Calling Calling Calling Me

by Natasha Washington

  “Really really,” Josh said.

  30

  Two days later, Josh was about to leave for the library to study when the doorbell rang. Must be a package, Josh thought. Nobody else ever rang the doorbell. He slipped on his Vans, slung his backpack over one shoulder and yanked open the door.

  It was definitely not a package.

  Ramon was standing there in dark denim and a gray T-shirt and a hoodie, looking as beautiful as ever. His dark hair was a little longer than when Josh had seen him last, grown out from the buzz cut, and he gave Josh that adorably crooked smile.

  “Hey,” Ramon said.

  Josh took in a deep breath and huffed it out. “Hey,” he said.

  “Sorry if I freaked you out,” Ramon said. “I got back into town yesterday. Finished up exams last week. Is this a bad time?”

  It was, in reality, kind of a bad time. Josh still had one final exam left, and it was his hardest—Russian history, fucking brutal. He should study. He should definitely study.

  But Ramon was carrying a soccer ball, and he held it out and tilted his head to one side, widening his eyes and pushing out his lower lip in that way he used to do in high school whenever he wanted something.

  That look was Josh’s kryptonite. Josh rolled his eyes, and Ramon grinned.

  “Fuck you, man,” Josh said.

  “Whatever, Dirda,” Ramon said. “You know you want this.”

  * * *

  “You asshole,” Josh said, stopping to pant, doubled over with his hands pressed to his knees. “This isn’t fair. You are an actual soccer player. This is so rigged.”

  “I’m not even in shape, dude,” Ramon said. “And I don’t play for UCLA. This should not be that hard for you. The only thing you have to do is guard the goal.”

  Josh made a half-hearted attempt when Ramon shot the ball, but missed by a mile.

  “You’re not even trying,” Ramon complained.

  “I am so,” Josh said. “Who are you to judge that?”

  Ramon crooked an eyebrow, and Josh sighed, collapsing onto the grass.

  “This is sad,” Ramon said, recovering the ball from where he’d kicked it into the goal and dribbling it over to Josh’s prone form.

  “That’s me,” Josh said. “Old and sad.”

  “You know who would make fun of you for this,” Ramon said. “Elizabeth Drake.”

  Josh conjured up an image of Elizabeth, his tenth grade girlfriend. She was a star soccer player and hotter than Josh deserved, but she said she liked that Josh was funny, and also that he played the guitar.

  “Elizabeth would totally make fun of me,” Josh agreed.

  “I never understood how you did that,” Ramon said. “You always got the hottest girlfriends.”

  It was true, Josh had been exceptionally lucky that way in high school. Girls liked him, even if things never got serious. Boys were harder, and less available. Josh’d had plenty of crushes, but never any boyfriends. That time with Ramon at prom had been the first time he’d ever tried to make a move on somebody, and that…had not turned out well.

  Ramon sunk down on the grass beside him, and Josh was suddenly aware of his warmth and his close proximity.

  “Where’s that mojo gone, man? Did you peak in high school?”

  “I did not peak in high school,” Josh said, feigning offense.

  “Then teach me your ways, Dirda,” Ramon said, leaning forward, and Josh felt dizzy. “Show me how you do that thing you do.”

  Josh’s stomach flipped. Tell him, the voice said. Tell him about Patrick.

  “I don’t even know what you’re asking me right now,” Josh said.

  Ramon batted his eyelashes at him.

  “Oh my God,” Josh said. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Because I want your expertise?” Ramon said.

  “Is that what you want?” Josh said, and it came out sounding way more flirtatious than he’d intended.

  “Sure it is,” Ramon said.

  Josh swallowed. Ramon smelled so good, a little sweaty and faintly of some kind of spicy cologne.

  Josh’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Ramon began to laugh.

  “Hey, asshole,” Josh began to say, and Ramon shoved him over onto the grass then got up, still cracking himself up.

  “This game is clearly over,” Ramon said. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  Josh checked his phone. There was a message from Alan about final play edits, and one from Freddy saying that he, Mike, and Kai were headed out to a movie so please don’t burn down the house while they were gone.

