Calling Calling Calling Me

by Natasha Washington

  To Artemis: Srsly bitch? I thought I’d lost that. Tho I still have your scarf so whatever.

  * * *

  To Eric: F your uncle

  To Eric: What a dick

  * * *

  Then he picked up his phone with trembling hands and called Josh.

  “Hello, my darling,” Josh said when he picked up. “Are you hiding again?”

  Patrick tried to ignore the shiver that went through him at my darling, but it was pretty undeniable. Fucking future Lord Crawley.

  “Only a little,” Patrick said. “There are a lot of family members in my house right now. Like, we could probably form a kick-ass zombie apocalypse team.”

  “That’s important,” Josh said. “You never know what might happen on Thanksgiving, man. I don’t think zombies have a lot of respect for the holiday. They’re more into brains than turkey.”

  “I wonder if our apartment-mates would be assets in a zombie apocalypse?” Patrick pondered.

  “We’re all in good shape, which is a plus,” Josh said. “But we decided Mike eats too much, and Freddy would probably piss them off somehow. Kai is a total boy scout, he’d be essential. Also, this was back when Alexis was living with us, and we were never sure if she’d be an asset or get us all killed.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Dude, obviously,” Josh said. “We need to reassess now, though, with you on the team.”

  “I’m probably not much of an asset,” Patrick said, playing with a loose thread on his shirt.

  “You’d be a distraction for sure,” Josh said. “If the apocalypse was happening, I’d be super-tempted to lock us up in your room, bar the door, and have as much sex with you as possible before it’s all over.”

  Patrick’s stomach fluttered. He should not find that so romantic. “I miss you,” he said. “Fresno is weird.”

  “I miss you too,” Josh said. “I jerked off earlier thinking about you, and I was so sad I couldn’t go find you in your room and make my fantasies into reality.”

  Patrick’s pulse quickened. “Josh.”

  “I thought you were hiding right now! You don’t want to talk about this? Do you want to know what my fantasies were?”

  “Did they involve you fucking me in a Spider-Man costume?” Patrick said. “Because I still think that’s kind of creepy and also logistically impossible.”

  Josh sighed. “Boner-killer, Maloney.”

  Patrick grinned. “I’m sorry. Please do tell me your dirty fantasies while I sit on my X-Men bedspread from when I was twelve and my extended family hovers right outside my door.”

  “Kinky.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Okay, okay, sorry.” He could hear Josh take in a deep breath. “I thought about kissing you for hours. Like, kissing you, kissing you everywhere, until you were shaking and begging me to do more, but I’d keep kissing you until you came just from that. No matter how long it took. Hours and hours, and my mouth on you everywhere.”

  Patrick’s breath hitched. If he hadn’t already been sitting down, he would definitely have needed to. He thought he might pass out.

  “Jesus Christ, Josh.”

  “Right?” Josh said cheerfully. “Thought I’d give you a little incentive, in case you were thinking you’d like to stay.”

  “I really don’t need incentive,” Patrick said, “but…thank you.”

  “Anytime,” Josh said, and Patrick could practically hear him smiling.

  22

  Talking with Patrick cheered Josh up immensely. He was in such a good mood, in fact, that he decided he couldn’t stay mad at Isaiah.

  It helped that Isaiah sent him a text early on Black Friday morning that said: I had too much of that devil wine, and I’m stressed about all this stuff with Lucy. I’m sorry if I upset you last night. I was a dick.

  You were a total dick, Josh texted back.

  Okay, well, Isaiah wrote back. Shit happens. Whatever. Do you know you can get a dress that looks like something that Ursula from The Little Mermaid would wear? What fuckery.

  Josh sighed. He wanted to explain why he’d been upset, but this clearly wasn’t the time. Isaiah had been consumed by matrimonial demons.

  I did not know that, Josh wrote. Pics or it didn’t happen.

  * * *

  Josh met Ramon at a coffee shop they used to hang out at near their old high school in the Sunset. It was foggy and Josh’s jacket was too thin, the chill biting at his elbows.

