Village Fool

by Nathan Burgoine

  “Hey, Owen?”

  Owen jumped. Speaking of the rumbly-voiced devil. Toma smiled at him in the reflection and had quite the twinkle in his dark brown eyes. It was upbeat and positive, which wasn’t unusual, but with an edge of something sunnier. It was a good look.

  Owen’s cheeks burned. “Oh. Uh. Hey.”

  And there it was. In texts with friends, or sitting around a gaming table and role-playing a wisecracking bard, Owen had instant access to an endless stream of amusing dialog. Playful Owen could make everyone laugh. Or at work, he’d turn into Confident Owen, who could troubleshoot any problem with clients on the other side of the ocean.

  Face-to-Face Owen? Real Owen?

  Real Owen tapped out at “Hey.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you,” Toma said. “I wanted to catch you before you left and…” He cleared his throat. “I’m not interrupting?”

  “No, no,” Owen said. “No.” He shut his mouth before a fourth “no” could escape.

  “May I?” Toma said, holding his hand close to Owen’s shoulder.

  Owen nodded, too tongue-tied to do much else.

  Toma pressed his palm against Owen’s shoulder. “Go ahead.”

  Owen raised and lowered the weights in a smooth, practiced motion. Toma’s gaze fell into the middle of nowhere while he felt what was going on with the muscles in Owen’s shoulder, and as always, the heat of Toma’s hand pressed against his skin, even through his T-shirt, made him want to shiver. As an added bonus, the way Toma focused his attention so completely on what he was feeling always gave Owen another opportunity to look at his reflection in the mirrors without Toma noticing.

  Except this time, Toma was looking right at him. Owen almost wobbled the lift, and he bit his lip to stop himself from screwing up the motion. When he lowered the bar a fifth and final time, he exhaled and Toma smiled, his hand still pressed to Owen’s shoulder.

  It was probably pathetic how much Owen missed his touch. Back when he’d been doing the initial physiotherapy, Toma had practically never let go. Owen hadn’t considered how rare touch was in his life until he’d begun his physiotherapy.

  Even when his shoulder ached, or his elbow and forearm burned, part of him looked forward to PT in no small part because of the weight of Toma’s hand.

  “That’s feeling great,” Toma said.

  It sure is, Owen thought. “I’m sore this morning. I didn’t sleep well. I was up. Awake. Not sleeping.” Oh my God, shut up, Owen.

  “Well, don’t push it.” Toma squeezed a little, but didn’t let go. The weight of Toma’s hand made him tingle. “You know your limits.”

  “I have the day off. I’m going to do as little as possible. After this, I mean. Post-gym.” Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!

  Toma cleared his throat again. “Does that mean you’re free later? Like, four-ish?”

  Owen blinked. What was happening? He stared.

  Toma’s smile grew a little tight. Owen realized he hadn’t replied.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I mean yes. I mean, I’ve got nothing on my schedule. At all.” He winced. Very pathetic. “I mean, nothing at four. I’m meeting the guys for board game night at six.” Better. Now he didn’t sound like a total social pariah, just a nerd. But Toma knew that already.

  “Would you like to meet up at Bittersweets? I’m done at three thirty, so I could be there at four?” Toma said. “We can…catch up. Update.”

  “Yurk.” Owen choked out loud, then swallowed. “Yes. Sure. That would be…Okay.”

  “Good. That’s…good.” Toma rubbed his beard, grinning. “I’ll see you then.” Then the hand—and the burly cubcake dream-fodder the hand was attached to—was gone, and Owen was left to stare at his own reflection in the mirrors of Body Positive in something akin to complete and utter panic.

  Unless he was totally misreading, Toma asked him out.

  He pulled out his phone and called up the texts to Felix.

  Owen Update the Fourth: My life is amazing.

  Four

  December

  My life is a mess.

