by Xavier Mayne
“You have no idea, and yet when Drew asks you to go, you’re like, ‘Sounds awesome, man, I’m there!’ because it was Drew who asked you to go.”
“I enjoy spending time with him, and if this concert is something he thinks would be fun, then it probably will be. So what?”
“So what? So tonight’s the third date. You know what happens on the third date.” Chad waggled his eyebrows suggestively. More than suggestively. Declaratively.
“Shut up, asshole. We’re just friends.”
Chad was about to reply but was interrupted by the waitress, who grabbed up both of their empty platters in one hand, then filled their coffee cups with the other. “Anything else I can get you two?” she asked.
They both shook their heads, and she retreated to the kitchen.
Chad looked across the table, his expression suddenly serious. “Fox, I need to tell you something, and I need you to hear me.”
Fox rolled his eyes. “That sounds like what Mia would say when she’s going to tell you how the way you squeeze the toothpaste tube oppresses her as a woman.”
Chad shook his head. “I’m not going to let you stop me from saying this. You are my friend, Foxy. My best friend in the world. I love you like a brother—more than a brother, because Paul’s a dick—and there is nothing that could ever change that. I know you’re straight, even without the T-shirt, but I wouldn’t love you any less if this Drew guy turns out to be The One. I would be happy for you, and I would cheer you on, and I would be the best man at your wedding.” He paused for a moment, his eyes seeming to search Fox for a sign that his message was received. “Don’t even think of asking anyone else to do that. Because I would beat the crap out of that guy, and then I would be your best man anyway.”
Fox chuckled in spite of himself.
“I’ll say this one more time, in case you missed it.” Chad resumed. “I love you. That will never change. No matter what you do or whom you do it with. Nothing could make me happier than to see you happy, and if it turns out this guy makes you happy, then I’m happy too.” He reached out and put his hand on Fox’s, something Fox could never remember him doing. “Got that?”
Fox looked at Chad’s hand on his for a long moment, until the picture blurred and he needed to wipe his eyes.
“Thank you,” he managed to say before his voice gave out.
“Good. Okay.”
Fox glanced up and saw there were tears in Chad’s eyes too.
Chad cleared his throat. “Check please,” he called, and his voice was once again strong and clear. He flashed a smile at Fox. “Now, how many innings is it gonna take for that rookie you like to get tossed from this afternoon’s game?”
Fox laughed. Chad was back.
And so was he.
Chapter ELEVEN
“I SOMEHOW ended up with some extra sausages again,” Drew said, holding the tight bundle of butcher paper aloft.
“With your shopping you should be more careful,” Mrs. Schwartzmann scolded delightedly. She took the packet from him and stole back to the kitchen. The smell of pastry was heavy in the air, and Drew, still hungover, drew strength from deep whiffs of the sweet aroma. He followed her to the kitchen and sat in his usual place at the table.
“Here is coffee,” she sang as the sausages began to sizzle in the pan. “And here is some food to keep up your strength.” She cut a huge slab of the pastry, slapped it on a plate, and set it before him. “I think you need it after last night.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I mean after you made dinner for that nice woman with the deep voice who didn’t break your furniture.” She beamed at him. “Your cooking I could smell. It made me remember my in-laws, who moved to South America after the war.” She sighed wistfully, then returned her attention to the present. “I hope a lovely date you had.”
“It wasn’t a date,” he said quietly.
“Oh?” she replied, no hint of surprise in her voice.
“No, I made dinner for the guy who took me out to dinner last week. To, you know, return the favor.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding. “That must be the man I saw leaving your apartment at 3:00 a.m. in the morning.”
Drew closed his eyes, hoping that just this once the floor would open and swallow him. Why did that never happen when he needed it to? “Yes, that was him.”
“And does this handsome and mysterious man have a name?”
“Fox.”
Her brow furrowed. “Hmm. Fox. Fox.” Then her face brightened, and she nodded again. “Yes, I like it.”
“I’m so glad,” he assured her with no small measure of irony.
“So you and this Fox are falling in love?”
He stared across the table at her for a long moment, trying to parse her unabashedly joyful expression.
“We’re friends,” he said finally.
She nodded. “That’s good. It is important to be friends before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you fall in love and get married with him and start a family.” She bounced in her seat. “Oh, what lovely children you would have,” she cried, clapping her hands together excitedly.
“Mrs. Schwartzmann, we’re not dating.”
“This you tell me over and over,” she said, obviously choosing to remain oblivious to his protestations. She got up and turned the sausages. “Now, how do you like your sausages again?” She gave him a little twinkling side-eye.
He tipped his head all the way back, hoping that if the floor wasn’t going to swallow him, maybe the ceiling would collapse and Mr. Dillard from upstairs would land his lardy ass on him and crush him to death. But for as often as things broke down in the building, its floors and ceilings were apparently made from sterner stuff. He breathed deeply, trying to respire around the sludge that suddenly filled his chest.
“So why at 3:00 a.m. in the morning did he leave your apartment?”
He gave up any pretense of dignity. “We drank too much and fell asleep on the couch. He must have woken up and slipped out.”
