Olive Juice

by T. J. Klune

  Phillip’s hands were on his belt buckle.

  “Whoa,” David said quickly. “It’s not—”

  “I’ve seen it all before,” Phillip said, dry as dust.

  And—okay. Yeah. That was true. But David was uncomfortable, unsure of what was happening. He’d never been shy, for fuck’s sake, and maybe all Phillip was aiming for was a pity fuck, a once-more-for-old-time’s-sake sort of thing. Maybe they’d collapse in on each other like a dying star and the bed would shake and they’d whisper encouragement in each other’s ears, breath hot and panting, and then tomorrow there would be no waffles while they danced around in their underwear, singing “Rhythm is a Dancer” like they were young men again. Because David knew better than anyone else that you could never go back to the way things once were. All of that was dead and gone, and he could never get that back.

  “Fine,” Phillip said, taking a step back. “Just… get out of those clothes. You’ll catch your death in them. I have some sweats you can borrow. I’ll toss everything in the dryer.”

  He waited until David nodded slowly before he turned toward the walk-in closet. David watched him walk away, suddenly sure he’d messed something up somewhere. His hands were on his belt and he pulled at it until it cleared the loops. He dropped it on the floor. He played with the hem of his shirt for a moment before gritting his teeth and pulling it up and over his head. He was exposed, more so than he’d been in a long time, and his nipples were hard little pebbles on his chest, gooseflesh prickling along his arms and shoulders.

  He picked up the towel off the bed and rubbed it over his hair, and tried not to whimper at that familiar smell of detergent and fabric softener that Phillip always used. He’d never been allowed to touch the laundry, not after he’d accidentally ruined a cashmere cardigan of Alice’s (“Daddy, what part of dry clean only did you not understand?”) (“Honestly, David, did you even feel the fabric when you just threw it in there with your socks?”). They’d teased him a lot about it, and he’d taken it all in stride, but knowing they’d come to him when something needed to be fixed or hung, as the last time Phillip had used a hammer, they’d ended up in the ER for four hours while waiting for a broken thumb to be set, Alice trying to muffle her continuous giggles while her papa sat grumpily next to her, his hand wrapped in a hand towel filled with melting ice. They’d been a team. The three of them.

  He left the towel resting on his shoulders as he flushed slightly, hands going to the front of his dress pants. He heard Phillip moving in the closet, and he didn’t dare look up, not knowing if Phillip too was getting undressed. It was intimate, almost unbearably so, and he didn’t know how to deal with it after having let it slip through his fingers with words he hadn’t meant, a culmination of all the fury and the horror he’d felt since he received a phone call on an unusually warm spring afternoon in March.

  He pushed down his pants, bending over to push them past his hips and thighs. His boxers were wet and clung to his groin, but he ignored them for now, stepping out of the pants, almost falling over onto the bed as he tried to maintain his balance. He got them off and left them in the growing pile on the floor.

  He was almost bare.

  His skin itched, and he swallowed thickly.

  He glanced up at the closet door. There was a mirror hanging on the inside of it, and he could see Phillip’s reflection inside the closet, and he wasn’t moving. He was standing at one of the sets of drawers, and his eyes were closed, his breaths looking as if they were slow and deliberate. Like he was trying to get himself back under control, like he was—

  David looked away.

  He wrapped the towel around his waist.

  He slid his underwear down from underneath it.

  Left them on top of the pile.

  And that was it.

  He had nothing left to give.

  This was everything he had.

  But before he could dwell on that, Phillip was back in the room, fully clothed, arms full. He stopped for a moment, staring at David, who tried his very best not to squirm. Something passed over Phillip’s face, something David couldn’t quite figure out. And that somehow made it worse, because hadn’t there been a time when David had known everything about Phillip? Hadn’t he been able to read him like a book? Yeah, there had been. He’d known what Phillip was thinking even before Phillip thought it himself. It was just one of those things.

  Here they were, though. Not quite strangers, but not what they’d once been.

  “Better?” Phillip asked.

  David nodded.

  “I have….” He shook his head. “I was going to say that I didn’t know if I had anything that would fit you, but—you’ve lost some weight.”

  David wanted to hide. “It’s just—I guess.” He shrugged awkwardly, face hot. “Maybe a little bit.”

  Phillip snorted but didn’t say anything. He walked next to David and set down a pair of sweats on the bed next to the second towel. His shoulder brushed David’s, and David took a step back, coughing into his hand, looking anywhere but at Phillip.

  “I’ll be in the bathroom,” Phillip said evenly. “Getting changed. These are—just, put these on, okay?”

  David nodded, words stuck on the tip of his tongue.

  Phillip smiled tightly before he headed toward the bathroom, toeing off those ridiculous shoes and kicking them toward the closet. He closed the door behind him but didn’t lock it.

  David didn’t know why that calmed him as much as it did. It was such a little thing.

