Izzy and the Right Answer

by R. Cooper

  “Stop.” Ronnie let him go, then reached for his arm again, his hand sliding down to Iz’s wrist to hold it tight. “Please, Iz. Stop. I’m buzzed to shit and you—you don’t like me. Like that.” Iz shook his head and Ronnie looked away, out over the grass. “You can’t just—” He paused, then carried on in a careful tone. “You’ve been drinking and this is all new to you. Don’t think, okay? Stop worrying. I’m going to take you home to where your meds are if you need them. And just—don’t worry about it. You won’t feel anything for me in the morning.” His gaze came back to Iz, a shadowed smiled flickering over his face. “I won’t hold it against you.”

  Iz was the worst person. “Ronnie.”

  “Iz.” Ronnie was firmer now. “He—Rocco was right. You’ve had a lot, for you. Come on. I’ll walk you home, real slow. I don’t mind.”

  “Ronnie,” Iz repeated insistently, “you shouldn’t have to—”

  “It’s important to me that you’re okay, Iz,” Ronnie interrupted and slid his hand into Iz’s. “It’s always been important to me, and that’s still true. We don’t need to talk about it. But let me take you home.”

  Iz laced their fingers together and held him tightly. “All right,” he agreed at last, and let Ronnie lead him away from the house, keeping Iz close so he wouldn’t fall.

  The walk hadn’t seemed that far when they’d been heading out.

  Ronnie wasn’t speaking. Iz kept his head down, staring at his feet and the cracks in the pavement. He’d started shivering not long after leaving the party. Ronnie’s hand was ice. The air was cold and neither of them had dressed to be in it for long.

  Iz glanced up as they passed under a streetlight. Ronnie was biting his lip. It was going to get chapped and Iz didn’t have any balm on him. He had his phone and could have arranged for a ride, but something about Ronnie’s stiff posture wouldn’t let him.

  Ronnie was cheekbones and a nose somewhere between wide and snub. He was ink in his skin and callused hands and scars from soccer cleats. He should have been grinning to show his dimples and well on his way to drunk, but Iz had taken that from him.

  “Stop looking at me like that.” Ronnie broke the silence first.

  Iz didn’t ask how he had been looking at him. “Do you want my scarf?” he asked instead, although Iz was freezing and couldn’t button up his flannel properly unless Ronnie gave him his hand back. But he didn’t ask about that either. Ronnie hadn’t let him go, and that was currently the most important thing in Iz’s universe. Everything else was banked ashes.

  “I’m fine.” Ronnie’s teeth chattered on the answer.

  “Ronnie.” Iz looked at him again, however it was, with whatever was in his stare. “Let me. Or we can get a ride. If it’s about the money—”

  “Rocco was a good choice,” Ronnie volunteered, talking over Iz as though he hadn’t spoken.

  Iz had not had much choice in the matter. He had assumed that was the way feelings worked. If they only happened when people wanted them to, the world would be a very different place.

  “He’s a good guy,” Ronnie continued. His mood or the night air made the words sharp. “He’s smart too. Not like you, you’re like, ‘headhunted to go work in a think tank’ brilliant. He works hard for his grades, but not nearly as hard as a lot of people. And he’s driven. He plays things close, you know? But he spends hours practicing and studying, and everything he wins is on purpose, even if he acts like it’s no big deal. You’re, uh, not driven. But maybe you need that around you. Someone to make you think. And he cares. He notices things. He saw that you get unsteady after a drink or two. I’ve been drinking with you before and I never noticed.”

  “You noticed,” Iz interrupted quietly. “You always take my hand. Maybe you don’t realize you do. But I remember. I remember every time.” He tightened his fingers although Ronnie hadn’t made a move to pull away. “Even at that frat party, you did it. In front of strangers, you do it. You care, and you’re brave for caring.”

  Ronnie made a noise, like clearing his throat or a stifled protest. Someone was revving an engine a block or so away, but the street was currently empty of cars. Ronnie looked from side to side anyway before leading them into a crosswalk.

