Assimilation

by James Stryker

  And it comes from you. A sense of warmth spread through Andrew’s chest as he watched Oz beside Tinks.

  The rigid hold the incident had on him loosened when the paramedics carried Tinks out on a stretcher. Andrew dropped the pool cue he’d held and followed Oz and Santino through the front door. The three of them stood together while the ambulance whirled away.

  “Who knew Chopin could be so dangerous?” Oz said it in a slow monotone, as if he were in a daze.

  “Deadly. He could’ve killed himself. If I hadn’t been holding his head, his brains would’ve been on the floor.”

  “I guess having a damaged brain is better than having one grated on a concrete floor.”

  “I think he’d disagree with you.”

  A reflective silence passed between Santino and Oz, and Andrew wondered if they’d forgotten he was still present. Or perhaps they were angry that he’d done nothing—

  “That’s how I feel sometimes.” Oz’s words were barely audible, and he stared at the ground.

  He still had that vulnerable look about him, but Andrew was reminded of his comments regarding his purposeful self-destruction. Before it hadn’t bothered him much, since then Oz had been no more than an entertaining alternate plan. Also, the brashness with which he’d said it made Andrew feel the statement was another attention-getter. But insinuating in this open moment that there were times he’d rather not exist, wrenched a piece of Andrew’s soul. He felt a panic as if the seven-foot canvas leaned forward, threatening to crush him.

  “No. Don’t leave me.” He turned to Oz and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Andrew wanted to cry, but he refused to release the tears. How would he make it alone if Oz left completely? Fifteen minutes earlier, altering the schedule of seeing his friends had felt unbearable. That temporary adjustment now seemed petty. What if Oz disappeared? What if he felt so defeated that he couldn’t take it anymore?

  There would be nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

  Being held by Oz was very different from when Robert had held him. There was something about the way Robert would almost seize him, curling his knuckles to grasp him with the tips of his fingers. It was a frantic, anguished hug, as if to prevent his Natalie from leaving him – snagging Andrew with a double barbed fish hook. Robert made him feel weak, dependent, owned.

  Oz’s embrace wasn’t one of possession. His left hand curved around Andrew’s shoulder blade, and his right rested at his mid-back. He could pull away without being snared. Andrew also felt his shoulders roll forward a little, which was something Robert had never done despite also being taller. Oz brought Andrew in, enfolding him without anxiety. Deliberate, but not desperate – a fantastic difference.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Oz said.

  They were just words. Logically meaningless. Oz could detour to Pooler on the way home, check out his gun from Red, and shoot himself. The assurance made Andrew feel better though.

  He’d had his eyes squeezed closed, first imagining worst-case scenarios of being alone, and then his mind had wandered to how comfortable it was being in Oz’s arms. How he didn’t lose track of the seconds he was touched, since he hadn’t felt the need to measure them. But with the relief from his promise to remain, Andrew opened his eyes.

  Santino was staring at him. Man with a Pipe expression again – his eyebrows looked as if they were trying to frown and rise together, causing furrows across his forehead.

  Andrew abruptly removed his arms from Oz’s neck and took a step back.

  Commence another awkward intermission.

  Santino was the first to speak: “I suppose we can now agree there are worse things than a two-hour pizza party.”

  “You smell like someone ralphed on you. Let’s also agree that you need to be hosed down like a bitch in a wet t-shirt contest.”

  “If there were a wet t-shirt contest, you wouldn’t be interested in bitches being hosed.” From his peripheral vision, Andrew saw Santino put an arm around Oz’s shoulder. He knew that Oz was looking at him, but couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

  “Just because I wouldn’t be interested in the results doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enthusiastically blast people with a high-powered water hose,” Oz said, but his tone was without its usual swagger.

  “Let’s go home.” Santino nudged Andrew forward and the three of them walked off into the night.

  Chapter 33

  In the week that separated Tinks’s attack and his return to the bar, Andrew had the reluctant outing with Robert, Shelly, Clark, and their hell-beast children.