  He dropped the towel and pulled on the sweats. Phillip was right; these wouldn’t have fit him a decade ago, or even three years ago. The sweatshirt was a little tight in his shoulders and a little short on his wrists, but it still hung over his frame loosely. The same with the sweatpants. They were warm and soft, and David was tired. He supposed he’d be staying here, which—well. He’d make it work. Somehow. He’d get the guest room and Phillip would stay here, and maybe he wouldn’t spend the night staring at the ceiling, his brain working hard, pointing out every little thing he could have done differently, lost in one of the many fantasies he had of how life could have been different.

  (She’d be a college graduate now, working with this charity or that charity like she’d planned, saving the earth or the whales or the ice caps or the children, any number of things that caught her eye. Chances were, she’d have gone out into the big, wide world on her own, but she’d stay close, and they’d have dinner once, twice, no, three times a week, and it’d be good, because she’d be making a difference. She would be changing things for the better, and the world would be a wonderful place because she was in it.

  And maybe on one of these visits, she’d be acting a little strange, nervously wringing her hands together like she was nine again, wanting to ask her fathers for a terrarium so that she could keep the snake she’d found in the backyard. Phillip and David would look at each other knowingly, waiting for her to bring up whatever was on her mind.

  Eventually she would, clearing her throat and asking if she could talk to them about something. They’d be done with dinner and moved on to coffee from that fancy Keurig machine that Phillip had insisted on and David didn’t know how to use. She’d sit across from them, maybe blushing a little, the gorgeous color of her skin hiding most of it. She’d tell them that she’d met someone, and that he was interesting, and so goddamn aggravating, but that she’d been seeing him for a few months, and Daddy, get that look off your face, I was going to tell you when I was sure, okay?

  And apparently she was sure now, because he was in his residency at MedStar, and that didn’t give them a lot of time to see each other, but Daddy, Papa, he is so handsome, and he makes me laugh, and he pisses me off all at the same time, and I really, really like him, so could you please just be happy for me?

  Of course they could. Of course they would.

  They’d meet him, and he’d be anxious, shaking their hands while Phillip glared at him, saying how lovely it was to meet the man sle
eping with their little girl, and Alice would shriek at him, screaming Papa! Don’t you dare!

  It would go better after that.

  Maybe they’d break up at some point, and she’d stay at their house in her old room for a week, and they’d make her waffles in the morning while dancing around the kitchen to Snap! every morning. She’d cry a little, sniffling against her daddy’s shoulder while her papa threatened to murder that little asshole.

  Or maybe they wouldn’t break up at all.

  Maybe they’d stay together, and one day, they’d come over to the house, and she’d be beaming. She would be glowing, and she’d ask if they could tell anything different about her, and David would ask if she got a haircut, much to her dismay, and then Phillip would start screeching, grabbing her hand, the obscenely large diamond on her finger glittering in the light overhead.

  They’d give her away, of course.

  They’d walk her down the aisle, and it would be David who would be the one crying, because that’s just the way he was with stuff like this. This was his baby girl, his sweetheart, and both Phillip and Alice were the only ones who knew just how big of a softy he was. He’d be crying as they took another step and then another and then another, and right before he’d give her away, right before he gave his daughter to her future husband, she’d lean forward, kissing his tears away, saying, I love you, I love you, I love you.

  Those were the dreams he had, late at night.)

  (Sometimes, there were the nightmares, where she was begging for him to come get her, that she just wanted to come home, and why wouldn’t he help her? Those were the ones that ripped his heart still beating from his chest.)

  The bathroom door opened.

  David looked up.

  Phillip had changed into his sweats. He carried his clothes in his arms. He hesitated when he saw David sitting on the bed, his face stuttering with something awful for just a second, but he just shook his head. He dropped his own clothes into the hamper next to the bathroom and looked back at David.

  David felt out of place. “I’ll go to the guest room,” he said, picking at his sweats. “Or I can just wait until the clothes are dry and then I’ll go back to the apartment.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  No. It wasn’t. But David didn’t know exactly what he wanted. So he shrugged and looked away.

  Phillip sighed. “You’re not driving home tonight, David. Not in this weather, and especially not since you look like you’re ready to collapse. Honestly. You never could take very good care of yourself.”

  “That’s what I had you for,” David mumbled before he could stop himself.

  “What?” Phillip asked sharply.

  David winced and shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll just… the spare room. Sheets on the bed?”

  There was no answer.

  David looked up.

  Phillip’s hands were in fists at his sides, his jaw tense, brow furrowed.

  David stood quickly, realizing he was still sitting on Phillip’s (their) bed. He bent down, scooping up his wet clothes, taking a step away from the bed. “I know where the dryer’s at,” he said hastily. “I can do it. You should just—you can go to bed. I’ll—tomorrow, I’ll go back to the apartment tomorrow. Okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “Stop,” Phillip snapped, and David froze in the middle of the room. Phillip rubbed his hands over his face. “Just—stop. You can’t—Jesus. You’re not—” He let out a huff of air, sounding aggravated. Then, “Give me the clothes. I told you I would handle it.”

  He knew that look. That look meant that Phillip wasn’t taking any of David’s shit right at that moment, and that whatever he’d said needed to be done would be done. He didn’t even stop Phillip when he stepped forward and grabbed the wet clothes out of David’s hands, tie trailing down, looking defiant, like he expected David to say something.

