by Jude Sierra
Andrew kisses the top of Dex’s sleeping head and climbs out of bed. He checks on Dex one last time, tucking the sheet around him, then goes into the living room and fires up his laptop. It’s old and heavy and makes an ominous whirring noise, but Andrew’s always had a strange attachment to it.
Dex knows he keeps a blog, but he doesn’t know that Andrew keeps two. Sometimes a pang of guilt overcomes him, but he’s tried hard to convince himself it’s okay. He’s had a secret blog, a second identity, since college, and it’s often a life saver, a place for honesty he has needed but could never express as the Andrew he’s cobbled together over the years. Lingering is a blog no one in his real life has ever known about, and secrecy seems to be the only way of keeping it exactly what it is.
In many ways Andrew shocked his readers as much as himself when he realized that the ache dogging him, despite his happiness with Dex in their first year as a couple, was a longing to come home. When he first went to college Andrew was painfully homesick, but also all whim and changeability, stumbling home night after night from sloppy parties and blurring laughter. Back then, Andrew saw his life stretching before him as a never-ending carousel of revelry, pleasure and touch and boys all helping him coast over a cavernous emptiness only one unattainable boy could fill.
The breaking apart of his friendship with Milo changed everything. Andrew felt it in his bones, in every molecule. After seven years, still, some nights, Andrew can’t breathe through the echo of the love he had for Milo. Andrew spent years avoiding the place that held the imprint of the force of their heartbreak. When he was ready, when he grew up enough to trust someone with his heart and try to pull himself together, Andrew begged Dex to give Santuit a chance. And on their first day in Santuit, when Andrew’s feet were buried in the grit of Chickopee’s sand, he felt it. The air here breathed. It pulsed through his body and against his skin. Andrew is not a terribly spiritual man, but that day, he knew the truth in sayings about full-circle journeys.
Dex got sand in his eye.
That memory sums up so neatly the problem they’re trying to work out. He gave his heart to Dex in Baltimore, one of a string of cities he’d tried on and discarded. For a while, it was okay. But Baltimore’s air rubbed the wrong way. Andrew hated the unclean wind, how it channeled between buildings, heavy with the shared air of many. He loved Dex, but he hated Baltimore and, in the end, pleaded with Dex to settle on a compromise: a trial period back in Andrew’s hometown.
Now, Dex sleeps easily and unburdened while Andrew spends an hour staring at the blinking cursor on his computer screen. Lingering has been where he’s worked through the most painful and complex struggles of his life. But whatever is happening now—not just Milo, but with Dex—feels too big even for it.
° ° °
ONE WEEK after their meeting at Tribute, Milo finds himself at the corner of Second and Turnbull, a block from The Clover. He checks the time. He is five minutes late, but figures that’s not a problem. Tonight he’s going to see Andrew and Ted and Sarah again, meet Sarah’s boyfriend and get to hang out with Dex as well as Kathy, whom he’s learned to like a lot. Nerves buzz under his skin, but also curiosity and excitement. Santuit works at a slow pace that can be maddening. Working from his mother’s kitchen, unable to fill time with his usual pursuits, is driving him stir crazy.
The inside of the bar is brighter than he anticipated from the heavy, dark wood of the exterior and the window sporting its name in careful script. Milo takes a deep breath when the door shuts with a soft whoosh and finds the hostess stand. He’s about to ask if his party has arrived when he hears his name shouted.
“Miles Graham, get your ass over here!” Ted calls. He’s standing with a large pint of beer in hand and a familiar, shit-eating grin on his face.
“Ted,” Milo reaches out to shake his hand, then lets himself be pulled into a rough but tight one-armed hug. “How are you, man?”
“Amazing,” Ted says. Despite the seven years since they last saw one another, Ted is much the same. A little more weight in the belly and a slightly receding hairline are the only indicators that so much time has passed. The smile on his face is a carbon copy of Ted’s as a teenager: all mischief and joy. He pulls a chair out for Milo and sits next to Kathy, who is taking advantage of a baby-free evening and has a mostly empty martini glass in front of her. Her face is lightly flushed, and her smile is sweet. “You know Kathy, I hear.”
