Love and Other Hot Beverages

by Laurie Loft

  Sebby bit his lip. Todd was staying? He couldn’t quite grasp it. “Need and love aren’t the same thing. We like to think they are, but they’re not. If you’re staying because . . . of me, that’s one thing, but . . .”

  Todd’s eyes opened and searched Sebby’s face. “I am not the most prudent prune in the prune jar. Nor are my decisions often reasoned or well-thought-out. But I can’t leave, not now. I don’t promise anything; I can’t. Shit. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

  Sebby drew a deep and shuddering breath, and some feeling returned to his limbs. “I don’t expect promises. We’ve had a rough night; let’s leave it, for now, Toddfox. What do you want for lunch?”

  “I’m still in love with Vivian,” Todd said. “I can’t see myself ever not being so.”

  Holly groaned. “Todd-o. Are you thinking about going back to New York?”

  “I miss him terribly. And I worry about him constantly.” He paused. “But no.”

  “Well, okay, then. Give it time. Oh, guess what? I got a gig! At a dinner theater! Sweeney Todd!”

  “Ha, really? Will they be serving meat pies?”

  Sebby gave Todd his own key, and Todd came and went as he pleased. He hung his good clothes beside Sebby’s, and his work clothes took up a dresser drawer. A razor and toothbrush found their way into the bath. His books were quietly filed away on Sebby’s shelves. Long summer days shortened imperceptibly as fall approached.

  To Todd, Sebby’s home was a comfort, a refuge. He wasn’t sure how Sebby felt about it. Todd didn’t ask, and Sebby didn’t say.

  The day of the baseball game arrived. Ryan hopped as they emerged from the dark tunnel into the stadium proper, while Christopher feigned indifference, eyeing the crowd with a bored eye. They found their seats, Christopher and Ryan together between Sebby and Todd.

  Ryan and Christopher pored over the program, and Todd’s and Sebby’s eyes met over their bent heads. Sebby gave a smile of rare sweetness, and Todd was filled with that warmth and belonging of having a family.

  Lloyd had included spending money in his olive branch package, and they spent it: nachos, popcorn, hot dogs, coffee for Todd, beer for Sebby, and liters of pop for the two boys. The game progressed, and Christopher by impatient bits relayed the rules of baseball to Sebby, who did not even know what an inning was. Each time Christopher took it upon himself to explain some blow of the game, Ryan looked away or buried his nose in his program.

  “Ryan, do you want one of those?” Sebby asked, noting his admiration of a giant foam finger. “I’ll get you one.”

  Ryan glanced at him sidelong and leaned closer to Todd. “No, thank you.”

  Todd saw Sebby’s smile falter and tried to communicate with his eyes that Sebby shouldn’t take the snub to heart. He leaned over to breathe into Ryan’s ear, “You don’t have to hurt his feelings.”

  “What?” Ryan shouted, forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

  Sebby yelled at Todd, “I have to piss!” and with a jerk of his chin indicated that Todd was to accompany him.

  “Yeah, okay, me too. Don’t leave your brother!” he ordered, and both boys nodded. Out of the sunshine and into the cool, concrete darkness, Todd followed Sebby to the nearest restroom. Men jostled each other in line for the urinals and discussed the game.

  “Ryan hates me!” Sebby wailed.

  “He does not hate you. He’ll get over it.” Ahead of them a man about their own age lifted his young son to help him reach the urinal.

  “Get over what? Why does he hate me?” Sebby’s expression was so distressed, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his forehead creased between his eyebrows, that Todd couldn’t help chuckling.

  “You, cielito lindo, are not accustomed to people taking a dislike to you, are you?” Todd watched as the father lifted his son again to help him wash his hands.

  “But whyyy? What’d I do?”

  “You hit his favorite uncle. C’est tout.”

  Sebby digested this in silence as they reached the front of the line and took care of business. They washed their hands, and Sebby glared at Todd in the mirror. “You deserved it.”

  “I told him that, or something to that effect.” Todd ripped out a handful of towels and passed some to Sebby. Sebby accepted the towels and dried his hands, staring at them unblinking as he blotted between his fingers, patted his wrists, his palms, the backs of his hands.

  “You think you deserved to be hit?”

  “Weeell, you can’t call that a hit. More of a love tap. Come on, let us away.” Todd put his hand on Sebby’s elbow.

