Small Wonders

by Courtney Lux

  Downstairs, the front door slams and Trip can hear the famil­iar squeak of Nate’s running shoes on the wood floor. Nate is happier, funnier and sweeter than he’d been when they first met, but he is no less neurotic nor has he become much more spontaneous. Trip listens to the familiar orchestrations of Nate’s shoes going into the closet, his headphones being wrapped and tucked into his jacket pocket. Then comes the sink running, the dishtowel being refolded and Nate’s socks being thrown into the washing machine.

  The fourth step groans and the one just below the bedroom squeaks and then Trip feels a familiar weight on top of him. He doesn’t open his eyes. “How’d you do?”

  “Eight miles.” Nate’s still panting and his skin is damp with sweat. “One hour.”

  “A seven-thirty mile,” Trip mumbles into his pillow. He angles his head up so Nate has more access to his neck. “Impressive.”

  Nate presses a kiss behind Trip’s ear. “That was fast math—you been reading that GED book?”

  “No, just been listening to you brag about mile times for a lot of mornings.” Trip yawns. “Not your best, by the way. You did a seven twenty-three about a week back.”

  “Someone’s been making me miss runs.” Nate rolls off of Trip. “Screwing with my times.”

  “I’m a good workout.” Trip cracks open an eye to look at Nate beside him. “Don’t blame me for your plateau or whatever this is.”

  “You could come running with me.” Nate pulls the ponytail holder out of Trip’s hair and drags his fingers through the freed locks. “Push me to go a little harder.”

  “I don’t run unless I’ve got someone chasing me.” Trip holds up a wrist toward Nate.

  Nate slips the hair binder over Trip’s hand. He hooks a finger through it and snaps it against his wrist. “It’s good for you.”

  “Know what else is good for you?” Trip catches hold of Nate’s fingers and moves his hand to his waist. “Sex. Sex is very, very good for you.”

  “Releases endorphins,” Nate agrees, but he takes his hand back. “I can’t this morning—job interview.”

  “Cheater!” Trip cries. He pushes himself up on his elbows. “We had a deal.”

  “We talked about this—it’s an interview, not the actual job, so it doesn’t count. Besides, pretty sure the deadline or whatever on that deal has come and passed.” Nate presses a quick kiss to Trip’s mouth as he stands. “You have morning breath.”

  “You smell like sweat and you’ve got a shitty mile time.” Trip tosses his pillow at Nate’s back, but he makes no move to get out of bed.

  Nate picks up the pillow and tosses it back at Trip before peeling off his shirt and dropping it in the laundry hamper. “You want to shower?”

  “What? So you can fuck me up against the tile?” Trip drops his head back onto Nate’s pillow and pulls the other over his face. “No way. If you break your half of the deal, I break mine. No sex. No entertainment. No nothing.”

  The bed sinks when Nate sits down on the edge of it. He pulls the pillow off of Trip’s face. “This deal sounds an awful lot like a relationship, you know that?”

  Trip flounders before responding. “If that’s the case, then you’re cheating on me with this interview.”

  “Have I told you lately that you’re a complete drama queen?”

  “No worse than you.” Trip folds his arms across his chest.

  “Hmmm.” Nate drops the pillow back down on his face and stands. Trip can hear the sound of his footsteps going back down the steps.

  Trip pushes the pillow to the side and stares up at the ceiling with one hand tucked behind his head. He chews at a hangnail. An interview means Nate is stepping back into his life. All jokes about relationships aside, a job means Trip’s time here may be nearly up.

  He shakes the thought and pushes himself upright. He can’t lie here and think anymore. He joins Nate in the shower, listens to him prattle on and on about the new job. It’s a small firm, he says, less money but better hours. He talks a lot about office culture and the places some of the other employees have come from, and Trip nods along as though any of it makes sense to him. He doesn’t have it in him to make a joke, so he fusses with the shower knobs and dumps too much shampoo in Nate’s hair and harasses him in other ways.