  “Let’s go back to my apartment,” Josh said. “I’ve got pizza bagels.”

  Ramon held out his hand and helped Josh up.

  “How gentlemanly,” Josh said.

  “Oh, whatever,” Ramon said. “You just said ‘pizza bagels.’ Magic words.”

  * * *

  Back at the apartment, Josh let them inside and slipped off his shoes in the entryway. Ramon followed suit, kicking his sneakers into a corner. He looked different in his socks, his hair messy under his hoodie. He rested his hand on Josh’s shoulder as he passed by him, and his grip was strong. Josh suppressed a shiver.

  “Where are these pizza bagels?” Ramon said. “Also, you got some beer to go with them?”

  “Do we have beer? What a silly question.”

  “Hey, it’s been more than three years. I don’t know how you roll. Plus, I kind of remember you being way into Zima in high school—”

  Josh pressed his hand to his own chest in mock horror. “You do malign my name.”

  “Zima and that weird-ass wine cooler shit—”

  “Says the guy who used to drink PBR like a hipster,” Josh said.

  “PBR has a complicated history, you know,” Ramon said. “They’re an immigrant-created company—”

  “Nerd,” Josh coughed into his fist, and Ramon shoved him into the counter.

  Josh was laughing so hard he didn’t realize that Ramon hadn’t moved away until Ramon let one hand drift to the countertop next to Josh’s hip. Suddenly Josh was almost too aware of Ramon’s proximity, of the heat of his body and the press of muscle.

  He looked up, and Ramon was looking down at him, his eyes soft.

  “Hey,” Ramon whispered.

  “Hey,” Josh whispered back.

  Ramon lifted one hand to Josh’s cheek, pressing it there. They stood there for the longest moment, and Josh forgot to breathe.

  “What are you doing?” Josh asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ramon murmured. “What do you want me to do?”

  Josh exhaled. This was Ramon. He knew this was wrong, but also, this was Ramon—

  “Hey, Josh?” Patrick’s voice came from the living room, and the front door slammed. “Do you have that book from the labor history class you took? Because this paper is kicking my—”

  Patrick’s voice trailed off. Josh turned to see Patrick standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Josh pulled away from Ramon, but it was too late. Patrick had seen them.

  He looked so small. Small and sad.

  “Patrick,” Josh said, but Patrick didn’t say anything. He turned away, and a moment later, Josh heard the front door click shut.

  Ramon was looking at Josh, puzzled.

  “What is going on?” Ramon asked.

  This, Josh thought. This is how you fuck it up.

  “That was Patrick,” Josh said. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  He heard Ramon’s sharp intake of breath. He lifted his gaze to look at Ramon.

  Ramon looked stricken.

  “Your boyfriend?” Ramon said.

  I am such an asshole, Josh thought.

  “Yes,” Josh said. “He’s…it’s only been a few months but we’re pretty serious.”

  “Josh,” Ramon said, his voice low, “why the hell didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know; it didn’t come up,” Josh said.

  “Today at the socc
er field, when I was asking you about where your game went,” Ramon said. “That wasn’t a good time? What about…I don’t know, literally any time at all since we started talking again? You could have told me any time that you were seeing somebody.”

  “Fuck, Ramon, I don’t know,” Josh said. “I’m an idiot.”

  Ramon scratched at the back of his neck. “But you’re not an idiot,” he said. “That’s why this is so shitty, man.”

  Josh’s stomach twisted and turned.

  “I don’t know what this is about,” Ramon said. “Maybe you wanted to make me look stupid because of what happened in high school?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Josh said. “I promise you—”

  “I thought I was reading you right, that maybe you wanted this. But I never would have…if I’d know you had a boyfriend…you know I wouldn’t have—”

  “I know,” Josh said.

  “I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “I know,” Josh said.

  Ramon was shaking his head. “You need to figure some shit out, man,” he said. “Because this, right here? Whatever you’re doing? It’s not fair to anybody.”

