The Other Five Percent

by Quinn Anderson

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He sighed. “What was Rachel saying before? You guys thought we were . . .”

  Silence, followed by none-too-subtle whispering.

  Logan jiggled his leg as the whispering grew in volume until finally he heard Rachel slurring, “Just tell ’im. He’s a big boy now.”

  Logan’s patience snapped like a fine thread. “Tell me what?”

  “Uh, well . . . there was a period there when you were at the height of your Ellis-mania where we all thought—and by we, I mean Rachel, Mom, Dad, and me—”

  “I get it. What did you think?”

  “Well, we all thought you might be . . . a little gay.”

  “What?”

  “Just a smidge, I swear. Like, a tiny, micro-unit of gay. A centigay. Or a milligay.”

  Logan lifted his face heavenward and groaned. “You have got to be kidding me. I spent all this time freaking out, and you guys already knew?”

  “I swear, we were never going to say anything, and when you and Ellis stopped being friends, we thought—” She stopped abruptly. “Hold on. What did you just say?”

  Logan’s eyes widened as his own words caught up with him. “Um.”

  “Oh my god.” Rachel’s tone was gleeful. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Um,” Logan repeated.

  “Logan.” Abby sounded more composed but also much more surprised. “Do you have something you want to tell us?”

  Logan swallowed. It was now or never. “That’s, uh, kind of why I called . . .”

  “Oh my god,” Rachel crowed. “You’re totally gay for Ellis, aren’t you?”

  “I am not!”

  “But you just said—”

  “For the record, the correct term is ‘bisexual.’” Logan wondered if Ellis would be proud of him for picking up the bisexual awareness banner so easily. “I still like women and all, I’m just coming to grips with the fact that I . . . like men too. Or, at least, I like Ellis.”

  “When did this happen?” Abby asked. “How long have you known?”

  “Well, I guess I’ve known for a while and just haven’t admitted it. I did some experimenting in college, and that set the whole thing into motion.”

  “Like, experimenting in a sexy way or in a scientific way? Because they are sometimes different.”

  Logan laughed. “In a sexy way. With Ellis. And then we lost touch for a while—my fault, not his—and after we ran into each other a few days ago, things just sort of slotted into place. I like him. I think I want to be with him.”

  It was like his admission burst some sort of dam in his sisters. They fired off questions faster than he could process.

  “Are you guys gonna date?”

  “Are you already dating?”

  “Have you two kissed?”

  “Are you gonna tell Mom and Dad?”

  “Have you guys had sex?”

  “Is it serious?”

  “Are you the top or the—”

  “Enough!” Logan let out a long-suffering sigh. “Enough already, okay? I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing. I haven’t even talked to Ellis about this yet. Not really, anyway. I called you guys because I thought you could help me sort some of this out, but I guess that was a mistake.”

  “No!” they both said.

  Abby added, “It wasn’t a mistake, we swear. We’re just excited for you.”

  “Really? You’re not freaked out at all?”

  “Fuck no!” Rachel whooped again. “Who gives a fuck if you’re gay—”

  “Bi, Rach. He said he’s bi.”

  “—or bi, or purple with polka dots. You do whatcha gotta do. In fact, I’ma join PFLAG or something just to prove to you how cool we are with it.”

  “What Rachel means to say is we love you and support you no matter whom you’re dating. And Mom and Dad will too. You know that, right?”

  Logan let out a breath. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  For a beat, everyone was quiet. Then Rachel said, “Ya know whatcha gotta do, right?”

  Logan sighed. “Lemme guess. Show up outside of his house on a lawnmower with a boom box?”

  “Nah, you gotta talk to him about all this. He’s the one with the answers, not us.”

  “Huh.” Logan tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said all night. Thanks, Rach.”

  “And, after that, you gotta bang him and tell us all about it.”

  “Aaand one step too far,” Abby said. “I think it’s time for me to put Rachel to bed. Are you gonna be all right?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Though I must admit, this whole thing is terrifying.”

  “Confessing your feelings, you mean?”

  “No, coming out. It’s hard to let go of the idea that I’m straight and embrace being something else for the rest of my life.”

  “Let me ask you something: if you somehow knew that being with a guy could make you happy—and I mean really happy. Incandescently happy. Content and fulfilled in every way—would you hesitate for even a second?”

  Logan answered right away. “No.”

  “Do you think Ellis can make you that happy?”

  Again, he immediately knew the answer. “Yes.”

  “Then I think you know what you should do, little brother.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Get off the phone with us and call your man!” Rachel giggled, and then a loud thump reverberated through the speakers.

  “Did she fall off the couch?”

  “Yup. We’ll call you tomorrow. I’ve gotta go put our darling sister to sleep. On her side.”

  Logan heard Rachel shout something akin to, “I’m fine! Unhand me, fiend!” before the call ended. He chuckled to himself. Rachel was going to hate herself in the morning.

  Speaking of drunk, he took stock of himself. If the headache starting to creep up on him was any indication, he was over being drunk and starting on being hungover. He was sober enough to talk to Ellis now. Then again, it was late. Ellis was probably asleep. Or worse, he was still pissed.