  He was heading toward the door, and David was unsure whether or not he should follow, when his mouth opened all on its own and said, “Wait.”

  Phillip stopped in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder and frowning, eyebrows doing that thing that meant you have three seconds, David Greengrass.

  “My wallet. It’s in the pocket. Could you…?”

  Phillip nodded and turned back toward him, shuffling the clothes in his arms until he could reach the pants. He started digging through the pockets and it was then David remembered the one thing he should not have forgotten. That even though this night had been an onslaught against the shredded remains of his heart, twisting through him with a dizzying sense of vertigo, he should have remembered.

  He knew the moment Phillip found it in the front pocket.

  His brow furrowed even further for a moment, then his eyebrows jumped in confusion. Then there was surprise and understanding followed by something fierce, something that almost looked as if it burned like fire.

  He pulled David’s wedding ring from the pocket.

  The clothes dropped to the floor.

  David closed his eyes, not wanting to see the anger on his face, the rage that David would still keep such a thing close to him. Yeah, he’d seen Phillip’s bare finger when he’d arrived tonight and had compartmentalized that away for later when he could break something. He’d still been wearing it last summer, and even though he’d been at the benefit with Keith, David had thought savagely, yes, you’re here with him, but he’s still married to me. He’s still wearing the ring I gave him.

  Phillip brought it up to his face to see the inscription inside.

  Olive juice.

  (“Papa!” Alice cried when Phillip walked through the door. She was three, almost four, and chubby and the most beautiful thing in the world. “Guess what I learned today!”

  “What?” Phillip exclaimed, just as bright, winking at David, who leaned against the entryway into the kitchen.

  “It’s a secret code,” she said, eyes wide. Phillip picked her up, and she sat in the crook of his arm, hands squishing his face. “Daddy taught me.”

  “A secret code?” Phillip gasped. “Tell me.”

  She leaned forward, looking him straight in the eye, and said, “Olive juice.”

  David snorted when Phillip glanced at him, bewildered, before he looked back at their daughter. “Olive juice,” he said slowly. “Of course, because that means….”

  Alice laughed. “Silly Papa. It means I love you. Because it sounds the same.”

  “Only when you whisper it,” David reminded her.

  “Oh,” she said. “I forgot.” She leaned forward, her forehead pressed against Phillip’s, and she whispered, “Olive juice.”

  Phillip grinned and whispered back, “Olive juice too.”

  And when it came time to decide what should be engraved on the rings, they didn’t even have to think very long. Because olive juice was theirs, but it was also hers, and it belonged to all of them, their secret code, and it was carved into the rings and worn against their skin day after day after day.)

  “Why do you have this?” Phillip asked him quietly.

  David didn’t answer.

  “David.”

  He closed his eyes. “I just—I wanted. I—” He felt helpless. “I wear it. Okay? I wear it because it’s the only thing I have left, and you don’t have to wear yours ever again and that’s okay too. But please don’t take this away from me. Please let me have this. Please. I promise you won’t have to see it, but please give it back to me. It’s mine, and it’s all I have, and I just—I want it. Please. I want it, I want it, I need it. Okay, I need it. I—”

  Lips pressed against his own, pushing them back against his teeth. He was shaking, and his face was wet, and everything hurt, but he was being kissed, kissed, kissed. It wasn’t romantic, and it wasn’t sweet, but it felt like breathing, like he ached. Like he was living and dying a thousand little deaths, and he gasped against Phillip’s mouth, trying to pull away and take even more all at the same time.

  They stood there, lips together,
Phillip’s hand wrapped around his neck, holding David against him, grounding him, anchoring him back down even though he felt like he still might blow away into nothing.

  He was being kissed, but he was also still trying to speak, wanting to beg Phillip not to take this last little thing he had left, and Phillip was shushing him, telling him to settle, to calm, David, you need to breathe, just breathe, though his words were a bit hazy. And David did, after a time, breath hitching in his chest, feeling raw and hollow, like everything inside had been scraped out and laid bare.

  It went on like that. For a time.

  Phillip kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, and one of them was crying or both of them were crying, but it didn’t really matter. He was standing in this house, wearing these clothes, and he was clutching at Phillip, not daring to let him go in case he left and never came back. If this was going to be it, if this was good-bye, then he wanted to take what he could.

  Things were starting to become clear again, and he heard Phillip murmuring near his ear, saying, “You sap, you old sap, you stupid, stupid man, why are you like this? Why did we let it get this far? You stupid man. I am so angry with you. I love you so much.”

  David tightened his grip as Phillip pulled back a little. He looked at him and he could still see the man he’d been all those years ago, standing in front of an apartment door, both of them fumbling awkwardly, both of them thinking that the other was different, they were different, and something was happening here. Phillip’s eyes were wide and wet, and his bottom lip was trembling like he was holding on as best he could, like he was being brave.

  “You’re so stupid!” Phillip cried at him. “How could you be so stupid? You have this. You kept this. I thought you—I thought you didn’t want—” He growled angrily, shaking his head. He jerked one of his arms out of David’s hands, and no, no, no, please, don’t do this, please don’t—