  Tazneem and Finn had been beyond generous, but he’d begged to go home on Boxing Day. Owen lasted two more days at home struggling to accomplish even basic tasks one-handed before he couldn’t handle being in his house any longer and awkwardly bundled himself up for a walk. There was a coffee shop in the Village—he couldn’t remember what it was called—he hadn’t tried yet. He’d never really done anything in the Village, beyond a couple of meetings with Finn here and there at NiceTeas when their schedules allowed. It seemed wrong now, and he was going to fix it.

  If he could make it there.

  Tazneem, though, had apparently thought of everything and had already attached ice-grip cleats to his Blundstones. It was exactly the sort of thing Finn’s wife would do, and he reminded himself to order her something as a thank you. Pulling on the boots right-handed was awkward and managing the left boot hurt like blazes, but if anything it made him more determined to get the hell out of his house.

  The walk took about three times as long as it should have, but the grips did their job and the icy wind was strangely pleasant at first. It made him feel awake and alert for a change, which Owen supposed meant the pain pills were working.

  When he was finally one block from the Village, he could have cheered. The wind was no longer refreshing. It kept blowing his hood off. He regretted not trying to put on a winter hat one-handed. Instead, he kept going, eyes on the icy rainbow crosswalk, stepping as carefully as possible, right up until he got to the door of the coffee place. Bittersweets. That was the name. The e’s in the logo had little coffee beans in them. Cute.

  Bitter certainly suited his mood.

  Thankfully, an accessibility button was beside the door. Owen awkwardly hit it with his right hand and waited. With an initial jerk and then agonizing slowness, the door started opening. His left shoulder burned, the straps holding his left arm in place against his chest rubbed through his shirt, and his jacket hung funny since he couldn’t put his left arm through it. He was cold, miserable, and exhausted.

  But there was hope. Coffee existed on the other side of this door.

  The door slowed down even more. The door clearly hated him. It wanted him to suffer.

  “May I?” a voice said.

  Owen turned. A tall, white, kind of basic-looking dude wearing a black hoodie under a plain winter jacket reached past him and pulled the door open wide, gesturing for Owen to head in before him.

  “Thank you so much,” Owen said. “Walking here took way more out of me than I thought it would.”

  “No problem,” the guy said, though he was staring pretty hard at Owen’s face. Owen hadn’t been looking in the mirror much since Finn had driven him home. Most of the bruises were at least past the truly swollen and ugly phase, but the yellow-brown flush remained, especially across the bridge of his nose and his neck, as well as the scrapes. He hadn’t successfully shaved since he got home, either, which meant his goatee was currently fading into a full-on patchy beard on his cheeks and neck.

  The guy followed Owen to the line, though he waved to a pair sitting at one of the tables first, a trim and cute Asian man beside a pale blond white fellow, both of whom had far more style than Mr. Hoodie. Owen shuffled forward as the line progressed faster than he expected, and came face-to-face with a barista, who raised her pierced eyebrows in surprise when she looked at him.

  “Car accident,” Owen said.

  “Sorry,” she said, biting her lip. “I totally didn’t mean to stare. What can I get for you?”

  “What do you have in a jet fuel?” he said. “I’m basically running on regret and painkillers.”

  She smiled. “Pete roasted a dark blend this week that’s incredible. Do you like dark roasts? And do you usually take sugar or dairy?”

  “I like dark roasts. And just a little cream.”

  “Then I’ll heartily suggest that. The wake-up comes from the bold flavor, not the caff
eine. Here or to go?”

  “Oh God, here.” The thought of the walk home made him shiver. Maybe he could move in. “Whoever Pete is, give him my thanks. May I have a slice of lemon poppy seed, too? That can be breakfast, right?”

  “Totally counts as breakfast,” the woman said. “Do you have one of our cards?”

  “I’ve never been here before.”

  “Then I’ll hook you up.” She was already moving around behind the counter like a pro, and he started to realize why the line had moved so fast. “Pete’s the owner, by the way, and he always asks for feedback, so let me know how you like it. I’m Kira. No Bajoran jokes.”

  He blinked. “How did you know I liked Star Trek?”

  Kira didn’t pause as she poured. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “Maybe not,” Owen said, reconsidering. He’d always projected some sort of invisible nerd signal out into the universe, even when he was at his sartorial best.

