Calling Calling Calling Me

by Natasha Washington

  He focused intently on his laptop screen, even though the only thing on it was his syllabus for creative writing and he’d already read it twice. He had nothing due for two days.

  “So how were your classes, really?” Josh asked. “You kinda ran out before.”

  “Creative writing was fun,” Patrick said. “I have some cool people in my mini-workshop group.”

  “That’s great,” Josh said. “The people can make such a difference. I’m taking this playwriting class, and I chose my friend Alan because we’ve been friends forever. I thought we would be this great team, but Alan is being such a…anyway. You don’t need to know about all that.”

  We’re both writers, Patrick thought.

  Patrick had never really had writer friends before. Of course, Patrick had also never really had any friends.

  “I met someone who knows you in my class,” Patrick said, the words tumbling out before he had a chance to suck them back in.

  “Really?” Josh asked. “Who?”

  “Her name is Artemis,” Patrick said.

  He watched Josh’s face for any sign of embarrassment or shame, but there was none. Just a quirk of an eyebrow and a smile that seemed to begin at one corner of his mouth and end at the other.

  “Artemis,” Josh said. “Blonde? Kind of a goddess?”

  Patrick nods.

  “Oh, man,” Josh said. “Artemis. She’s—she’s, like, on another level, man. She’s amazing.”

  “She seems great,” Patrick said, feeling like the world’s biggest wuss.

  “I wrote her a song,” Josh said thoughtfully, and began tapping out a rhythm on his stomach, which was exactly the sort of distraction Patrick did not need right now.

  “You write a lot of songs for girls?” Patrick said.

  He hadn’t actually meant to say that, and it came out a bit…sharper than he’d intended. Josh’s fingers stopped moving on his stomach, and he sat up so he and Patrick were at eye-level.

  “Not just girls,” Josh said.

  Patrick got caught up in Josh’s eyes for a moment, their gold-green color, the way his eyelashes were so long and black.

  He looked away first.

  “I wish I could write songs,” Patrick murmured.

  “You could totally write songs,” Josh said. “You write stories? Songs are stories too. With more music involved.”

  Everything was so easy for Josh, Patrick realized. Everything was so possible.

  Patrick wanted to say: I used to do musicals and plays because it was the only time I felt actually okay, like I wasn’t a total freak. I listen to songs sometimes and feel like maybe somebody out there might actually understand what I’ve been through. I’m pretty sure on more than one occasion, music saved my life. I think this might be something we have in common.

  He wanted to say all of these things, but he didn’t. Yes, Josh was a writer and a theater person, like Patrick. But he was also a player who gets lots of ass, and the guy at the club making out with a random girl on the dance floor, and the guy who’d seduced goddess-Artemis at some party with a song.

  Patrick pressed his lips together and dug his fingers into his palm and thought: You’re the new roommate from Fresno. Why would he ever be into you like that?

  Josh’s eyes flicked away, down to Patrick’s bedspread and the floor and then up to the blank walls. He cleared his throat.

  “You should put some stuff up,” Josh said. “Make yourself at home.”

  Patrick let his eyes drag over his walls. He could put up the old posters he had from home, Dear Evan Hansen and The Avengers and Beyoncé, but he thought he should find new ones instead.

  “Yeah,” Patrick said, “I will.”

  The air felt heavy. Josh ran a hand through his hair, then hopped off the bed.

  “I better go,” Josh said. “It’s my turn for dinner, and I think all we have in the fridge is beer and string cheese.”

  “That sounds like the makings of a nutritious meal,” Patrick said. “You’re creative, you’ll make it work.”

  Josh smirked. “Yeah. Think I’d better make a Safeway run anyway.”

  Patrick nodded, biting his lip.

  “Say hi to Artemis for me,” Josh said. “Okay?”

  Patrick nodded. Yes, I will be your messenger; yes, I like you, yes.

  Everything about Josh made him want to say yes, yes to anything, yes to insanity and risk and anything, anything, because it would be with Josh and Josh was yes.

