He laughed. “I’ve been debating.”
“You should keep it. It’s amazing how much stuff you still have from when we lived together.”
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
“Feels like a long time.”
“Yeah, sometimes. I need something to drink. Want something?” He pulled open the fridge. “I have—relish and, uh, bagels.”
“Much as I enjoy a good relish-bagel smoothie, I’ll just have some water.”
I started to reach for the cupboard for a glass and he said, “I packed all but one. We’ll have to share.”
So we did, passing the glass back and forth, each keeping our own side. It struck me as cute, and once again I was happy he asked me to be Best Man, even if my duties were moving boxes rather than hiring strippers.
“How do you feel about, you know, doing it again?” he said. “I realize we didn’t give you much say.”
“Living together?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s fine. You practically live there already. So I’m pretty stoked about splitting the rent three ways.”
“I don’t just mean me, though. You-know-who will be there too eventually.”
“Fletchinha?”
“Who?”
“That’s what Mateo said you should name it.”
“Fletchy-what?”
“It’s Portuguese or something.”
He smirked. “But yeah. Come winter you’ll have a third roommate.”
“Yeah. We’ll see how it goes. —You ready to finish this up?”
We started down with another load, footfalls heavy on the stairs. A lady coming up squeezed against the wall to let us pass and my elbow grazed her tit.
“Anyway,” I said, “to be honest, I figure I’ll probably scram in the spring, depending.”
“Move out? No. Bradford!”
“You know I love you guys, and I’m gonna love this kid like crazy. But that doesn’t mean I want to live with him, know what I’m saying?”
He frowned. “Now I feel like we’re kicking you out.”
“No, don’t. Don’t. I’m thinking it might be nice to have my own place again.”
After depositing our boxes he lifted the rear door of the pick-up and we had to slam it closed against them—they slid like heavy dominoes across the back of the truck.
“You know,” he said, “I don’t think I ever really thanked you for moving in with her that year. For taking care of her when I was—” He put his fist to the side of his head and blew out his fingers. “—Psssh.”
“Cara didn’t need anyone to take care of her.”
“I know. You know what I mean. Keeping her company.”
“Yeah, well. I was glad to do it. It’s been good. I’ve been happy there.”
“Good. —I’ll go lock up. Don’t leave without me.”
I leaned against the truck, arms spread to let my pits dry in the breeze. Across the street a stud with a mohawk was walking a chocolate lab. He made me think of the key-touching guy. I wondered where that guy was, and whether he still had the grown-out mohawk.
Jamar came out of his building carrying the Leaning Tower of CDisa, which he wedged into the back of the truck. “I don’t know why,” he said. “All my music’s digital now.”
“It’s an antique,” I said, nodding at the bent metal structure.
“Mateo. Have you ever thought about getting a place with Mateo?”
“I would’ve been sad to see it go.”
“Have you ever thought about it?”
“All the nights that thing woke me up randomly dumping CDs onto the floor.”
“It could be good for you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“How come?”
“How come? How about I’ve only known him three months. Plus there’s no way he’d leave his place. Do you know how much he pays for rent?” We got in the truck and Jamar started it up.
“How much?”
I told him the number and he said, “Does that even cover his electric?”
“Who knows.”
“He must be shagging the landlady.”
“Not him. His dad was.”
“Say what now?”
“It’s a long, intercontinental drama. I’ll tell you sometime; it’s pretty great. But yeah. He’s not about to give up that kind of luxury.”
“I wouldn’t either. Dude must have money coming out his ears. What’s he do with it?”
“He sends some home to his family. I don’t know. Probably buys stock in Krylon.”
“Spraypaint?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, for his— What’s the preferred term, anyway?”
“He refers to himself as a writer.”
“What’s he write?”
“His name. His code name.”
“His code name. Wow.” He smirked. “You in love?”
“Don’t.”
“Heh.”
“To tell you the truth Jamar, I’ll never have room in my heart to love another until I find a way to get over you.”
“Oh shut up, you silly homo.”
The first week of September
had always been for me a magical time in the city. That song people sing about Christmas—about it being the most wonderful time of the year—is something I hummed during that week at the end of summer. For during that week the population of Boston swelled, eventually doubled, and the entirety of its doubling was due to an influx of college students—half of which, of course, were male. The most wonderful time of the year was the sudden arrival of 300,000 horny college boys, kissed by summer sun. And 15,000 of them, give or take a few thousand, were horny for other guys.
The most wonderful time of the year felt like standing on a diving board, bouncing, plunging into a pool of them, swimming through them like Scrooge McDuck through his money. The backstroke past countless butts in skinny jeans, the breaststroke through shaggy haircuts and scruffy cheeks, the doggy paddle amidst football pads and beat-up guitars, the butterfly into cramped dorm rooms smelling of cheap cologne and lit with lava lamps and reading lights. The most wonderful time of the year.
But this year things were different. When the college boys flooded the sidewalks I had Mateo at my side, his paint-sprayed hand in mine.
“Hold me back, hold me back!” I whispered to him, feeling his hand grip mine tighter.
“Back!” he said. “Down boy!”
