Calling Calling Calling Me

by Natasha Washington

  He closed his eyes and stood still and felt as the chill began to set in, cool air settling across his shoulders. It was going to be winter soon. He didn’t know what that would mean in San Francisco, but he wanted to find out.

  Fuck you, he thought. Fuck you for hurting me and making me think it was my fault.

  When he opened his eyes, everything was a little blurry, a little wet. It made it all more manageable somehow. He glanced down and saw his nails had cut red half-moons into his palms. He couldn’t even feel it, not yet.

  When he closed his eyes, though, he thought he could feel the ocean.

  * * *

  He was taking the long way home when he heard a voice behind him.

  “Is that Maloney? Holy shit!”

  He didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was, and of course. Of course, it was Brad Higgins.

  Brad looked exactly the same, but hey, it’d only been a few months. Six months, in fact, since they’d graduated high school. Jesus Christ, it’s only been six months.

  He was as big and handsome as ever, dark hair shaggy in front, a little stubble growing in. Green eyes Patrick used to think were beautiful, before he saw how sharp they got when he said certain sharp words.

  “Hey, Patrick! What up, man?”

  He could walk away. He’d certainly done it plenty of times in high school. A quick turn, an acerbic comeback, then go go go. He’d gotten pretty good at that.

  “Hi, Brad,” he said.

  “Dude,” Brad said. “Those are some tight pants.”

  Patrick was wearing the jeans Taneisha helped him pick out a week ago in the Mission, and yeah, they were tight. That was absolutely the point.

  “Home for the holiday?” Patrick asked.

  “Obviously,” Brad said. “Took a walk ‘cause family’s kind of lame, though, right? After college, everything seems lame.”

  Patrick wasn’t sure he thought everything was lame, but he did agree a lot of things had lost their sheen. He couldn’t believe he was sort of agreeing with Brad Higgins about something.

  “Yeah,” Patrick said. “College is pretty awesome.”

  “Where’d you go to school?” Brad said. “You were smart; I bet you went somewhere smart.”

  Patrick was surprised Brad had noticed how smart he was.

  “I’m over in San Francisco,” Patrick said. “It’s great.”

  Brad’s lip curled. “Oh, yeah. I bet it is.”

  Faggot, Patrick added. It was implicit.

  Brad leaned in, and Patrick shrunk back on instinct.

  “Quite the hickey you got there, man,” Brad said. “Looks like San Francisco’s been good to you.”

  Shit. Because he’d forgotten his scarf when he made his jailbreak. Well, then.

  Patrick lifted his chin. “You’re right,” he said, and he was glad his voice didn’t shake. “It has been.”

  24

  Josh realized about halfway to Fresno that he had never done this drive alone. He had actually never driven to Fresno—he’d driven through it and around it, but always on the way to somewhere else—LA, to visit friends, to camp with his family.

  He wondered what that was like, living in a place where people were forever passing you by on their way to their true destination.

  He drove through flat farmland and past an endless stream of roadside strip malls, fast food and motels and Starbucks and gas stations, past Jesus Christ is Lord mowed into the side of a hill and signs protesting the latest proposition, something about irrigation and land rights. He felt like he was being shoved through, hurried along.

  He thought of one time a year ago on the way to Comic-Con, stuck in traffic on the 5, Alan singing along loudly to Miley Cyrus on the radio while Alexis texted him oh god the central valley. honey lock your doors and drive as fast as you can.

  Fresno proper was a real city—or so Josh gathered from the skyscrapers he could see in the distance—but where Patrick lived was a fairly generic suburban sprawl. It was clean and the houses were low to the ground. Palm trees towered and swayed on people’s front lawns. When Josh waved at passersby, they didn’t wave back.

  Josh pulled into the Maloney family driveway and flicked off the ignition. Patrick’s house looked like all the houses on his block, like all the houses in the neighborhood. It was so quiet. He couldn’t help feeling like he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

  * * *

  “Hello!” Josh exclaimed when Patrick’s front door swung open to reveal a tiny old woman wearing a red apron that said World’s Greatest Grandma on it.