  “Do you want to stop off at my place to grab warmer clothes, or run to yours?” Ronnie’s plan seemed to be to push past all painful or awkward topics. He might have had a lot of experience at it.

  “Whatever you want.” Ronnie’s apartment was crowded and small but not terrible. They wouldn’t be alone there, and Iz didn’t know if Ronnie wanted that or not.

  “Going to leave those sorts of choices up to me?” Ronnie demanded with a surprise that made his voice soft. He paused, maybe waiting, but when Iz didn’t speak, he huffed. “Okay. We’ll cut through the strip mall by Happy Donuts and head to yours. My roommates can be a lot sometimes.”

  Iz understood. “And tonight is already a lot.”

  Ronnie nodded. He kept his eyes forward. “How are you doing?” he asked gruffly after a few more minutes of nothing but the scuff of their shoes on the sidewalk and their fast breathing.

  “I’m not worried about my feelings right now, Ronnie.” Iz tossed his head and nearly tripped.

  Ronnie tugged him closer. “You fucking should be. You’re a disaster.” He stopped. Iz bumped into his shoulder. “That’s the meanest thing I’ve ever said to you.”

  Iz hesitated, then kept walking, dragging Ronnie behind him for a moment. “It was accurate.”

  “It’s just—how do you even know?” Ronnie carried on, voice momentarily rising. “I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings or whatever, but you should think about them. Sober up. In the morning, things will make sense again. Things always make more sense when the sun is shining.”

  It would probably be cold and overcast again tomorrow, and regardless, Iz was making sense for the first time. But he kept that to himself.

  Ronnie opened his mouth, but then the lights from the parking lot of the strip mall came into view, as well as scattered groups of people hanging out in front of the convenience store, the only business still open.

  He and Ronnie headed off the sidewalk but kept to the edge of the parking lot. Iz felt very sober and very chilled as they passed by chatting, shouting, loud strangers under fluorescent lights. Then the strip mall was behind them and the smell of sugar and fried dough seemed to warm the air.

  Happy Donuts was a house that had been converted into the eatery a long time ago, the neighboring houses torn down and left as empty spaces and a place to park. The shop was open all night, and generally full of college students loading up on caffeine and sugar or visiting their friends who worked there.

  “Want a donut?” Ronnie offered as they drew closer. His shoulders eased down, losing some of the tension they’d gained by the strip mall. “A coffee? It won’t make you sober, but it would be warm.”

  “I deserve to be cold.” Iz pushed his scarf down below his chin and watched his sigh become steam.

  “…So no coffee?” Ronnie asked lightly.

  Iz released another sigh. “You’re teasing me, after everything. I like it when you tease me. People don’t, usually, except in the way they humor children. You tease me the way you tease—him. But you should hate me or avoid me.” He wasn’t hungry but the bright windows were alluring. “I could buy you a maple bar.” Ronnie’s favorite, but only when they were freshly made.

  “Nah. No, I mean. I don’t think that I’m up for that, Iz.” Ronnie explained slowly. “That’s a good time place. I don’t want a fuzzy memory there, or a bad one.”

  “Fuzzy?” Iz was not familiar with that term.

  Ronnie sniffed. He didn’t appear to be crying. It might have been the cold or the scent of donuts.

  “Fuzzy, like… not a good memory, but it still stands out. My little sister says it. Like, once I went to this party as a kid, in a pizza parlor, and I remember clearly realizing that my dad was never going to pay for something like that for me. He could
afford it, but he wasn’t going to. Shit, I was maybe ten or eleven. Anyway, I had fun there at the rest of the party. Stuffed my face. Ran around. But afterward, I never wanted to go back to that place.”

  “Fuzzy,” Iz repeated thoughtfully.

  “I would have told her that it was the wrong word, but I was little too, and I didn’t really understand concepts like bittersweet yet.” Ronnie looked through the windows into the donut shop until they passed it. “Well, except that it was a kind of chocolate chip. I do now, though.”

  “I’d throw you a pizza party.” Iz had never been invited to one, but he could guess the logistics.

