The New Normal

by L. J. Hayward

  “She knows she’s had liver issues before.”

  Michael grinned. “And why would she hide that?”

  “Because she’s likely an alcoholic. And with existing liver damage, even a mild overdose of acetaminophen is going to cause issues.”

  “Good doctor be you will.”

  Brian snickered at Michael’s bad Yoda impression. “So we add the acetaminophen and ESR to the blood test, request previous results, and schedule head and abdomen scans, yes?”

  Michael nodded at the phone and sat back in his chair, hands behind his head. Feeling less like a complete failure and almost like a real doctor, Brian called the path lab to request the added tests and results, basking in the moment. He hadn’t ruined his career totally.

  It was a small victory but it kept him going for the rest of the shift. It even bolstered him through a severe cardiac infarct patient that required a cardiologist, and Michael made Brian call for the consult. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared it would be and the man was taken off for emergency surgery within a couple of hours.

  “So, tell me,” Michael said when they were on a break an hour or so later. “Why did it take you so long to decide to talk to the patient before?”

  Brian swirled his coffee cup and watched Michael blow the smoke from his cigarette in the opposite direction from him. They stood across the road from the hospital, under some trees on the side of the road in the shade. Smokers had been banished from most areas in the hospital grounds and this was the closest place Michael could have his “I swear it’s my only one today” smoke.

  “I don’t know.”

  Michael nudged his shoulder. “Yeah, you do. Tell me.”

  “Argh. Because it was my first impulse and I doubted myself. I thought I should be able to see what was wrong from the path results.”

  “No one ever made a diagnosis from lookin’ at a piece of paper.” Michael’s accent got thicker when he smoked. “And it’s very rare to find a patient who is one hundred percent honest with you. Sometimes, you have to go in the complete other direction from what they say, but you have to hear what they say, either way. Once you were talking to her, you worked out what was goin’ on almost straight away. You’re a good doctor, Brian. You just got to trust yourself.”

  “Yeah, I know. Everyone keeps telling me that.”

  “Then do me a favour, eh? Believe it.”

  Michael stubbed out his butt and they went back to work. The rest of the shift wasn’t too taxing and Brian headed home in a good mood, even if he was all but falling asleep at the traffic lights. Maybe tonight he’d sleep better, or at least longer, than he had the night before. Knowing he wasn’t stuffing up too bad at the hospital was a relief.

  Though that wasn’t his only cause of anxiety.

  Andrew was sitting on the front step when he turned into the drive. His friend had a beer in one hand and the end of the extendable lead in the other. In the small patch of mostly green grass and raggedly trimmed hedge they called a front yard, Schrody was lumbering about like a baby elephant, the bright pink harness they’d bought him stark against his grey fur. Andrew was still in his work clothes, his hi-viz shirt untucked, and hair still half plastered to his head with sweat.

  Rather than head into the house directly from the garage, Brian went back out the front and sat beside Andrew. “How come you have the furbaby out here instead in the backyard?” They had a six-foot fence around the backyard. Schrody could jump that high when motivated but they usually had a few seconds to tackle him if he tried.

  “He refused to go out the back.” Andrew sounded tired and flat, and kept his gaze on the romping cat as he sipped from his beer bottle.

  “This isn’t going to be a repeat of Monday night is it?” Shit. Brian hadn’t meant that to sound harsh, but apparently he couldn’t help it right now.

  “I had a long day and felt like a beer. Anything wrong with that?”

  Crap, this was awkward. He hadn’t felt awkward around Andrew since they were sixteen and Brian had lost his virginity with Simone, Andrew’s sister.

  “No. Did you buy enough for me as well?”

  Wordlessly, Andrew handed over the lead and got up to go inside.