  But Patrick knew he needed to learn how to say no, because maybe Josh was yes but he was also impossible and unreachable. Josh belonged to everybody, and people who belonged to everybody? They could never be yours.

  8

  Josh’s dad’s birthday was consistently at the most inconvenient time of year for students, i.e. midterms. Josh wondered, sometimes, what it would be like to celebrate his pater familias on a day that he wasn’t also calculating how many hours of sleep he could get and still finish the two papers he had due the next day that he hadn’t started yet.

  However, his dad’s birthday always involved a trip to the best steakhouse in town, and if not for this dinner, he probably wouldn’t be eating at all, so: small favors, big hunks of meat.

  “Gone vegan again?” his mom asked Isaiah, who was busily picking at his mashed potatoes and side of spinach.

  “Veg,” Isaiah said with his mouth full. “Lucy.”

  “That shiksa has you well-regulated,” his dad said.

  Isaiah blew out a breath.

  “First of all,” Isaiah said, “it is not okay to say shiksa in the twenty-first century, let alone almost twenty years into the twenty-first century—”

  “Shiksa goddess?” his dad said. “She is a gorgeous girl.”

  “Julian,” his mother admonished.

  “Don’t be creep, Dad,” Josh put in.

  “I was a vegetarian before I even met Lucy,” Isaiah said.

  “Yes,” his dad said. “Except for hot dogs.”

  “I was nine—”

  “Hon, can we skip the part where you talk about how our ancestors built the pyramids so that we could have red meat?” his mom said. “Vegetarianism is a thing. You live in San Francisco. You need to get used to it.”

  Josh loved his mom so much.

  “We don’t even know if that really happened,” Isaiah pointed out. “About Jews building the pyramids, I mean.”

  Josh’s dad arched an eyebrow, and Josh got real comfortable, because this was about to get interesting.

  “So the records are a little brief,” his dad said. “It was five thousand years ago. You don’t even remember what you did last week.”

  “That’s why I have Instagram,” Isaiah retorted.

  “Jesus Christ,” his dad sighed.

  “Also not proven to exist—”

  “You young people—”

  “Josh, sweetheart, how’s that new roommate situation working out?” his mom said, loud enough to quiet both Isaiah and Josh’s dad.

  “It’s good,” Josh said.

  “I know you were excited about him,” his mom said. “What was his name again?”

  “Patrick,” Josh said.

  “What’s his deal?” Isaiah asked.

  “He’s a student at State,” Josh said. “English major. Into theater and writing.”

  “So basically you, then,” Isaiah said.

  “Not at all like me, in fact,” Josh said, and didn’t add: Possibly has his shit way more together than I do.

  “He sounds a lot like you,” Isaiah said.

  “Yes, on the surface, maybe,” Josh said. “He’s only a freshman, though. And he came to San Francisco from Fresno.”

  There was a weighted silence.

  “Oh, man,” Isaiah said.

  “Don’t—” Josh started to say.

  “Poor thing,” his mom said.

  “Yes,” his dad said. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “He’s not dead,” Josh said, feeling weirdly defensive. “He�
��s from the Central Valley.”

  “Yeah, but…” Isaiah said. “He’s a theater and writer kid from the Central Valley.”

  “That is the reddest part of the state,” Josh’s dad said sadly.

  “Well, now he’s in San Francisco,” Josh said.

  There was another moment of silence. Josh felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.

  “Sweetheart,” Josh’s mother said. “Are you—”

  “If you say ‘dating someone’ or ‘thinking about your future’—”

  Josh’s mother closed her mouth, and his father became extremely fascinated with his fork.

  “I have some news,” Isaiah interrupted.

  “You’ve won a Grammy,” his dad suggested.

  “I don’t need you to guess,” Isaiah said. “I’m going to tell you.”

  “You won an Oscar,” his dad suggested. “For Best Original Song.”

