Lonely Hearts

by Heidi Cullinan

  So Elijah drove into the Cities like a grandpa, keeping just under the speed limit, obsessively checking his blind spot before lane changes. He followed the Tesla’s navigation instructions as if they led to Heaven. He switched from Hi Fashion to RuPaul because he needed the confidence boost and “Champion” gave him focus. Before long, he pulled into the parking lot of a rather sad-looking apartment complex, at which point he had to call Baz.

  “I can’t figure out where to park. Everything has a number on it.”

  “Hold on.” Baz’s voice went muffled for a second. “Coming outside with Walter. He says it has to be on the street, but it’s tricky.”

  Walter and Baz appeared shortly thereafter, and Elijah immediately got out of the car. “You drive,” he said to Walter. “I don’t want to think about parking this somewhere tricky.”

  Walter’s gaze was carnal as he accepted the fob and rounded the hood, bending to run his fingers over the fender. “Fuck, this is a sweet set of wheels.”

  Baz brushed a kiss on Elijah’s ear, a slightly awkward gesture. “I’m going with him. You want to come along, or go inside?”

  Elijah felt dumb getting in only to park a car, but he didn’t want to go inside, either. “I’ll wait here and have a cigarette.”

  He lit up as they drove off, watching Walter discover the head-fuckery of regenerative braking. He switched to taking in the neighborhood once they disappeared around the corner. It wasn’t a bad area, but it wasn’t textbook-pretty, either. A fence bordered the edge of the parking lot, and beyond lay the tracks for the public transit system. Farther still was the highway which had brought Elijah here from Saint Timothy. Another apartment building lay to the west, and more parking and a tall office/apartment complex on the other side.

  There was a realness here unable to permeate in Timothy. A homeless man shuffled with a shopping cart at the far edge of the lot. The cars in front of Elijah had more of a mixed metaphor—plenty of beaters in college parking, but some of the ones here had car seats. The city of Minneapolis swelled around him, noisy and smelly and unforgiving. It made Elijah remember the days when he was the homeless man. Except he’d been a kid, wide-eyed and terrified and reeling from the revelation that the world was a seriously awful place to exist.

  He couldn’t articulate it in his sessions with Pastor, but as he lit up a second cigarette in Walter and Kelly’s parking lot, Elijah acknowledged it was the homeless memory more than his parents or even the shooting bringing on his panic attacks. Being so alone and helpless, realizing in a way no sixteen-year-old should there would never be anyone there to help him but himself.

  Which didn’t explain why he was here, now, waiting for Baz and Mr. Fabulous.

  Baz and Walter appeared in the distance, around the same bend where the Tesla had vanished. They both had their hands in their pockets, walking close together but not touching. Elijah got the idea they were having a fairly serious conversation. But when they got close to Elijah, Baz smiled and reached up to tip his glasses down so he could wink.

  The gesture scrambled Elijah’s circuits, but when Baz took his arm, Elijah punched him lightly in the chest. “You shouldn’t expose your eyes.”

  “It only hurts for a second, unless I’m already having a migraine. Besides, you were so sour. I had to lighten you up.”

  Walter had gone ahead, but Elijah still kept his voice low. “This is weird, being here. They’re the perfect people, and I’m the rat at the picnic.”

  “You’re not a rat. You’re perfect.” Baz pulled him close, copping a generous feel of Elijah’s ass. “I’m trying to set up Marius with Walter and Kelly. His roommate situation sucks, and they need someone to share rent. It could be a perfect arrangement.”

  The apartment was small but cute. It had about zero character, compared to the old-world charm of the White House, but Walter and Kelly had filled it with their things, giving it a touch of home. A Disney-esque but decidedly hot framed print of a cartoon naked man seated on a rail beside cute little animals hung over a slightly worn armchair. A couch full of pillows and afghans opposed a flat-screen television, and a desk sat beneath a window overlooking the parking lot. The kitchen had canisters on the counter, dishes in the sink, and two backpacks spilled open on the small IKEA kitchen table.