  She squinted up at him. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Josh, ma’am,” Josh said. “I’m Patrick’s…”

  “Josh?” he heard Patrick say. He poked his head out from behind the little old lady. “What are you—”

  “I came to surprise you,” Josh said, throwing his arms wide. “So…um. Surprise?”

  Patrick was staring at Josh, his mouth wide open.

  “Patrick, let the young man inside,” the little old lady said. “Don’t be rude.”

  “This is my grandma,” Patrick said. His voice was hoarse. “Nana, this is my…friend.”

  Josh felt his chest tighten.

  Nana beamed up at him, saying, “Welcome, Josh.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Josh said, and she hustled him inside, then disappeared into the kitchen.

  Josh had been expecting some surprised make-outs, maybe, or even a super-sexy hug, but instead Patrick turned on him, eyes flashing, and shoved him in the chest. Hard.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Patrick asked.

  “I thought… I missed you!” Josh squeaked. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

  “You could have given me some warning,” Patrick said. “My whole family’s here right now for the holiday…my cousins and all these—” Patrick sighed. “Look, just don’t…don’t talk too much, okay?”

  “Don’t talk too much?” Josh repeated, confused, but before he could clarify, he was interrupted by a small child running into the hallway and throwing herself bodily at Patrick.

  “Patty,” the little girl said. “Twent took my twuck an’ the meow meow ate it.”

  “Snuggles ate your truck?” Patrick asked, a look of mild horror crossing his face.

  “He didn’t eat it,” a bigger little boy said as he sidled into the hallway. “He was chewing on it.”

  “He ate it!” the little girl shouted. “I saw him!”

  “Okay, Lissa, take a chill pill,” Patrick said, hoisting the little girl up into his arms. “And Trent, stop being mean.”

  “I want a popsicle,” Trent announced, and Lissa wriggled around in Patrick’s arms.

  Josh watched the way Patrick held her, keeping her from falling. It was instinctual and protective.

  Josh had never really thought much about how Patrick was with his family, he realized. Patrick didn’t talk about it, and Josh had never had the guts to push.

  This part of Patrick’s life had always seemed off-limits. Maybe Josh should have thought about that before he decided to make this surprise visit.

  “Do you have stuff or anything?” Patrick addressed him. “You can put it in my room. We would have a guest room for you, but my cousins are here, so…”

  In what world would I want to sleep in a guest room when I could sleep with you? Josh thought, but then he realized, Oh. Maybe Patrick’s family wasn’t okay with that. Maybe everyone’s family wasn’t like his, okay with whomever he brought home, girl or boy, never surprised, never judgmental.

  “I’m sorry,” Josh said, not even sure what he was apologizing for, but Patrick was already turning away, trying to placate a whining Lissa, guiding Trent in the direction of the kitchen in search of popsicles.

  * * *

  The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of aunts and uncles and cousins, children everywhere, relatives around every corner. Josh lost track of people’s names by the six or seventh Maloney family member he
met, but he got around any awkwardness by smiling and nodding.

  Patrick’s mom gave him a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek, her eyes bright.

  “Of course, we’re glad to see you again, and you’re welcome anytime,” she said. “We’re so excited you’re here.”

  “It’s just…I missed him,” Josh said, without thinking, but she merely smiled and squeezed his arm.

  “I’m sure you did, honey,” she said. “He is pretty fabulous, my son.”

  He is indeed, Josh thought. He watched Patrick march in and out of the dining room, holding plates of food, helping his grandmother set the table for dinner.

  “You’re one of his San Francisco friends?” one of the aunts asked…maybe Shelly?

  “Yup,” Josh said cheerfully.

  “So special for you to come down here,” she said. “Your family didn’t mind?”

  “Oh, I see them all the time,” Josh said. “They probably don’t even miss me.”

  “We do,” Aunt Shelly said. “I mean, we miss Patrick. We hope you’re keeping him out of trouble.”