  Isaiah rolled his eyes so hard, Josh feared he might be having a seizure, but then: “I’m going to ask Lucy to marry me,” he said.

  His stomach felt like it had dropped into his shoes.

  “Ohhh, honey,” his mother gasped out.

  “I haven’t asked her yet,” Isaiah said. “I thought maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but—”

  “Honey, she’s going to say yes!” his mother said.

  “Of course she will,” his father said. It sounded a bit like a threat.

  “I’m nervous as hell,” Isaiah said.

  “Dude,” Josh said. “She’s going to say yes.”

  “Yeah, but her best friend’s fiancé asked her at the top of the Empire State Building,” Isaiah said. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

  “By literally doing anything less ridiculous,” Josh said. “Like…anything.”

  “Do you know where you’re going to ask her?” his father said.

  “I was thinking where we met,” Isaiah said.

  “You’re going to ask her to marry you in a bar?” Josh said.

  “I didn’t meet her at a bar, you asshole,” Isaiah said.

  “I thought you met her at—”

  “I met her at a poetry reading in the Mission,” Isaiah said. “I was leaving the poetry reading, and I bumped into her right in front of that mural in Balmy Alley.”

  “The indigenous rights one,” his mother said.

  “I don’t know,” Isaiah said. “One of them. But definitely that alley.”

  “You’re going to propose to her in an alley,” his father said.

  Isaiah pressed his fingers to his temples.

  “During the day, I hope,” his father said. “Not at night.”

  “I met her there at night,” Isaiah said.

  “You’re going to propose to that beautiful girl in an alley at night.”

  “I think it’s romantic,” his mother put in. “Maybe bring a flashlight.”

  “Hey, waiter,” Isaiah called out. “Check please?”

  * * *

  Outside the restaurant while waiting for his dad to retrieve the car, Isaiah moved the allowed distance away from the building, took out a cigarette and lit it with the speed of a veteran.

  “I thought you quit,” Josh said.

  “Dude,” Isaiah said.

  “Okay, fair point,” Josh said.

  “Why are they like this?” Isaiah said.

  “Because they’re our parents,” Josh said. “At least you’re actually getting married.”

  “Congratulations, Isaiah,” Isaiah said, pitching his voice up. “Such great news. So wonderful that you want to commit to the amazing woman you’ve been living with for the last two years. Fantastic how you have learned how to love someone in a mature, well-adjusted way.”

  “All of that,” Josh said. “I would have said all of that, but it was hard to get a word in.”

  “‘It was hard to get a word in.’ I want that crocheted on a pillow,” Isaiah said. “It’s the story of my life.”

  He exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  “I am totally proud of you,” Josh said. “I think it’s great, and I love Lucy, and I love that you get to say that you love Lucy for the rest of your life.”

  Isaiah took in such a large inhalation of smoke that he started coughing.

  “As long as you don’t die first,” Josh said.

  “The rest of my life, though,” Isaiah said. “That’s so fucking heavy.”

  “Yeah, but also, divorce exists,” Josh said.

  “I love her so much, though,” Isaiah said. “She’s been my rock, and she sings like an angel, and she makes me less of an idiot. But I am so…”

  “It’s fucking heavy,” Josh said. “I know.”

  He wanted to say: We used to talk about my relationships too, bro. But that was years ago, back when Josh had real relationships to talk about. Since Josh’d gone to college, Isaiah had been the stable one with the real girlfriend, while Josh had been the human disaster who couldn’t commit. These were the roles they’d chosen, and it felt like there were no take-backs.

  Isaiah sighed. A car screeched past, blasting mariachi music.

  “I think Dad parked on Mars,” Josh said.

  “The thing is,” Isaiah said, “I would marry her even if they hated her. Is that wrong?”

  Josh glanced at Isaiah. Isaiah’s curls were messy around his face, his pupils wide. It was a bit like looking in a mirror.

  “It’s not wrong,” Josh said. “It just means you really love her.”