  He almost didn’t recognize Ramon at first. His hair was closely cropped, like he’d been growing it out from a military buzz cut. He was staring intensely at his phone when Josh pushed through the coffee shop door, his hand wrapped around his steaming mug.

  “Hey,” Josh said when he reached the table.

  He felt suddenly self-conscious, wondering how Ramon saw him after all this time. It was a strange feeling. Josh didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about how other people saw him anymore. He’d thought he’d left that behind in high school.

  Ramon looked up, and for a second Josh was caught up in those deep brown eyes that used to level him.

  He wondered, for probably the tenth time, if this was a good idea.

  “Hey,” Ramon said, and his smile spread across his whole face. “I’m glad to see you, man. Sit down.”

  Josh sat. The table was small and their knees brushed together under it. He took in a breath.

  “So how is everything?” Ramon asked. “You still doing theater?”

  Josh nodded. “I know it’s not exactly practical, but I love it, you know?”

  “I think that’s cool,” Ramon said. “Fuck what’s practical.”

  This seemed like a change from the Ramon that Josh had known in high school, the Ramon who knew he was headed for business school because it was what his dad wanted. Ramon’s dad hadn’t gone to college and now he ran a successful construction business, but he used to tell Ramon all the time that he wished he’d had the chance to go to school so he’d know more about how to expand his business and be savvier about the decisions he made.

  “How’s UCLA?” Josh asked.

  “It’s good, it’s good,” Ramon said. “I like LA okay. It’s not San Francisco, but what is, right?”

  “True enough,” Josh said.

  They sat in silence for a minute, and Josh tried to think about what to say. It never used to be this awkward between them, but it had been three years. A lot had happened, and Josh didn’t know who Ramon was now.

  “I guess I’m wondering why you wanted to connect,” Josh said, before he could stop himself. “I’m glad to see you, I just—”

  “No, that’s fair,” Ramon said. “It’s been a long time. I guess I…” He looked past Josh to some point over his shoulder.

  “I feel bad,” Ramon said. “About what happened. At senior prom.”

  Josh felt like he’d had the air knocked out of him. “What happened?” he parroted back. “At senior prom?”

  Ramon’s expression was pained. “You were there with India,” he said, “but as friends. And I kind of had that thing with Felicia, but it wasn’t serious, really, and we got really drunk at the hotel and…”

  Josh could remember it all with photographic precision: Ramon had been loose-limbed and gorgeous, his tie off and his tux jacket discarded on a chair, sprawled out on the hotel bed. Felicia and India had gone to get ice to mix with the bourbon they were drinking, stolen from Felicia’s dad’s liquor cabinet and smuggled with them into the room.

  Ramon had been so beautiful. He’d looked at Josh and grinned, and in that second, Josh thought: Maybe. Maybe this could happen. Maybe Ramon did feel the way Josh did—that fluttering, nervous excitement, that buzz under his skin. When he’d told Benny about the way he felt around Ramon, he’d been flushed and jittery in the moment, and Benny had laughed at him, his gentle, soft laugh he reserved for when Josh was being a hopeless nerd.

  I know, Josh, Benny had said, patting him on the shoulder. I know
.

  Josh had climbed onto the bed and laid down next to Ramon. The ceiling swam before his eyes, and Ramon had started talking about this kid Richard who had totally wiped out on the dance floor trying to breakdance. Josh remembered laughing, but he hadn’t been listening. He’d been too caught up in the rich brown of Ramon’s eyes.

  Then Josh had leaned in.

  “I tried to kiss you,” Josh said.

  Ramon had reared back, saying, What are you doing, man? and Josh had known then he had fucked up. Bad.

  “Yeah,” Ramon said. He couldn’t seem to meet Josh’s gaze. “You tried to kiss me, and I pushed you away.”

  Josh swallowed all the things he wanted to say. How sad and angry and humiliated he’d been. How he’d beaten himself up for being a drunk idiot. How it had taken months at college for him to feel okay about hitting on someone again, and even then, he’d only done it when people were clearly into him. Josh had basically stopped making the first move, which meant that he never got to make that choice. He never got to be the one who thought: Oh, I want that, and then made it happen.