  Josh saw the last two months in quick flashes—the parties and the drunkenness, the sex, the drunken sex.

  The trouble with trouble, he thought, is it starts out as fun.

  He gave her his best smile. “Of course. No trouble at all.”

  He didn’t get a moment alone with Patrick until he excused himself from the dinner table to go to the bathroom. He was about to duck inside when he felt Patrick grab his arm and squeeze in behind him, shutting the door.

  “Seriously, Josh,” Patrick whispered. “What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry if I upset you,” Josh said. “I didn’t realize—”

  “It’s not that I’m—” Patrick stopped. He leaned back against the sink and pushed his hair out of his face. “I’m not upset with you. I just wasn’t prepared for this. My family is—”

  “—really kind and wonderful,” Josh said. He pressed his hands to Patrick’s cheeks, leaning forward until their lips were almost touching. “Like you. I missed you.”

  Patrick shivered, his hands coming up to curl around Josh’s forearms. “It makes me nervous, having you here, like you’re going to—”

  “Blow your cover?” Josh interrupted. “Patrick, whatever you want them to know, or not know, I respect that. I’m not going to embarrass you, I promise.”

  Patrick’s eyes, up close, were a silvery blue-green. He looked away. “I don’t even know what they know,” he said. “I don’t want you to… It’s just, my family isn’t like your family, Josh. They’re not all…liberal and creative and cool.”

  “Dude, my dad is not cool,” Josh said. “He does tech stuff and he wears bowties. I think you’re confused.”

  Patrick let out a nervous hiccup of a laugh. “I’m really not,” he said. “But you’re sweet to try to make me feel better.”

  Josh pressed forward and caught Patrick’s lips in a kiss. He couldn’t believe he’d been within kissing distance of Patrick for, like, five hours and hadn’t done this yet. Patrick tasted like rosemary and his lips were soft. He opened for Josh with a sharp intake of breath, his hands tightening around Josh’s arms.

  “God,” Josh murmured when they part. “I want to fuck you right here.”

  “Please don’t,” Patrick said, breathless. “I’m not good at being quiet.”

  “You really aren’t,” Josh whispered.

  He thumbed over Patrick’s lower lip. Fuck. This was a terrible idea.

  “We need to go back before they send someone after us,” Patrick said, but when Josh kissed him again, he didn’t protest. His muffled moan made Josh shake.

  “Okay, seriously,” Josh panted against Patrick’s lips when they separated. “We have to stop.”

  “We do, we do, we do,” Patrick said, then gave Josh a little shove. “You first.”

  Josh stared at Patrick for a moment, open-mouthed. “I hate you,” he said.

  Even Patrick’s smirk was hot.

  * * *

  “You’re not going to seriously make me sleep on the floor,” Josh said.

  “I seriously am,” Patrick said.

  Josh could hear him rustling under the covers in the bed next to him. Josh was sleeping on an air mattress, which was totally comfortable and warm and snuggly under all the blankets. And yet, Patrick was so close and somehow so far.

  This was unfair.

  “This is unfair,” Josh stated.

  “I am not letting you sleep in here with me,” Patrick said. “It’s a single bed, and we are down the hall from my parents and my sister and my cousins, and the walls are super-thin.”

  “You say that as if you haven’t let me sleep in your single bed with you, like, every night for the last month,” Josh said. “Not to mention how many times we’ve—”

  “Josh,” Patrick hissed. “Can you not be a douchebag about this, please?”

  Josh sat up in bed. “I’m not going to be able to sleep.”

  “Then please be a quiet insomniac.”

  Josh disentangled himself from the covers and climbed onto Patrick’s bed, making Patrick yelp. He straddled him, using his hands in the darkness to feel where Patrick’s body was.

  “You’re a terrible person,” Patrick gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you haven’t had fantasies about this,” Josh whispered. “When you were a teenager, did you think about it? Lying in this bed, jerking off? Wishing some boy was here with you, sliding his hand into your pants—”

  Josh mirrored his words with his hands, pushing under the waistband of Patrick’s pajama pants to feel him, hot and hardening under his fingers. Patrick’s breath hitched, and his hips came off the bed.

