by TJ Klune
“I don’t—probably now? It’s just, I drove, and I probably shouldn’t—”
Matteo was already nodding and moving toward the register. David glanced over his shoulder to see the same hostess from before taking Phillip’s jacket and terrible scarf, giving the same promises she’d given David earlier, telling him that she’d be right back with some menus and then she’d seat them.
David turned back toward the bar. Matteo and a receipt were in front of him. “Oh,” David said. “Thank you. Thanks—I—” He reached for his wallet, grimacing slightly as his finger bent at an odd angle before it closed on the wallet. He pulled it out, flipping it open, grabbing the first card he saw. He set it on top of the receipt without looking at the charge. Matteo grinned at him, snapping them both up and turning back toward the register.
Phillip was still behind him, the hostess gone. He was running a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. He looked ridiculous, hair stuck up all over, his purple Chucks with the blue laces. David thought it was one of the nicest sights he’d ever seen. Phillip looked—he was a year older than David but looked far younger. It’d always been that way.
“Sign this copy for me,” Matteo said, and David turned back around, a pen being placed in his hand. He looked up at Matteo, then back down. He signed his name, a messy scrawl that probably wasn’t intelligible to anyone. There was a line for a tip. He put down twenty before setting the pen back down.
“Thank you,” he said seriously. “Thank you for—” David didn’t know how to finish that.
“Of course,” Matteo said, he of the eye-crinkles. “It’s what I’m here for. Here’s your copy. Make sure you don’t throw it away before taking a look at it.”
That—he didn’t know what that meant. Why would it be any different? It wasn’t as if—he picked it up. It crumpled a little in his hand. He opened his mouth, but then from behind him, the hostess said, “If you’re ready, you can follow me.”
David picked up his phone and his bourbon, the receipt getting a little wet in the process, before nodding at Matteo and turning back around.
Phillip was grinning now, that grin that said he knew something David didn’t. David used to both love and loathe that look all at the same time, because it usually meant he’d missed something important, something obvious.
“What?” he asked, trying not to scowl.
Phillip shook his head. “Oh, buddy. Never change.”
David didn’t know what to do with that, so he nodded at the hostess. She smiled her little bubble-gum and candy-heart smile at them, ponytail bouncing as she began to lead them through the restaurant. Phillip walked behind her and David behind him, and he tried not to think of all the staycations they’d had here when they’d done just this, Phillip wearing his silly shoes and David following him like he was on a leash. It was hard, though. Sure, the restaurant had changed a few times over the years and it certainly didn’t look like it had when they’d first started coming here, but the basics of it were the same. The bar, the tables, the people already seated, murmuring to each other, forks and knives scraping against plates. To the right, a harried woman wiped the mouth of a cranky toddler. To the left, a man was laughing a little too loudly, his face flushed. David knew that look well. Been there before, my friend, he thought.
The table the hostess stopped at wasn’t one of the secluded ones toward the back. They could have asked for it if they wanted to, but David was unsure of what this was, unsure why Phillip had said I want to see you. Those back tables were for staycations and whispered conversations, hands held under tables as if they were really fooling anyone, the remains of an appetizer or their dinner out before them. They took their time at those tables, never in a rush, knowing the night stretched out before them, and the day after that. It was theirs and theirs alone, and maybe she’d call. Maybe Alice would call, and he’d always answer, no matter what, but it would be short. Always it would be short.
Because she knew.
She knew what they were doing.
The hostess waited until they sat down before she handed Phillip his menu first, much to David’s amusement.
(“They always give it to me first,” he’d said once. “I know they’re supposed to give it to women first, but why me? Why can’t they ever give it to you?”
“My shoulders are broader than yours,” he’d teased, and how they’d laughed at that.)
Phillip saw David’s smile and rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that David couldn’t quite make out but could take a good guess at.
The hostess, of course, knew nothing of this. “Your server tonight will be Melissa,” she announced as if it were the most important thing in the world. “She is going to take such good care of you. And let us know if you need anything.”
Then came that candy smile, the bob of the ponytail as she whirled around and headed back toward the front.
“Some things never change,” Phillip muttered.
“We’re older now,” David said, trying for levity but not sure how successful he was.
“Really,” Phillip said dryly. “You don’t say. I couldn’t tell by the crow’s feet I see in the mirror every morning.”
What he wanted to say to that was You look better than you ever have, but what he actually said was “Yeah. I think the same thing.”
“Did you do what your boy at the bar asked you to?” Phillip asked, lips quirking as he looked over the menu. “Seemed important.”
David flushed at that. “He’s not my boy—what the hell. He didn’t ask me to do anything.”
“Maybe you should check out that receipt.”
David was confused, because here they were, finally, and they were talking, actually holding a conversation, and they were talking about the bartender of all things. “I don’t—” He frowned and looked down at the bourbon. The receipt was wrapped around it, sticking to the sides. He carefully peeled it off, and there it was, written in jagged, clipped letters.