  He never did it because he never wanted to be wrong like that again.

  Even with Patrick, Josh had waited until he’d known for sure, until Patrick had made it clear.

  “You weren’t into it,” Josh said. The words tasted like sandpaper in his mouth. “That’s not your fault.”

  “No, but…” Ramon sighed. “It’s not…I mean, that’s not exactly true.”

  Josh’s heart skipped. “Wait,” he said. “What?”

  Ramon sighed. “I—I don’t think I knew then. That I felt like that? But it still wasn’t okay, what I did.”

  “Hold on, slow down,” Josh said. “That you felt like what?”

  Ramon paused, pushing his hand through his hair like he thought he still had more than a little to ruffle.

  “I was into it, maybe,” Ramon said. “I could have been into it with you.”

  Josh leaned forward in his chair. “What are you saying?” he asked. “Spell it out for me.”

  “I’m saying that it’s been a weird few years,” Ramon said. “I thought I knew who I was, but then I went away to college and it was like…I don’t know, man. There were more options. Different options. And nobody cares who you hook up with in college. But I kept thinking about you, and how you were always there for me. You were always okay with all of it, whatever people wanted. Whatever I wanted. It never seemed to bother you. Some people say that shit but you were for real about it. My family wasn’t like that. They didn’t talk about options, about the fact that you can still like girls and like guys too and it doesn’t make you…I don’t know. I saw how you acted and I thought, Things are going to be okay no matter who I like or who I end up with.”

  That was one thing Josh had always loved about Ramon: He didn’t have the capacity to lie.

  Except, Josh realized, to himself.

  Ramon reached across the table and took Josh’s hand and held it. His eyes were wide, and he was still as beautiful as he had been three years ago in that prom tux, laughing and stumbling around their hotel room.

  Josh swallowed.

  “I know it’s weird, me doing this after all this time,” Ramon said. “But I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to apologize for not doing this sooner. I was an asshole, and I didn’t know what to say. But I want to apologize if I ever made you feel like what you wanted was wrong.”

  “Thank you,” Josh said. “You didn’t have to apologize, but I appreciate it.”

  He pulled his hand away.

  Ramon looked at him uncertainly. “Did I make things worse?” he asked. “I’m sorry, dude. It’s just that…I miss you. I miss hanging out with you. And I totally understand if you’re like, No way, that shit was over in high school, but it would be cool if we could—”

  “We can,” Josh said. “That would be great.”

  Ramon smiled.

  “I’m glad for you, bro,” Josh said. “That you figured out what you wanted.”

  Ramon’s eyes dimmed, and he looked away.

  “Maybe a little late,” Ramon said.

  “It’s never too late,” Josh said, but Ramon wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  * * *

  On the trolley, Josh daydreamed he was watching dolphins jump over a pier. The sky was purple, and all the dolphins were pink.

  When Josh got back to his apartment, Isaiah was sitting on the front steps.

  “Hey,” Isaiah said.

  “Hey,” Josh muttered.

  Isaiah was bundled into his coat, and he was wearing fingerless gloves. He tipped his head to one side and said, “Are you even awake? You look exhausted.”

  “Sort of,” Josh said.

  Isaiah tapped out a beat on his knee. “I felt shitty,” he said. “About yesterday. I shouldn’t have said that stuff.”

  No, you shouldn’t have, Josh thought. He didn’t want to do this now, though. He already felt so worn out from his conversation with Ramon.

  “You already apologized,” Josh said. “It’s cool.”

  “No, but it’s not, though,” Isaiah said. “You were trying to tell me something. Weren’t you?”

  Josh’s hands got clammy. “Yeah,” he said.

  Isaiah waited, but when Josh didn’t say anything, he leaned forward. “This guy, Patrick,” he said. “He’s not just hot. He’s, like…a real thing.”

  Josh looked up. “Yeah,” he repeated.

  Isaiah whistled. “Wow,” he said.

  “Don’t get—”

  “No, I’m not…look, I’m glad,” Isaiah said. “For you.”