  “You would,” Ronnie agreed. “That’s the thing about you. With you. A lot of my memories involving you are that way—fuzzy. Bittersweet.” Iz dropped his gaze to their locked hands and waited tensely, but Ronnie’s grip stayed strong. “Some awful ones too—just one awful one, really. And great ones. You stayed my friend. Never made it awkward or anything. Never pitied me. You bought me donuts and let me lean on you when I’ve had some shots. You’re good to sit next to during movies too. I have trouble paying attention. You have trouble paying attention. Eric eventually tells us to shut up and we end up in another room until Rahim takes one look at us and makes it clear that he hates me.” His voice faded into nothing.

  “He doesn’t hate you,” Iz assured him although everything was a jumble now. “I enjoy those times too.” The words were small and fragile in the dark, easily lost or broken. “I didn’t realize how much.”

  “Sometimes you do things but you don’t think about why at the time.” Ronnie finally, finally looked at Iz. Only for a moment, but long enough for their eyes to meet. “In the fraternity house, I wanted to blow this one guy, but he was sort of a jerk. Hot, though. You know, like, when people know how hot they are and are smug about it? Like, super ‘masc for masc’ pricks? And you’re horny or lonely or trying to get wasted and pretend you’re either of those things? Well, you don’t know. My point is, I wanted to. But I didn’t.”

  “And you didn’t realize why?” Iz guessed.

  “Yeah. No. I knew why. But without fully acknowledging it.”

  “Do you want me to ask?” Iz wondered, more uncertain than he could ever remember being.

  “Fuck,” Ronnie whispered, then put his shoulders back. “I knew you two were waiting on me. And you didn’t like it there and Rocco is… he gets quiet when he’s not sure about things. Anyway. People living their lives don’t have time to examine everything. And we were drinking. So, neither of us deserves to have bad thoughts right now. That’s all.”

  Iz couldn’t hold back his awestruck murmur, “He was a verray, parfit, gentil knyght. That’s you, Ronnie.”

  It earned him another look, at least. Although seeing Ronnie’s expression in the full glow of a streetlight made Iz’s ribs feel tight.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Ronnie went on after that short, weighted moment. “But you’re forgetting a lot, Iz. I’m not going to graduate with Honors. I’ve only got a partial sports scholarship, and if I go for my teaching credentials, it’s not going to be at some prestigious place. I throw everything at people who don’t like me. That’s probably about my dad, but I don’t really want to hear it. You know all of that already but you’re going to remember tomorrow and be embarrassed.”

  “Do you think any of that is why I rejected you freshman year?” Iz tried to stop to properly express his astonishment, but Ronnie tugged his hand, so he kept going.

  “Can we talk about something else for a while?” Ronnie asked. He jolted when Iz brought his other hand to his arm, but allowed Iz to cling to him. “I know you aren’t going to let it go. But please? For now?”

  “Are you thinking of where you might go for your Master’s?” It was the first question Iz could think of that wasn’t about what had happened tonight. “Is it somewhere far away?”

  After a startled pause at the subject change, Ronnie snorted. “Master’s. Education is a reckless field to get into right now. Tens of thousands in debt for a teaching degree? What the fuck am I thinking?”

  Iz put his face to Ronnie’s shoulder. Ronnie stopped. The fabric of Ronnie’s shirt was stiff with cold, but Iz felt some warmth beneath it. His nose was probably like ice. Ronnie let out a long shaky breath.

  “You have a plan,” Iz reminded him. He had encouraged Ronnie before and didn’t intend to stop now unless Ronnie asked him to. “Most people don’t.”

  “Need a plan when you’re me,” Ronnie muttered, then sighed. “Come on, Izzy. We’re almost there.”

  Iz turned his head to take more note of their surroundings. “You’re cold,” he declared, pressing his nose once again to Ronnie’s shoulder. “We should hurry up.”

  “I’m cold? You’re an Izsicle,” Ronnie joked, though it was an old joke and he didn’t put much energy into it. “You’re sobering up pretty quickly. We both are, I guess. All the walking.”

