He texted back: You owe me, broheim.
Indubitably, Isaiah texted back. GET OVER HERE.
When Josh arrived, he found Isaiah in the living room, messing around with the drum machine app on his iPhone, making a beat that sounded very eighties’ new wave. Their mom was cross-stitching something about the revolution onto a pillow and looked typically serene.
“When are you going to the airport?” Josh asked Isaiah.
“Day after tomorrow in the morning, early,” Isaiah said. He didn’t look up from his phone.
“Isaiah, don’t you think you should tell Josh?” his mother said.
Isaiah’s hands froze on the phone.
“Tell me what?” Josh said.
Isaiah glanced up, then placed the phone carefully on the floor. “Can we go outside for a minute?”
Isaiah looked nervous. Josh felt a rush of affection for his brother, who, despite being an idiot sometimes, was still one of his favorite people.
“Sure,” Josh said, and hopped up and followed Isaiah out through the foyer and the front door and down the steps.
The air outside was cool but dry, the sky overcast. The city felt hushed.
“What’s up?” Josh asked.
Isaiah produced a joint from his pocket and lit it, then passed it to Josh.
“Mom and Dad already know this,” Isaiah said, “but I wanted to tell you in person, and it’s been crazy, like you were busy with school and I was—”
“Is this why you asked me to come over?” Josh said. “You can just tell me these things, you know. No need for the subterfuge.”
“I like spy stuff, though,” Isaiah said, and Josh had to give him that. Spy stuff was always cool.
“I’m moving to New York,” Isaiah said, words pushed out in a rush. “In a couple months. After Christmas.”
Josh felt cold. He rubbed his fingers against the fabric of his jeans until he could feel them again.
“I thought Lucy was going to move out here,” he said.
His words came out raspy, his throat dry.
“We changed our minds,” Isaiah said. “It made more sense—for the band, the opportunities are better for us, we’ve got the recording gig all set up, and Lucy’s family is—”
“Holy shit, Isaiah,” Josh murmured.
“I know,” Isaiah said. “I mean…I didn’t think I’d—but, yeah.”
“I totally get it,” Josh said. “It makes sense, but it kind of—”
“—sucks,” Isaiah said. “I know.”
Josh didn’t say anything. He handed the joint back to Isaiah without taking a hit.
“I’m sorry to drop this on you with no warning,” Isaiah said. “We made the decision really fast. I feel like everything is happening fast. You know?”
So fast, Josh thought. Like how I’ve been hooking up and fucking things up, all over again.
“No worries, man,” Josh said. “There’s no good time for bad news, right?”
This time Isaiah was silent. He took a deep drag on the joint and passed it back to Josh, who held it between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel the heat from the tip. The smoke smelled bitter and sharp.
“I meant to tell you,” Isaiah said. “About the wedding.”
“What about the wedding?”
“You’re gonna be the best man,” Isaiah said. “It’s not even optional. FYI.”
Josh wanted to be excited about this, about his brother’s wedding, but he knew he was going to have to fake it. Yes, it was awesome his brother was marrying the woman of his dreams, but it also meant Isaiah was moving away.
Josh pasted on a smile.
“Well, yeah, duh. As long as you’re cool with me giving the world’s most embarrassing toast.”
Isaiah stared at him, then shook his head. “So,” he said, “tell me your best man ideas.”
“I mean, the first one is definitely that you should wear one of those zoot suits like in a Cherry Poppin’ Daddies video,” Josh said. “You remember them, right?”
“I never should have let you watch all those music videos from the nineties,” Isaiah mourned.
“You created a monster,” Josh said.
“No zoot suit,” Isaiah said. “I might not even wear a suit at all.”
Josh widened his eyes. “Are you trying to kill our mother?” he said.
“You sounded so much like her right then,” Isaiah said. “Stop that.”
“What kind of a man doesn’t wear a suit to his own wedding?” Josh said, raising his voice in pitch. “Are we too good for a suit? Too creative to look like a gentleman?”
“Our ancestors did not build the pyramids so that you could look like a schmuck,” Isaiah said, pitching his voice low. “They did not fight their way out of the shtetl—”
“I love you, man,” Josh blurted out.
Isaiah’s mouth tightened, and he pushed a hand through his own curls, closer-cut than Josh’s but still somehow wild.
“I love you too,” Isaiah said.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Josh said. “Not— I’m not trying to guilt you or anything, but—”
“I know,” Isaiah said. “But sometimes you have to do the scary thing, you know?”
In his mind, Josh could see the way Patrick had tilted his head up, the way he’d asked for what he wanted.
God. Josh really liked Patrick. He liked him so much. This was probably his first time, Josh realized. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Yeah,” Josh said. “I know.”
* * *
On his way back to the apartment, his phone buzzed with a text on it that said: Hey Josh, this is Ramon. I’ll be in town in a few weeks for Thanksgiving. You want to hang?