CALL ME IF YOU WANT
MATTEO xx
A phone number was underneath.
“What the fuck,” David said faintly.
Phillip snorted in that way he did when he found something really funny but was trying not to laugh. He cleared his throat, shook his head. Snorted again. And then he giggled, just a little, breath huffing out his nose in a staccato beat.
“He was hitting on me,” David said, as if Phillip didn’t get it.
“You clearly made an impression, buddy,” Phillip said. “He’s probably looking for a well-to-do older man, and you fit that bill to a—”
“What the hell,” David hissed, dropping the receipt as if it’d scalded him. “That’s not even—why would he do that?”
“Oh boy,” Phillip said, finally looking up. “If I have to explain it to you, then I must have been doing it wrong all these years.”
There it was. The first reference to them. David swallowed thickly, trying not to make it more than it actually was. Phillip had just thrown it out there, an off-handed thing, but it was there. An oblique allusion to a shared history that neither one of them could ignore. But Phillip hadn’t obviously meant anything by it other than what it was, so David tried to let it go as quickly as possible.
“I’m not going to—” He started. Then, “It wasn’t anything. I don’t want to call him.”
Phillip flipped to the next page, cool as ever. It was maddening. “And why is that?”
“Why? He looks like he’s in college.”
“Well, you know what they say about the stamina of college boys.”
“Jesus. I don’t care about the stamina of college boys.”
“They sure seem to care about you. He’s probably one of those macho studs asserting their masculinity but when you get them in the bedroom, their face is in the pillow, ass in the air, and they’re just begging to be fucked. I wonder how fresh the swordfish is.”
David almost slapped the menu right out of Phillip’s hands. “You can’t just—
”
“Hi!” a woman said, appearing beside the table like it was the greatest joy of her life. “My name is Melissa, and I’ll be your server tonight. How are we, gentlemen?” Another bubbly college student, bright and peppy. She was tall and curvy, her skin dark and lovely. Her hair was tied back, a loose strand curling near her ear.
“Oh, we’re fine, dear,” Phillip said, affecting a casual air. He squinted up at her. “Just catching David here up on the birds and the bees.”
Melissa didn’t know what to make of that, but she powered through it. “That’s great. Have you either of you been here before?”
“Many times,” Phillip assured her. He wasn’t exactly effeminate, but he did have the slightest of lisps, and he moved his hands more often than not when he spoke. “I’d like a glass of your petite sirah, if you please.”
She nodded and looked at David. “And for you, sir?”
“I have a drink.”
“Great!” she said again, clapping her hands together. “I’ll be back with the wine momentarily. If there is anything you need, again, my name is Melissa.” She smiled at the both of them before turning away and disappearing just as quickly as she’d come.
“I’ll probably get the swordfish,” Phillip announced, closing the menu. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had—”
“I’m not calling him.”
“I didn’t ask if you were.”
“I know, just—I’m not. I don’t want… that. I don’t like that.”
Phillip arched an eyebrow at him, because of course he could also do something that David couldn’t. “You seem to be putting up an awfully big fight about it.”
David scowled at him. “I am not.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Phillip went back to the menu, even though he’d said he’d wanted the swordfish. It was awkward, the silence that came between them, awkward in a way it had never been when they’d come here before. It felt wrong, somehow, because this was supposed to be their place, their staycation, and they had laughed here, hadn’t they? They’d laughed here in the corner, sitting far too close to each other, never really talking about anything serious. There had always been a heat to their words, but it’d been a lazy thing, both of them knowing they could drag it out all night if they wanted to. Even after all these years, it was still there. Maybe it didn’t burn as bright as it had when they were younger, when everything was bold and exciting and new, but it’d given way to something more, something familiar and beloved.
When was the last time they’d been here? It’d been… before. Before March of 2012. David thought back as he picked up the menu, not really reading the words, the bourbon twisting sourly in his stomach. He wished he’d eaten something earlier, but he’d been too nervous, unsure of what Phillip had meant by I want to see you.
So it’d been before. David turned away from the wine list to the appetizers and decided it would have been October. October 2011. Right? Hadn’t that been right? He thought it was. There’d been Halloween decorations up, and David had just finished editing a rather long and arduous history textbook for a midlevel college course, something that had taken a month longer than he’d expected it to. The deadline had been extended a couple of times, and finally, he’d sat down for what felt like a week straight, working until he was done. That had been the first week in October.
Alice had kissed him on the cheek, telling him she was proud of him.
He’d texted Phillip to let him know.
Staycation? Phillip had texted back. You deserve it. And I’ve missed you.
Yeah. He had too. He’d been so busy that he hadn’t had time for anything else.
Yes please, he’d written back.
Good, came the reply.