  Putting in my time. Another inmate on the chain gang.

  But he tried to refrain from thinking of it that way. As Santino had said, obviously there were worse things than a pizza party. There was Tinks’s suffering. The potential of Robert finding out about Andrew’s lies and taking him away to CryoLife. Or Oz leaving forever, though he’d said he wouldn’t.

  While comforted at the time, the horrible thought of Oz disappearing continued to surface in Andrew’s mind, along with the other ideas that he’d been trying to riddle out for weeks. That night when Andrew finally drummed up the courage to make eye contact with Oz as he’d dropped him off at the apartment, there’d been a look of confusion on his face.

  Well, what do you want me to say? What do you want me to do? Andrew remained in the passenger seat as the car idled. Do you want me to try and explain? To hug you again? To tell you how extraordinary it felt?

  He definitely wanted something. Possibly needed something.

  “I don’t understand,” Oz said.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t either.” But Andrew reached across and touched Oz’s cheek, which he hadn’t done since the day of his haircut. Another anchor while he figured things out. “When I know, I’ll tell you.”

  He’d opened the car door, stepped out, and shut it without saying more.

  You can’t keep doing this. Think, Andrew.

  But it was hard to think. He could block out the cheesy pop music, screaming children, and inane chatter between the other adults. But it was difficult to concentrate when he could still almost feel Oz’s arms around him.

  My ear was against his face, and when he told me he wasn’t going to leave me I could both hear and feel him speak. And his breath did smell like pine trees, but the collar of his shirt was cigarettes and something fresh … Laundry detergent? Cologne? Something that made me wish I had more space in my lungs to breathe him in. It reminded me of—

  Splat.

  One of Shelly’s spawn had thrown a slice of pizza at his chest. The child hooted from across the table, pulling its feet up to squat in the chair like an ape.

  “Carter!” Shelly yelled. “You’ve stained Natty’s shirt! Look what you’ve done!”

  He is looking, you idiot. Hence the laughter. Andrew peeled the slice off and considered flinging it back.

  “Tell her you’re sorry!”

  “Sowwie.” Shelly’s children didn’t use the letter “R.” Apparently, this was viewed as cute and not stupid.

  “It’s fine.”

  “So, the new hair is starting to grow on me, Natty.” Shelly leaned across the table and Andrew tried to hide his disgust at that hideous nickname and with Shelly herself.

  He hadn’t lied to Robert about the state she was in. This engorged person looked like a snake who’d swallowed a large egg. Her appearance hadn’t bothered him when it hadn’t been so obvious. It was similar to the old feeling of looking at Oz, only instead of seeing in the bloated, reptilian Shelly what he wanted to be, she was an image of what Robert wanted for him. And while that would never happen, it was still sickening.

  “Yeah, I like it,” he said.

  “I’ve gotten used to it too, but I still prefer it longer.” Robert sat beside him. He reached over and touched a piece of Andrew’s hair, rubbing the strands between his thumb and first finger. “You’ll grow it out, won’t you?”

  “I don’t think so.” />
  “I really—”

  Splat.

  Another slice hit almost the same place as the first before dropping into Andrew’s lap. The monkey-child bounced with glee.

  “Carter! Stop it, you naughty boy!”

  “Sowwie.”

  “Rob, you men don’t understand.” Shelly slugged Clark playfully. “We have so much to do, why would we bother with hair? Natty, I bet it takes you half the time to fix it.”

  It did take less time. Hours of excruciating worry ending with a poor result had been replaced by minutes of moderate anxiety concluding in a half decent pass. He’d never go back to the long hair. Ever.

  “Well, just so you don’t think about doing that, Shell,” Clark said. “I like your hair the way it is.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to put the time I spend styling my hair into something else?”

  “You waste enough time on the internet looking at mason jars and tissue paper crafts as it is.”

