Calling Calling Calling Me

by Natasha Washington

  “Yessssss.” Josh pumped his fist as they pushed their way inside.

  Patrick didn’t recognize the song, but clearly Josh did. He let go of Patrick to do a dorky little dance. It was adorable, but Patrick felt left out already.

  “Where’s the Nicki Minaj, though?” Patrick said. “Katy Perry? Beyonce? That’s what I want to know.”

  Josh stopped, puts his hands on his hips, and shot Patrick a dark look.

  “Why are you not embracing the nineties magic? I liked it better when you idolized me and did everything I told you to do without complaint,” Josh said.

  Patrick reached out and pinched Josh at the crease of his elbow, eliciting a yelp.

  “I’m pretty sure you made that up in your head because that was never actually the case.”

  “Whatever. I liked you when you were more innocent,” Josh said. “Before I ruined you with sex.”

  Patrick’s mouth tipped up at one side, and he trailed one finger along Josh’s neck and down his throat. Josh’s breath caught.

  “No, you didn’t,” Patrick said.

  The song switched up then, synths kicking in and the beat accelerating, and Josh seemed to wake up from his Patrick-hypnosis. He wrapped his hand around Patrick’s wrist and yanked him forward until they were pressed against each other.

  “You’re right,” he whispered in Patrick’s ear. “I didn’t.”

  Josh slid his arm around Patrick’s waist and pulled him impossibly closer, so close he could feel Josh inhale when their lips touched.

  Josh brought both hands up to cup Patrick’s face as he explored his mouth with his tongue. They’d only been dating a couple weeks, but they had a rhythm all their own now—and dear Jesus God was it a beat Patrick liked to dance to.

  The music slowed and slid into R&B, which made Patrick a bit nervous, to be honest. Dance music was one thing—everybody could dance to dance music. Sort of. But R&B required the type of hip action Patrick hadn’t quite mastered yet.

  “This song is dirty,” Josh said, hands tightening on Patrick’s hips.

  “I noticed,” Patrick said. They were saying something about going the southern route, and he had to block out the lyrics for his own sanity.

  Josh smelled so good. How did he do that? It was like a mixture of sweat, spice, and sweet.

  “Are you sorry you came now?” Josh said, his hand sliding down over Patrick’s ass. Patrick had to swallow a moan.

  “We could basically be doing this in my bedroom,” Patrick said. “But with less clothes.”

  “The music wouldn’t be as awesome,” Josh said.

  “Stop pretending like you don’t have this song on your phone,” Patrick said.

  Josh grinned. “Well—”

  “Stop pretending like you don’t have every song on earth on your phone.”

  “The nineties were a good decade for music,” Josh said.

  His other hand had found its way under the hem of Patrick’s shirt and was stroking at the small of Patrick’s back. Apparently, Josh thought the compromise between Patrick’s bedroom and the dance floor was to undress Patrick right here.

  “The Clinton years,” Josh said dreamily. “TLC. Hammer pants.”

  Patrick muffled his snickering in Josh’s shoulder. The song had switched up again, faster beat. Janet Jackson was singing about what she’d do to him if she was his girl. Josh was humming in his ear, his fingers flickering over the sweaty skin of his lower back.

  Patrick wanted to stay here forever.

  In three days, though, Patrick was going back to Fresno for the first time since he’d left for college and San Francisco. He’d see his family (a mostly good thing) and maybe people from his high school (not such a good thing).

  Perhaps most terrifying, though, was the fact that he’d be there, in that place. The place where all his childhood memories lived, so many of them bad ones.

  He felt like he needed to soak up as much of this right here as he possibly could. This being Josh, and the Castro, and Josh’s hands, and the rightness of everything in this moment.

  “You’re amazing,” Josh murmured.

  Patrick took in a shaky breath and kissed him again.

  Three drinks later and Patrick had somehow lost his button-down. He’d noticed these things tend to happen around Josh. Somewhere between Ace of Base and Fresh Prince, Josh lost his shirt too. He hated that his boyfriend was this predictable, but he was pretty sure it was sometime around Right Said Fred.