  Before Josh could say anything else, Ramon was gone.

  31

  Patrick curled his hand in the sand. It was soft and grainy, sliding over his palm.

  You don’t have to settle. That’s all I’m trying to say.

  He rubbed at his eyes with his other hand. He wouldn’t cry. He would not.

  Patrick didn’t know what he’d seen, exactly. He’d pushed open the door and seen Josh’s shoes by the door and his jacket hung up on its usual hook, and he’d thought how nice that was, how familiar. He’d heard sounds in the kitchen and followed the smell of warm tomato sauce, expecting to find Josh making his usual study snack of pizza bagels.

  But Josh hadn’t been alone.

  Patrick didn’t know who the guy was who was there with him, but they looked awfully comfortable together. Actually, scratch that. They looked perfect together. The other guy was tall and lanky and muscular and handsome, his skin a light brown, his closely cut hair emphasizing the sharpness of his jawline and the elegant curve of his cheekbones. His body fit into Josh’s space like he was used to being there.

  Had it been an ex, maybe? Lord knew Josh had a good number of those.

  But when they’d made it official at Thanksgiving, Patrick had thought: This is different now. This is serious.

  What did Patrick know, though, right? He didn’t know how relationships were supposed to go. This was his first.

  Maybe they’d moved too fast. Maybe Josh wasn’t ready to commit. For someone like Josh, who had so many other options…well. Patrick would always be competing against somebody for his attention. That was what it meant to have a human magnet for a boyfriend.

  Patrick rubbed at his eyes again. His hand came away wet.

  He turned his phone over in his hand.

  All these friends he had now, and he didn’t know who he should call. Artemis or Taneisha or Eric…wouldn’t they all tell him he should have known what he was getting into trying to tie down Josh Dirda?

  He didn’t need that right now.

  He dialed his parents’ number. It rang once, twice. Three times.

  “Hello?”

  Shit. It was his dad. He’d been hoping for his mom.

  “Hi, Dad,” Patrick said.

  The phone was quiet for a moment, then his dad said, “Hello, Pat.”

  “Is Mom there?” Patrick asked.

  There was another moment of silence.

  “She’s not,” he said. “She’s at her book club.”

  Of course. Patrick shouldn’t have called anyone. He should have handled this alone, like he always did.

  “Is something wrong?” his dad said, and Patrick’s stomach swooped.

  “I…”

  “You can…you can talk to me about it,” his dad said. “If you want.”

  Patrick sighed.

  “Not if you don’t want to,” Patrick said.

  “I do want to,” his dad said. “I want to talk to you. I want to know how you are.”

  Patrick’s throat felt tight. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not so good, Dad.”

  “What’s up?” his dad asked.

  Patrick didn’t even know where to begin. “Did Mom…”

  “She talked to me,” his dad said. “She told me about you and Josh. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course, it’s okay,” Patrick said.

  “I…I want to help you, you know,” his dad said. “I—I don’t always know what to say. And at some point, it seemed like you stopped wanting to talk to me about anything.”

  That hit Patrick square in the chest. Was that what had happened? It was true Patrick hadn’t talked to much of anyone in high school. Some days he’d felt like if he’d talked about anything, he’d end up talking about everything, and all of that pent-up frustration and anger would come pouring out in an unstoppable tidal wave. Better to keep it in. Safer.

  “Maybe I did,” Patrick said. “I think I didn’t know what to say either.”

  “Well, then you’re more like me than I thought,” his dad said, and Patrick had to smile at that.

  “What’s going on?” his dad asked.

  “I think Josh may be cheating on me,” Patrick said.

  He could hear his dad exhale. “That’s terrible,” he said.

  “It is terrible,” Patrick says. “It sucks so much.”

  “You don’t deserve that,” his dad said. “No one deserves that.”

  Patrick closed his eyes. He could smell the salt on the air and feel the cool ocean breeze caress his face.

