by Roan Parrish
“Now would you two idiots stop it,” Rex says, dropping onto the couch. “I can’t even be flattered that you’re fighting over me because you’re not. Not really. You’re just fighting because it’s what you’re used to and I don’t like it.”
“Sorry,” I say, sitting down on the arm of the couch.
Will’s face is unreadable.
“You are kind of scrappy,” he says to me with a touch of admiration, and I can tell he’s thinking about our tag-team effort to teach Leo this afternoon.
“Yeah, well, you’re not as much of a pansy as you look either,” I grudgingly admit.
Rex shakes his head, looking between us. He points Will into the armchair and pulls me down onto the couch next to him. Marilyn wanders over, looking up at us on the couch, and I fold myself into Rex to make room for her. I’m helpless against the look of hope she gets when she wants to snuggle. Rex usually makes her sit on the floor, but I like the feeling of her lying on my feet. She puts her paws up on the couch and I pat the space next to me.
Rex sighs, but just strokes my hair as I put my head on his shoulder and pat Marilyn’s head. Rex puts his arm around me and flicks on the TV, flipping channels until he gets to the classic movie channel he likes so much.
“Hey, it’s your monster movie,” I say when I see it’s Frankenstein. Rex squeezes my shoulder and I relax against him.
“Poor Frankenstein,” Will says. “Bastard couldn’t catch a break, could he?”
“The doctor is Frankenstein,” I say absently, my eyes fixed on the screen. “That’s his creature.”
“Call him whatever you want,” Will says. “He’s miserable and alone and he’s about to be mobbed by a whole fucking village. Sucks.”
“—sister okay?” Rex is saying quietly when I wake up. I dozed off during Frankenstein and it looks like now it’s a movie about rats or something. Marilyn is a warm weight on my feet and Rex smells delicious. I’m kind of lying on him now; I must have been out for a while. I decide I’m not in the mood to talk to Will anymore and I close my eyes and relax into Rex again.
“She’s all right,” Will says, and then starts talking about some boyfriend or her boss and I’m not really listening, just thinking about how comfortable I am and how I wish Will would disappear in a puff of magic Halloween smoke and leave me alone with Rex so we could go to bed.
I must have fallen asleep again for a minute. When I drift back awake, Will’s voice sounds different.
“He really likes you a lot.”
My first thought is to sit up and ask Will who the hell likes Rex, but then my sleepy brain catches up and I realize he must mean me. I know I should tell them I’m awake, but I can’t make myself do it. I want to hear what Rex says in response. Also, part of me is curious to hear how he and Will interact when it’s just the two of them. Sure, Will isn’t turning out to be quite the asshole I thought he was, but I haven’t seen much that makes me understand why he and Rex are friends either.
“Yeah, you think so?” Rex asks, his voice vulnerable. He’s stroking my hair, which feels amazing. “Sometimes he’s just so… I dunno. Like he doesn’t want me close.”
“He’s lying on top of you,” Will jokes.
“Ha, smartass. You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Will says, sounding serious. “And I think for a guy like Daniel, what he’s like when he’s drunk or tired says more about how he feels than he’ll say out loud.”
“Yeah?” Rex asks.
“Well, you saw how he went right for me today and the other night. I can tell he’s been fighting his whole life. That shit’s ingrained.”
“Well, you weren’t exactly discouraging it,” Rex says.
“Hey, man, I reacted to him. You know I don’t start fights. I’ll fight back, but I don’t throw the first punch unless I have to. You know that. Daniel… he doesn’t like it, but he’s used to it—you know, like, he throws the first punch to stop whoever from throwing the second and third and the fourth. I get it.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Rex asks.
“Nah. Stronger than I thought, though. When you said he was an English teacher I thought he’d be a pansy.”
“Funny, he said the same thing about you.”
“Anyway, I saw how he jumped when we startled him at the bar yesterday. He’s either been jumped a bunch of times or he’s been abused. Maybe both. Am I right?”