“This is not something a gentleman would do.” She frowned on his behalf. “I am not sure I like very much this Fox you are dating.”
“We aren’t dating,” Drew offered hopelessly, in a voice even he wouldn’t believe.
“Mm-hmm.” She smiled sweetly. “Certainly he called you this morning to say I am sorry for sneaking away and would you like to have dinner paid for by me again because I am so rude?”
“I haven’t heard from him. I was probably drooling on him while I slept on the couch or something equally mortifying.”
She smiled beatifically at him, as if drooling were the most romantic thing in the world. “Oh, to think of you two on the couch, right below my collection of teacups with the dirty paintings of sex on them!”
Drew had, up until that moment, no idea that Mrs. Schwartzmann had such a collection. It was not knowledge that he was grateful to be in possession of.
“But you must right now make words at him with your telephone,” she blurted, her English syntax completely obliterated by the urgency of her command. She made frenetic typing motions with her thumbs.
“Why?”
“If there is one thing I know, it is the hearts of men. He will be wondering what he is to do about leaving at 3:00 a.m. in the morning and not knowing whether he should call you or if he should be a man and play pretend in his brain it didn’t happen.”
He stared at her, astounded at her ability to make sense even when her words didn’t. “What should I say?” Was he really taking advice on relationships from an old woman with a tenuous grasp on reality?
“Ask him if okay he is.”
Drew nodded and typed. Better not to think too much about it. He hit Send and started counting. He would probably start breathing again when he got to sixty.
The reply came before he got to thirty. He read it out to Mrs. Schwartzmann.
“Ah, there is the gentleman,” she said with an approving nod.
Drew typed a reply. He only got to ten this time.
They shared a goofy smile over his reply, then Drew grew concerned. “What do I do next?”
“What were you going to do today?” she asked.
“There’s a concert on campus I was going to go to.”
“Then ask him to go with you. If it is meant to be, it will be.”
He was about to ask her what “it” was, but he thought better of it when he realized the answer would probably alarm him even more than not knowing. He shrugged and typed out the invitation. The reply came quickly, and he followed up.
“So?” she asked.
“He’s coming to the concert, and he’s bringing dinner over beforehand.”
Mrs. Schwartzmann practically vibrated with joy. “My faith is restored,” she cried, clasping her hands before her.
Drew smiled at her display, but his grin soon faded when he realized what he’d done.
This was probably a date.
HOLDING THREE bags of steaming hot Thai takeout, as well as a cooler full of bottles of Singha, made it a little challenging for Fox to ring the doorbell of Drew’s apartment, but he managed to do so just before six o’clock.
“Hey,” Drew cried as he opened the door. “That smells amazing.”
“Wait until you taste it,” Fox said as he walked through the doorway.
“I can’t wait, so I’m just gonna—” Drew said, stepping toward him. He took the bags and the cooler from him and strode eagerly to the kitchen.
“Hey, last time I got a hug,” Fox called.
“Where are my manners?” Drew replied, hurrying back into the front room. He laughed as he threw his arms around Fox in a boisterous embrace.
Fox joined in his laughter, but somewhere inside—safely below the level of conscious thought, but there nonetheless—he felt a little tug that told him it was nice to be hugged, even by a guy, even while laughing ironically. Ten days of no dates meant ten days of not so much as a good-night kiss, and the absence of contact was starting to weigh on him.
Drew released him suddenly and stepped back, then took another step back as if to restore a sufficient distance between them. “Let’s eat,” he said jovially.
“Sounds good,” Fox replied, and he followed Drew through to the kitchen. He opened the bags and sorted out the food he’d ordered too much of because he didn’t know what Drew would like. In short order, he’d arranged the counter from satay skewers to sticky rice, with mains in the middle and condiments on the side.
“Wow, you’re good at this,” Drew said.
“Really missed my calling as a cater-waiter, didn’t I?” Fox cracked. He opened the cooler and pulled out two beers, popped the tops off, and handed one to Drew. “To… music?”
“To music,” Drew repeated, and they toasted to… you know, music.
Drew handed Fox a plate and motioned that he should serve himself some food.
“Nope,” Fox said. “I brought it, so you get first dibs on what you like.”
Drew glanced at the name of the restaurant on one of the containers. “Is this from that fancy place downtown in the galleria?”
“It is,” Fox replied. “They don’t normally do takeout, but I know the chef, and she helps me out sometimes. When it’s a special occasion.” As soon as he’d said it he realized what he’d done. Self-deprecating banter was Fox’s stock-in-trade, allowing him to downplay whatever he’d accomplished by giving someone else the credit. In this case, though, he’d run on too long and said this was a—
“Special occasion?” Drew asked, a hint of a smile on his face. “Well.” His eyebrow twitched up, but he offered no further comment as he surveyed the food and filled his plate.
Fox followed suit, and they sat at the kitchen table and dug in.
“So what kind of music will we be enjoying this evening?” Fox asked. He was still trying to figure out a way to defuse the bomb that was his “special occasion” remark.
“It’s a marimba concert,” Drew said, then shrugged. “It sounded like fun. I’ve never heard of four marimbas playing together.”