  Nate gets ahold of his wrists and keeps Trip’s hands away from him while he keeps talking and rinses the shampoo from his hair under the too-cold stream of water. They brush their teeth together in front of the bathroom mirror, and then Trip puts on yesterday’s clothes while Nate deliberates over which tie to wear. He holds up two and then two more for Trip. Trip offers no constructive help and Nate chooses one on his own.

  “Come here.” Nate gets a hand on the sleeve of Trip’s Henley. “I wanna see something.”

  Trip shifts his weight from foot to foot and fidgets while Nate drapes a tie around his neck and knots it with quick fingers. He stands back. “You wouldn’t look half-bad if we got you in a suit shirt.”

  Trip pulls at the knot. “Where the hell would I wear a suit shirt?”

  “I don’t know.” Nate turns Trip so he can see himself in the full-length mirror propped against the wall. He keeps his arms wrapped around Trip’s middle, rests his chin in his hair. “I’m just saying you’d look good.”

  “I ever start playing Carnegie, I’ll let you know.” Trip looks from his reflection to Nate’s behind him. Nate’s dressed in a lavender suit shirt, the collar starched and neat. His tie is deep purple and knotted carefully at his neck. The cognac-brown dress shoes peeking out from beneath his gray dress pants appear recently polished. He looks clean-cut and handsome and undeniably happy.

  “Bet you could if you wanted to.” Nate squeezes him softly. “You’d be the talk of the town.”

  “Yeah, don’t hold your breath.” Trip pulls the tie loose and steps out of Nate’s embrace. He offers the tie back. “Speak­ing of playing, I gotta get going. I barely made thirty bucks yesterday.”

  Nate rehangs the tie and glances at his watch. “I have some time—you want breakfast?”

  Trip shakes his head and moves toward the steps. “Gotta go pick up my guitar from the apartment before I head out. No time.”

  “Right. Wouldn’t want your boss to catch you sneaking in late.” Nate chuckles as he jogs down the staircase after Trip.

  “Time’s money, Nathaniel.” Trip pulls his shoes from the hall closet. He notices, as he tugs them on, that a new hole has formed at the toe of the left one.

  “Now who sounds like a Wall Street drone?” Nate calls from the kitchen. He’s fussing with something in the cupboards.

  “I don’t know if you missed the part where I said I made thirty bucks yesterday or what, but last I checked, I’m wearing a pair of worn-down sneakers to my job and you’re the one in the million-dollar suit.” Trip calls back. He shrugs his bag over his shoulder. He feels too light and wrong without his guitar. He rarely goes to Nate’s without it, and he’s already regretting the decision to leave it back in the Village.

  “Remind me to give you a crash course on the price of suits.” Nate reappears around the corner. He holds out a silver thermos. “Coffee.”

  “Have I told you that you’re a saint?” Trip reaches for the thermos. He closes his hand over Nate’s and steps closer.

  Nate tugs Trip closer by their joint grip on the thermos. “Not today.”

  “You’re a goddamn saint, Nathaniel Mackey.” Trip wraps Nate’s tie around his free hand. “You need a reference for that job? I’d be happy to say all kinds of good things about your coffee and breakfast and blow jobs.”

  Nate laughs, then presses a kiss to Trip’s mouth. It’s meant to be teasing and quick, but then he’s kissing him again, deeper and slower; both hands find their way to Trip’s waist.

  Trip releases his tie and lifts his hand to Nate’s neck as he returns the kiss. Nate tastes li
ke mint and smells like cologne. Trip breaks away to catch his breath when the thermos suddenly clangs to the floor between them.

  One of Nate’s hands remains on his waist, the other pushes Trip’s hair off his forehead and drifts down to cradle the back of his neck. “I love you.”

  Trip is sure he is not moving, and yet the floor seems to tilt beneath his feet.

  Nate kisses him again, more a brush of lips this time than actual kiss. “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah.” Trip is breathless. “I—I think so.”

  “Okay.” Nate’s thumb brushes over the vertebra of Trip’s neck softly.

  They both jump when Nate’s phone chimes a happy note from the kitchen, and the spell they have both been under is suddenly broken.

  Nate clears his throat and straightens the already-perfect knot of his tie. He stoops and lifts the thermos.