  “You should lose the undershirt,” Josh said.

  “‘Sup, whores?” Patrick heard, and he had no more warning before Alexis threw herself bodily at him, forcing him and Josh apart and flinging her arms around his neck.

  “I love you,” she told Patrick, completely seriously, “even if I know you love dick more than you love me.”

  Patrick choked a little on air. Josh, the traitor, cracked up behind her.

  “Uh, thank you?” Patrick said.

  “You should thank me,” Alexis said, lurching precariously to the side, “considering I am totally the reason you two are together.”

  “Thank you, Alexis,” Josh said. “It is true that if you’d never moved out to shack up with Theo, Patrick and I never would have met.”

  “That is not what I meant,” Alexis said, pursing her lips.

  “I’m sorry that didn’t work out, by the way,” Patrick said. “Have you found a new place?”

  “Do you want a roommate?” Alexis said. “That single isn’t that small, and the rent would be crazy cheap. Aren’t you college-student poor?”

  Patrick felt like he was going to be sick, and for once it had nothing to do with tequila.

  “I wouldn’t even mind if you two hook up or whatever,” Alexis said, eyes flickering between them. “I mean, I really wouldn’t mind.”

  Josh was laughing so hard, he was entirely useless in this conversation. Patrick was almost grateful when Alexis punched Josh in the stomach. The punch was clearly not hard enough to really hurt, though Josh certainly acted like he’d been mortally wounded.

  The truth was, though, Patrick couldn’t even be bothered by Alexis right now, because Josh was still shirtless and gorgeous, and Patrick really wanted to make out with him.

  “Hey,” Patrick said. “Hey, Josh.”

  Josh glanced up. He was using his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead, and God, Patrick was so hopeless, because even that was sexier than he could handle.

  “I need some help,” Patrick said. “Uh…getting another drink.”

  Alexis snorted. “He is underage, isn’t he, Josh? You probably should go help him with that drink.”

  Josh paid her no mind, instead offering Patrick his hand. Patrick took it, feeling the familiar pressure, the rough skin of his calluses, his sweaty palm.

  “I could help you get that drink,” Josh said.

  “Might as well go be a gay-shay,” Alexis said, sighing. “That’s a gay cliché, by the way.”

  * * *

  “Ah…ah…fuck. Josh, you can’t…you…ah—”

  “I’m getting mixed signals here,” Josh murmured, pressing his fingers along the fly of Patrick’s jeans. Patrick pushed into his touch, arching his back.

  “Dammit,” Patrick breathed. “You are the worst.”

  Josh found a particularly tender spot on his neck, flicking his tongue over it, sucking, sucking, and all Patrick could think about was Josh sucking something else in his bed this afternoon, swallowing him down, triggering Patrick’s most traitorous thoughts about how sometimes he was glad Josh has slept with so many people because holy hell—

  “Stay with me,” Josh whispered against his skin, hand slipping inside Patrick’s jeans.

  “I’m with you,” Patrick said, his voice a rasp. “I’m with you.”

  20

  Sunday morning after 90s Dance Night, Josh awoke feeling fresh as a daisy, but Patrick was not so lucky.

  “You look one hundred percent not happy right now,” Josh said.


  “What I am is fifty percent hungover and fifty percent fucked-out and one hundred percent done,” Patrick said. “Please go away if you’re going to insist on being Mr. Morning Person.”

  Patrick rolled over and burrowed under the covers, so Josh decided to go to yoga to stretch out some of his excess energy.

  When Josh returned from class, he found Patrick watching Downton Abbey on the couch with a pile of toaster waffles and a giant mug of coffee. He looked like he’d been trying really hard not to cry, but he’d only been half-successful, which meant he was mostly failing.

  “I still don’t get how you are just watching this show now,” Josh asked. “This ended, like, years ago.”

  “Don’t be a hater,” Patrick said. “That’s what Netflix is for.”