This year as I strolled down the shop-lined Newbury Street, it wasn’t to find something to wear to a club, but something to give at a wedding.
“Wait a second,” Mateo said,
his hand frozen on the doorknob. He looked at us quizzically. “Thought I was late,” he added, shutting the door and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And you guys aren’t even dressed yet?”
Cara clicked off the TV. Jamar stood up, stepped easily over the coffee table and a few boxes of his not-yet-unpacked stuff, crossed the living room in two strides, shook Mateo’s hand.
“It’s casual. Cara decided we’re shunning tradition. You look cool. Thank you for coming.”
“But I’m overdressed,” Mateo complained, looking down at his tie, his hand still hanging absently in Jamar’s. I was wearing jeans and a gray vest over a mint-green v-neck t-shirt. Cara wore jeans too, and just a t-shirt she planned to exchange later for the white, lacy shirt we’d picked out together.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jamar said. He had on shorts now but they weren’t much less formal than his wedding attire: gray plaid pants and a solid black t-shirt that looked a little snug when he paraded through the kitchen last night. He gave a tug on Mateo’s skinny blue tie. “Lose this if you want and you’ll be fine.”
“Jamar,” Cara huffed, “this is why the invitations shouldn’t have said casual.”
“I was thinking business casual,” Mateo said.
“See? They’re going to think business casual.” She turned to me. “Why didn’t you tell him?”
“I told him c
asual!”
“There’s going to be so much confusion about this, I can tell already.” She looked at Mateo. “Our policy is wear what you want.” She took a breath, hugged him. “Sorry I’m acting like bridezilla. You look gorgeous in yellow.” Jamar had disappeared and he called to Cara from the bedroom to help with the suitcases.
“Do you, er, need a hand with those?” Mateo said, glancing at Cara’s belly. She was just barely showing.
“Oh he’s got it, he just needs me to supervise.” She grinned and went off down the hall.
Mateo smirked. “And what’s got your tongue, pretty boy?” he said, sitting down and squeezing my thigh.
“Nothing. I’m just rendered speechless by your killer looks.”
“Shush.”
“She’s right about yellow.”
“Why didn’t you tell me I could dress cool? Should I lose the tie?”
“I don’t think you should change a thing.”
“Don’t want to look like a dumbass.” He took his hand back and started undoing the tie, reverse rabbit over the log.
“You don’t. It reminds me of the first day I saw you at work. You had a tie on.”
“I looked like a dumbass then too.”
“Hey—” I leaned in to kiss him and he stopped fumbling with the tie to kiss me back. It was too nice for an inopportune moment. At the sound of rolling luggage he took back his tongue and finished removing his tie.
Jamar came dragging a suitcase. Cara had a pair of small backpacks. Mateo stood up to help with the luggage and got shooed away again.
“We’ve got it, Mateo. Bradford—do you have the rings?”
“I have the rings.”
“You’re sure? Because they’re kind of key.”
“Right here in my pocket.” I patted my thigh.
“Fletcher that’s your wiener,” Cara said.
“Oh. Well they’re around here somewhere.” I grinned. “Are we ready? Can we go? You know there’s always that weird traffic past Worcester. You don’t want to miss your own wedding.”
“You know, I think I should change,” Mateo said. He asked me if I had a shirt he could borrow.
“Let’s go look.” I grabbed his hand and yanked him into my room.
I closed the door with my foot and slid my hands inside his yellow button-down. His chest was fuzzy against my palms. He laughed, his teeth on my neck.
“Let’s,” he said. “Real quick.”
“Teo.” I laughed. “We don’t have time. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
“It’ll be a long day otherwise. A three-hour drive....”
I laughed, pushed my lips against his grinning mouth. “Don’t tempt me any more. I can’t take it. Tonight.”
“All right. Tonight. It’ll be worth the wait.”
I dug through my dresser while he got out of his shirt. He laid it carefully over the back of my chair.
“How about this?” I held up a white v-neck t-shirt with a subtle argyle print. “The wrinkles will come out.”
“That’s fine.” He grabbed it and pulled it over his head. The short sleeves showed off his tattoos. He looked in my mirror and swooped his hands through his hair. “Ready.”
One last time before leaving
the apartment I touched my pocket to check for the black velour bag containing the wedding rings. It was there. As I did this I thought of how the key-touching guy had checked for his keys.
“Wait, what about their gift?” Mateo said.
“We’ll leave it here. I don’t want to bring it there just to bring it back.”
“Oh. OK.”
“They can open it when they get back.”
We descended the narrow, brown-carpeted stairs, Mateo a few steps in front of me. I looked down on the loopy dark curls of his hair that my fingers knew so well now.
“I like this shirt,” he said.
We emerged from the house and found Cara and Jamar leaning against my car with their luggage lined up on the sidewalk.
“You want me to drive?” I said.
“We remembered you kind of have to,” Cara said, “since we’re not coming back with you afterward.”
“Oh, man. Yeah. That’s right.”
Jamar, Cara and I traded blank stares. I could tell we all were wondering, in light of the fact that we’d totally overlooked this pretty significant detail, what else we’d forgotten.
