by Roan Parrish
“Yeah.”
When we got back to Dane’s, he paused inside the front door and looked at me almost nervously.
“Have something for you,” he said. “If you want it. Not sure if you’ll be interested, but—”
“You got me something when it was your birthday?!”
He mumbled something and shrugged.
I followed him into the living room and he flicked on the light. There, in the corner by the window, where before there was nothing, now sat a small table and chair. In a coffee can were scissors, markers, an X-Acto knife, and a ruler. On the table sat glue, a stack of magazines, and a medium-sized cardboard box with a liquor distributor’s logo on the side.
I looked up at Dane and he bit his lip.
“Thought…maybe if you wanted, you could make dioramas again. You said your place didn’t have the room and—”
I cut him off by jumping on him and throwing my arms around him. It was the sweetest, kindest thing that anyone had ever done for me. The most considerate. Dane caught me and held me to him.
“Thank you,” I muttered against his neck. “This is amazing.”
And it meant that he wanted me here, didn’t it?
“I can work on them here?”
“Yeah. Thought about what you said. On the phone. How I don’t invite you. Well…you’re invited.” He set me down and stroked my cheek, brushed back my hair. “Bet you have lots of ideas if you give it a try.”
His belief in me was as satisfying as his desire to have me around. I fell asleep that night dreaming of what I might make first.
* * *
—
Over the next week, I went to Dane’s nearly every night after work. The days when he went right to the gym and the grocery store after his meeting, I’d let myself in with the key he kept under the mat. I was scandalized at how dangerous that seemed, but Dane just shrugged, reminded me his was the only apartment above the bar, and squared his shoulders as if he couldn’t imagine anyone daring to transgress his brute strength and intimidation, which I found both charming and exasperating.
I liked it best when I got there and he was cooking dinner and listening to a podcast. He’d tug me against his side for a quick squeeze as he chopped or sautéed.
One day, he’d been listening to a podcast about Ada Lovelace and the birth of the computer, and I started sketching ideas for a display I’d make if a museum were doing an exhibit on her. How I’d lay out the pieces of the story so that the information was encountered in the right order, but the whole exhibit could be moved through in other ways too. Before I finished planning that one, Dane put on a podcast about the Hells Angels at Altamont, and my mind began to wander in that direction, my sketches following.
By the end of the week, I’d sketched four different ideas for exhibits based on the metric ton of information that had been delivered to my brain secondhand and had yet to decide which I’d turn into a diorama.
“You really must know everything,” I said at dinner, low-key sulking about my indecision and lack of progress. “You listen to podcasts about literally everything. No wonder you win Quizzo.”
Dane winked at me, unbothered by my grouchiness. “Yup. I know everything, so you should always listen to me.”
“I do listen to you,” I grumbled.
Dane tugged my chair closer to his and ran a soothing hand up and down my back.
“The diorama stuff was supposed to be fun,” he said softly. “Didn’t mean for it to stress you out.”
I shook my head. “It is fun,” I insisted.
“Yeah,” he snorted. “Seems like you’re having a blast.”
I sighed but couldn’t argue. It was stressing me out. What had once been fun and exciting had turned into the spit I used to roast myself for feeling like I was failing. It wasn’t Dane’s fault, though. It was all on me.
“You talked to Sofia lately?” he asked softly, still stroking my back, pressing a little harder on either side of my spine in a way that made me purr.
“Mm-hmm, this afternoon on my break. She leaves in a week.”
My heart started pounding as I said it. Sofia had only been home a few nights over the last couple weeks, and only two of them had been nights that I’d been home too. It had almost felt strange to encounter her there.
Even so, I was dreading her leaving. I hated the idea of her being in a whole different state than me. What if something went wrong? What if she needed me and I wasn’t there?
I buried my face in Dane’s neck.
“You gonna spend some time with her before she leaves?” he asked gently.
“If she even wants to see me,” I said, sounding bitter and petty even to myself. I hated that I felt this way. “Ugh, just tell me to shut up, please. I sound like a whiny asshole.”
Dane squeezed me tighter.
“You don’t sound like a whiny asshole. Sounds like she takes for granted that you’ll be there when she needs you but never thinks to check what you need.”
That caught me off-guard.
“Huh?”
Dane eyed me evenly.
“I know she’s your sister and your best friend. But she’s being selfish.”
“She’s not selfish,” I insisted, leaning away from him. “This is all so new for her, and she’s really busy.”
“I’m sure.”
“And—and it’s a lot of pressure on her, as the new person in the band.”
“Yeah.”
“It would take so much time to come home every night and then go back there in the morning, and it’s not like she has to be home to take care of me or anything. So I get why she stays over.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“So, so, so she’s not selfish,” I concluded, arms crossed over my chest and glaring at Dane.
His expression was neutral, but there was something in his eyes that made my breath catch. Pity or sympathy, or something else quiet and kind that hurt just a little.
He said softly, “And does knowing that all those things might be true make you feel better about not seeing her?”