  “I am uncomfortable with how into this Matthew Crawley guy you are,” Josh said, settling onto the couch next to him.

  “Shhh, he’s talking,” Patrick said, waving Josh away.

  “He’s so articulate, and…British,” Josh said. “I can’t compete.”

  “You could shut up. That would be awesome.”

  “I feel like he represents this impossibly noble late Victorian paradigm of masculinity, mixed with a warrior poet ideal?” Josh said. “It’s unrealistic.”

  “He has really pretty blue eyes,” Patrick said.

  “He’s going to marry his cousin,” Josh said, and when Patrick gave him a sharp look, he shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

  “You ruin everything,” Patrick said, wiping away a tear. “And you don’t know that, they might not get married—”

  “Are you crying?” Josh said. “Oh my God. Don’t do that.”

  “I’m trying not to!” Patrick said. “He’s never going to walk again!”

  Josh touched Patrick’s cheek with one finger, then pressed a kiss there. “He’s not real, my darling.”

  “Okay, now you sound like him,” Patrick said.

  “That was maybe on purpose,” Josh admitted.

  “It’s just…he’s come home and he’s so lost and alone and everything’s changed, not only everything about the place he’s returned to, but everything about himself. And he’s trying to be strong because that’s what he’s supposed to do, be strong and act like he’s okay, but he’s never going to walk again, Josh—”

  “You need to breathe,” Josh said, pulling Patrick closer so his back was pressed to Josh’s chest, leaning against him. “You might be projecting a little.”

  “What?” Patrick said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “We should talk about this,” Josh said.

  “Talk about what?” Patrick said. “You told me last time that if I insisted on being in love with a blond fictional aristocrat the least I could do was leave you out of it.”

  “I mean Thanksgiving,” Josh said. “We should talk about Thanksgiving.”

  Patrick tensed. “Sometimes I forget how smart you are,” he said.

  “I will try not to take offense at that, but…seriously. You’re freaking out, aren’t you? About going back to Fresno.”

  Patrick sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “A little. A lot.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Josh said. “Because I will. I mean, it’s a little late to cancel on my family, but they’ll understand. Anyway, they have me here all the time. They have nothing to complain about. I seriously wouldn’t mind. I’d hold your hand and be your back up for any arguments that might come up, and remind you of all you’ve done in San Francisco, of everything you have to come back to. Plus, I think your family would love me. Even if they didn’t quite get it, right away…our relationship, I mean. Right?”

  For a split second, it looked like Patrick was considering this, and Josh desperately wanted him to say yes, to let him protect Patrick from everything that awaited him in Fresno.

  “No,” Patrick said. “Thank you. I should do this on my own.”

  “Hey,” Josh said, squeezing his shoulder and trying not to feel disappointed. “Even if you do this by yourself, you’re never on your own. Not anymore.”

  * * *

  On Wednesday Josh took BART to Jack London Square with Patrick so he could catch the San Joaquin Amtrak to Fresno. They spent the ride over talking about Star Trek, and Josh could tell that Patrick was starting to catch on that Captain Kirk was Josh’s Matthew Crawley. Especially the Chris Pine version, but maybe even Shatner. (Definitely Shatner.)

  It was so easy to get lost in their dumb conversation that Josh nearly forgot what they’d come there for. Until, that is, they were standing in Jack London Square overlooking the water, and all Josh could see was blue on blue, sky on bay.

  Josh didn’t want Patrick to leave.

  That was absurd. He was being absurd.

  “You’re coming back,” Josh said, almost to himself more than to Patrick. “It’s barely four days. You’ll be okay.”

  Patrick didn’t say anything. Josh could see him squeeze his hand more tightly around the handle of his roller bag.

  “It’s clear right now,” Patrick said. “But it feels like it’s going to rain.”

  Patrick freaked Josh out when he was like this, all quiet and…philosophical.

  “If anything happens, I can be there in three and a half hours,” Josh said. “Maybe less if I risk the wrath of the CHiPS.”

