Izzy and the Right Answer

by R. Cooper

  “Feelings tend to be selfish,” Ronnie answered, faint. “The body reacts to pain and discomfort by wanting to ease them. That doesn’t make the feelings bad on their own, but you do have to examine them. Fuck. Fuck. What am I saying?”

  “That you need time to examine your feelings about this?” Iz suggested. He crossed his arms to warm his fingers in his armpits. “And probably so do I. Although it does seem pointless, at least for me. This is one of the reasons I had no intention of doing anything about the confusing demands of my heart in the first place. Why would anyone want to wait on something like that? I could get you a scarf, in lieu of a coat, if you want to leave.”

  Ronnie blinked several times, processing either the words or the subject change. “I can stay. On the couch. The couch is fine.”

  He was like Rocco in a lot of ways.

  “The pair of you,” Iz murmured, a smile slipping into his voice. He stilled and shook his head firmly once. “That was inappropriate. I should understand these things and not need someone to explain them for me before I hurt people.”

  “Shit, you’re hard on yourself, Iz.” Ronnie rubbed his forehead as though he had a headache. “You always are. God, so is he. So really it’s, ‘the two of you.’” He let out a small laugh. “Of course, it’s the two of you. I should have guessed.”

  “Guessed what?” Iz stared at him blankly. “He left.”

  Ronnie laughed again. It was a harsher sound. “Well, as someone on the other side of it, let me tell you—that’s the usual reaction to someone dumping their heart in your lap with no warning.”

  “Patricio said I should have asked him out.” Iz’s entire body felt heavy. His frown was probably more of a scowl. “I asked him to get coffee. He doesn’t like coffee.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Ronnie closed his eyes for several seconds. His jaw was tight, tense, which kept his expression from softening. He looked stern this way, uncharacteristically serious. It made it easy to imagine him as a grad student, as a teacher, as a real adult. But Iz didn’t want that for him if it meant he wouldn’t smile too. He should have someone he loved with him to help him. Friends, of course, but Ronnie was a romantic sort. The type who should have someone with him in his small, neat house full of teaching supplies.

  Ronnie opened his eyes, breaking the trailing threads of Iz’s thoughts. “Did you think that because he doesn’t like coffee, he doesn’t like you?”

  “I don’t think or know anything about this subject,” Iz insisted and raised a hand to scrub the cold from his nose. “I can only tell you what I feel, and even that takes me a while to notice. Sorry,” he said again reflexively, though it wasn’t adequate for what he’d done. He’d spent years around Ronnie, feeling happy and content at even a glimpse of him, and had never once questioned that his other friends did not evoke such a strong reaction. “You’re right. These things should be examined, and we are in no state. There’s probably some alcohol somewhere in the house if you wanted it. That’s what you do in these situations. Or that’s what people say to do. I can pay Giselle back for whatever you drink.”

  “I don’t want a drink.” Ronnie made an irritated noise and went from rubbing his forehead to pressing his palms against his eyes. “Do you have any food?”

  “What?” Obviously, Iz had food. He ate like anyone else—when he bothered to. “You’re hungry?”

  “You can’t think clearly or make decisions on an empty stomach.” Ronnie dropped his hands. “My auntie’s rule.”

  “I have cereal, and bread for toast, and a bag of iced oatmeal cookies.” Iz also had coffee and a small container of soy milk, but that didn’t seem relevant.

  “Toast,” Ronnie answered firmly, and turned to poke around in some of the cabinets. He pulled down a jar of peanut butter and the loaf of bread.

  “Am I making a decision?” Iz hesitantly asked while Ronnie put bread slices into the toaster. He didn’t wash his hands, but he had already licked Iz’s neck, so perhaps it was too late to fret over germs.

  “I don’t know.” Ronnie opened the jar and made a noise at Giselle’s choice of crunchy peanut butter. “I didn’t expect you to consult me. Why would you? Rahim acts like everything I do is a mistake.”