  “You can’t tell me you didn’t think about it,” Josh murmured, hand circling Patrick’s cock. “Some boy who wanted you as much as you wanted him, who wanted to make you feel so good, to touch you until you moaned—”

  “Fuck,” Patrick swore, pushing up into Josh’s fist.

  It was so dark in the room, Josh couldn’t see him, could only feel him, the warmth of his body beneath him, the way he shuddered when Josh tightened his grip.

  “Some boy who’d fuck you so hard, you’d feel it for days,” Josh breathed against Patrick’s cheek. “Who’d make you come so many times you wouldn’t be able to remember your own name.”

  “My high school fantasies were not that vivid,” Patrick said, voice thin. “I didn’t have really in-depth knowledge of what boy-sex actually involved.”

  “So maybe it was a little more innocent?” Josh said, stroking Patrick faster, enjoying the way Patrick’s muscles tightened. “Lots of kissing, touching you like this, maybe using his mouth?”

  Patrick groaned, his hand grasping at Josh’s T-shirt and bringing him down to kiss him. His kisses were breathless and desperate, his grip strong. Josh bit at his lips and relished the way Patrick shivered as Josh slowed his strokes, teasing, taking his time.

  “You’re not answering my questions,” Josh murmured.

  “Of course, I thought about it,” Patrick said, hoarse. “I was a boy in high school, I—”

  “What did he look like?” Josh asked. “This guy.”

  Patrick’s eyelashes fluttered as Josh thumbed over his slit. “I don’t know. Taller than you, probably. And hotter.”

  Josh stopped stroking, and Patrick collapsed onto the bed with a whine.

  “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “What do you want me to say, Josh?” Patrick said, his voice breaking. “That you were the boy I jerked off to in high school? Because you weren’t. But you’re sure as hell the boy I jerk off to now.”

  Josh began stroking him again, leaning in to kiss at his neck, licking under his jawline and over his pulse.

  “I think about you, about this, all the time,” Josh said, muffling his voice against Patrick’s skin. “I love how you feel in my hand, in my mouth, in my—”

  “Fuck you,” Patrick pan
ted. “I’m gonna come, and I can’t—”

  Josh leaned down and kissed him, muffling Patrick’s groan as he spurted over Josh’s hand, hips stuttering. He caught Josh’s lower lip between his teeth before letting him go.

  Josh felt dizzy, and crazy, and like he wanted to do this forever.

  25

  Patrick woke in the morning before Josh did, the soft, early-morning sunlight sliding between the blinds and into his eyes. Josh had pushed him all the way to the side of the bed in sleep, his arm flung out across Patrick’s chest, his breathing slow and even. Josh lifted his arm and shifted onto his side, curling around Patrick and brushing his hair off his forehead.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Josh murmured.

  Patrick took in a shaky breath. He didn’t even know what to do with that.

  He could hear the muffled sounds of breakfast being made in the kitchen, the clatter of plates and conversation. He moved off the bed as silently as possible, careful not to disturb Josh, whose eyes had fluttered closed again. Patrick dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, running his hand through his hair. A glance in the mirror ensured him he was almost presentable—never so sloppy that it’s disrespectful, as his mom might say.

  When he shuffled into the kitchen, he found his mom busy at the stove making eggs while his aunt wrestled Lissa into a high chair and tried to keep Trent from tripping people with the toy cars he was zoom-zooming around on the floor. Patrick’s uncle sat at the table, not helping at all, flipping through the paper.

  “Patrick!” his mom said, giving him a sweet smile. “You’re up early.”

  “Still on the school schedule, I guess,” Patrick said.

  “You’re in school in San Francisco, right?” Patrick’s uncle said, smoothing the paper out on the table.

  “Yes,” Patrick said, unsure of where this was going. “I started a few months ago.”