Ramon. Josh rubbed at his eyes. He’d said back in September that he’d hang with Ramon when he came back to town, and he did want to see him. But part of him also wondered what Ramon’s deal was. He’d hardly talked to Josh for three years. After what went down at senior prom, Ramon had even avoided Josh at graduation. That had hurt. Josh remembered standing at the corner of the stage waiting to be called and catching Ramon’s eye. Ramon had looked so handsome in his robes, the dark fabric bringing out the green in his eyes. Ramon had given him the smallest smile, the smile he used to shoot him across the room in physics when Mr. Franklin did something nerdy, which was basically always.
But then Ramon’s face fell, and Josh knew why. It was because Ramon didn’t want anyone to see that moment pass between them, didn’t want people to know that he and Josh might be…whatever they were. It was like Ramon suddenly had NO HOMO tattooed on his forehead.
Ramon had never been like that before, not even a little bit. But Josh had fucked that up too. He sighed.
It’s a casual hang out with an old friend, Josh thought. You can do this.
Yeah, that would be cool, Josh texted back. Where and when?
Sometime after the family hysterics—I mean, festivities, Ramon texted back. Your parents doing their big Indian-from-India thing?
Yup, Josh texted. I keep telling them it’s a different kind of cultural appropriation, but they don’t really listen to me.
LOL, Ramon wrote. Nothing’s changed since high school then.
Josh knew Ramon didn’t mean it that way, but it still hit him square between the eyes.
Just text me when you’re in town, he wrote. We’ll figure something out.
Sweet, Ramon wrote. Looking forward. I’ve missed you, dude.
Josh stared at his phone for a full minute. He watched the numbers on the phone clock change, then closed his eyes.
17
The second Patrick left Josh’s room and was inside his room with the door closed, he scrambled for his phone and dialed his parents’ number.
He was not proud of it. It wasn’t the grown-up college boy thing to do, but he did it anyway.
His mom answered after the third ring, voice high and worried. “Pat?”
“Mom, if I had to move, that would be okay, right?” he launched in.
“I mean, I would find a new place and I’d even move the stuff myself, you wouldn’t have to come up or anything—”
“Are you all right, honey?” His mom sounded truly concerned now. “It’s very…early. Has something happened? Do you need—”
Patrick glanced at his clock: Six a.m. Shit.
“No, no, it’s okay, Mom. I’m sorry to wake you.”
“Sweetie, did you say you wanted to move? What—”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Patrick says. “I’m just homesick.”
He placed a hand on his bedside table to steady it. His head ached.
“You can call anytime, sweetheart. We don’t mind. Are you sure…”
“I’m fine,” Patrick said. The wood of the table was solid beneath his hand. “I’m fine.”
“You go back to sleep for a bit, okay? And I’ll call you later to check in. I put a package in the mail yesterday for you. Did you have a good Halloween? You always did think of the best costumes. So creative.”
What do you want to be, though? You’re creative.
Patrick glanced down at his white T-shirt, his jeans still open one button. He could see his jacket flung over his desk chair where he must have abandoned it, or perhaps someone rescued it and left it for him.
His bed was still made. Pristine.
“It was fun,” Patrick said. “Yeah.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” his mom said. “Take care, dear. We’ll be in touch.”
“Okay, Mom,” he said. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Patrick.”
He dropped the phone onto the bed and sat next to it, feeling the mattress dip. It was now 6:05 a.m. He thought about the thin walls, about Josh right next door. He wondered if he was listening. He wondered.
* * *
“Are you asleep, Maloney?”
Patrick’s head jerked up. Taneisha and Artemis staring at him with expressions that looked like a combination of pity and amusement.
“Don’t let our workshop interrupt your nap,” Taneisha drawled.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick said, voice coming out raspy. “Rough night.”
“Apparently,” Taneisha said. “You should tell us about it. Your story is probably more entertaining than Justin’s story anyway.”
“His story needs more ninjas,” Artemis said. “More ninjas and less commas.”
Even after a long shower and a judicious number of painkillers, Patrick still felt awful. Not that he didn’t completely deserve it: the combo of flask plus punch plus random shots certainly justified some form of karmic payback.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Patrick mumbled.
“We already know you got it on with Josh,” Artemis prodded. “But you should elaborate, and also explain why you don’t have the expected postcoital glow.”
Patrick stared at her, shocked.
“Oh come on, people were gonna figure it out,” Artemis said. “You two sexiled Kai at your own Halloween party.”
“How…you weren’t even there,” Patrick said, aghast.
Artemis arched an eyebrow. “Oh, but I was there. You know why you didn’t see me? Because you were too busy gettin’ busy with your roommate.”
Patrick buried his head in his hands.
“Wait, he didn’t, like, do anything, did he?” Taneisha said. “Like, that you didn’t want? Because if I have to cut a bitch—”
“No, it’s not that! It’s not—I seriously don’t want to talk about it, okay? I’m still…processing.”
Patrick didn’t say: I had a sort of one-night-stand with a guy I’m really kind of into in an embarrassing, desperate way, and it was amazing, and I would do it again in a heartbeat, and then again, and again, except with less liquor and more reciprocity…
But the problem is I don’t think Josh wants that. Not the way I do.
He didn’t say it, but it must have shown all over his face anyway because Artemis’s expression softened and Taneisha leaned across the table to cover his hand with hers and squeezed.