  “He likes you.” Saying the words was difficult. At least now Iz knew why he hadn’t said them before when he should have. “That isn’t just my opinion. Patricio thinks it too. And Rocco as well, though that one is a guess. I don’t know why Rahim shows it the way he does, since he could have you if he wanted, couldn’t he?” Iz tugged the falling blanket back over Ronnie’s shoulder without touching him, then stepped back. “You’re his type and you’re attracted to him. He’s your type, right? Delicate—delicate-looking, anyway.”

  “Iz.” Ronnie put both hands on the counter and hung his head. But he nodded. “Yeah. Big guys or little, pretty things. Smart, you know? Special. Not that it matters. The kind that would never like me in a million years.” The toast popped up and he jumped before he took one. He jerked open the drawer with the silverware and grabbed a butter knife. “Anyway, he thinks I’m beneath him or something. He might be right. I couldn’t get a Hot Nurse, could I? Or you. Or….” He didn’t search for a plate, holding a piece of toast in one hand as he spread a thick layer of peanut butter on it. He handed it to Iz without turning.

  Iz took, more out of surprise than hunger, although the warm, melting peanut butter smelled good.

  “I know you like peanut butter. Eat.” Despite the order, Ronnie was focused on covering the remaining piece of toast.

  Iz took a bite. It was amazing. Because it was warm, because it was familiar. Because he’d been drinking and that made everything into the best food. Because Ronnie had made it for him. He took another bite, chewing slowly.

  Ronnie licked peanut butter off his fingers in between mouthfuls. He ate methodically, and stopped at one piece of toast, although Iz suspected he could have eaten more. He was about to offer when Ronnie spoke again.

  “You had fun with the shots, right? Until the end? I wasn’t forcing you?”

  “No.” Iz shook his head for emphasis. “I had fun.”

  “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you to that other party.”

  Iz wasn’t certain what Ronnie was driving at. “You were hurt and looking for a distraction. I understood. And I like spending time with you. If I had a complaint—which I don’t, really—it would be that it ended too soon.”

  “Do you know how it would have killed me to talk to you like this our freshman year?” Ronnie asked, then twisted around to look at him. “Destroyed, Iz. You weren’t like other people already because you talked like money and private schools, and you wore lip gloss and French braids. Then you were sweet too, and fucking hot. I was gone for you even before I knew you fall asleep during movies and have a hard time with jokes. And it would never have occurred to me to just… tell you to eat. And that you’d do it. This is—I built up stories around you, then. People do that a lot. I know that now.”

  The ache in Iz’s chest was real, although pushing his palm against the spot did nothing to soothe it. “But you got over that,” he reminded Ronnie, “even though I hurt you. And we’re friends, so you can tell me I should eat, and I will.”

  “Friends.” Ronnie repeated it with emphasis, possibly a question.

  Iz nodded eagerly. “Friends.”

  “That’s a part of it, isn’t it?” Ronnie wondered without waiting for an answer. “You have to be friends with someone to—how do you know? What do you even like about me?”

  Iz had a moment to sift through the starts of stops of Ronnie’s conversation on the cold walk home. He studied Ronnie, the blanket serving as a mantle, his mussed, dark hair, his full lips.

  “The constant warmth of being near you,” Iz said, blinking. “Your loyalty. Your hard work. You like running! Testing yourself like that, laughing with your friends about it. You laugh so much. I don’t think you realize the effect you have on all of us. Just the sound of it…. You gl
ow, Ronnie. Everyone says so, even Eric. And you put up with me.” There, Iz had to pause, regrouping and rearranging thoughts. He licked the corner of his mouth, found it sweet with peanut butter. “I like you physically too. And though being aware of that is very recent, I have not stopped being aware of it. How different your body is from mine. The strength in it and the quick way you move. How your hand feels around mine. I think I like sharp lines of ink over the curve of your biceps.” He paused again, suddenly breathing faster. “I also like how you and Rocco laugh with each other. And how you took the lime from his mouth in a hurry, as if it was urgent, as if you were worried you might not get to do it if you didn’t do it immediately.” Ronnie made a sound that slowly pulled Iz from the memory. “But then, when you did kiss him, it was soft, and your hand landed gently on his shoulder.”

  Ronnie’s worried face and bright eyes came into focus. “You saw all of that in one body shot?”