  “Ryan’s right to hate me. ¡Mierda! Lovers shouldn’t hit each other.” Sebby blinked rapidly, and Todd moved closer, sliding his hand from Sebby’s elbow to rub his back.

  “You were overwrought. You slapped my face. It didn’t even leave a mark. It’s not as if you broke my arm or anything.” As soon as the words slipped out, Todd regretted them. If severing his tongue would have taken the words back, he’d have bitten down and swallowed the blood.

  Sebby didn’t seem bothered by the reference. He tossed the towels in the wastebasket. “It’s a matter of degrees, yes? I can hit you as long as I don’t leave a mark.” He hurried from the restroom, Todd trailing behind.

  “I don’t say that hitting . . . That wasn’t even hitting. It was a slap, and, true, I would say that, in general, slapping one’s lover is a bad idea. However, when said lover has frightened one nearly to death with—”

  Sebby rounded on Todd, who came to an abrupt halt. “You can always justify it, you can justify anything. I need to apologize to Ryan.” He turned again on his heel and marched off through the press of the crowd.

  “Right, then.” Todd hurried to catch up and once again took hold of Sebby’s elbow. “Why don’t you begin by apologizing to me, and I will speak to Ryan?”

  Sebby stopped. His eyebrows arched. “So you do think you deserve an apology?”

  “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” Todd quipped.

  Sebby rolled his eyes and shook off Todd’s hold, continuing along the concrete walkway, Todd pursuing, till they reached the turn and began ascending the ramp into the daylight. It occurred to Todd that he had once again unwittingly used the word love, and his insides twisted.

  “Sebby. Sebby!” Todd called, and Sebby stopped, turning to him with arms folded and a hostile expression on his face. “If an apology would make you feel better, have at it. I, myself, do not require one of you. I— You didn’t hurt me. In point of fact, it was I who hurt you.”

  Sebby’s expression did not change. “It didn’t hurt you when I hit you?”

  “Honestly, no. I would’ve forgotten it, had Ryan not returned my attention to it.” Sebby’s gaze intensified, and Todd realized that, somehow, he’d said the wrong thing. “It stung, it sobered me, rather. It made me realize how much I had worried you. I—” But Sebby had spun on his heel again and walked off, and Todd hurried to follow.

  They reached their row and began to edge in past the other spectators. “I’m going to talk to Ryan,” Sebby said over his shoulder.

  “Sweetheart, don’t do that. Let me talk to him.”

  “You don’t even understand the situation. You’ll just make him think it’s okay to hit and be hit. And then someday if someone hits him, he’ll think it’s okay.”

  “Sebby, for God’s sake, you’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

  Sebby, who was smaller and nimbler, wove his way down the row more quickly than Todd, who excused himself as he stepped on toes or kicked shins.

  “Stop!” he bellowed, and Sebby turned as he reached his seat and faced Todd, lips pressed in a thin, determined line. Christopher and Ryan looked up at the two of them as Todd grasped Sebby’s arm. “No.”

  Sebby’s eyebrows arched. “No?”

  Todd was firm. “I said ‘no.’” Their eyes locked. Todd’s heart trembled with the effort, but it was Sebby who first lowered his gaze and dropped into his seat. Todd let go a sigh
. “Move down,” he said to Christopher, and the two boys obeyed so that Todd could take Christopher’s seat next to Sebby.

  Drawing Sebby’s hand into his lap, Todd leaned to press his mouth to Sebby’s ear while Sebby stared straight ahead, as if baseball were fascinating. “You’ll make him more uncomfortable, don’t you see? Sebby, sweetheart, darling of my eyes, he’s eleven. The last thing he wants is a heart-to-heart from his uncle’s boyfriend about lovers hitting one another. Jesus.” Sebby’s head bowed, his chin drooped. Todd squeezed the limp hand, massaged the fingers. “Let him warm up to you in his own way. I promise he will.” Sebby nodded, his expression defeated. “Come to the house after the game. Make a fuss over Ryan’s puppy. That’s a sure way into his good graces.”

  Around them, the crowd rose to its feet, roaring, a giant, many-limbed thing intent on victory. Todd and Sebby were alone, and in that moment when all eyes were on the field, Todd briefly pressed his lips to Sebby’s before springing up and pulling Sebby with him, throwing their joined hands in the air and shouting.