“It’s not your business, Will,” Rex says gently.
“That’s fine, babe,” Will says, and I resist the urge to jump up and throttle Will for the term of endearment. “All I meant to say is that for someone who’s used to fighting, the fact that he defaults to relaxing around you means something. That’s all. Besides, the way he looks at you….”
“Yeah,” Rex says fondly.
Wait, how do I look at him?
Will changes the subject even though now I’m desperate to hear more. I don’t like that he could tell so much about me, having only known me for a few hours. More than that, though, I’m curious. Because he’s right.
I never relax around people the way I do around Rex. I hadn’t really thought about it because I’ve been anxious about other shit, but I’ve never fallen asleep on anyone except Ginger. I’ve never put my head on someone’s shoulder while we were sitting next to each other. It’s never even crossed my mind. And yet, with Rex, I have. I’ve done those things and not even really thought about them. Maybe Will is right. Not only do I like Rex, but I let my guard down around him in a way I can’t even verbalize. Maybe Will’s not such an idiot after all.
I wake up the next time to Rex shifting beneath me. I sit up and look around the darkened room.
“Will gone?”
“Yeah, he just left,” Rex says, smoothing my messy hair back from my face. He stands up and reaches out a hand, pulling me up. I rest my forehead on Rex’s chest to stop my head from spinning. I guess I was a little drunk after all. Rex strokes my back gently.
“He’s not so bad, I guess,” I say into Rex’s chest.
“He said the same about you,” Rex says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
12
Chapter 12
November
On Wednesday afternoon I’m in my office, trying to get some work done on one of my book chapters, and am more than happy for the interruption of my phone ringing.
“What’s the good news?” Ginger asks. She’s been texting me for days, trying to convince me to come home for Thanksgiving.
“I can’t come for Thanksgiving, Ginge. I’m sorry. There isn’t time to drive and I definitely can’t afford to fly. I’ll come for Christmas, though—sorry, Chanukah.”
“Bummer, babycakes,” she says. “Who will I eat Thanksgiving burritos with?” We usually get these amazing burritos with turkey, sweet potato, stuffing, and cranberry sauce from a weird hole-in-the-wall place near Ginger’s and listen to Elvis (at Ginger’s insistence) on Thanksgiving.
“Maybe I’ll keep the shop open and only give Thanksgiving-themed tattoos. But, like, literal ones. Like, I’ll tattoo turkeys, Thanksgiving foods, the genocide of indigenous peoples, et cetera. Whattaya think?”
“I like it. Maybe you could also tattoo Wednesday Addams as Pocahontas from that Addams Family movie where they go to camp and are tortured by Disney movies.”
“Good one!”
“Sorry, Ginge, really.”
“No worries, pumpkin. I know money’s tight. If I could afford to fly you out, I would. But if you abandon me for Chanukah, I’ll Jewish-guilt you until you’re dead. I need your ass on my couch, eating Chinese food and listening to Christmas music, or our friendship is basically over. And, lucky you, Chanukah goes all the way up until Christmas this year, so your schedule should be fine.”
“I’ll be there,” I tell her. Chanukah at Ginger’s is one of my favorite traditions, even though I hate Christmas music. Ginger thinks it’s cruel and unusual that there is no Chanukah music and she’s not one for klezmer or Adam Sand
ler, so she’s reclaimed Christmas music. She even rewrote some of the lyrics.
“So, are you having Thanksgiving at Rex’s?”
“I don’t know. It hasn’t come up.”
“Well, is he going to be in town or does he go visit family?”
“He doesn’t have any.”
“Family? What happened?”
“He didn’t know his dad, he’s an only child, and his mom died when he was a teenager. Actually, except for Will, I haven’t even met any of his friends. I’m not sure he has many.”
“That’s sad.” Ginger and I both have fraught relationships with our families, but at least we have them.
“Do you think I should ask him? I mean, I don’t know if I should bring it up. Maybe holidays make him sad, or maybe it would seem like I’m trying to invite myself over, or what if—”
“Um, Daniel. Those are kind of the things you’re supposed to talk about in a relationship.”