  Trip takes it blindly, his eyes still locked on Nate’s face.

  Nate is blushing hard. He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I, um—”

  Trip steps toward the door. He’s sure the heat in his cheeks matches the color of Nate’s. “I should maybe—”

  Nate nods fast, pulls the door for him. “Yeah, right, I’ll see you tonight? Or, I mean if you’re—”

  “Yeah, cool.” Trip stands in the hall, just outside the door. “I’ll stop by if I have some time or if you’re—”

  “I’ll be here.” Nate stands at the threshold. He’s red from his hair to his neck.

  Trip rocks back on his heels; he’s off-balance and has to stum­ble another step back. “So, I’ll see you around?”

  Nate seems to regain composure. “See you around.”

  Trip takes a step back and then two more, his gaze still on Nate before he’s tripping over his own feet trying to turn around and make his way to the elevator. He swallows and keeps his eyes on the glowing down button. “Nathaniel?”

  Nate’s still in the open doorway. “Yeah?”

  “I’ll be back later.” Trip tears his gaze from the elevator button to look back at Nate. “I wanna show you something, all right?”

  Nate smiles. “All right.”

  Trip returns his smile and steps onto the elevator.

  As he makes his way to the subway, Trip feels off-balance. His fingers are tingling and his stomach is fluttery. He blames it on skipping breakfast and drinks his coffee and hums to distract himself despite the looks that garners from the people on either side of him.

  When he arrives at the apartment, he is immediately aware of two things: how dark the apartment is and the smell of Raid. He flips the light switch a few times. “Did we lose power again?”

  Liam’s sitting in his corner wrapping a canvas in brown paper; the can of bug killer is at his side. “Scarlett thinks it’s a short or something. It’s in here and in the bathroom.”

  “Great.” Trip crouches to get a better look at the canvas. “You two going on a field trip?”

  Liam pulls the paper down to allow for a better view. “Finally sold something.”

  “Good for you, man.” Trip drops his bag on the coffee table, rolls his shoulder. “You get a decent price for it?”

  “One-fifty.” Liam lifts the can of bug killer abruptly with his eyes trained on the corner. After a moment, he puts it back down and resumes wrapping his canvas.

  Trip watches the corner. “Not too bad. That can probably buy you a chunk of wall or a pillar or something in terms of gallery space.”

  “Yeah, or maybe it can buy me a few groceries and take the edge off our next electric bill.” Liam looks at the corner again. He nudges the can of bug killer toward Trip. “There’s one in the corner—could you deal with it? I need to finish wrapping this.”

  “What happened to the big art show?” Trip takes the spray and sets to work shoving aside Liam’s other projects; his eyes are trained on the ground.

  “The show is going to have to be postponed.” Liam stretches packing tape down the seam of the paper. “Indefinitely.”

  Trip spies the roach. He corrals it out into the open space of the family room and sprays it when it’s well away from June’s toys and Liam’s projects. “What? No perfect gallery spaces to fit your art’s heart or something?”

  “No gallery spaces with a price tag I could ever afford.” Liam inspects the wrapped canvas before settling it with his other projects. “That dream’s going to have to go on the shelf for a bit. Like a very, very high shelf.”

  “Weren’t any apartments on Manhattan we could afford back when we moved here, but we managed okay, didn’t we?” Trip washes his hands and returns to the family room. “Roach crisis averted.”

  “And what a palace we found.” Liam pats the side of the couch where a patch of duct tape is covering a particularly bad tear in the fabric. “Thanks for dealing with that, but he might have friends.”

  “I’ll be on the lookout.” Trip goes to his room, calls over his shoulder. “What’s with the glass half-empty routine? You’re usually all shiny and positive—it’s not a bad change, just curious.”

  “Just tired and really damn cold,” Liam calls back. “Whenever the weather gets like this I start wondering why I didn’t go to Arizona and join an artist’s commune or something.”

  “Know what you mean, brother.” Trip nudges his blankets aside with a foot, but with no real purpose. His guitar isn’t here. It’s not totally unusual. June’s been getting into everything; Scar­lett might have just put it up somewhere. He pushes himself up on his toes to check the shelves. Nothing.