  Sebby said something. Todd leaned close to hear, and Sebby repeated, “Double play. We’re at bat again.” And Todd laughed out loud that Sebby should have learned baseball so fast. “I was watching,” said Sebby.

  The Rockies proved victorious, and the jubilant crowd ebbed and flowed its way toward the exits. Todd led the way, and Sebby brought up the rear. “Do you want to sit up front, Ryan?” Sebby asked.

  “Yeah! Shotgun!” Ryan leaped in an effort to slap a hanging sign as they passed under a low archway, missing it by at least a foot. Christopher jumped and brushed the sign with his fingertips.

  “I should get shotgun. My legs are longer,” Christopher grumbled.

  “Yeah, but I wanted to ask you about batting averages.” Sebby tapped his finger on the program. “What is it an average of? I mean, what numbers are they averaging?”

  Christopher slowed his steps in order to peer at the tiny numbers. “It’s, like, their at bats and their hits, like, divided or something. Like, 0.300 or higher is good.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an average.”

  Todd could hear the frown in Sebby’s voice, and he smiled to himself.

  Christopher continued. “Yeah, no, it’s not really. It’s—we learned it in algebra—it’s . . . what-do-you-call-it, when there’s like two dots between the numbers, and you say ‘to,’ like ‘two dot dot three,’ but you say ‘two to three,’ and it’s like really a fraction, like it would be two thirds, kind of.”

  “A ratio. Ohhh. That makes more sense.” As they reached the parking area, Sebby went on explaining to Christopher what a ratio was meant to express, and Christopher explained to him how batting averages were important in baseball. Sebby had discovered the joys of sports statistics. Taking advantage of their preoccupation, Todd turned to take Ryan’s arm and pulled him forward.

  “Ryan, my lad.” He wondered how to broach the subject.

  “That was fun, Uncle Todd!” Ryan skip-hopped and, spotting the car, ran ahead.

  “Watch the traffic!” Todd shouted, taking off after him through the parking lanes and catching up at the car’s bumper. “Jesus. Don’t do that. Another close call is all I need, nevvy, to be forever banned from your presence.”

  “That wasn’t close.”

  “Ryan, ah. I want to talk to you about something . . .” Todd glanced behind them to make sure of Sebby and Christopher, but he couldn’t spot them through the hordes of sports spectators.

  “Okay.”

  “Sebby is, well, important to me, and I don’t like seeing his feelings hurt.”

  Ryan gazed at him, jaw slack and eyes wide. “Who hurt his feelings?”

  Todd lowered his eyeglasses in order to give Ryan an over-the-spectacles piercing stare. “You know very well who.”

  Ryan gulped. “You mean me?” Pleased at the success of his intimidation tactic, Todd frowned, folded his arms, and nodded. Ryan kicked at the car’s tire. “Well, I don’t like him.”

  Todd gaped and considered how to respond. “I don’t require that you like him, Ryan. But I do require that you are cordial and respectful. Keep in mind that I care for him. If you care for me, you won’t want to hurt his feelings.” He thought that sounded awfully damned good.

  “What about me?” Ryan burst out. “He hurt my feelings, and he hurt your feelings, and I don’t like him!” He turned his back on Todd and stomped to the passenger door. “Unlock it!” Ryan jerked on the door handle.

  “Why, Ryan!” Todd exclaimed. At that moment, Sebby and Christopher approached, deep in numeric discussion. Todd pressed the remote unlock and hissed, “Be nice.” Ryan’s eyebrows remained pulled down over his eyes. He yanked the door open and plopped into his seat, crossing his arms and glaring at the glove compartment, kicking his toe at the car’s interior. Sebby and Christopher climbed in behind.

  “Safety belts!” Todd announced. When Ryan didn’t move to obey, Todd realized that this was a challenge to his authority. “Ryan, please. I cannot in good conscience operate this vehicle unless all passengers are secured.”

  “Put on your seat belt, dumbass.” Christopher smacked the back of Ryan’s head with the heel of his hand. Ryan’s head flew forward, and he yelled.

  “Dios mío, don’t hit your brother!” Sebby said in tones that proclaimed he could not believe such things occurred, brothers hitting one another.

  “Don’t you talk about hitting!” Ryan said. “You . . . hitter!”