  They hadn’t had beer in the house regularly for ages. So much had changed over the past two years and none of it had bothered Brian. Whatever Andrew needed, he was there with it, no complaints. He’d lost sleep to work late and overnight shifts just so he could be home with Andrew when he needed it while going through chemo and had never complained. Brian had unquestioningly crawled into bed with him when he was at his lowest and held him while he cried or gasped for air or shivered for hours on end. All that and more he’d done without hesitation or regret and now . . . now he didn’t know what that willingness meant in the light of Andrew’s confession.

  “Here.”

  A beer appeared in front of Brian’s face and he took it. He didn’t really want it but since Andrew had fetched it, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip. In the yard, Schrody spun around and dashed off towards the road.

  “Archy! No!” Andrew called.

  Brian stopped the lead from spooling out and pulled back on it. “Get back here, you big bastard.”

  The cat hissed, back arching, fur standing up, and strained against the harness. A moment later, a woman appeared from the far side of the hedge with a German Shepherd walking sedately at her side. The moment the big dog saw the cat, though, it whined and pulled back on the lead. His owner looked at Schrody and narrowed her eyes.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Andrew called. He shoved his beer at Brian and dashed over to haul in their hell cat. Schrody let Andrew pick him up, but he kept up a steady rumble at his arch nemesis. “Leave Roger alone. We’ve spoken about this.”

  “Cats should be kept indoors,” the woman snapped.

  “He’s on a harness,” Brian pointed out from the step.

  “Well, it wasn’t last time and it scratched up Roger’s face.”

  “And now your dumb dog knows not to attack cats,” Brian muttered under his breath as Andrew gave her more assurances that Schrody wouldn’t get out again.

  Thankfully, Roger’s continued whining encouraged them to move on fast and Andrew came back with a smugly purring cat half hidden in his shirt.

  “That’s my special boy,” Brian cooed, scratching the cat’s back. “Roger might have started it, but you ended it.”

  “He doesn’t need you encouraging him.” Andrew was about to say more but Schrody succeeded in getting all the way into his shirt, only to half fall out the bottom where it was untucked. Andrew got a mouthful of furry tail and the lead got tangled up in cat’s limbs and hi-viz material.

  They went inside to sort it out before the cat strangled Andrew or himself. Once free, Schrody bounded off to check out the food bowl situation. Andrew, shirtless after detangling, stood there picking cat fur off his face and Brian forgot everything that was hanging over them. He was happy to see how well Andrew had recovered, that he had shape and definition again to his torso and arms, and his six-pack was slowly turning into an eight pack. His iliac furrows were now clearly sculpted and effortlessly directed the gaze towards to his groin. As did the thick line of golden hair that started as a swirl around his navel before heading straight down into the waistband of his work pants.

  “Brian?” Andrew asked curiously.

  “Do you want to have sex with me?” It was out before Brian even knew he was wondering about it.

  “What? No.” Andrew spun away and stalked to the far side of the lounge room, then turned back and went into the kitchen. “What the hell, man? Who just asks that?”

  Brian gaped at him. “I don’t know,” he snapped. “A guy whose best friend said he’s in love with him, maybe?”

  “Jesus.” Andrew got another beer and unscrewed the cap but didn’t drink.

  “I think it’s a fair question. I mean, you say you love someone and most of the time that means wanting to have sex with them. Sure, some people don’t
and they have these asexual romances. I learned about them when we were covering sexuality and gender. They’re more prevalent than you think, but mostly people in love have sex with each other. You said you’re in love with me, ergo, you want to have sex with me.”

  Andrew was staring at him wide eyed like he did when Brian got caught up in some fascinating—and usually gooey or gory—medical wonder and rambled. It made Andrew look innocent and a bit lost, and rather inviting. For a moment, Brian thought about kissing him. What would it be like? Would it really be any different from kissing a woman? There was stubble, yeah, but otherwise the pertinent anatomy was the same. Andrew would probably like a tongue in his mouth, and his lips sucked on. Would his earlobes be sensitive? Brian’s were, to an embarrassing degree.

  He was moving forward without thinking. Right then all he knew was he wanted to know what it would be like to kiss a man. Well, no. He wanted to know what it would be like to kiss Andrew.