“You have the rings, right?” Jamar said.
“Relax, future husband. Yes. I have the rings.” I reached up and grabbed his shoulders and pretended I was going to jump on his back. “It’s fine. I’ll drive. It’s not a problem.”
“Won’t you guys need a car to get back?” Mateo said.
“Nope. We’re flying out of Albany and flying back into Boston,” Cara told him. “Very convenient!”
“This is a day you two should be chauffeured anyway,” Mateo said, and added, “You have that shirt from the coat rack, right?”
“Right here,” Cara said.
The luggage was loaded into my trunk, so bland and empty compared to the trunk of Mateo’s car.
Cara patted the backseat after hanging her shirt from the hook above the window. “Are you going to fit in here, Jammies?”
“Jammies,” Mateo snickered from the front.
“I’ll fit just fine, thank you very much,” Jamar said, sounding a little embarrassed as he put one leg in, then tugged the rest of his height through the door. “Now drive, Bradford, before I sneeze and break open your car.”
I looked back and Jamar’s knees were not quite but almost up by his ears. I moved my seat forward as much as I could. “Better?”
“You can sit up front, Jamar,” said Mateo, twisting back. “Want to switch?”
“Nah. S’OK.”
Cara asked me, “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Pittsfield, Massachusetts, lady. I’m good until we get off the Pike. After that you have to navigate.”
With that, I put the pedal to the metal. The little car protested a bit, and we were off.
The a.c. was too weak
for four bodies so we kept our windows open. Cara leaned against hers, smiling into the highway air that was whooshing through her hair. Her eyes were closed and her teeth showing through her grin were as white as the white cotton shirt billowing behind her head.
I looked at her in the rearview. Another girl on her wedding day would’ve been freaking out about her hair getting messed. Here Cara was, not only enjoying it but looking more beautiful for every minute the breeze kissed her.
She opened her eyes and saw me looking and I smiled and she smiled.
We’d been on the road
for maybe two hours when Cara leaned into the front seat.
“So Mr. Amaral,” she said, draping her arms across the headrests. She had that tone middle-school girls use when they’re undertaking the business of finding out who you like.
“Yes?” he replied, very cautiously. He may have gone to middle school in São Paulo but some tones are universal.
“Do you like my friend Fletcher?”
He smirked and caught my eye. “Guilty.”
Jamar swatted her knee. “Leave the homos alone, Car.”
“Shush.” She swatted back without turning. “Are you guys in love?”
Mateo thought for a moment. “The only love that’s important today is yours and Jamar’s.”
I laughed. “Well played.”
“Harrumph,” Cara said, and slumped back into her seat.
Cara’s step-father—short, slim,
and bald with heavy sideburns a leprechaun red that grayed at the bottoms—was affixing a pair of balloons to the mailbox when we pulled into the driveway. One black balloon, one white one.
I turned the car off (not a minute too soon for the radiator) and Cara got out first.
“Hey Wayne.”
“You made it!” he said.
“We made it.”
“Happy wedding day,
Cara.”
“The yard looks lovely.”
“Let’s hope the weather holds.” He looked up at the sky before giving her a quick hug. “Where’s the groom?”
The groom was unfolding himself from my backseat.
“Can you get out?” I said to Jamar.
“My legs are asleep. Thrombosis!”
He hobbled over to Wayne with the crumpled posture of an orc. It put them at eye level.
Wayne shook Jamar’s hand in both of his. “Happy wedding day, Mr. Andrews!”
“Very happy,” Jamar said. “Thank you for putting so much work into everything. The yard looks really nice.”
I pointed at the two balloons and said to Wayne, “Is the black one Jamar?”
Cara rolled her eyes but Wayne’s face turned to glass. “The groom—” he stammered. “Black is always for the—”
“He’s kidding with you, Wayne,” Jamar said. “It looks fantastic. Thank you.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you,” Wayne said, re-gathering himself, but looking more comfortable than before. He’d definitely been thinking about the colors himself and now it was out in the open, a joke.
“Looks like my parents are here already?” Jamar said, noting their car further up the driveway.
“Your parents and your brother. Yes. They got here, oh, a little while ago.”
“How’s my mom?” Cara said. “She freaking out?”
“Freaking out? Your mom?” Wayne chuckled. “That’s one way to say it. But so far everything’s going according to plan. I think she’s pulled herself together since the Andrews—Andrewses?—got here.” He turned to me, gestured at the driveway. “You’re going to want to pull in all the way, Fletcher. It’s going to fill up.”
The house, an old colonial,
was big with blue siding and a porch that wrapped around the front. The backyard was big too and was bordered with pine trees. This city boy wondered what anyone could possibly do with all this land. It’d been a long time since I’d had any grass at all, so it was ironic that I was assigned to the last-minute yard work. The ceremony was to be done on the front lawn, in front of a tall bush bursting with little pink flowers. I was handed a pair of pruning scissors and told to edit out the expired flowers.
Mateo came out with a dishtowel over his shoulder and sat down in the grass near where I was working. He stretched out his legs, pulled the towel off his shoulder and whirled it around.
The Painting of Porcupine City: A Novel Page 17