  This is what you want me to be. Andrew shook his head so Robert would remove his hand. A fat milk cow that spends her days raising hellions, curling hair, and glue-gunning ribbon onto clothespins.

  What did Oz want him to be? He’d never said. He’d never insinuated. He just … was. Like he didn’t mind Andrew moving in a separate orbit.

  We spend a lot of time together already, but what would all day with you be like?

  Whenever Robert had time off from work Andrew was subjected to Oz’s constant presence. But he hadn’t become exhausted with him yet. Being around him was invigorating, since he didn’t have to put so much energy into placating the Natalie fantasy and also—

  Don’t even think about it. Andrew shot the child a glare as it raised a pizza slice. It giggled and lowered its weapon.

  “Would you like that, Nat?” Robert nudged him.

  “What?”

  “When Shell goes, like last time, they’ll drop the boys at our place.”

  “Why?”

  “So we can watch them until she and Clark come home from the hospital.”

  Shelly nodded. “You used to love when the boys would stay over. Not as much as Clark and I loved it, but …”

  When she trailed off and gave a sidelong look to her husband, Andrew felt like he threw up in his mouth.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” Robert turned to him.

  We don’t have enough fucking Benadryl.

  “There’s not enough room.” Thank God for small apartments.

  “No problem, you can stay at our house then,” Clark said. “It’d be better for the boys to not be out of their element anyway. Of course, you can bring Simon with you.”

  “Simon’s still staying with my mom for a while.”

  Shelly tipped her head. “Your mom? Natty, I thought you said he was at baseball camp.”

  “That’s where I thought he was.” Andrew shrugged.

  No one said anything, and he was about to drift back to his thoughts when Robert put an arm around him.

  “You call us to come over and watch the boys. We’ll be there whenever you need us.”

  Fuck. We’re at climbing Annapurna levels.

  “That’s great! Takes such a load off my mind that the boys will be taken care of …”

  As Shelly droned, Andrew’s attention moved away from Fat Bandit’s Pizza Shack and how he would overcome monkeysitting Shelly’s flock. There was Robert’s hand on his shoulder with the usual possessive firmness.

  But instead of beginning another count he thought of Oz touching the same shoulder, his hand flat and relaxed, gently bringing Andrew closer. The feeling simmered under Robert’s thick fingers digging into his skin. If Santino hadn’t been there with that look of worry, what could’ve happened? Would he have pulled back only to look at Oz? In doing so, would he have been able to make a solid decision about how he felt? Perhaps that’s what he needed to make up his mind – to be in that situation uninterrupted.

  The next time I see him. I’ll have some excuse, I’ll do it again, and we’ll see what happens.

  Robert’s grip eased, making it easier to imagine the hand wasn’t his.

  My temple to his shoulder and I can feel that it’s a full embrace. When Robert touches me, it’s like only the muscles in his arms are firing. But Oz wanted me close to him with everything. And it was gin and cigarettes and clean laundry on the line. Maybe I would’ve stayed there for hours. Never left, never—

  Splat.

  A third stain on what was a pristine polo. But this time—

  “Soww—”

  Andrew pulled the pizza slice off his shirt and threw it across the table.

  Splat.

  Hard. Across the child’s face before dropping onto its plate. And the sauce-covered baboon’s mouth dropped open as it screamed.

  “Sowwie” you dumb motherfucking—

  Robert’s hold tightened and he twisted Andrew to look at him. “Natalie! What’s wrong with you?” He looked across the table where Shelly was cleaning the boy’s face with a napkin between pecking its cheeks with kisses. “Is he okay? I’m sorry.”

  “He’s fine.” Clark smoothed his son’s hair and turned a harsh look to Andrew. “I don’t care what you do with your child, but don’t touch my son.”

  “I didn’t touch him. That jackass has been throwing shit at me—”

  “Watch your language, this is a family place.”

  “And you let him keep on doing it. ‘Sowwie.’ ‘Sowwie.’ ‘Sowwie.’ Fuck that.”