  “I know you like him, Patrick,” his dad said. “Maybe try to find out what’s going on first, right? Because it doesn’t sound like you really know.”

  “No,” Patrick said. “I don’t.”

  “The thing I wish somebody had told me about relationships when I was in college is how hard they are,” his dad said. “They’re so hard.”

  “I thought they were supposed to be easy,” Patrick said.

  “I know,” his dad said. “That’s the fantasy. Everybody thinks that at first, all that romantic love-at-first-sight stuff, but they’re wrong.”

  “That makes me think I should never try to be in a relationship ever again,” Patrick said.

  His dad laughed at that. “That’s the thing, though,” he said. “You’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.”

  Patrick smiled. “True,” he said.

  “You definitely get that from your mom,” his dad said, and this time, Patrick was the one who laughed.

  32

  Josh couldn’t stay at the apartment. He felt restless and angry and stupid as hell. He had to leave the scene of the crime, to get some air, to find a space that wasn’t heavy with memories. This was easier said than done in San Francisco.

  He decided to go to Top of the Mark, a place he’d only been once—after he’d gotten into his first college and his parents took him there to celebrate.

  Fuck, he thought on the trolley on the way there. I can’t be drinking alone.

  He texted Artemis: Drinks on me if you can be here within a half hour, then sent her the address.

  He ordered a ridiculously overpriced martini and stared moodily out at the Bay, which was wreathed with a layer of fog.

  Artemis came quickly, as she did whenever free drinks were in the offing.

  “I see we are getting classy drunk today,” Artemis said, sitting down next to him.

  “I needed to be somewhere that was not the Castro,” Josh said.

  “Fair,” Artemis said.

  She ordered one of their signature drinks, tossing the bartender a smile.

  “Where’s the boyfriend?” she said.

  “Possibly not the boyfriend anymore,” Josh said. He ate the olive out of his martini.

  “Oh noooooo,” Artemis said. “I hesitate to even ask.”

  “Ramon
Ramirez,” Josh said.

  Artemis’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Wait, Ramon, the dude from high school? Did you fuck Ramon Ramirez? The one Alan showed me pictures of from your yearbook?”

  “No, I didn’t fuck him,” Josh said. “Jesus Christ.”

  “I was going to be a little jealous,” Artemis said. “He has that tight soccer body.”

  “I just hung out with him,” Josh said. “And we were…I don’t know. I guess it looked bad when Patrick walked in.”

  “Was it bad?” Artemis asked. “Or did it just look bad?”

  Josh sighed.

  “Both,” he said.

  “I don’t know how anyone ever cheats on anybody else in the Castro,” Artemis said. “It is the most gossip-y soap opera of a place. People are always walking in and out of rooms at the worst times. Last weekend, I was there meeting a friend and some dude threw a drink in another dude’s face. It was classic.”

  Josh took another swallow of his drink. It went down smooth. “Yeah, well,” he said. “I probably would deserve that.”

  “Probably,” Artemis agreed. “You don’t have the greatest record in terms of monogamy.”

  Josh was suddenly so angry, he wanted to crush the glass in his hand. He placed it back on the bar and exhaled. This day would not be improved by getting kicked out of a fancy bar.

  “Why does everyone do that?” he said. “Assume I’m going to fuck everything up?”

  Artemis’s eyes widened. “I don’t assume,” she said. “I’m saying that in the past—”

  “But what if I wanted to change that?” Josh said. “What if I didn’t want to be that guy anymore?”

  Artemis sucked some of her rosy drink up through a straw, narrowing her eyes at him. “I don’t know,” she said. “Do you want to change that?”

  Josh thought about Patrick, and how he’d looked that day when he walked into their apartment for the first time, his eyes wide and a bright, hopeful blue. He thought about Patrick on the grand tour, talking so earnestly about the history of the Spanish missions, lying down next to him on the grass in Dolores Park. He thought about standing with him on Ocean Beach, and the way the world seemed to open up in front of them. He thought about Patrick at Halloween, in that leather jacket. He thought about their first kiss, and how Patrick had said: Please.