  Seconds later, she had stamped a little card on both sides, sliced the lemon poppy seed cake and put it on a plate with a fork, and finished it all off with a big mug of coffee with what looked to be the perfect amount of cream. It smelled amazing. Owen picked up the mug with his one good hand, then eyed the plate.

  “Wait for me, and I’ll carry it for you.”

  Owen turned. Hoodie guy offered up a little smile. Okay, maybe he wasn’t Mr. Basic.

  “Thank you. Again.” Owen stepped to the side.

  “The usual, Felix?” the woman asked.

  “You’re the best.”

  In no time at all hoodie guy—Felix—had his own mug and plate, and handily carried Owen’s plate as well. “This way,” he said, leading Owen back to the table where the other two men from earlier were still sitting. They looked up as Felix approached, and then both eyed Owen in turn with varying degrees of alarm.

  “Here,” the blond said, shifting over one seat so Owen wouldn’t have to circle the table to sit.

  Felix put the plate down at the open spot, and then walked around to the final empty place and sat down.

  Was he supposed to join them? It felt like an invitation, but also awkward. Owen was too tired to argue. He put down his coffee and started to carefully remove his coat.

  “Let me,” the blond said, rising again.

  “Thanks,” Owen said. “I’m not usually this useless, I swear.”

  “I thought you might pass out at the door,” Felix said.

  The blond put Owen’s coat over the back of his chair and shook his head. “Ignore him. He has zero filters. I’m Silas.” He didn’t hold out his hand to shake, for which Owen was grateful.

  “Owen,” Owen said, sitting down at last. He took a couple of breaths, staring down at his coffee. Sitting was good. When had he gone all light-headed?

  “I’m Ru, that’s Felix,” the third man said. “And please don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure you’re okay? You’ve gone really pale.”

  Owen took another breath. “I will be. Maybe I shouldn’t have walked this far.”

  “You walked here?” Silas said. “From where?”

  “I live on Cooper. It’s only a few blocks, but…” Owen almost shrugged, then remembered not to. “I’ve been housebound, and before that I was in the hospital. I was going a bit stir-crazy.” He took another breath and then picked up his coffee, his hand barely shaking now. The first swallow was magic, and he closed his eyes. Bold didn’t begin to cover it. The warm heat and the rich, dark flavor rolled over his tongue. “Oh my God. That’s…” There were no words.

  “Welcome to Bittersweets,” Ru said. “It’s heaven on earth. It’s why we live here.”

  Owen opened his eyes. Silas pointed at the ceiling. “We’re in one of the apartments upstairs.”

  “Ah,” Owen said. “You’re together?” He was getting a queer vibe from the two of them, and maybe Felix as well—though he had that kind of former-jock thing going on. Still, it was the Village.

  Silas and Ru smiled at each other. “Yes, gay, but no, roommates,” Ru said.

  “I’m the only one who has to commute,” Felix said. “They just stumble down in the mornings.”

  “Are you new to Ottawa?” Silas said.

  “Yes. My foster brother lives here, and I came to visit him a couple of months ago when I got a job interview. I got a job in Kanata, but I didn’t want to live there.”

  “Wise move,” Felix said. “It’s really minivan out there. Like, pod-people, two-point-five kids level minivan.”

  Owen laughed. “I got that impression.”

  A small silence fell as they all took a moment to drink or eat, and Owen was surprised at how comfortable it felt.

  “So,” Felix said, “what happened?”

  “Oh my God, Felix,” Silas said, covering his face with one hand. Ru leaned over and gave Felix a little slap on the back of his head.

  “What?” Felix said. “It’s not like you guys were gonna ask.”

  “Did we mention he has no impulse control?” Silas said.

  Owen smiled. “It’s okay. I was driving home from work during that storm a few weeks ago, and got hit head-on.”

  “Ouch,” Felix said. Then he tapped his nose. “Airbag?”

  “Yes. And definitely ouch,” Owen said.

  “Dislocated?” Felix eyed Owen’s shoulder.

  “That’s right.” Owen was impressed. “You’re good.”