“Yes.” Milo smiles at her. “You’re a lucky guy.”
“About seventy percent of the time.” Ted groans dramatically when Kathy pretends to punch his arm. “I was going to say that the other thirty I’m really lucky.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Kathy says, then pushes the drink menu over to Milo with a disarming smile. Her hair is down, done in beachy waves. Like this it looks blonder than her usual ponytail. Between that and the makeup that makes her green eyes brighter, she looks like a completely new woman. “Here, take a load off.”
“You look lovely tonight, Kathy,” he says.
“Come on, man, don’t make me look bad, here.”
“Hey,” Andrew’s voice interrupts Ted’s complaint. “Sorry we’re late.” He doesn’t offer an excuse. His color is high. Milo finally gets a second look at his boyfriend, whom, now that Milo isn’t floored with shock, he can see is cute. They make a good-looking couple. Andrew sits and nudges Dex’s chair out with his foot. They share a smile that speaks of the secrets only couples share.
“No worries,” Ted offers.
“Sarah’s late, too,” Kathy says.
“Of course,” Andrew adds, rolling his eyes. Milo is comforted to know that Sarah is still perpetually late.
°
They’ve had a round of drinks before Sarah shows up.
“Christ, Sarah, wow.” Milo holds her back at arms-length. A pretty girl as a teen, Sarah is stunning now. Gone is the fresh-faced girl who teased Lucy about her inability to apply eyeliner while refusing to put on her own. “What, are you a supermodel now?”
“Oh my god, shut up.” She laughs. “Some of us grow into our looks,” she says, and then gives Ted a teasing smile, “and, tragically, some of us grow out of them.”
“Aw, fuck you.” Ted throws a balled-up napkin, but misses.
With a beer in him and familiar faces around, Milo starts to feel comfortable in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Sarah’s boyfriend cancelled at the last minute, which explains why she’s so late.
Through laughter and appetizers, Milo relaxes into a feeling of family. He’s known Kathy for a little while now. Her care with his mother, and her unobtrusive kindness that always respects Milo’s privacy, have endeared her to him greatly.
At first, Dex’s presence seems intrusive. Even when Milo doesn’t look at him, he always seems to be at the corner of his vision. People he doesn’t know always make Milo a little wary.
It turns out that Andrew’s boyfriend is a great guy. It took Milo a while to warm up to him, but by the end of the night he has. Dex is obviously good to Andrew. He’s attentive and intelligent. They share an easy affection Milo never saw from Andrew with anyone else. It’s a little strange, because Andrew-of-the-past is a shadow Milo can’t help but see everywhere, and there’s a huge gap between the boy Milo let go of and the man in front of him.
Next to Dex, Andrew sits perched at the edge of his chair. He’s sipping his drink through the tiny cocktail straw and looking sideways, flirting with Dex. “So then I trip over the mic cord and fall off the stage,” Andrew says. His laugh is bright and light as it has always been.
“Oh my god, I thought I’d never show my face there again,” Dex adds.
Andrew touches his hand. “I know. My attempts at singing were bad enough before I almost broke the equipment.”
“I probably wouldn’t have gone back either,” Sarah says, nodding at Dex.
“No shame, this one.” Dex bumps Andrew’s knee under the table. They’re filled with funny stories about their lives together.
Milo swallows down small pangs of jealousy, because he has never achieved this ease with any of his boyfriends. He and Patrick came close, maybe, but more so at home, in private.
“All right, I think I’m going to give my darling here a last call before we have to relieve my parents of kid duty,” Ted says. Kathy is slightly drunk, all big smiles and laughter. “Anyone up for another round?”
“Absolutely.” Dex tips his glass in Andrew’s direction. “Do you need anything, honey?”
Andrew smiles at him and then demurs. Milo checks his watch. It’s getting late. His mother’s surgery is in a few days, and he’s been trying to stay home more, get everything lined up perfectly so she won’t have to worry about the business.