  His friend, his best friend, watched him advance wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, lips curvy and plump and a healthy pink. In the dim interior light, the bristles of his pale five o’clock shadow were all but invisible but Brian’s lips tingled with the mere thought of how they would feel. Soft like the regrowth on his head had been, or prickly?

  Oh fuck. He wanted desperately to kiss Andrew, and he was actually going to do it.

  Panic gripped Andrew’s heart and he stepped back until he hit the fridge, putting as much space between them as possible. Brian stiffened and his intent expression flipped to confused, angry and upset in a matter of seconds.

  “Nope.” Brian spun and stalked towards the stairs. “You know what, Andrew? You can just fuck yourself.”

  Andrew gritted his teeth as Brian all but ran upstairs. He’d messed up all over again.

  It had been instinctual to pull away. A fear response, but not about being seen as gay or bi. Andrew had known for a long time that he liked looking at male bodies as much as he did women’s. He’d never acted on it, other than making a trek up to Brisbane to go to The Beat and test out his possible bisexuality, fairly certain the chances of running into someone he knew would be substantially less. A couple of drinks at the bar had loosened him up enough to let him look unabashedly at the men around him. Things had stirred, and then hardened when a beautiful young guy had dragged him onto the dance floor. However, his brain hadn’t been able to stop wondering if it was simply the physical stimulation of his dick as the twink rubbed against him that caused the response. When the guy had moved in to kiss him, Andrew had freaked and run out. He hadn’t gone back since.

  This wasn’t a repeat of that moment. Brian wasn’t a nameless stranger in a bar, fuelled by alcohol and lust. He was his best friend, the person he was in love with, but the thought of kissing him—having sex with him—was problematic.

  Archimedes came looking for his dinner, all pleading meows, big, soulful yellow eyes, and endless kitty kisses. Unable to deny him anything when he was that cute, Andrew prepared the cat’s dinner then set about preparing the salad he’d promised Brian to go with the Pad Thai. The noodles he put in an oven safe dish and set to warming, then went for a shower. When he came out, he almost ran into Brian, who was backing out of his room with his packed sports bag over one shoulder, satchel across his chest and laptop bag under his other arm.

  “Where are you going?” Andrew clutched at the towel around his waist, suddenly feeling sick.

  “To Carly’s.”

  “Why?”

  Brian gave him a flat glare. “Figure it out.”

  “Because I said no to sex?”

  “No.” He charged down the stairs, recklessly fast considering the weight he was carrying.

  Andrew followed. “Then why?”

  Brian ignored him and kept going. In the garage he threw the sports bag and laptop in the Jag’s boot. Andrew barricaded the driver’s side door.

  “I told Carly I’d be at hers in fifteen,” Brian said through gritted teeth.

  “Fine, but tell me why you’re going at least.”

  “You want to know why? It’s because right now I can’t stand looking at you. You’re making me angry just by breathing and I can’t sleep and I can’t concentrate at work. You might be willing to throw your dream job away but I’m not. I really need to impress the doctors I’m working with now if I have any chance of getting a permanent job there. So I’m going to Carly’s. At least when she says she loves me I know where I stand with her.”

  Andrew’s chest ached and his throat burned. The jab about the job sliced deep. Brian knew why he’d decided to not pursue architecture. He’d made this mess, though, so he had to try to get them out of it somehow. “I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean to make you angry with me. I just . . .” The words dried up because Brian was looking at him with such fury it hurt to know he was the cause of it.

  “You just . . . what? Decided Monday night was the perfect time to fuck with me? You thought hey, everyone’s really happy right now so why not make someone miserable and confused?”

  “Jesus, no.” Andrew threw himself away from the car, wanting space between them. “How could you ever think that?”

  Brian flinched but didn’t take the words back.

  Shaking his head, Andrew went back inside, too shocked to even consider slamming the door. A moment later, the garage door opened and the Jag pulled out. Andrew slumped down onto the couch.

