the shower running. Leaving his bag by the door, he walked into the bedroom just as the water stopped flowing, and he threw the door of the bathroom open to reveal a very startled Patrick standing dripping on the bathroom mat, one hand outstretched towards the towel rail.
“Fucking hell, Dave, you scared the crap out of me!”
Dave blinked. “You’re naked.”
“You ran into the bathroom. I’m guessing you heard the shower—you were expecting Speedos?”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” David said honestly. “Sorry, that didn’t sound mean in my head. I’ll see you outside when you’re dressed.”
“You’ve seen me naked before, Zhang,” Patrick called after him.
“You’re a bit more distracting now, Patto,” David called back.
Five minutes later, they were sitting at opposite ends of the couch with mugs of tea, which David had made on autopilot. He was still in his jeans and business shirt, although he’d hung up his jacket, and Patrick was in a pair of grey trackpants and a battered Goldfrapp T-shirt.
“Tea?” Patrick asked, raising his eyebrows as he pulled his feet up under him. “What are you mad about this time?”
“Mad?”
“If you’re mad, it’s tea. If you’re happy or chill, it’s beer.”
“Wait, really?” David paused and cast his mind back. “No, no, wait, I do tea when I’m stressed. Not necessarily when I’m mad.”
“Okay, so is this a stressed Dave or a mad Dave I’m seeing right now?”
“Mostly a confused one,” David said, taking a sip of the strong tieguanyin brew. “What are you doing here?”
“I took a casual job at Bunnings. I’m at Port Melbourne this week, and your place was closer. I tried calling, but when you didn’t pick up….”
“Work needed me in Sydney.”
A drop of water fell from Patrick’s still-wet hair and soaked into the material of his T-shirt. “I figured when your work phone wasn’t around and your suitcase was missing,” he said, his voice a careful neutral and his words clipped.
“All right, I know that tone of voice,” David said. “You’re mad at me for something.”
Patrick let out a breath. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” In his mind’s eye, he could see George smirking at him. “You’re mad… because I left you to sort things out with your fiancée and skipped town without taking my phone.”
“Why would I be mad about that?” Patrick asked, a tinge of sarcasm colouring his words. “It’s not like it’s exactly what I should’ve expected you to do.”
“So you are mad.”
“She’s not my fiancée. I never actually proposed.”
“You’re having a kid together.”
“She’s getting an abortion.” Patrick’s voice was a quiet monotone.
David nearly spilt his tea. “What?”
There was a tremor in Patrick’s voice that David hadn’t heard since his dog Buster had died some four years ago. “She is getting an abortion.”
“But—”
“It’s her body, Dave.”
“You’ve always wanted kids.”
“I can’t provide for a kid. I’m working as a casual at a hardware store, and if I’m not bouncing from one retail job to another, I’m on the dole. Li Ling’s got a career. Neither of us is able to be a single parent.”
“But together—”
“We’d trade off? Pass the tyke back and forth like a shared responsibility?”
“You could be a family.”
Patrick stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. “What, where Mum and Dad live in separate houses with separate lives and one of them’s really poor? Dave, anytime you’d like to start talking sense, that would be—fuck, you think we, that is, she and I….”
“Well, it’s the logical thing to do.”
“No, it’s fucking not the logical thing to do!” Patrick snapped, his knuckles white where they gripped his green mug. “Fuck!” Hot tea sloshed out over the rim and landed in his lap, and he quickly deposited the cup onto the nearby coffee table. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” he said, grabbing a box of tissues to soak up the excess liquid. “I think the pants absorbed most of it.”
David settled back into his corner of the couch. “So you’re not going to get married?”
“Maybe. Someday. Not to Li Ling,” Patrick said, staring out towards the balcony where the sky was just starting to fade from blue to the orange-red of sunset. “Kids don’t fix relationships, Dave. Li Ling doesn’t love me the same way she used to, and… if I’m honest, I’m not in love with her either.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realise.”
“Well, you ran away too fast to find out,” Patrick grumbled.
“I didn’t want to complicate things between you two,” David said. He drained his cup and set it down on the glass of the coffee table with a clink. “Especially after you and I….”
“She thought that was hilarious.”
“Wait, you told her?”
“Of course I bloody told her!” Patrick snapped, his eyes flashing angrily. “How could I not tell her? She wanted to be clear that we weren’t getting back together, and I wanted to be clear that I wasn’t looking for that either, and she asked….” Patrick’s face reddened.
“Asked what?”
“She… asked if it was better.”
“And what did you say?”
“I… said it was.”
“Wow.” David’s hands twitched, and he wished he still had the mug of tea to grip, but settled for clasping them together in his lap. “How’d she take that?”
“She laughed at me,” Patrick said. “And said that… um….”
“Patto….”
Patrick’s voice was quiet and rang with embarrassment. “Given how much I liked her strap-on, she really wasn’t surprised.”
“Wow, I just went to scary mental image place.”
“Sorry.”
“When you said toys, I didn’t think there was a strap-on.”
“That’s hers,” Patrick said defensively. “Anyway, that’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“I don’t know. How’d we end up on this conversation anyway?”
“Well, you were talking about telling Li Ling about having, um, sex with me and that was because, uh….”
“Oh right, because she and I are over, and we’re not the same people we were in high school, and we’re not getting back together, and neither of us is ready to have a kid just yet.” Patrick smiled triumphantly, although it wasn’t a completely happy smile.
“Isn’t that the point of kids, though?” David asked. “They come along, and you’re unprepared for them, and somehow it’s still wonderfully enriching and rewarding, and you find that inexplicable parental joy that everyone goes on about?”