  “Rob, control your wife.”

  “Control your child and teach him to talk like a human being instead of a fucking—”

  When Robert stood, he drew Andrew with him so quickly that he almost fell. “We’re leaving.”

  “Good. I didn’t want—”

  “I don’t care.” Robert looped a rigid arm around Andrew. He looked over his shoulder as he propelled him out of the room, his tone milder. “I’m sorry, Clark. And Shell. Very sorry.”

  “I’m not.”

  Robert didn’t reply and pulled Andrew outside the building.

  En route to the car, Andrew regretted nailing the little crotch fungus with a pizza slice and losing his temper.

  I should’ve chucked it at Clark or Shelly. It’s not the kid’s fault they haven’t taught him to behave. He’s yet another person stuck in a shit situation. Like Simon. Like me.

  But besides the slight guilt of beaming the toddler instead of its parents, Andrew could hear Santino’s scolding in his head. He was playing with fire and had just shot a stream of lighter fluid into the flames.

  And it wasn’t only the possibility of return to CryoLife and the potential disappearance his friends had alluded to. As Robert released him once they were at the vehicle, the other more terrifying punishment jumped to mind.

  Oh, my God. This is it. That’s what he’s going to do. Throw me in the car and do it right here, right now.

  He shrank along the car door as Robert towered over him.

  “Natalie, what the hell is wrong with you? A five-year-old throws a slice of pizza, and you flip out?”

  “But you saw him. He started it. And they weren’t doing a damn thing.”

  “They were disciplining their child as they saw fit. You had no right to do that!”

  Andrew didn’t want to apologize. The only thing he’d done wrong was refraining from throwing the pizza at Clark and Shelly instead. Or in addition to. But the way Robert was looking at him and shaking conveyed that an apology was necessary to try and avoid the dire consequences Andrew feared.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. And you’ll be calling them tomorrow to apologize yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  Robert’s shoulders drooped, and Andrew released a breath he’d been holding. “I don’t understand. How are you going to get better if you don’t start … I mean, what’s so wrong with children, Nat? You used to love them. You never would’ve hurt Carter before, ever.”

>   A pizza slice to the face isn’t going to scar the cretin. Maybe he’ll learn what his parents obviously aren’t willing to teach him.

  “They make me uncomfortable, Robert. I’m sorry.”

  “Why do they make you uncomfortable?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does Simon make you uncomfortable?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Andrew shrugged. “I’m a private person and like to take a shit in peace?”

  “Natalie, the language needs to stop.” Robert let out a long exhale before looking at him. “Is this because of Michael? You’re hurting because of him?”

  “Who?”

  It occurred to him after the crushed look came into Robert’s eyes. Fuck. It’d slipped his mind. But how was he supposed to remember the infant’s name? It wasn’t around or anything.

  “Who?” Robert repeated, though not in anger. “Our baby, Nat.”

  “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

  “How could you forget? His pictures are on the walls at home, and you have a whole scrapbook full of footprints, his hospital cap, fingernail clippings and God knows what else. He’s been sitting on the shelf in our living room since you came back.”

  Andrew tried not to find it entertaining that Robert’s words made him think of a gargoyle.

  “Why are you smiling? Do you think that’s funny?” Robert snapped. “I fail to see the humor in you forgetting about our son.”

  “I know, it’s not funny.”

  “Then why were you smiling?”

  You’re an idiot, Robert. An idiot.

  But then a lie. A lovely lie that stank of Natalie:

  “I was thinking about him. I’m sorry, I miss him.”

  As he’d hoped, the Natalie stench rolled over every faux pas. It was like the humid air that levitated over a landfill. Robert was blind to his deficiencies again.

  “It’s okay, hon,” he said in his usual level voice.

  Andrew hated it, but to complete his stirring performance he allowed a hug. He used the time spent clenched in Robert’s meaty claws to continue his catalogue of what made an embrace from Oz far more desirable.

  Chapter 34