  Andrew should have learned to communicate better by now. Especially since this was Brian, the one person he’d always felt comfortable with. He shouldn’t have been scared when Brian asked about sex. Shouldn’t have been surprised it had come up because Brian was right. Being in love generally entailed sex and he wanted sex with Brian.

  Didn’t he?

  Sex had not been a part of Andrew’s life for so long now it was hard to remember when it had been so vital to existence. He was only twenty-six. He shouldn’t be ready to give up on it yet. Loss of libido had been expected during his chemo treatments, but they’d been over for six months now. Depression, too, hadn’t helped. He hadn’t seen his dick fully hard in two years. Hadn’t even had a wank in that time. Didn’t know if he’d ever feel aroused ever again.

  And it really hurt that Brian seemed to not realise that when he’d been so careful and sensitive with everything else.

  Or was Brian just tired of all of Andrew’s bullshit? He got his all clear, so was that it? Was the closeness and connection over now? Except that they’d always been that close, that connected. Nearly twenty years of friendship. They’d survived all the usual teenage years ups and downs, including Brian banging Andrew’s sister. Uni hadn’t split them apart, even though they’d gone to different campuses, both working so hard they’d barely even seen each other on weekends. Yet when the chance to get this townhouse came up, Andrew hadn’t hesitated to ask Brian to move in with him. Brian had been mock offended that Andrew had thought he needed to ask at all.

  And Andrew hadn’t even thought about going to anyone else when he’d found the lump in his right testicle. The first pair of male hands not his own on his junk in his memory and they’d been Brian’s. He’d been so scared when Brian’s medical student opinion had been a grave command to go see a “real” doctor, that he’d just grabbed his best friend and sobbed into his chest for a good hour.

  The hardest he’d ever gotten since then had been a rare morning semi that deflated the moment he remembered he had cancer.

  Which brought him full circle to sex. Sex with Brian. Did he want to have sex with Brian? Andrew cupped his dick through the fluffy material of his towel and thought about Brian. Thought about what made Andrew love him. The way he could make Andrew laugh even in the midst of his saddest moments, or knew when to not even try and just be there with him and for him. How he tapped his lower lip while reading and would unconsciously make room for their huge cat when Archy wanted lap time. The way he insisted on calling Archy Schrodinger. That indefinable quality of him just knowing Andrew better than any
one else.

  His dick warmed a bit, but that might have just been because Andrew was holding it. Taking his hand away, Andrew thought of the night he’d gone to The Beat. How the guys there had been open and unabashed about their sexuality. How they’d moved and looked boldly and how Andrew’s body had responded to them. He closed his eyes and thought of arses encased in tight jeans, T-shirts damp with sweat clinging to chests and abs, hips rolling and thighs parting as the men moved closer and closer.

  Yeah, that was making some warmth pool in his guts. He slid his hand under the towel, lightly touching his dick. A tingling wave of anticipation rolled up his shaft and his balls—ball—twitched.

  And just like that it all vanished.

  Ball. Nut. Nad. Testicle. Singular.

  His oncologist had talked about a prosthetic but Andrew hadn’t been in the right headspace to really contemplate it, not after the excruciating pain post surgery, so he’d put off that discussion indefinitely. Would that make him feel better about the prospect of sex? The fact that he would look normal, even if he no longer was?

  Tentatively he reached down to cup his scrotum. Left side good. Right side saggy and, well, empty. The skin had drawn up a little and his cock tended to fall into the new space now. His package was now a flat pack.

  The errant thought almost made him stop, but the counsellor he’d been to see a couple of times after surgery had told him to explore himself, get to know the new terrain. Andrew hadn’t done much more exploring than was required to wash. He hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t felt much of a need to. He knew it was gone, what more could he possibly find out?

  Maybe now was the time, though. If he wanted to be upfront with Brian about this love thing, he had to know if sex was on the cards.