  Their dad came careening around the corner in what their mom liked to call his midlife crisis car. It was a bright red Mustang that he barely fit inside.

  “Fuck,” Isaiah said, and dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and stubbed it out.

  * * *

  After some discussion of how they could all fit in the tiny Mustang, Isaiah decided to walk to the BART to take it to Oakland, abandoning Josh like the traitorous traitor that he was. Josh found himself in the precarious position of trying to extricate himself from his parents’ clutches after they’d received major, life-changing news about their other son.

  “I hope he doesn’t expect us to finance a wedding that involves the Empire State Building,” his father grumbled. “What a corporate—”

  “Julian,” his mother said. “You are being the worst sort of absurd. This is such a happy occasion! Isaiah has never been materialistic, and he hasn’t asked us for financial help aside from tuition since high school. I highly doubt he will want some kind of extravagant wedding.”

  “Well, there better be meat at the wedding,” his father said.

  “They get to have whatever they want because it’s their wedding. You’re just upset because he upstaged your birthday, you big baby,” his mother retorted.

  “Mom, Dad,” Josh said. “I have a midterm tomorrow. Can you drop me off here?”

  They both turned to look at him as if they had only just remembered he was still there.

  “Oh, of course, sweetie,” his mother said. “You go do that.”

  “These grades do matter,” his father said, and Josh bit his tongue in holding back his frosty Oh, really, I thought I was in college because it’s the cool, affordable thing to do response.

  “I do hope you find someone like Isaiah did,” his mother said. “Not that it has to be a girl, of course. You know we don’t police your sexuality in any way—”

  “Maybe find someone who’s not a goy,” his father said.

  “Julian,” his mother hissed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “It says it in the Bible, Miriam,” his father said. “Go forth and multiply.”

  “Yes, well, our Josh is twenty-one, and we don’t want him to be doing any multiplying,” his mother said. “Right, honey? You’re using protection—”

  “Ohhhh my God,” Josh said, and pushed open the door of the slow-moving car choked by traffic, and got out, slamming it behind him.

  As he walked the rest of the way home, he checked his messages and found several from Alan about their pla
y, which was in edits, but was also possibly the worst thing ever written since that Tennessee Williams play about the staircase. Josh put that conversation on mute. He could not deal with that today.

  There was also one from Patrick.

  Hope the family birthday wasn’t too stressful, he’d written. Whenever my dad has a birthday, I’m always worried somebody’s gonna get whacked.

  Josh smiled. He texted back: Nobody’s dead, but my brother is getting married.

  Patrick texted him a surprised emoji.

  I thought your brother was a hipster musician type, Patrick said. Doesn’t that, like…destroy his cred?

  Marriage is for Boomers, Josh said. But he’s super in love or something.

  Gross, Patrick texted back.

  Josh’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He was going to see Patrick in a few minutes, but he liked the easy intimacy of texting. Whenever he was around Patrick, he had to deal with his blue, blue eyes and his hair that looked soft to the touch and the whole rest of his face, and it was so distracting.

  You got midterms? he texted back.

  Where do you think I’ve been the last three days? Patrick said. I live at the library. Please forward my mail.

  I did think there was way more Nutella in the pantry than normal, Josh wrote.

  HEY, Patrick said. That is secretly Kai.

  WHAT, Josh texted.

  I SAW HIM DO IT, Patrick said.

  No way, Josh said. I thought he was on that diet with the probiotics and only eating lean protein like chicken. That hardcore dancer shit.

  Chicken and NUTELLA, Patrick said.

  Mind = blown.

  Speaking of midterms, I gotta get back to this chemistry one, Patrick said.

  My condolences, Josh texted.

  See you on the other side, Patrick wrote.

  Josh pocketed his phone and pushed open his front door. He felt warm and relieved and suddenly like smiling. His mom’s admonishments and his dad’s patronizing bullshit seemed distant, a million miles away behind a screen of calming, centering blue.