  “Are you?” Josh said. “Because the things you said…”

  Isaiah pressed one of his gloved hands to his temple. “I was an asshole,” he said. “You know our family—we joke around about stuff even when we shouldn’t. But of course, I want you to be with someone who matters to you.”

  Josh found himself flooded with relief. He should have known Isaiah would get it. He was Isaiah. He always got it, even though sometimes Josh had to tell him a few times.

  Maybe he would have gotten it, if Josh had told him in high school. If he’d given him that chance.

  “He definitely matters to me,” Josh said.

  “You don’t think it will get messy?” Isaiah asked. “He is your roommate, and he’s younger than you.”

  “Lucy’s younger than you,” Josh pointed out.

  “Lucy’s like six months younger than me,” Isaiah said. “And we weren’t living together when we met.”

  Josh traced a circle on the iron railing. Isaiah waited.

  “It’s messy,” Josh said. “For sure, it’s messy. But I don’t know how to do anything that’s not messy.”

  “Fair point,” Isaiah said. “So when are you going to Mendocino or whatever?”

  “Fresno,” Josh corrected him, then backtracked. “Wait, what?”

  “When?” Isaiah asked.

  “When am I going?” Josh said. “I’m not going.”

  “Why are you not going?” Isaiah said. “Jesus.”

  “Because—” Josh started to say, and then realized he didn’t know what came next.

  “Because it would be better if you hung out here and pined for your boyfriend instead, like a loser?” Isaiah said. “I get it, okay? Lucy and I have spent a lot of time apart, and it sucks.”

  “It totally sucks,” Josh said, nodding.

  “So take my car,” Isaiah said. “Go now. You got anything better to do?”

  “Dad wants me to help him with those photo albums,” Josh offered.

  Isaiah wrinkled his nose. “Dude, go now. Seriously. Like, within the next ten minutes before Dad knows you’re still here. It’ll only take you maybe three hours. You could be there by dinnertime.”

  Josh considered this. Patrick hadn’t given Josh any explicit reasons why he shouldn’t come down, and he’d sounded super shaken-up on the phone. He’d even said he wanted Josh to be there. It would be a pretty awesome sur
prise.

  “You have good ideas sometimes, man,” Josh said.

  “I think you mean all the time,” Isaiah said, and extracted his keys from his pocket. “Here. Don’t fuck her up, I’m selling her in a couple weeks.”

  Josh’s stomach did a little queasy flip at the reminder of Isaiah’s imminent departure, but he gave Isaiah his best grin.

  “I won’t fuck her up,” Josh said. “Cheryl is in good hands; don’t you even worry.”

  “I never worry, bro,” Isaiah said, squeezed Josh’s shoulder, and then he was gone.

  23

  On Black Friday, Patrick skipped the traditional family shopping expedition, claiming he was tired. After a little while holed up in his old bedroom, though, he got restless and decided to take a walk.

  As he ambled up and down the house-lined streets, he realized something he hadn’t even known he loved about San Francisco—the ability to walk places, to walk everywhere, to feel and see everything on the ground level. To not have to let anything pass him by. In the last few months he’d walked a fair amount of San Francisco, alone or with others, and he was looking forward to doing more. He wanted to walk every inch of that city, even the parts that were steep and impossible. He wanted to get to the top of every hill and see the world stretched out below him.

  His parents’ neighborhood wasn’t like that. There was so much sameness, every house cut from the same basic template.

  And now he’d arrived at his high school.

  God. He inhaled through his nose and breathed out through his mouth.

  Why does this still do this to me? he thought. Why do I still feel this way?

  He had this instantaneous, visceral desire to punch something. Hard. To hurt something or someone, even if that someone was himself.

  Fuck you, he thought. Fuck you, everyone who ever called me a fag. Everyone who ever called me weird or creepy or ugly or girly or nerdy. Fuck you for projecting your insecurities onto me. Fuck you for being afraid of me. Fuck you for being afraid.

  He curled his hands into fists. The school was big and sprawling and white white white, even in the dark, like some kind of prison that was also a space colony. He hated it. He hated it even though that building had done nothing to him. He hated it for holding him back.