  They made it down another street to the small duplex where Iz shared the downstairs apartment with Giselle. Her car wasn’t nearby on the street, and the lights were off, but it didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t home.

  Iz pulled away from Ronnie and shuddered. He unlocked the door with trembling hands.

  Inside, he gave himself tasks. He turned on the porch light since it was obvious Giselle wasn’t home once he realized the heat wasn’t on. He turned that on too, though the heating system was old and only had a vent in the living room. If left blasting long enough, and the bedroom doors were open, the bedrooms would eventually get some warmth. But Iz set it to warm the living room and kitchen and then hurried to his bedroom to turn on his space heater and grab a blanket from his bed.

  Ronnie was shivering by the door, a wistful, bemused expression on his face as he watched Iz run around. His cheeks were flushed. Iz thrust the blanket at him, then took it back before tossing the cream and gray wool across Ronnie’s upper body.

  “None of my sweaters would fit you,” Iz explained while Ronnie was pulling the blanket from his face. “You should stand in front of the vent. It’s going to take it a while to kick in. Giselle must be out. Um…. There’s tea?”

  Giselle’s tea, but she wouldn’t mind Ronnie having a cup to warm up.

  Ronnie hadn’t moved except to adjust the blanket. Iz paused, then reached out to tug the ends better over his shoulders. Then he carefully withdrew his hands. “It really will be better in front of the vent,” he said quietly as though his hands weren’t faintly blue with the cold. He went around Ronnie to the kitchen area.

  It was galley-style, narrow until the end and the small dining table. Giselle had found that somewhere and painted it pink. The chairs were white. Iz wanted to fall into one. His legs were shaking, maybe with exhaustion, and stinging with cold beneath his jeans.

  He filled the electric kettle, staring at the buttons until he pressed one and a green light came on. He barely startled for Ronnie’s presence beside him.

  “Thanks, but don’t bother,” Ronnie remarked softly. Unless you want some. No point in me warming up only to head right back out there. I can run home, no sweat.”

  Iz’s hand flew up without his permission to curl into the bottom of the blanket. Then he could exhale. “You can stay. You aren’t dressed for the weather and Giselle won’t mind. She knows you. Unless you want to get away. I would understand that.” He released the blanket and moved again. “Elderflower tea is what she drinks when she doesn’t want to get sick. Will that do? I don’t—people can say no to me. You can say no. I don’t make people do anything. I only suggest what’s simplest or easiest.”

  “It’s the way you suggest,” Ronnie said first. Then, “Who says I can’t say no to you?”

  “’People,’ not ‘you’—although he may have meant you.” Iz rooted around in a cabinet until he found the right box of tea. “I think this is sweet, but you like sweet.” The kettle beeped, as though it was done or someone turned it off. He glanced up to Ronnie’s pinched
frown. “Rocco said it,” Iz explained, his voice gentling as if some part of him felt it should. “He finds it hard to believe anyone would say no to me—found it hard, I guess.” Iz didn’t smile. His cheeks were still too cold for it, the lingering alcohol in his blood making him tired.

  Ronnie regarded him carefully, a flicker of surprise and then something else Iz couldn’t identify crossing his face. “When did he say that?”

  “The other night.” Iz fiddled with the box of tea that Ronnie didn’t want and thought it was strange that he had to struggle to keep his head up. “When I was in need of rescue. I fell asleep at his apartment. It was probably very annoying for him. He put me in his bed. He slept on the couch—chair, which was silly. You all know I can fall asleep anywhere I feel comfortable. I fall asleep in bed with Patricio all the time.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have romantic feelings for Patricio,” Ronnie said, fast and bitter. He sucked in a breath but didn’t add anything else.

  “That’s true,” Iz agreed softly “And yet I’ve fallen asleep on your shoulder more than once, and I don’t think I’d have a problem sharing the bed with you. Which is not helpful now, or even wanted. But you should still stay here where it’s warm. I can sleep on the couch—and I don’t want you to go. I think I—I’m scared you’ll leave and won’t come back. Selfish of me. You have every right to.”