  Patrick smiled at him, and Josh smiled back.

  “I think I’ll keep you,” Patrick said.

  “Oh, really?” Josh teased. “What if you get off the train in Fresno and Matthew Crawley is there, all dapper in uniform?”

  Patrick pretended to think about this. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think you have better dance moves.”

  “I do cut a mean waltz,” Josh said. “But I wouldn’t blame you, you know.”

  Patrick arched an eyebrow.

  “I would totally do that Lord Grantham,” Josh continued. “He looks like he’d be so gentle.”

  Patrick laughed harder than the joke merited, and that made Josh happy. They watched the train heave itself up onto the tracks.

  “Pretend you’re going to Hogwarts,” Josh said.

  “God, I wish,” Patrick whispered.

  Josh pulled Patrick into a hug, then kissed him on the top of his head. He had to get up on tiptoe to do it. “Three and a half hours,” he repeated. “And two seconds by phone. Always.”

  Patrick’s eyes were wide and so very blue. “Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”

  * * *

  Even though Josh had told Patrick that they’d only be apart for four days, he still sulked on his way back to the city. Four days seemed like so many hours in a row.

  As he got off BART, he got a text from his mom that said: Don’t even think about skipping Turkey Day. Isaiah is bringing Lucy. Josh refrained from texting back: I really don’t need a reminder. There was a part of Josh that wished that Patrick had taken him up on his offer of coming to Fresno so he didn’t have to endure all the wedding talk that was probably going to ensue. Josh was excited for Isaiah, yes, but every time the subject came up, his parents’ comments felt pointed in Josh’s direction, even if they weren’t saying it out loud. The subtext was: Your brother has found such a nice girl, when are you going to have a real relationship, why are you the way you are?

  I’ve found Patrick, he wanted to tell them. But it felt too soon to make those introductions. They’d only just worked out who they were on their own, and adding his overly invested family into the mix would only complicate the situation.

  He was back at the apartment texting Patrick dumb things when a message popped up from Ramon.

  Dude, Ramon texted. Black Friday hangs???

  Josh rubbed at his eyes. He could not put this off any longer. He was going to seem like a total douche.

  Yeah, Josh wrote. Let’s do it.

  How about that cafe over near Ocean Beach, Ramon texted back. The one we used to go to in high school all the time.

  Josh loved that cafe with its cramped tables and huge windo
ws, but he hadn’t been there in ages. Probably since high school. Why did Ramon want to do everything they’d done in high school?

  Okay, Josh said. 3 pm okay?

  Awesome, Ramon texted, followed by a smiley-face.

  * * *

  Thanksgiving was, as usual, a chaotic mess. Josh’s mom insisted every year on inviting approximately twelve strays, and this year Isaiah had shown up not only with Lucy but with the rest of their band members too. They were all thin and had high cheekbones and fanciful haircuts, and none of them seemed capable of getting excited about anything.

  “We were delighted to hear that you’re graduating soon, Josh,” one of the strays said.

  Josh was pretty sure he was one of his dad’s former work colleagues from back when he was doing tech consulting, but they all wore suits and had the same hangdog expression, and Josh couldn’t keep them straight.

  “Yes,” Josh said, trying not to fiddle with the frayed hem of his sweater. “In about…five months, in fact.”

  The man actually clapped his hands in glee. “What are your plans?”

  Josh had been asked this question so many times at this point that he’d mentally made up some very creative answers. However, he still wasn’t quite brave enough to share them, as much as he wanted to see how gay adult entertainer might go over with his dad’s brogrammer buddies.

  “I’m going to try to do theater,” Josh said. “Locally at first, and then…I don’t know. Maybe New York and LA. See where I can get parts.”

  The man’s mouth settled into a blank stare. “Oh, well,” he said. “You’re young yet.”

  “Hey, Josh,” Isaiah said, grabbing his arm and officially earning the title of Greatest Brother Ever. “Can you come into the kitchen and help me with something?”

  “Totally,” Josh said, and leapt up.