“Maybe,” Patrick said with a shrug. “You’ll have to ask someone else who has an unplanned kid.”
“Pat….” David paused. “Wait, is this why you took a job at Bunnings? You want to prove you can support a kid, so she’ll keep it?”
“What? No. I got a job because I’m sick of being on the dole, and I didn’t want….” Patrick sighed and turned back from the view to look defiantly into David’s eyes. “I know you’d never date anyone who didn’t have a job. You’ve complained about it often enough.”
David blinked. “Pat, that’s about goals, not money or a job.”
“Goals?”
“Yeah, goals. Having some. Working towards something. You don’t need to get a job because of me.”
“I don’t?”
“No, get one because you want to save money to travel, or raise money for your food truck, or screw that and volunteer with the queer rugby team, or teach surfing for the lifestyle and earn enough to live on and invest for later. Just as long as you’re not stagnating and doing nothing to grow as a person.” David paused. “You know I’ll love you regardless of whether you actually do any of that or not, right?”
Patrick’s smile was small, but it was a start. “You’re just saying that.”
“Nope,” David disagreed. “We’ll just argue less if you’re doing something that fulfils you as a person.”
“The way finance fulfils you?” Patrick asked slyly.
David shrugged. “One day I’ll find what I want to do,” he said. “Until then I’ll make money to live comfortably.”
Patrick sighed. “I really kind of want that food truck, but I’ve got no idea how I’d do that.”
Frowning, David reached underneath him and slipped a hand into the rear pocket of his jeans. “Well, actually, I was sitting in the lounge and scribbled down some notes.”
“Dave, that’s a napkin.”
“I didn’t say they were detailed.”
Chapter 9
WHEN DAVID next looked at the clock, the hands were reading nine thirty, and he and Patrick were sitting side by side, surrounded by smartphones, David’s laptop, and Patrick’s iPad, and several notebooks and printed sheets were strewn around the couch and on the coffee table. Patrick’s thigh was warm where it pressed up against his own, and occasionally their shoulders bumped as Patrick planned out his menu.
“I don’t know about the duck,” he said finally. “I’d have to precook that, and storing it would be an issue. The pork is better because it only takes about forty minutes. Maybe a drunken chicken? That’s really quick to prepare. Can totally do the egg tarts, maybe chocolate bao, but that’s a stretch. Two sliders and a dessert should be fine, right?”
“Vego option,” Dave said with a yawn. “And drinks. You may want a side dish or something.”
“Lotus root chips? I don’t know. I’m good without putting in a deep fryer.” Patrick looked up and his grin faded. “Sorry, I’m talking as if this is an actual thing that’s going to happen, aren’t I?”
“Why shouldn’t it happen?”
“Because things like this don’t happen to me.”
David reached out and gently rubbed the back of Patrick’s neck. “Maybe it’s time they started to.” Then his stomach growled, and they both stared down at his belly.
“Sorry, I should have known you’d be hungry, even after pigging out in the airline lounge,” Patrick said, rising to his feet. He padded into the kitchen and headed for the fridge. “And I have work tomorrow. I just don’t want to stop.”
“So don’t. It’s not like you really need the Bunnings job.”
The glow of the fridge light cast harsh shadows over Patrick’s features as he pulled out cold roast chicken, a red capsicum, and a cos lettuce that David knew he hadn’t purchased. “I do, actually,” Patrick said. “I need the money to take you to nice places.”
“Patto—”
“What? You don’t get to pay for everything. That’s one of the rules.”
“Rules?”
“Rules for surviving a relationship with a practical worrywart named David Zhang.” Slivers of red capsicum were thrust under the grill after being coated with salt, pepper, and olive oil, and the rashers of bacon went into a frying pan. “Li Ling and I made a list.”
David gawked and th
en realised he was gawking and shut his mouth with a click of his teeth. “I think I’m a little insulted.”
“I don’t see why,” Patrick said as he pulled out two wholemeal wraps and popped them into the microwave. “You’ve lived through your relationship history.”
“I can’t believe the two of you are ganging up on me.”
Patrick shredded the chicken deftly with his fingers and sliced up a cucumber in about ten seconds, almost without looking. “Well, I believe her exact words were ‘Maybe he can deal with your crazy.’”
“What did you say to that?”
“I said, ‘Sure, but what makes you so sure I can deal with his?’”
“Remind me why I’m doing this again?” David asked.
Patrick combined torn lettuce, chicken, grilled capsicum, and sliced cucumber with a squirt of mayonnaise, a splatter of seeded mustard, and topped the lot off with crispy bacon before handing the wrap to David. “Because I’m your best friend, I feed you tasty food, and I have an amazing ass.”
“So is this you officially moving in?” The chicken was succulent and moist despite its time in the fridge, and the sweetness of the grilled capsicum and salty crunch of bacon hit the back of his mouth with a flavour so intense it was almost painful. “I mean, it’s not like that would be much of a change.”
“There’s no way I could fit enough of my clothes into your bulging closets to live here,” Patrick said, finishing up the second wrap and taking a bite himself. “Not to mention, taking over all your work surfaces with my plans for that truck,” he added, nodding at the pile of documents on the coffee table. “You really think I can do this?”
David smiled. “It might bankrupt me when I eat all your stock, but I figure you’ve got a good chance, yes.”
“So… you’re not mad that I more or less camped out at your place for the last few days?” Patrick asked as he polished off the last few bites of his wrap, licking a glob of mayonnaise off his fingers.
“Well, before that phone call, I figured you’d be at my place half the time anyway,” David said. “Even if we hadn’t, um… slept together.”