I blinked at him as his words settled into me. The habit of defending Sofia, of identifying with her, was ingrained. I just hadn’t thought I’d be defending her to myself.
I had to look away from Dane’s intense eyes.
“I…No. It doesn’t.”
Chapter 9
Huey
I lurched awake in the predawn light from a nightmare where I had relapsed.
I took a cold shower, did a hundred push-ups; I made breakfast, did a hundred crunches; I ate breakfast, did a hundred pushups. There was an itch beneath my skin. A raw ache like when I overdid it at the gym—muscle and sinew pushed beyond their previous limit—but inside.
Felix hadn’t stayed the night.
At my morning meeting everyone looked younger or older than usual, the kids just beginning their struggle and people who’d been struggling for decades.
Once, meetings had made me feel calm and centered. Then, they’d become a habit, like going to the gym. Lately, though, they sunk me into a draining exhaustion that no amount of rest would touch.
Where once I could listen to attendees and sponsees and hold their pain and struggle locked inside, thinking only of how to help, lately everything was leaking. Lately, I was…feeling things.
Vicki, the doyenne of this meeting, greeted me at the coffee urn as everyone was leaving and asked how Morgan was doing. She was the one who had suggested I’d be a good fit for them.
The night I’d canceled with Felix, Morgan had tried to get into the hospital to see their mom, but their older sister had told the hospital staff not to let them in. It had turned into a fight, then into Morgan getting kicked out by security. By the time I got to them, they were pacing ma
nically in front of the hospital, desperate for relief from the pain of rejection.
“They’re staying with Helen for a while and have me on speed dial.”
“Well, if you’re supporting them, then they’ve got the best person on their side,” she said, and patted my arm.
My heart pounded heavily in my ears and a trickle of sweat slid down my spine, soaking into my waistband. My fingertips tingled.
“Are you—” Vicki began, but my ears were ringing and her voice was tinny. I needed to get out of that fucking basement, away from the smothering, acidic scent of cheap coffee and fear.
“Sorry, gotta go,” I garbled, her hand falling away as I bolted upstairs and slammed open the door, desperate for air.
I sucked in deep, slow breaths, counting to five with each in- and exhalation, and still felt like I was going to puke. Was I getting the flu?
I fumbled out my phone and texted Morgan: Just checking in. Reply soon and let me know how it’s going.
I texted Caleb: How did the stew experiment turn out? Did Theo like it?
Nothing from Morgan, but Caleb wrote back right away: It was pretty good—thanks for the recipe. Do I really mix all my food together or was Theo just giving me shit…
You do, I wrote back. Why bother with chewing, you should just blend it up. Meatloaf and mashed potato smoothie.
You’re a disgusting human being. Just because you drink smoothies to maintain a freakish muscle mass doesn’t mean the rest of us are willing to feed like babies.
I smiled.
You liked the smoothie I made you.
He sent back, Sigh fine maybe it wasn’t terrible -_-
My breathing had steadied.
I hitched up my gym bag and walked quickly away. If I could lose myself in a hard workout, I would feel back to normal.
I waved to Monroe, a trainer at the gym, in the entryway.
“Hey, man,” he said. “Have you changed your schedule? Haven’t seen you as much lately.”
“Nah. Just missed a few workouts.”
Felix tugging me back to bed, convincing me to stay. Talking with him longer than I’d intended, until there wasn’t time left to make it to the gym before a meeting. Choosing to go to a movie with him instead of working out.
“Wow, never thought I’d see the day Inhuman Huey missed a workout. Hope she’s worth it, whoever she is.”
He winked, high-fived me, and walked into the staff room.
I pushed myself until my muscles wouldn’t cooperate anymore, sweat stinging my eyes. In the shower, I kept my eyes squeezed tightly shut and let the scalding hot water wash my effort down the drain.
Before I’d gotten a block from the gym, my phone rang, the chiming sound I’d set for my sponsees. It was Jerome, one of my newer sponsees.
My stomach lurched, the sick, clammy feeling back in full force.
For the first time, everything in me resisted answering the call. For a moment, my arm lifted, like if I threw the phone out into the street it would vanish everything it connected me to.
I pressed my hand against my stomach and answered the call.
“This is Huey.”
“Hey, man,” Jerome drawled. “How’s it going?”
“Fine. How’re you doing, Jerome?”
“Oh, you know, uh…not the best.”
“Bad day?”
“Yeah.” His voice broke. “I’m scared as fuck that I can’t do this, man. That I won’t get to see Charlotte and Claire again. Fuck.”
Charlotte and Claire were Jerome’s daughters. He wasn’t allowed to see them until he had his six-month chip. Right now he was at three months. He’d relapsed twice before that.
“What have you been doing today?” I asked. “Anything different than usual?”
“Nah. Just when I was walking home from the store I went the long way around the park and saw all the kids playing. And I just miss them so much. I miss being a dad. It’s…I was actually good at it, you know?”