  “I’m a nurse practitioner.”

  “Ah.” Owen would have guessed gym teacher. To cover his surprise, he took another swig of the coffee, enjoying the flavor and letting the heat warm him. Then he realized an opportunity staring him in the face. Dr. Yuan-Innes had given him a list of follow-ups he’d have to start once his arm was freed again, and her office could no doubt help him find people, but if Felix was a nurse practitioner, why not ask? “Hey, I don’t suppose you know of a good physiotherapist?”

  “Absolutely. Drop by Body Positive,” Felix said. “They’ve got three on staff.”

  “Body Positive?”

  “The gym across the way.” Ru pointed. “A friend of mine, Fiona, runs the place. Super queer-friendly, and I can vouch for her. If you don’t mind swearing. She swears. Like, a lot.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ll be swearing a lot once all this stuff comes off,” Owen said. He was glad Ru mentioned the queer thing. He reminded himself again: this was the Village. He awkwardly used the edge of his fork to cut a square of the lemon poppy seed cake and swallowed it. Moist, sweet, with enough lemon flavor to taste good but not overpower. “Okay, is everything here the best, or am I just imagining it?”

  “Pretty much. Though if you’ve got a sweet tooth, we need to get you to Sweet Temptations,” Silas said.

  “Chocolates and candy,” Felix said, aiming his thumb. “Other end of the Village.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” Owen said.

  “It is.”

  They chatted lightly while they ate and drank, and though they all finished before he did, Owen got the impression they didn’t mind waiting for his one-handed pace to catch up. When he finally finished, he smiled, grateful.

  “Thank you,” he said. “For the door. And the carrying. And the company. I haven’t been in the city long, and then this happened.” He tilted his head toward his immobilized shoulder. He had started to make some work friends, but it hadn’t really translated to anyone to hang out with. He pretty much only had Finn.

  “Let me walk you home,” Silas said.

  “Oh my gosh, you don’t have to do that,” Owen said.

  “Oh dude,” Felix said. “That’s a losing battle, trust me. Just give in.”

  “He’s not wrong,” Silas said, shrugging.

  Owen laughed, then winced. “Ow.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be walking you home,” Silas said, rising. “Let me grab my coat and boots from upstairs. Felix, he doesn’t leave until I get back.”

  Felix gave him a crisp salute.

  Ru and Silas left the store,
though Owen saw them immediately turn and open a door right beside the entrance to Bittersweets to where, he assumed, the stairs up to the apartments were located.

  “You like games?” Felix said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Tabletop, RPGs?”

  Owen smiled. Sometimes, projecting nerd vibes into the universe had a plus side. “You mean like D&D? Sure, yeah.” He’d played in university and really enjoyed it. “As long as I don’t have to be the cleric.”

  “Excellent.” Felix rubbed his hands. “And don’t worry, Silas is always the cleric. We get together for game nights. Sometimes board games, sometimes D&D. I’ll tell Ru to loop you in. I bet you’d make a great bard.”

  Owen eyed him. Felix kept surprising him. “What makes you say that?” Bards were the outgoing, funny, talkative characters. That wasn’t Owen.

  “That thing you said about regret and painkillers. It was a good line.”

  Owen laughed. “I’ve never played a bard before.”

  “You don’t have to, just suggesting. Nick’ll make whatever character you want to make work,” Felix said. “He’s our DM. And a writer.”

  “Do you guys always pick up strays?” Owen said, then winced at how brusque the question sounded. Yeah, he was no bard. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Absolutely. It’s the Bittersweets Club way.” Felix had an infectious grin and was more handsome when he smiled. “Strays gotta stick together. Though you said you have a brother?”

  “Yep. He’s married, and his wife’s about to have their first kid.” Owen sighed. “I’d hoped I’d be able to help out. Now…” He remembered not to shrug, and let the words trail off.

  “Okay.” Silas was back, wearing a stylish long brown winter coat and a grey wool scarf. He was carrying a matching hat, which he casually held out. “You okay if I put this on you?”

  “See?” Felix said. “Total cleric.”

  Five

  April