  “Isn’t that what was there?” Iz hadn’t even mentioned the rest.

  Ronnie swallowed. “You must have been watching him closely.”

  “You,” Iz corrected. “I watch you a lot, apparently. I noticed when Rahim does it, but I didn’t realize that I also do it. I’m a bit of a failure.”

  “Bad thought,” Ronnie scolded, but he seemed distracted, shaky. “You’re so—this is how it felt then. Before I was an idiot. Before I tried to kiss you. You were my first big gay crush that I admitted to myself. There was a lot I didn’t notice. Like that you didn’t like me back.”

  “I must have confused you so much.” Iz could see that now, though Ronnie frowned. “I liked learning about you, spending time alone with you. But I didn’t know what that meant and how it was different. It was special,” he added when Ronnie stared in obvious disbelief. “No bad thoughts for you either, Ronnie. It wasn’t your fault. You tried too early, that was all. I caught up eventually. Too late—” Iz flexed his fingers, which were only marginally warmer, and then didn’t know what to do with them. “Too late, but it’s okay as long as you don’t hate me for it.”

  “Oh shit.” Ronnie turned his head and stared hard at the wall. His voice was tight. “I think I’m going to cry.”

  “No, no! I’m sorry!” Iz pushed out and hesitated before pulling Ronnie closer by his shirt. Ronnie dropped his head onto his shoulder, breathing hard but not in tears yet.

  “You can’t like me, Iz,” Ronnie said, muffled into Iz’s scarf. “I have told myself that for two years.”

  Iz didn’t know how to answer that, if there was a right way, or if no right way existed. But he knew Ronnie was in pain, and he was too, in some way that would make itself known later, so he slid a hand beneath the blanket to the center of Ronnie’s back. Then he whispered, “Okay.” If Ronnie didn’t want Iz to have romantic feelings for him, then Iz wouldn’t mention them. “Okay,” he repeated. “But we’re still friends? I would like that. I… I don’t expect Rocco to want to see me, which will make it hard for me to hang out with you. But I’ll think of something.” He wondered if this was the deal Ronnie had made with himself after that attempted kiss. To stay close because it was better than never seeing him again. “Maybe we’ll tell him I was very drunk. I’m no good at lying, but Patricio can do it. And Rocco will forget it all and we can be friends.”

  He didn’t realize he was grasping at Ronnie’s shirt until Ronnie straightened up.

  “So you’re going to try to pretend?” Ronnie demanded, his tone either doubtful or disapproving. He shook his head. “You think, you really think Rocco doesn’t like you?” He pulled away from Iz and tugged on the ends of the blanket. His shrug was stiff. “He gets quiet around you. Always has. I think you unnerve him, which is hard to do. He’s prepared, you know? Centered. Ready for everything except—well, he’s calm, anyway. Like a lake.”

  “Not around you,” Iz protested without thought, then took a moment to do that. His brain was whirring. He had too much on his mind, overstimulated first from the party and then from so many revelations. He did his best to make sense for Ronnie. “Rocco is smiles and laughs for you. A lake doesn’t do that.”

  “That’s not… important.” Ronnie shook his head stubbornly. “You throw him off his game. But he likes you. He just can’t classify you.”

  “That’s mutual.” Iz made a face. Being respectful of Ronnie’s feelings and not telling Ronnie he was wonderful was going to be a challenge. Iz had to pick his words carefully. “I had you classified all wrong and I know you. There is so much I don’t understand yet. It’s frustrating.”

  Ronnie surprised him with a snort of laughter, “It’s been maybe an hour.”

  “It’s frustrating,” Iz said again. “All this information and now I have to reexamine it and make sure it’s where it’s supposed to be.” He closed his hands into fists since he probably wasn’t permitted to touch Ronnie. “Rocco is your best friend?”

  He got a sharp glance. “Yeah. He helped me a lot after you, you know—you.”

  Iz watched Ronnie closely. “Do you two ever have sex?”

  “Izzy.” Ronnie stared at him. Iz stared back, curious, tired, waiting. “…No,” Ronnie said at last.

  He’d paused. Iz tipped his head to the side. “Why not?”