  With everyone else occupied with chatting, Elijah snuck into the hallway and gave himself the rest of the tour. The bathroom was pretty standard, though he liked the deep blue shower curtain and matching accessories. The first bedroom had to be the spare, mostly holding half-empty moving boxes and a rather sad futon, but the other one was obviously Walter and Kelly’s. Two dressers overflowed with personal items, and a laundry basket of unfolded clothes sat on a neat bed with a thick, inviting comforter. The walls were decorated with David Kawena Disney heroes and Tom of Finland prints—over the bed was a framed Flynn Rider, looking pretty goddamned fine.

  Done with his tour, Elijah felt awkward and unsure of himself and so wandered to the kitchen and watched the others interact. Kelly Davidson paused his earnest hallway conversation with Marius to accept a drive-by embrace and kiss on the cheek from Walter, who scooted behind him to open a folding door and change a load of laundry. Marius asked about utilities, and Kelly explained the rates.

  Elijah, who had somehow ended up with Baz’s arm around him, turned to look up. “I don’t know who to pay rent to and when for the White House. What about the utilities? Who do I talk to?”

  “There’s a lockbox in the kitchen. They post the breakdowns to whatever email of yours they have on file because it’s prorated depending on what room you have.”

  “Well, I didn’t give anybody my email, and I’m not in the room I was supposed to be in.”

  Baz stroked his hair in a calm down gesture. “It’s not a big deal. We’ll sort it out.”

  “I don’t want to be kicked out.”

  “You won’t be kicked out.”

  Before Elijah could press on this point, Walter reappeared, arm around Kelly, Marius in their wake. “We’ve got a new roommate. I owe you big time, Acker. Can I repay you with dinner?”

  “As long as it’s this pizza place you were telling me about.”

  They walked around the corner to Pizza Lucé together. The hostess who seated them knew Walter and Kelly by name and seated them at a table near the window, and they chatted while they waited for their order. Walter told stories about law school, Kelly the hell of retail management. Marius was apparently about to start medical school and was clearly terrified at the prospect. Elijah could see, though, how the three of them would be a good unit.

  It was nice to see Baz’s best friend doing well, and the pizza was pretty fantastic. Kelly had some kind of homemade vegan cheese on his, which looked weird to Elijah but Kelly practically had an orgasm over it. They turned gigantic cans of crushed tomatoes and rings of peppers into pizza stands, which was quirky and fun.

  As they wound up and Marius said he needed to get back to his place, it struck Elijah who the odd man out in the scenario was, and for once it wasn’t him. It was Baz.

  Baz was Walter’s age. The two had been a grade apart at their shared private high school, and they’d both had interrupted school experiences. But Walter was in law school, whereas Baz was a sixth-year undergrad. Marius was twenty-two, and Kelly was Elijah’s age, though Kelly was about to enter his senior year because he hadn’t had to go to reparative therapy. The thing was, even Elijah seemed to be part of a wave of forward momentum.

  Baz? Sitting there with the rest of them, it was clear he was on some kind of indefinite pause. The revelation wouldn’t lie down once discovered, and after they dropped off Marius and started for Saint Timothy, Elijah decided to call him on it.

  “Are you going to graduate this year?”

  Baz shrugged and kept his gaze on the road. “Probably, I guess.”

  “Do you have a major?”

 
; “I’ve had seven or eight. Could finish about anything in a semester or so. Was thinking about religion.”

  Elijah’s laugh was quiet, a bit bitter. “Figures. I’m about to drop it. Not like we’d have the same classes or anything.”

  Silence expanded around them, except for RuPaul telling them they better work, because Baz hadn’t changed the radio. Elijah kept thinking about Walter and Kelly’s apartment. Everything just so. Two lives unfolding quietly, together. So normal and boring it made him ache with want.

  It wasn’t normal, or boring, to be driving his sort-of boyfriend’s expensive futuristic sports car down a Minnesota highway, listening to a drag queen sing old songs, thinking about when he’d have to get up to go to work at food service in the morning, planning to have leftover pizza for breakfast. It felt good, though.

  Maybe it was a little bit cute to reach over and tentatively take Baz’s hand, to hold it while he drove. But Baz let him anyway.