  “Oh dear.” It was Sebby’s voice, and Todd cranked full around in his seat to see that Sebby sat still, regarding Ryan with big eyes. Slowly, those eyes turned to Todd, his mouth opened and closed, and he swallowed. Todd could see the words wanting to rush out, but Sebby was deferring to him. Todd was of half a mind to submit Ryan to Sebby’s lecture; it was no more than he deserved.

  “Shut up, retard!” Christopher hit Ryan again, on the side of his head this time, as Ryan had turned to glare at Sebby. With a cry of rage, Ryan launched himself at Christopher, and the two locked in one brotherly jumble of pummeling. Sebby and Todd both reached to intervene, Sebby wincing at the blows the boys landed on each other, and Todd grasping Ryan around the waist and pulling him back to his seat.

  This is what it means to have a family, he thought sourly.

  “Boys!” Sebby cried, but he stopped. Sebby had no brothers and thus had no concept, as Todd did, of the rough-and-tumble violence that is brotherhood. Both boys sat, breathing hard, Christopher’s face flushed and angry, Ryan’s twisted in a desperate effort to keep tears at bay.

  “Right, then. Thank you for putting the perfect cap on this marvelous outing,” said Todd.

  “Retard,” Christopher muttered under his breath.

  Todd rested a restraining hand on Ryan’s leg. “You can hardly claim surprise, Christopher, when your brother reacts to your name-calling and head-thumping.” He drew a deep breath. “Safety belts on now!” he ordered, and was relieved to see the belts extending and hear the clicks as they locked. “As for the underlying reason for your upset, Ryan . . .” He paused. He chewed his tongue, feeling all eyes on him, though the weight of Sebby’s was heaviest of all. “What, Ryan, would make you feel better about Sebastián’s having slapped my face? A public apology? A stint in the stocks?”

  “Hit him back,” Ryan mumbled, shooting a glare at the backseat.

  “Sí, Todd, hit me back,” Sebastián murmured, and, in the rearview mirror Todd glimpsed Sebby’s long-lashed lids falling and rising in coy invitation.

  Todd slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “Ryan, I will never hit Sebby, never. Do you hear me? Never.” He eyed Sebby in the mirror, turned to stare at Ryan and then at Christopher. “Never.”

  Christopher’s eyes rolled. “God, can we go home? Ryan’s just a pissy little baby.”

  “I’m not a baby!” Ryan protested.

  “If Uncle Todd doesn’t care that he got his face smacked, why should you care? God!”

  “Maybe
Ryan wants to hit me.” Sebby leaned forward, putting his face within Ryan’s reach. “Do you, Ryan? Would you feel better then?”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said, a hard glitter in his eye as his safety belt went zinging into its retainer. The boy turned toward Sebby, raising his hand. A surprised laugh erupted from Christopher.

  “Jesus. Stop,” Todd caught Ryan’s wrist and twisted in his seat so that he could regard them all. “This is ridiculous! No one is going to hit anyone. Sebby, what’s gotten into you? What happened to violence solving nothing and not wanting Ryan to think that hitting is okay and—” He realized suddenly that Sebby had forced him into this position, the manipulative little wretch. “I give up. Have at it. But I insist that, whatever takes place, safety belts remain fastened the while.”

  Ryan buckled his belt again, eyeing Sebby and his uncle by turns. Christopher made an exaggerated aww of disappointment.

  “You’re right to be mad at me, Ryan,” Sebby said. “I shouldn’t’ve hit Todd. I’m sorry that I did. You don’t hit people that you care about, and that includes brothers.”

  “Who says I care about brothers?” Christopher kicked Ryan’s seat. “Dumbass pissy baby started it.”

  “I don’t forgive you!” Ryan shouted at Sebby, ignoring Christopher’s baiting. Todd ground his teeth, making his way through the throngs of people as the endless line of vehicles crawled toward the parking area exits.

  Sebby went on. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you. People that you care about shouldn’t hit you, it makes you feel horrible, yes? Like it’s your fault. But it isn’t, it’s their fault.”

  “It’s your fault!” Ryan shouted.

  “That’s what I say: it’s my fault.”

  Todd could keep quiet no longer. “I don’t give a good fuck whose fault it is! Drop it!”

  “I’m telling Mom you cussed,” Ryan said.