  Still, he isn’t overly perturbed. Things get moved all the time. Trip’s come home to find everything from the couch upside down, to Liam’s artwork filling his entire room, to the doors all gone off of the kitchen cabinets. He lies down on the floor to hunt under beds and furniture, digs through the other closets, and searches Devon and Liam’s room and anywhere else he can think to look.

  An hour passes and then another, and Trip has turned over the entire apartment and gone from frustrated to scared. He stands in the doorway of his room and stares at the empty corners. His guitar isn’t here.

  The front door opens and closes and the apartment is sud­denly filled with June’s crying and Scarlett’s voice. “Who’s home right now?”

  “I’m here,” Trip shouts. He lies down on the floor in Scarlett’s room to look under the bed a second time. He spies a few toys, a lost shoe and a couple boxes, but not much else. He pushes himself back to his feet to join the others in the main room.

  “Did you see this?” Scarlett slams a piece of paper down on the coffee table. She looks between Trip and Liam, slightly frantic. She doesn’t seem to notice how hard the baby’s crying.

  Trip squints at the paper. It’s tinted pink and the font is small, but there is no denying what it says: EVICTION NOTICE. He lifts it for closer inspection. “This on our door?”

  Scarlett shakes her head. “Next door. Apparently they’re no better at making rent than we are.”

  “Shit.” Liam clutches at his hair as he reads over Trip’s shoul­der. “If they’re out, we’re out.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” Trip sits on the arm of the couch. He feels vaguely sick.

  “What are we going to do?” Scarlett holds the baby closer, shushes her. “What the hell are we going to do?”

  Liam drops his hands to his sides. “We’re going to be home­less. Like ‘sitting on the curb with cardboard signs and empty cups’ homeless.”

  “We’re not going to be fucking homeless.” Scarlett puts a hand over June’s ear as though to keep her from hearing. “We’ll move. To the Bronx or Brooklyn or something.”

  “Great. How long do we have to find this magic, affordable apartment willing to rent to an artist, a stripper, a cashier and a professional pickpocket?”

  “Could list me under a nicer profession. And we’ve got three w
eeks.” Trip hands the note over to Liam. He drags his hands through his hair. “Scar? You seen my guitar?”

  “No, Trip, I haven’t seen your fucking guitar,” Scarlett snaps. “Did you miss the ‘we’re getting evicted’ thing?”

  “I fucking noticed, but I can’t pay no goddamn rent on this apartment or any other place if I don’t go make some money!” he shouts.

  The baby cries harder.

  The door opens a second time and Devon slips in. He stands against the wall near the door; his gaze flits between all of them. He looks dirty and tired.

  Liam holds up the note for him to see. “We’re getting evicted.”

  Devon nods as if this isn’t much of a surprise. He stays where he is against the far wall and keeps quiet.

  “Maybe we can stay.” Scarlett pulls a pacifier from her bag and offers it to June. She paces and pats the baby’s back. “We can fight it or something—people do that, don’t they?”

  “We don’t legally live here.” Liam chews a thumbnail. “Would Nate know, Trip?”

  “Why the fuck would he know anything about get­ting evicted?” Trip turns in a circle, his gaze swiveling around the apart­ment. “Seriously, has anyone seen my guitar?”

  “He knew how to get the power back on. Maybe he knows this, too.” Liam pushes his glasses up on his nose and looks at the eviction notice. “Maybe they won’t notice if we just stay. Like, do they follow through on this stuff right away or do we maybe actually have a couple months or something?”

  “It looks pretty final to me.” Scarlett raises her voice over June’s wailing. “I’ll talk to the girls tonight, see if anyone knows anything about it, or maybe one of them will know about an apartment.”

  “If we move out of Manhattan, it’s going to mean having to buy a MetroCard all the time. I can’t afford that and I need to be here to sell my work.” Liam flaps a hand at his projects in the corner.

  “You think I haven’t thought about that?” Scarlett shoots him an icy look before turning her attention back to soothing June.