It’d taken a couple of weeks of planning, but they’d gotten away Friday and Saturday and Sunday, and it was exactly what he’d needed. His bones were weary, and he’d been almost too tired for anything, but then Phillip had put his hand on David’s thigh under the table and squeezed, leaning over to whisper such filthy things in his ear, things he wanted to do to David, that he had wanted David to do to him. Maybe the fire hadn’t burned as brightly between them like it had when they were younger, but David had preferred it this way over anything else. This had been what he’d wanted. This Phillip, the one with lines around his eyes and mouth, a hint of gray in his hair and in the stubble on his face when he didn’t shave for a day or three.
When they’d left that Sunday morning, David had felt better than he’d had for a long time.
And then the holidays came, Thanksgiving and Christmas, and there just hadn’t been time to get away, not with all the familial obligations. And that had been okay too, because they’d still all been together, like they wanted to be.
And then came March 22, 2012. It’d been a Thursday.
It’d been a Thursday, and David’s phone had rung at three thirty-seven in the afternoon, and he’d—
His hands tightened on the menu.
No. Not now. He couldn’t do that now. Not when—
“Find something you wanted?” Phillip asked.
David looked up, sure his face was a little pale, covering up by coughing into his hand. “I don’t know,” he said, sounding a little creaky. “Probably just get the same as usual.”
“The cod.”
He nodded. “I like it, providing they haven’t changed the recipe since—”
And there it was. The second reference. Granted, Phillip had started it even before they’d gotten here by suggesting this place to begin with, but still. It was out there, and David didn’t know how to take it back. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take it back. Wasn’t it easier to just acknowledge it? They had come here before. They had come here for years. For their little staycations. He didn’t think Phillip was being cruel; no, he was sure the man across from him didn’t have a mean bone in his entire body. That could have changed. People changed over time. What’s to say Phillip hadn’t?
But David didn’t think that was it. Phillip wouldn’t do that to him, no matter what had happened between them.
“It’s been a while,” Phillip said lightly, and David almost sagged in relief. “They might have changed it, and you know how picky you are when it comes to cod.”
So they weren’t going to ignore it. They were going to acknowledge it. Maybe they were even going to revel in it.
David gave thought to standing up and leaving. Of not looking back. Of taking the coward’s way out and going home, locking the door behind him before he crawled up the stairs in an apartment he’d lived in alone for almost two years, haunted by the things he couldn’t undo, the people he couldn’t forget.
But he didn’t. Instead, he said, “I am not that picky.”
“Please,” Phillip said with a haughty sniff. “You’re a snob, and you know it. Why, don’t you remember that seafood place in the Keys? I thought the owner was going to club you over the head.”
“Seafood place,” he said derisively. “It was a shack.”
“Still, the cod.”
“It smelled off.”
“It smelled fine.”
“You just couldn’t smell it like I could.”
“Oh that’s right,” Phillip said, lowering the menu like he was laying down his shield. “I’d forgotten. You’re the connoisseur of cod.”
“And what happened when I told you the same thing about your shrimp?”
“I ate it anyway.”
“And?”
“Spent the rest of the night on the toilet,” Phillip admitted. “Wasn’t sure which end was worse off.”
“He wasn’t wearing a hairnet.”
“I think that was probably the least of our problems if I’m being honest. Ah, well. Some good came of it. I lost five pounds and the taste for shrimp.”
It wasn’t until David opened his mouth to say, you didn’t need to lose five pounds, you were as thin as a whisper, that it hit him then just how dangerous that was. How dangerou
s all of this was starting to be. They were reminiscing. They’d been in each other’s company for five, six, seven minutes, and they were already reminiscing. He was chilled at the thought. His skin felt too tight, like it was stretched to the point where it’d tear at any given moment. He didn’t expect this, how easy it would be to fall back into old habits, this bantering back and forth like the past six years hadn’t happened, like everything was fine and they were just on a staycation.
He hadn’t expected this.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.
He hadn’t understood how much this terrified him.
That he’d screw everything up more than he already had.
So, yes. This was dangerous.
And David was wary now. His therapist, the few times he’d gone to see her (“You can call me Debbie,” she’d said the first time they’d met. “Just Debbie, and I’m here for you, David, okay? This is a big step and I am here for you.”) had told him that he wasn’t a person anymore, that he’d pulled away from living, hiding behind an impenetrable armor meant more to shield him from the world than to protect him. “You’re a knight,” she said, a rueful grin on her face. “But a lonely one.”
He’d scoffed at her, sure. Because therapy was for nutjobs, right? Crazy people. People who were losing their minds. David had never been saner, and that was his biggest problem. He could see things with such startling clarity that it hurt. He wasn’t asleep. He’d never been more awake. And if he needed to shield himself, well. No one could blame him, could they? Anyone in his position would have done the same.
It was fine.
Her office had called three times after he skipped that last appointment.
Left three voice mails.
He’d deleted them all without listening to them.
He was fine.
Except now his armor was in danger of cracking, like it was an old, rusted thing that had stood strong all these past years but was finally starting to break.
All because of cod and shrimp and a seafood shack in the Keys.
His fingers tightened on the menu.
He looked down, forcing himself to focus on the words.