“Oh, right. Sure.”
Maybe I’d rather go back to my book after all.
“Daniel!” Leo exclaims as I walk through the door of Mr. Zoo’s.
“Hey, man,” I say.
“Need more tapes?” Leo asks with a cheeky smile.
“No, but you might want to check your cases. Some Pet Shop Boys fan is going to be surprised by a John Hiatt album. I’m looking for a record.”
“But I thought you didn’t have a record player?”
Jesus, does this kid remember every goddamned thing I say?
“It’s, uh, for Rex.”
“Aw, Rex,” Leo coos.
“Careful there, kiddo. At least I can remain upright in his presence, which is more than I can say for you when Will is around.”
Leo turns a satisfying shade of red.
“Um, the records are over there,” he mutters, pointing.
I flip through them, looking for something special. Something that Rex would love. I can’t quite figure his taste yet. Everything he listens to is old, passed down from his mom, but he likes Tori Amos and he’s seemed to know several other bands I’ve mentioned. I consider getting him a few things I really like, but I’m not sure he’ll like them. I linger over an Etta James album and a Lou Reed, then consider some of the bands I first saw play live, but that seems sappy. I finally decide on an Emmylou Harris record and take it up to Leo.
“So, what’s the occasion?” Leo asks.
“No occasion. He just did something nice and I want to say thank you.” Jesus, it sounds like I’m describing National Secretaries Day or something.
“That’s nice of you. What did he do?”
Leo seems to have no clue that certain things are none of his business, but the kid is growing on me, and it’s not like it’s particularly personal.
Last night, Rex came over carrying something that looked like the beautiful piece of wood I’d seen him working on in his woodshop a few days before.
“What’s this?” I asked him.
“You needed a new kitchen table,” he said. His posture was comfortable and commanding like usual, but I could see uncertainty in his face, no doubt because of my totally ungrateful response to his previous efforts regarding my table.
I took a deep breath. No one had ever made anything for me before, and I couldn’t even imagine how many hours it must have taken Rex to craft this piece. Rex doing that—showing up like that—was a test. Not that Rex engineered it as one; he’s not manipulative like that. But it was a test of whether or not this could be okay between us and I knew it. This was Rex showing me that he cared.
I smiled and stepped aside. Rex fitted in the legs and skimmed the wood with a tender hand. The table reminded me of him: sturdy and comfortable and welcoming.
“It’s amazing,” I said, and Rex’s smile told me I’d passed the test for sure.
So, now, here I am at Mr. Zoo’s because I wanted to get Rex a record or something to say thank you.
“He made me a new kitchen table,” I say. “Mine broke.”
“Whoa! That’s amazing.”
Yeah, it really is. Leo looks at me and then down at Emmylou and gets a weird look on his face.
“What?”
“Um, no offense or anything,” he says, “and I’m sure it’s a good album and all, but that’s kind of a lame present for someone who, like, carved you something out of a tree with his bare hands.”
Shit. Shit, he’s totally right.
“Sorry!” he says.
“No, you’re fucking right,” I say, letting out a breath.
“You swear a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry.” He just smiles. “So, you got any better ideas?” I ask. “And if you insinuate anything to do with sexual favors, so help me….”
“Well, what have you already done for him?”
“Done?”
“Yeah, like, what nice things, so I don’t repeat them.”
Nice things. What nice things have I done for Rex? Fuck all, that’s what.
Better question: what nice things has Rex done for me?
Rescued me after a car accident and given me a place to stay for the night even though I was a total stranger. Saved the dog I hit with my car. Fixed the desk in my office when he barely even knew me. Warned me about the weather. Come to pick me up in the middle of a snowstorm when my car died. Cooked for me. Taken me to dinner. Given me a massage. Gotten the Internet at his house for me even though he doesn’t use it himself. Made me a kitchen table even after I yelled at him the last time he brought it up.