“Then that’s what you need to focus on. They’re who you’re doing this for. To see them again. To be their father.”
I could hear Jerome crying and trying to hide it. I closed my eyes.
“Want some company?” I asked.
“Yeah, please. Can you?”
“Be there in an hour.”
I pressed my hand to my stomach, but there was nothing written there to hold onto.
* * *
—
Jerome answered the door looking rough. Eyelids puffy from crying, white T-shirt yellowed under the arms.
“Hey,” he said sheepishly as he held the door open for me. “Thanks. Thanks, Huey.”
“Sure.”
The rental-white paint of his studio apartment was dingy with age, and the walls were bare except for school pictures of his daughters that he’d taped over yellow water stains next to the futon.
“Want to talk?” I asked.
He sighed with his whole body.
“Honestly? I just want to play video games and not think. I just didn’t want to be alone.”
I don’t like being alone, Felix had said as he shook and cried in my arms outside Quizzo. Suddenly every cell in my body yearned for him.
“I understand,” I told Jerome. “It’s worse when you don’t feel seen. Like you could do anything, hmm?”
“Yeah. Thanks, man. I’m sorry to call you away from whatever you were doing.”
“ ’S what I’m here for.”
He sank into a cross-legged seat on a cushion on the floor and I perched on the futon.
“You wanna play?”
“Nah, I’ll just watch you.”
Hours later, I left Jerome’s apartment feeling like I had a cannonball in my stomach. It was after seven, and I’d spent all afternoon watching Jerome play his video game and talking a little. He’d insisted on feeding me despite my protests, so the cardboard-tasting frozen pizza that I’d choked down only added to the cannonball.
As I walked toward home, I breathed deeply, trying to get the sourness of his apartment out of my nose, but the air just smelled like car exhaust and sauerkraut and piss.
I turned around and headed to the subway instead.
* * *
—
I’d only been to Felix’s apartment once, when we stopped in so he could get some clothes. Someone leaving the building held the door for me and I made my way to the fifth floor. My tread on the polished cement steps echoed eerily and the bare bulbs in the stairwell flickered. I cleared my throat and it sounded like a shotgun.
There was a welcome mat outside Felix’s apartment that said Please Wipe Your Paws, which the previous tenants had left when they moved out.
Felix opened the door wearing pajamas, his hair in a high ponytail. He smiled, clearly surprised to see me, and joy hit me so physically I almost staggered backward.
“Hi!” Then he looked at me and his nose did that adorable wrinkle thing. “Come in.” He took my hand and tugged me inside. Then he took a good look at me and said, “What’s wrong?”
He pushed me onto the dingy brown couch and put his hands on my shoulders. I buried my face in his chest and wrapped my arms around him.
“Baby,” he said, “what’s wrong?”
I pressed my ear close enough to hear his heartbeat and breathed in the sweet, clean smell of his skin.
“Wanted to see you. Hope it’s okay I showed up without calling.”
“Yeah, of course. Do you want some food? It’s just mac and cheese with black beans mixed in, but it’s not bad.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, less out of hunger and more to give myself a chance to gather my thoughts.
Felix and Sofia’s apartment was in a boxy postwar bui
lding with cheaply plastered walls and floors that were parquet in the living room and linoleum tile in the kitchen. They’d decorated it in cheery bright colors that came from a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs, thrifted finds, and things that were left behind when students moved out of the dorms on the campus where Sofia worked.
The brown couch was ugly but comfortable and had throw pillows with sequin suns on them. There was a floor lamp draped in gauzy scarves, a jumble of small plants shoved in the south-facing window, and the screen that separated Felix’s bedroom space from the living room proper was painted with blackboard paint and had messages, doodles, and one picture of a vomiting unicorn scrawled on it in different colors of chalk.
Felix handed me a mound of food in a chipped orange bowl and settled next to me on the couch.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The mac and cheese with beans was actually pretty good.
“Dane.” He slid his legs over mine, a welcome weight anchoring me in the present. “You look awful. Talk to me!”
“It’s not your problem,” I said, rubbing a soothing hand along his leg.
“So, what, it’s okay for me to tell you my stuff because you think I can’t handle it myself, but you play all noble and I don’t want to burden you and I can take it? That makes me feel pretty shitty, you know.”
His jaw was set and his brows drawn together in anger, but his eyes were hurt.
I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. “Sorry.”
I could listen to other people spill their intimate truths all day long, but voicing any of my own made me nauseated. I shoved the bowl onto the table. The words were stuck in my throat and no matter how I tried, I couldn’t dislodge them. Or maybe that was the mac and cheese.
“Keep your eyes closed, okay?”
Felix’s voice was soft, and he brushed my eyelids with his fingertips.
“Don’t think about it. Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind. Now,” he added when I said nothing.
“I— How do you know if you’re a good enough person?”
My voice was strangled. I heard Felix’s intake of breath and started to open my eyes, but he put a gentle hand over them.