  Chapter Thirteen

  This wasn’t the first summer Baz had nothing to do while other people whizzed around him in a flurry, but it was the first time he felt a completely utterly useless tit about it, and July in particular crawled by. His mom called a few times to check in on him, but the last time he’d called her, some new woman named Giselle answered. “Ms. Barnett Acker is unavailable right now. How can I help you?”

  “This is her son. Sebastian. Can you have her call me when she gets a chance?”

  “She’s in meetings all day, but I’ll certainly pass the message along.”

  Either Giselle had lied, or his mom was really fucking busy, because two days later, Baz still hadn’t had so much as a text.

  His mom had fluttered off in a whirlwind before, but never when Baz was already at loose ends. Marius and Damien texted him plenty, but they were swamped with their post-graduate lives. Aaron and Giles were usually at the music building, and so was Mina. Baz was okay when Elijah didn’t have work study, because they’d watch TV or fuck or fight about something ridiculous, and sometimes he could talk Elijah into a ride in the Tesla. Elijah also doused the house in RuPaul, to the point the music infected Aaron and Giles. Often they spontaneously burst out, “Now sissy that walk!” and sashayed their way across the kitchen. Life wasn’t boring, not by a long shot. But it didn’t stop Baz from feeling restless.

  Normally when he felt this way he got high and got laid, but it was weird to get high in the house alone, and the thought of Elijah finding out he’d engaged in a nameless hookup made him distinctively queasy. Though he’d promised exclusivity, Elijah seemed to expect Baz to cheat on him. Frankly he acted as if Baz would kick him out of the house full stop at any given second. It wasn’t uncommon for Baz to come into their bedroom to find Elijah sitting on the bed looking guilty for having used the shower. Though Baz had cleared drawer and closet space for him, Elijah lived out of his borrowed suitcase from Liz until Baz unpacked his roommate himself. He half-worried Elijah would object, but he’d said nothing, only started putting his clothes away there after being laundered. Laundry Baz usually did, for lack of anything else to do.

  Elijah frequently went to his job at food service. It was grim work, and Baz itched to rescue him from the banality of it, but it seemed to weirdly center Elijah. The idea of manual labor as a sustaining mental force wasn’t entirely foreign to Baz, but he’d assumed it was one of those pieces of bullshit people who never had to work those jobs liked to spout. Elijah’s reaction gave him serious pause. By mid-July, he’d decided maybe Elijah was on to something. Stocking up on pain pills, he walked over to Liz and Pastor’s house and asked Pastor to help him find a job.

  “You want a job? Interesting.” Pastor settled into his chair on the back porch, where Liz had served them iced tea and was promising to supplement with a tray of cookies. “Have you ever actually worked before, out of curiosity?”

  No, Baz hadn’t. He squirmed. “I was thinking more volunteer. I don’t know if my mother would approve of the optics of me collecting a wage. But surely somebody could use a pair of hands, even ones as worthless as mine.”

  “Your hands aren’t worthless.” This came from Liz as she set down a plate brimming with sugary goodness. “I’ll take your help anytime you want to give it.”

  Baz eyed her as he selected a sugar cookie still warm from the oven. “What would you have me do?”

  “Any number of things. Baking. Spreadsheets. Packaging and labeling the product. Helping me deliver it. On days you didn’t feel one hundred percent, you could sit with people at the senior center. Most of them simply want someone to talk to.”

  It wasn’t exactly what Baz had in mind, but if pressed, he couldn’t exactly name what he had expected. “How often would you want me?”

  “As often as you had time.”

  Baz had time every single day, but he figured he should start small in case this blew up in his face.

  The next morning at nine, he got a ride to Liz and Pastor’s place from Aaron before he went in for his shift with the strings camp.

  “Why didn’t you ask Elijah for a ride?” Aaron asked as they covered the short distance to Pastor’s subdivision.

  Baz shrugged. “Didn’t want to bother him.”

  It was a weak excuse, but Aaron let it slide. “You two seem to be doing okay.”

  It was heartening to hear they looked okay from the outside. Baz didn’t care to expand on that point, though, so he turned the mirror back. “You and Mulder seem fine too.”

  “Yeah.” Aaron smiled and shifted his grip on the wheel. “We have a good time working together. He likes working with the high school kids more than me, but I get to direct some, so it’s okay. They all seem so young. Hard to believe some of them could be in choir with us in a few years.”