And me? I took his fucking dog for a walk when he had a debilitating fucking migraine. I fucking disgust myself.
I drop my head down onto my arms on the counter and groan.
“Shit, Leo!” I say.
“What? What’s wrong?” Now I’ve scared the kid.
“What’s wrong is that I’m a shit boyfriend. Absolute shit. I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no fucking clue.”
Leo is wide-eyed, staring at me with his mouth half open. God knows why he liked me in the first place, but whatever hero worship he had is, I’m sure, dying a writhing death on the counter between us as we speak. I’m a grown man and I have no idea how to date someone. No idea at all.
“Um,” Leo starts, with a mommy-and-daddy-are-fighting expression. “Well, my sister always says she’ll forgive a guy anything if he buys her flowers.”
“Uh-huh, and how old is your sister?”
“Sixteen.”
“Yeah. Well, you should tell your sister that’s a crap policy.”
“Okay, well, why don’t you take him on a really nice date? My sister says—”
“No offense, Leo, but I’m going to go ahead and say I don’t care what your little sister thinks about dating.”
“No, no, this is a good one. She says a well-conceived date shows that you pay attention to the person. That you know what they like to do and you want to show them a good time.”
That makes sense. I was probably supposed to ask Rex out on a date after he took me to dinner, so things were equal. I’ve never asked someone on a date before. Never planned one. But I know what Rex likes. Old movies and good food. This will be fine.
“Right, okay.” I tell Leo. “A date. I can do that.”
But he doesn’t look totally convinced.
On Friday, I pick Rex up at his house because it seems a date-like thing to do. He looks amazing in tight black jeans that mold to his muscular thighs and round ass and one of those thick oatmeal-colored sweaters that I associate with ski lodges and Irish whiskey ads. The thick sweater makes him look even larger than usual, like if he held me I’d be warm and safe forever.
“Wow,” I say. “You look amazing.”
Rex’s smile is brilliant. Against the light sweater, his skin looks tan and luminous, his reddish brown stubble darker than usual. His hair falls in his face as he leans down to kiss me and I can’t help but push one hand into the soft strands and pull him closer with the other, feeling the incredible warmth he always g
ives off. Now there’s a light scent of wool and cedar added to his usual pine and wood smoke smell.
“You wouldn’t say where we were going,” he says, “so I went with something versatile.”
“Oh, well, it’s nothing too exciting, so—”
“I don’t care what we do,” Rex says, elbowing me gently like I should know better.
“No, I know. I just wanted to take you out on a real date. I’ve never really done that before. Anyway, should we go?”
I’m actually really pleased with myself for finding anything to do in this town that Rex might like. I’m taking Rex to dinner and then to see The Phantom of Liberty, which, according to the chair of my department, is a classic of Surrealist French cinema from the 1970s, and he can’t believe I didn’t know that there’s a film series on campus. I figure with his love for classic movies, Rex will be totally into it, and since it’s French, he’s less likely to have already seen it.
Rex is in a great mood. At dinner, in a cozy round booth, Rex tells me about custom furniture pieces he’s seen that he’d like to try making and teases me about things he’s heard people saying about me around town. Apparently, Carrie and Naomi, the high-school-age waiters at the diner, talk about my clothes, my hair, and—Rex elbows me—how cute I am. I get the feeling that, since Rex barely talks to anyone when he’s out, he overhears a lot. Probably even a lot that he isn’t telling me.
When I tell him about Marjorie and The Daniel, he lets out a low, rolling laugh I haven’t heard before.
As we’re eating our entrées, Rex says, “How much of you asking me on a date is because of Will?” He doesn’t sound mad or disappointed or anything, just curious.
“What? None of it.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not judging. God knows I got jealous enough of that guy Jay, even if he wasn’t actually after you.”
I squirm.
“Oh, um, well, you were right, it turns out. About Jay. I forgot to tell you before because of Will showing up, but he sort of asked me out on Friday, before I left for Detroit. Last Friday, I mean.”