  Ronnie scowled. “Aren’t you jealous or something?” Ronnie, who had been frank about blowing a stranger earlier, was reticent now. It was a point to think about.

  “Jealous of him or of you?” Iz had a feeling Patricio would discourage this line of questions. “I don’t know,” he answered finally. Ronnie deserved a response even if Iz didn’t have one yet. “Maybe I will be later. But right now this is a good thought. I care about you—both of you. If it was possible, you could be together. I am not sure how much I would mind. It sounds lovely, anyway. You would both smile more.”

  “Izzy,” Ronnie said again, a little louder this time. “You don’t get it because you’re like he is. But if you’re a fairy tale castle, Rocco is a fort. A fucking battlement. No average person is going to get past the way he’s decided things are.”

  The lingering chill in Iz’s skin, the hollow ache in his chest, the shiver at the memory of Ronnie leaning toward Rocco, disappeared. Iz could not allow himself to think of them in the face of what Ronnie was telling him.

  What Ronnie possibly didn’t realize he was telling him.

  “But you want to.” Iz wasn’t asking. “You want to get past that.”

  “Look,” Ronnie went on, even louder than before. Iz identified his tone as desperate. “He’s my best friend. But you can’t really—he doesn’t let people like him that way. When they try, he insists they’re kidding or something.”

  “I knew it!” Iz nearly shouted. “I knew I wasn’t the only one to want him! There are others? Does he like them? Wait—what you said.”

  The line of Ronnie’s jaw was tense again. “Iz.”

  “Ronnie?” Iz took a step closer. “I should turn it off. My brain, I mean. I’m sorry. I’m pushing.”

  “Yeah well, focusing on someone else’s pain is always easier than dealing with your own.” Ronnie sighed and hung his head, so Iz reached out to rest a hand over the blanket. “Quit it, though.”

  “Okay.” Iz crept closer, his face on the blanket now. “I’m sorry you’re in pain.”

  “I know.” Ronnie put his cheek to Iz’s hair. He stroked Iz’s neck, curling loose strands of his hair behind his ear and seemingly unaware how it made Iz shiver. “It’s not your fault that I don’t get the things I want.”

  In a way, it was. But Iz left that unspoken for now and closed his eyes. “You’re warmer,” he observed after a while.

  “I’m fucking drunk. I’ve got to be.” Ronnie laughed, short and empty. “But I’m still feeling everything. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

  The clock over the stove said it wasn’t that late, not by weekend party standards, or even Iz’s studying standards. But everything in his mind was spinning and Ronnie seemed to be in the same situation.

>   Iz ran his hands down Ronnie’s sides and then lifted his head. Ronnie eased back to let him. His breath was warm too, rich with peanut butter. The traces of lime were probably long gone.

  Ronnie licked his lips anyway, his eyes steady on Iz.

  Iz took a hitching breath, mouth open, words caught in his throat, and then Ronnie was another step away and smiling anxiously.

  “If I’m staying, I should charge my phone, and ah, go to the bathroom. May I?” He didn’t clarify what he wanted permission for. He just took off for the living room.

  Iz’s cheeks were burning, which was odd when he could still feel the chill in his toes. He glanced blankly around the kitchen, thoughts abuzz, frowning at no one, before sweeping a few toast crumbs into the sink and putting the peanut butter jar away. The knife went in the sink too. He’d wash it in the morning.

  He drank half a glass of water, then got one for Ronnie and brought it out into the living room. He should get out an extra blanket or pillow and insist upon the couch. His mother would demand that. He should offer up his laptop for a movie too, since Ronnie probably wasn’t ready to sleep.

  The bathroom door stayed closed. Iz took off his shoes and went into his room to put on clothes to sleep in. Ronnie came out while he was struggling into sweat pants.

  He stopped in the bedroom doorway, which Iz hadn’t shut. “Drunk enough to forget how your legs work?”

  He must have calmed down while in the bathroom, maybe splashed water on his face or the back of his neck.

  “It has been an emotionally strenuous evening,” Iz told him evenly and stuck his feet into his slippers. “I won’t be able to sleep for a while. But I won’t be able to watch anything either. You can use my laptop if you want to stay up.”