“Maybe some water?” Milo asks. The reminder of what’s coming this week wakes anxiety he’s been trying to ignore. He’s had one too many beers. The buzzing in his blood felt good a minute ago, but is too much, now.
“You all right?” Andrew asks. Milo changes his posture, wondering what gave him away.
“Yeah,” Milo says. “A little buzzed is all.”
“Still not big on drinking?”
“No, it never grew on me. I mean, I like a beer or two—”
“But not being drunk,” Andrew finishes. Dex watches the exchange, but doesn’t say anything, and Milo doesn’t offer more. His secrets are always close to his chest. He carries them more lightly after the work he’s done to manage them, but sharing is not an intimacy he offers many people.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarah says. Her smile is wicked. “I seem to remember this one time we all went out and you decided to try out those test tube shot things.”
“Oh my god, I forgot about that,” Ted says. He starts to laugh.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Milo protests.
“You spent all night saying, ‘Trust me, I know what I’m doing,’” Andrew says. He turns to Dex. “He kept telling us the shots didn’t have much alcohol in them—”
“And that he calculated how many he could have by his body weight,” Sarah chimes in.
“Oh my god, you guys, remember, by the end of the night he was saying, ‘Trust me’—” Ted is now laughing too hard to finish and Sarah quickly joins him.
“’I’m… I’m a professional,’” Sarah finishes. Milo shakes his head, but he’s laughing too.
Milo turns to Dex, trying to include him in the conversation, “I spent the rest of the summer with these jerks whispering, ‘Trust me, I’m a professional,’ any time I did anything that didn’t work out.”
Andrew laughs suddenly, loudly, and Milo knows he’s remembering an incident only they know about, when Milo was in a rush to get to a swim meet after spending an hour between school and competition at Andrew’s house. He’d forgotten his bag upstairs and gone back to get it. Anxious about being late, he came tearing down the stairs toward the door, tripped on absolutely nothing and went into a cataclysmically ungraceful cartwheel of a fall that was absolutely destined for a blooper reel. Andrew laughed so hard he almost peed his pants. By the time he pulled himself together enough to ask if Milo was okay, Milo was laughing too. Andrew offered him a hand up, and at the last minute whispered, “Trust me, I’m a professional,” in his ear. They both laughed so hard Milo cried.
“Milo.” Andrew’s voice brings him back from the memory; he bites back a chuckle. “Is there anything we can help with?”
“Right now?” Milo asks, surprised.
“No, with your mother’s surgery coming up,” Dex says. Milo feels unworthy of the kindness Dex offers. He can’t pinpoint why, but it makes him mildly uncomfortable. He can feel his smile fade and feel the warmth of the laughter leeching from him.
“No, I think we’re okay. She has help set up, and I’m pretty much done with her books.”
“Her books?” Andrew asks.
“She was doing everything by hand, no filing system, anything.”
“Oh god, that sounds like my worst nightmare,” Dex says. Milo nods.
“Dex’s in charge of that sort of thing,” Andrew adds. “He takes care of our taxes and has a filing system I don’t get.”
“You should talk to my mom,” Milo says. “Maybe you could make sense of it. She gets it, but it’s beyond me, and there’s a bunch of stuff missing that she probably needs.”
“Was she doing her own taxes or having them prepared by—”
“Oh my god, can we talk shop later, boys?” Andrew interrupts. “I’ll fall asleep in the guacamole if you keep this up.”
“Mmm, then I’d get to eat it off your face,” Dex murmurs.
“That’s…” The intimate innuendo in the look Andrew and Dex share makes Milo feel like an intruder. “The weirdest come-on you’ve come up with yet.”
“It was pretty winning,” Dex admits. His eyes still hold Andrew’s; there’s a little heat and a lot of amusement in them.
Milo can tell it’s time to go home. Sexy, weird, inside-joke flirting—he definitely doesn’t need to stick around.
°
It’s getting awkward Milo texts Zeke that night, in bed. Being friends with Andrew, I mean.
A few days after their last conversation he emailed Zeke an abbreviated, if somewhat honest, rundown of his friendship with Andrew.