  Aaron continued to babble about the camp until they arrived at Pastor’s place, at which point Baz was eager to escape.

  Liz welcomed him with a hug and ushered him inside. She brushed off his uncertainty, hanging an apron around his neck and putting him in charge of a mixer once he’d washed his hands. “You’ll be my sous chef for the morning,” she told him as she pulled ingredients out of the cupboard. “But tell me if you need a break, dear, because there’s no time clock on our operation. You’re going to put me ahead of my production schedule simply by showing up, and you know I never say no to a cup of coffee.”

  Normally Baz would bristle at his disabilities being discussed so cavalierly, but they were a fact of life, and it was ridiculous to play affronted when Liz had helped autograph his school modifications when in his freshman year he couldn’t keep up with the rest of his class. She’d dusted the fuss off his shoulders too, when being so different upset him.

  Today was a good day, so he was able to work for almost an hour before his hip made it clear he’d be sitting soon or having oxycodone for lunch. Liz poured him a cup of coffee and sat with him, gazing at the counter full of baked and ready-to-bake trays with satisfaction. “Usually I’m not this far by this time of the day, and my back is killing me. Anytime you want to help, please don’t stop yourself.”

  Baz blushed around his coffee cup rim. “It feels good to do something. Drives me crazy doing nothing.”

  “Yes, I agree. Which is how I ended up doing this. Everyone thinks they want to sit around and watch television, until they do it. Humans need occupations. I admit, I enjoy volunteering far more than I did working. I think there’s something about choosing to give your time. Knowing you’re doing it because you want to, because good things need doing—that’s better than a paycheck.”

  “Before the accident, I assumed I’d go to Yale like Dad. I worried what would happen being an out gay executive, but that was kind of the fun part, thinking how I’d knock down walls.” Baz had replaced his mug on the table, and he ran his index finger thoughtfully around the rim. “Yale never crossed my mind when I was finally looking for colleges, and any place at
the family firm would be figurehead only. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go to school, but everyone seemed convinced I should go somewhere. Then Nussy came and did the workshop with our choir, and I thought, I’m following that guy. Such intense energy, such power, so much good feeling. And yes, it’s been wonderful. Except…it’s as if I stayed at the bar past last call. There’s nobody pushing me to do something. Or rather, they’re pushing me do to something. But I don’t know what my something should be.”

  Liz plucked the carafe off the trivet between them and refreshed their cups. “In my day, school didn’t happen for everyone. I had to fight to go, especially once I met Robert. I remember my mother telling me it was a sinful waste of money to keep on going to school when everyone knew I was going to end up a pastor’s wife.” She hmphfed as she replaced the carafe. “Woman went to her grave scandalized because I got my doctorate and worked outside the home. I’d come home with commendations from the governor for my work with public service agencies, but all she could talk about was how terrible it must be for Robert to have to eat so much takeout. It hurt so much to hear her dismiss me. But you know, sometimes I’m glad. Not that I wouldn’t have preferred a loving mother. But sometimes her antagonism, her doubt, fueled me to prove her wrong.”

  “That’s just it. Nobody has any expectations of me.” He gripped the handle of his mug for courage to get the rest of the thought out. “It’s as if I died with Jordan, except he went to sleep, but I keep shambling on. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this life he died for.”

  Her wrinkled hand covered his on the table. “Honey, he didn’t die for you. He was killed.”

  Baz swallowed a hard lump. “It’s easier to think the other way, so it means something.”

  “I disagree, if the burden of survival has you so tied up in knots.” She turned his palm over so she could knit their fingers together. “Life is often terribly grim. Plenty of people are monsters, and most of them justify those monstrosities away. But seeing that doesn’t have to change how you chart your path. It wasn’t wrong of you to assume you’d have a good, privileged life. It doesn’t mean you have to do something differently now. Surviving when Jordan didn’t doesn’t mean you must be a martyr to make his loss worthwhile. You can’t put such a burden on yourself. You’re still Sebastian Acker. Maybe your limitations and definitions of success have shifted. But you don’t owe anyone. Only yourself.”