“What do you think the story needs?” Artemis asked when the moment of quiet lasted too long.
Patrick exhaled. “Definitely ninjas,” he said. “More ninjas are always the way to go.”
* * *
Patrick skipped chemistry with no regrets. He didn’t feel up to pretending to care about formulas and elements and equations.
As he made his way toward the bus, he spotted Eric in front of the student union, dressed in some form-fitting yoga pants and a tight T-shirt. He had a moment where he considered walking faster and possibly pulling up his hood so Eric wouldn’t see him, but then he thought: Stop being a wimp.
“Hey,” Patrick said as he neared him. Eric turned toward him and smiled.
“What’s up, Patrick?” Eric said, pulling him into a quick hug.
Patrick really didn’t deserve either the smile or the hug, but this was who Eric was: sweet, straightforward, genuine. He’d probably be an excellent boyfriend.
Except for the fact that no matter how much he tried, he just didn’t want Eric the way he wanted Josh.
“I’m recovering,” Patrick said. “You know how it is.”
“I really do,” Eric said, eyes widening. “Next Halloween, remind me not to carry my own alcohol with me, okay? Because that was a bad idea.”
“I definitely helped you drink that,” Patrick said. “Pretty sure alcohol in general is a bad idea.”
“The worst idea,” Eric said.
There was a moment of silence before Eric cleared his throat and said, “You kind of ditched me at that party.”
Patrick felt himself flush. He had no excuses. He’d been an asshole to leave him like that. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have—”
“It was for Josh, wasn’t it?” Eric said.
Patrick met Eric’s eyes. He nodded.
“You know, I get it,” Eric said.
Patrick stared at him, confused.
“I mean, why Josh,” Eric said, as if it should be obvious. “He’s a challenge. I’m not.”
“That’s—” ridiculous, Patrick meant to say, but the words got caught in his throat.
It’s just that I’m complicated, Patrick thought. I’m complicated, and I think Josh is complicated too, even though he pretends not to be.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Eric said. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad for me, but I think we should admit—”
“I really like you,” Patrick cut him off. “I want us to be friends. And I don’t mean that in the patronizing sort of way, I really don’t, because I want to hang out with you and come to your dance recitals and go to movies and—whatever, I don’t care what we do as long as we do it together. And I’m sorry for being so…”
“Adorable?” Eric said. “Because you totally don’t need to apologize for that.”
Patrick wanted to crawl under a rock. “I—”
Eric touched Patrick’s hand, fingertips brushing his knuckles. “I get it,” he said. “I do.”
His eyes were soft but not sad. Patrick found comfort in that.
“You know, nobody expects you to have it all figured out, Patrick,” Eric said. “Not yet.”
Patrick thought about Eric and his ballroom dance competitions, Eric and his family back home who maybe didn’t understand his dancer dreams, Eric who’d come to the Halloween party dressed as a marine with no touch of irony whatsoever.
Patrick needed to remind himself that he wasn’t the only one who’d fought to get here. Who was still fighting.
“Us boys from the middle of nowhere gotta stick together,” Patrick said.
“Hell yes, we do,” Eric said, and grinned.
* * *
Patrick took the long way home, which actually meant he didn’t go home at all. Instead, he caught the Muni to the Castro, got on the N Judah in the opposite direction, and went to the beach.
It was a clear, crisp fall day, a bit chilly but not too cold. The air smelled like salt when he got off the train. He re
traced the path he’d taken with Josh, between and over the dunes. About halfway down the narrow beach, he crouched down and slipped off his shoes and socks. The sand was sun-warmed under his feet, grainy and pliant.
He stared out at the ocean, watched as the waves cycled through, curling, crashing, foaming. Never-ending, that cycle. Constant. Releasing the water only to pull it back in.
Patrick took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with ocean air.
I’m not going back, he thought.
And that was the thing—he’d already done it. He got out of Fresno and high school and now he was here. With or without Josh, he was here, and when he went back to visit his family, it’d be different, because he didn’t have to stay.
He wasn’t trapped in that place or time or that version of himself. He’d changed.
You don’t have to settle. That’s all I was trying to say.
He edged forward, little baby steps until the sand turned wet and clammy. The ocean exhaled a wave, and the water ran between his toes.
Shit, that’s cold.
Patrick bit his lip, curling his toes in. He stood there for a long time, until his feet and hands went numb, and he couldn’t feel the wind.
18
Josh got home to an empty apartment, a rare occurrence. He thought about texting Patrick, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Patrick ignored his texts at this point. This was something that had to happen in person. He owed Patrick an apology, a different one from all the others he’d given him.
Josh was in the kitchen when Patrick got home a few minutes later. He could hear Patrick shuffling around, and then he could hear him—was he singing?
He was. Patrick’s voice was high and clear and beautiful, so pure and rich in tone. He was singing “Yesterday,” and somehow when he sang it, this song that had been covered a million times sounded new.
Josh stepped out into the living room, and Patrick saw him and stopped singing immediately. He looked like a spooked animal, and Josh felt like such an asshole.
“That was amazing,” Josh said. “I didn’t know you could sing like that. You should sing all the time.”
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