Bound to be. Too much history. Zeke responds quickly.
Too much for friendship now, you think? Milo bites his lip.
That’s up to you. Is it helping or hurting?
Confusing, Milo replies.
That’s a thing to work out then.
You’re so helpful. Milo frowns and tries to settle into the too-soft bed.
Not here to solve it man. Listening ear = helpful. As helpful as I can be.
Milo closes his eyes. Zeke is right, of course.
I think I miss therapy, he admits.
It’s crazy, but I heard this rumor that they have that on the East Coast too.
Shut up.
Just food for thought.
Milo puts his phone down. It’s late, not in Denver, but here. Finding a good therapist he had a rapport with had been a trek. He hasn’t the energy for that right now. He’s not sure he needs it. A coping strategy, or a way to think through the problem, maybe. But he’s learned those skills; he just has to use them. Right before his mother’s surgery is not the time to worry about anything else. The situation with Andrew doesn’t require resolution right now; he’s okay with waiting, because neither of them is going anywhere soon.
°
“How are you holding up?” Andrew asks.
They’re at the Starbucks Milo frequents when he needs to get out of the house to work. Andrew ran into him on his break and decided to take a long lunch; Milo looked tired and pale, and it’s not as if Andrew wasn’t worrying anyway.
“Fine,” Milo says. He shrugs, fiddling with a pen.
Andrew tilts his head. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Milo rolls his eyes, but not rudely. “I promise. I mean, it’s stressful. Taking care of my mom when she’s like this… it’s hard. It would be hard for anyone, probably.”
Andrew tries to imagine it. He’s seen Shelby a few times recently, and picturing his mother like that, weak and out of it, is hard. His mother is a force to be reckoned with, in her way. “Yeah, I imagine.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Milo says, smiling and kicking him lightly. “I’m not falling apart.”
Andrew blinks and looks at Milo again, more carefully. He sees now—Milo really does seem okay. Tired, but put together. He resists shaking his head. You’d think I would have outgrown this. There’s a long silence, interrupted only by the sounds of the foam machine and baristas calling customer names. The line is almost out the door.
“It’s weird, right?” Milo says, breaking into Andrew’s thoughts.
“Hm?”
“Sometimes when we hang out, it’s like nothing’s changed, and then I have to stop myself, because so much actually has.”
“I know what you mean.”
&
nbsp; “I want to know who you are now,” Milo says. “And I’d like you to know me.”
“Okay…” Andrew says, pinned down by Milo’s gaze.
“Part of that is trusting I’ll talk about something if I need help. I mean, it might not be with you, but I’ve gotten really good at that.”
Andrew forces a smile. He doesn’t have a right to want to be the person Milo talks to. He doesn’t know why he wants to push to be that person. “Would it be condescending to tell you that makes me really proud of you?”
Milo blushes and looks down. He’s been clicking his pen. “No. It’s nice.”
“So…” Andrew says. There’s so much he wants to ask: What changed; who Milo has in his life; how he met them. They’ve not really broached anything about the missing years—not the important things. But Milo is being very direct, and Andrew has been hoping that this—this tentative new friendship—is something they’ll carry on when Shelby gets better and Milo leaves. At some point, he reasons, they should start to work through their histories. At the very least, they should assuage what he assumes is mutual curiosity.
Andrew has hundreds of questions: questions he’s thought up during conversation and bitten back; questions that wake him in the night, then haunt him into dreams that hurt; questions born of seeing the truth behind Milo’s changes.
“Yeah?”
“Tell me something,” Andrew says. Milo waits, then raises an eyebrow. “Just something. Something I don’t know.”
Milo considers him for a minute. His brow is creased, more freckled than it was when he came back to Santuit a few weeks ago. Andrew wonders if he’ll ever stop wanting to play with his hair. It must be the color, because Andrew’s never suffered from a compulsive need to touch anyone else’s hair.
“I once went to someone to have them try to balance my chakras,” Milo says finally. Andrew bites his lip and tries not to laugh, because Milo looks dead serious. Then he smiles widely and Andrew lets himself crack up.