  Logan yawned. Maybe he should go to sleep and leave this for the morning. But what if by then Ellis had already decided to ghost him? He would think that was poetic justice. What Abby had said floated back into his mind: “Do you think Ellis can make you that happy?”

  He needed to at least find some middle ground. He’d text him and ask if Ellis was still awake. That was innocuous enough.

  Logan sent the text and then turned on the TV to distract himself. This late at night, there was nothing on but infomercials. He turned on one for the unused juicer that was currently sitting on his kitchen counter and pretended every atom of his being wasn’t attuned to his phone.

  An excruciating minute later, the screen lit up. It was in his hand faster than he could think.

  Yeah, I’m awake, Ellis had written. And obviously you are too.

  Logan hastily replied. Can I call you?

  Why?

  And here he’d thought that much was obvious. So we can talk?

  About what?

  Irritation dug its claws into Logan. About what happened.

  For a minute, Ellis didn’t respond. Then, I don’t know if I can talk yet. The more I think about it, the more it confuses me.

  That’s why you should talk to me, Ellis. I think I can clear a few things up for you.

  Did you stop drinking after we left the club?

  Yes. I’m drinking water as we speak. Please, can we talk?

  This time, Ellis didn’t respond for six whole minutes. Logan felt every one of them as if they were being peeled from his skin.

  He was just about to give up and go to sleep when his phone rang. Ellis. He nearly dropped the phone in his haste to answer. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Ellis sounded wide-awake. And cagey. “I actually need to get some sleep tonight, so let’s make this quick.”

  Logan wanted to make som
e sort of quip about his brusque manner, but he thought better of it. “I wanted to apologize again for earlier. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.”

  “I forgive you. We all do stupid shit when we drink.”

  “I don’t think it was stupid. I would have done the same thing sober. Only, you know, with your permission.”

  Ellis fell silent.

  Logan fought the impatience rising within him and waited for Ellis to speak.

  After a long silence, Ellis made a frustrated noise. “This isn’t fair.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “You, and the things you’re saying. Everything you’ve said and done all night. It’s not fair.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you don’t know how badly I want to believe you.”

  Logan’s heart felt like it was turning itself inside out. “You can believe me, I swear. I know I don’t have a great track record, but—”

  “I know. I . . . I was testing you earlier.”

  “What? When?”

  “Outside of the club. You know what gay chicken is?”

  “Yeah, when you and another guy almost kiss and see who chickens out first.”

  “Well, I was basically playing gay chicken with you before. I expected you to back off, to freak out and decide you were straight again. But you didn’t. Do you have any idea how confusing that is?”

  “Uh, about as confusing as this conversation?”

  Ellis made another frustrated sound. “I can’t talk about this right now. I have a lot of thinking to do, and so do you. Neither of us has any idea what we want.”

  “But I do know what I want! I want you. And I want that second kiss.”

  The line went silent.

  Just as Logan was about to say more, there was a click, and he heard empty air. He pulled the phone away from his ear, already knowing what he would see.

  Ellis had hung up on him.

  Logan lay in bed the rest of the night, unable to sleep. He watched as the gray twilight brightened and his white walls pinkened with the dawning sun. Tidbits from the night before flitted in and out of his thoughts like birds: his initial panic over coming out, talking to his sisters, talking to Ellis, and the sound of dead air after Ellis had hung up on him.

  One thought in particular blared in his head like a foghorn: this was the second time in the past week that Ellis had given him the perfect out.

  This was his chance. If he wanted to walk away from this whole thing, now was the time. He could call his sisters as soon as it was late enough and tell them last night was a prank. Or a misunderstanding. They’d both been drinking. They’d believe him if he claimed he hadn’t been serious.

  He could go back to the way things were before, when his life made sense and he had a plan. He’d forgotten Ellis once. He could forget him again.

  Except that he couldn’t.

  Even as Logan thought it, he knew he couldn’t go back. If his encounter with Ellis had taught him anything, it was that at some point, Ellis had gotten under his skin. Logan might have been able to bury him for a few years, but it was clear that was a temporary solution. Now that Ellis was back, Logan was as drawn to him as ever.

  And he was okay with that. Shockingly okay with it. He almost couldn’t believe how okay he was with it. Wasn’t he supposed to have some sort of straight-guy crisis?

  Every time he delved into his feelings, searching for the nerve that would set him off, he didn’t find it. The thought of being with Ellis made all the noise in his head . . . stop. It wasn’t just the idea of physically being with him—kissing him, holding him . . . other things that he hadn’t quite gotten to yet—but being with him. Talking for hours and goofing off and getting coffee. Simple, daily things. He had no idea how he’d been on the same planet as Ellis all this time and not been with him. He might as well have been without gravity.

  That was his biggest regret in all of this: he couldn’t get back the time he’d squandered. What would his life be like if he’d opened his eyes in college and taken a look around? They might have been together this whole time. Ellis might not distrust him so much. He might not have ruined this before it’d even had a chance to begin . . .