“I’m not sure I could even pick out a marimba from a musical-instrument lineup,” Fox said.
“It’s a kind of xylophone, but with a deeper tone.” Drew pulled out his phone and did a quick search. “Here’s a picture.” He held it out to Fox.
“So have you traveled the country following your favorite marimba band?” Fox teased.
“Yeah, no. I saw the posters for it around campus and thought it sounded kind of cool.”
“Well, I’m happy to have the chance to stretch my musical tastes.”
“And I’m happy to stretch you,” Drew said with a laugh.
They left that awkward remark on the table and set to finishing their dinner. It was, after all, a special occasion.
“SO THAT’S a marimba concert,” Fox said as he followed Drew through the front door of his apartment.
“Yes, it certainly was,” Drew replied. “They all seemed really happy to be playing them, you gotta give them that.”
“Agreed. It was like a sport, especially that last piece. Their little mallets were a blur.”
Drew looked critically at him. “You thought it was ridiculous.”
Fox seemed startled to be so accused. “I most certainly did not. It wasn’t a form of music I knew anything about, but it was a really cool cultural experience. I’d forgotten that the university has this kind of stuff all the time. I should get there more.”
Drew smiled at him. “You’re always welcome.”
Was that a little color creeping into Fox’s cheek?
“I didn’t mean you have to, you know, invite me over all the time or anything.”
Drew was chuckling now, enjoying how hard Fox seemed to fight against any recognition that they were friends. It was like he wasn’t used to having any.
“You are welcome here anytime. You know that,” Drew said. “Care for a shot of this deadly bourbon I happen to have lying around?”
“I should probably get going, seeing as it’s a school night and all.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. I have a seminar paper that’s been fighting me for weeks, and it’s due Friday.”
“How much have you gotten done, percentage-wise?”
“Let’s see…,” Drew said, casting his eyes up to the ceiling and pretending to calculate. “I think the precise figure is… zero. I’ve gotten exactly none of it actually written.”
“Oh shit,” Fox replied, his eyebrows peaked with concern. “Are you going to make it?”
“Yeah, I’ll get it done. I have all the research finished. It’s just a matter of writing it up. I got an extension, so technically I have until next Monday to turn it in.”
“Is it going to take you that long to write it up?”
“I could probably get it done on time, but for some reason I’m feeling blocked on actually getting the writing going.”
“Let me help,” Fox said.
Drew frowned. “Help? How?”
“When I have a report to write or a planning document to get ready for review, I set myself a fake deadline so that I get it done. Like, I’ll arrange with someone on the team that we’ll meet to discuss it a few days before I need it to be done, and that makes me get it done in time. It’s like working out with a buddy—it gives accountability.”
“So you want to read my paper? Before it’s due?”
Fox laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I probably wouldn’t understand it. But I can do this: get the paper done on Friday, and I’ll plan something awesome for the weekend.”
Drew squinted at him. “How awesome?”
“Super awesome.” He sucked in his cheeks for a moment and half closed his eyes. “Okay, this is what we’ll do. Turn in your paper by five on Friday evening, and I’ll come pick you up. We’ll head to the coast for the weekend. My treat.”
“The coast? For the weekend?” Drew blinked and shook his head, certain he had misheard. “I c
an’t let you keep spending that kind of money.”
“No worries. I did a great deal for a resort company last year, and since then they’ve been after me to come stay at their property. It’ll cost me gas to get there and back—that’s about it.”
“A weekend? At a resort on the coast?” Drew couldn’t believe Fox was actually suggesting this.
“Hell yeah,” Fox replied, clearly stoked about the prospect. “We’ll kayak on the harbor and cycle up into the hills—they have all kinds of stuff to do. It’ll be a nice break to celebrate getting your seminar paper done. On time, even.”
Drew weighed the proposal for a moment. “Ah, what the hell. Sounds good. You have to let me pay for gas, though.”
“You don’t have to do that, but if it makes you feel better, that’s fine. Whatever. Now I’m gonna go so you can get cranking on that paper.”
“Yes, sir,” Drew barked.
“And I’ll see you at five sharp on Friday. And pack a nice outfit—they have an amazing restaurant.”
“You’ve already seen my nice outfit,” Drew said apologetically.
“And that would be perfect. Again, no worries. This is gonna be fun.” And without warning, Fox pulled Drew to him and wrapped him in a hug. “Thanks for the concert,” he whispered. “See you Friday.”
“Yeah, Friday,” Drew replied as Fox released him.
Fox beamed as he opened the door and showed himself out.
Drew stood for a long moment, replaying their exchange in his mind. Then, when nothing got any clearer, he shrugged and went to his room to grab his laptop. He had some writing to do.
“YOU’RE GOING to let me have your table at Table again? Really?” Chad asked, leaning close to the camera on his phone.
“Yeah, if you want it.”
“Why aren’t you using it?”
“I’m going away for the weekend.”
“Oh, Foxy, no. Don’t tell me you’re giving up completely.”
Fox laughed. “No, still taking a break. And still not gay.”
Chad jolted in his seat. “You’re going away with him, aren’t you? With Drew?”