  He had to try. It didn’t matter if Ellis turned him down or if he made a fool of himself. This time, he was going to do what he should have done a long time ago.

  Logan was out of bed and in front of his closet in a flash. He got dressed—in jeans and a brown knit sweater, not a suit—got a cab to pick up his car, and sped to Café En Seine, where he’d met Ellis the other day.

  When he walked in, he did a sweep. There were some customers standing in front of the drinks board, and some others sitting at the tables, but there was no one behind the counter. There was, however, a man sitting on the counter, furiously making out with another man.

  Logan stopped cold in his tracks and stared at them. For a split second, he feared one of them was Ellis, but the standing guy was too short, and the one on the counter had a beard dyed pastel pink, like bristly cotton candy. They seemed not the tiniest bit deterred by being in public, and even stranger, none of the customers seemed to care.

  Logan peeked toward the back room. No one. Was he supposed to talk to the guy on the counter? He’d never been into video games, but he knew enough about them to have the sudden feeling that he was about to be given a side quest.

  Logan both approached and maintained his distance. “Um, excuse me?”

  Pink Beard popped off the other’s face with a wet sound. “Can I help you?”

  The other guy turned to peer at him as well. “Are you here for open mic night? Because you’re about half a day early.”

  “Uh, no. I’m actually looking for Ellis. Is he working today?”

  “He is.”

  Logan’s heart soared.

  “But not here.”

  It promptly nose-dived to the floor of his stomach, trailing black smoke as it went.

  “Do you have any idea where he is?”

  “He’s at one of his other jobs.”

  Logan swallowed. “Which one? The Golden Flamingo?”

  “No, I think he’s at his studio. It’s by the Brigantine Lighthouse. You know the place?”

  Logan saw it in the distance all the time. It was a well-known local landmark, and also something of an architectural joke. It hadn’t been built to actually function as a lighthouse—in fact, it was too far inland to work regardless—and so the local police used it as their headquarters. Logan’s parents had taken him and his sisters to the little museum inside it a couple of times. “Yeah, I know around where that is. Can you give me the exact address?”

  Pink Beard squinted at him. “You’re not an ex-boyfriend of his, are you?”

  “No.” At least, not in the strictest sense. “I just need to find him.”

  “All right.” He grabbed a notepad off the counter and scribbled something on it. “Go here. Be sure to announce yourself when you walk in. He’s been doing a lot of metalwork lately, and you never want to sneak up on a man who’s brandishing a welding torch.”

  “Thank you for that solid life advice.” Logan pocketed the address and hurried out the door. Wet kissing sounds followed behind him. Guess he hadn’t thrown those guys too far off their groove.

  Logan raced to the location Pink Beard had given him, and prayed there weren’t any cops around. The art gallery was a tiny building located spitting distance from the small but distinctive lighthouse. There was no sign above the gallery door, but Logan knew he was in the right place as soon as he peeked in the window.

  Ellis’s work jumped out to him even without labels. It had matured since college, but his style was unmistakable: bold, primary colors, dripping metal, and sensual shapes. It was too abstract for Logan to make heads or tails of, but he’d always been able to sense Ellis’s passion in it.

  The door was open. He let himself in. “Ellis? It’s Logan.”

  The portraits on the walls offered no response. He spotted a narrow doo
r tucked between two hunkering sculptures. He had just put his hand on the knob when the door burst open, and he was confronted by possibly the tiniest person he had ever seen. And the most androgynous. There was nothing about the person in front of him that suggested they were any particular gender.

  “Whoa, dude.” They skidded to a stop just shy of plowing into his stomach and peered up at him with huge, brown eyes. “Where did you come from?”

  “The front door?” Logan looked them up and down once more for any sort of gender indicator, but when he found nothing, he decided it didn’t matter. “Do you know Ellis?”

  “Sure. He rents part of this gallery. You his boyfriend?”

  “No, I just need to find him.” Logan paused. “Though out of curiosity, what makes you think he has a boyfriend?”

  They shrugged. “Just the way he’s been acting lately. All giddy, but also like he might be sick.”

  “That’s . . . far too accurate. Know where I can find him?”

  “He’s working at the record store right now.”

  Jesus, Ellis had a lot of jobs. “Can you tell me where that is?”

  “Sure.” They gave him directions to a place down the street and turned to head back into the other room.

  “Wait.” Logan hesitated. “Thank you so much . . . uh . . .”

  “Forest.”

  Logan smiled. “Lovely name. You have a nice day.”

  He left and walked the short distance to the record shop, which was a thin building stuck between two big offices. It looked like a paperback on a bookshelf populated by encyclopedias. The hand-painted sign out front read, Good Vibes Records. Logan wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was one hundred percent certain that Ellis had painted the sign.

  The music was audible even before Logan opened the door. Death metal blared from speakers that must have been hidden somewhere in the craggy ceiling. The store was devoid of people except for a bored-looking guy with a Mohawk leafing through a magazine. Logan weaved around packed rows of bins that were overflowing with vinyl records to the counter in the back.

  The guy didn’t look up as he asked, in a monotone that would shame an automated call center, “Need something?”