A Fluid State

by Rob Browatzke

“Right. Sorry.”

  Andrew smiled at Kent and mouthed “thank you”. Kent wheeled Peter off. “We should probably think about clothes too,” he said.

  “I need to call Christy.”

  “You do that. I’m going to find a ladies’ room and get out of this suit.”

  Patrick waved him away, already on the phone. Andrew ducked into a stall and changed. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He smoothed down his hair. Even straight guys didn’t deserve to get subjected to the unruly mop of Andrew House.

  He stepped out of the washroom and stopped in his tracks. Patrick was facing away, and Andrew took a deep breath. Even after seeing it all afternoon, Patrick’s back and shoulders were just impressive. Andrew maybe used the treadmill a couple times a week, if the gin hangovers weren’t too extreme. This man was sculpted perfection. Even if he was gay, he was not in Andrew’s league.

  (And he’s not gay)

  Patrick turned, and beckoned him over. “Wait here,” he said. “Christy’s coming, and I want to get dressed too, but if they come back out...”

  “It’s been like seven minutes.”

  “Yes, but...”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  “Thanks.” He took a few steps away and then turned back. “Seriously, Andrew. Thank you.”

  Andrew just nodded.

  §

  Christy hadn’t arrived yet when Kent came back out. Patrick jumped to his feet.

  “It’s definitely broken,” Kent said. “But it’s a clean break. We’ll get him in a cast and he should be good to go in six weeks.”

  “Thank you,” Patrick said. “Thanks for getting him in so fast.”

  “No problem.”

  “Seriously, if there’s anything you need...”

  “How about a date?” Kent asked.

  Patrick opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  “He’s straight,” Andrew said.

  “And he’s not the one I was asking out,” Kent said, winking.

  “Patrick! What’s going on? What happened? Where is he?” Christy came running up.

  “He’s fine,” Patrick said. “Well, not fine. It’s a break, but he’s going to be fine.”

  Christy took a deep breath. “What happened?”

  “We were at TRR. He fell.”

  “Who’s this?” She turned to Andrew.

  “Hi Christy,” Andrew said.

  “Ann! My bad! Sorry, I’ve never seen you out as a boy before.”

  “I’ll leave you to talk,” Kent said, “but Andrew, let me know about that date.” Kent walked off.

  “What’s that about?” Christy asked, eyebrow raised.

  “Andrew here can’t even go to the ER without scoring.”

  “That’s hardly a regular occurrence,” Andrew said.

  Christy turned to take in Kent’s disappearing form. “Look at that ass in those scrubs though. If you don’t, I will.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “You have to. He’s beautiful. Did you see those eyes? And that hair!”

  “Kent’s good looking, sure.” And yes, Christy was right, Kent had an amazing ass.

  “Then why not?” Christy asked. “Hey!” she called out. “Kent!” The nurse turned around. “Andrew says yes.”

  Kent gave a thumbs up, and then mimed a phone call, before smiling and walking away.

  “There ya go,” Christy said. “Now, can we go see Peter?”

  What had just happened? Andrew stood there speechless, as Patrick took Christy up to the desk. He had a date, sure, but why did he feel it was entirely with the wrong guy?

  §

  His last date had been... how long ago? He could barely remember, really. For the amount of time he spent on apps double-tapping and right-swiping, he should be dating more, but sometimes it seemed, in the toxically masculine, body-shaming racist world of “no femmes no fats no Asians” online cruising, being a drag queen meant “thank you, next”.

  He certainly hadn’t expected Kent to call so quickly. Actually, he hadn’t expected Kent to call at all, not when a text would have worked just as well, but Andrew had just poured himself a glass of merlot and was kicking back on the couch, exhausted after a day of water slides and broken bones, when the phone rang.

  The only way he could get his mind off Patrick was distracting it with something, or someone else, and Kent would be a great distraction. Who knows, Andrew thought, maybe it would go somewhere, and he’d be swept off his feet and fall in love. It was time, past time really, and literally nothing about a crush on some straight bro was going to get him closer to that white picket fence goal.

  Andrew had suggested Mo Mondays at the Peppery Pig, a restaurant in the heart of the gayborhood, thinking it would be fun and casual enough not to put a lot of pressure on, but Kent had countered with Richard’s, somewhere “quieter” where they could “get to know each other better”. That certainly upped the date part of the equation, which was why Andrew found himself breaking a sweat as he tried to find the right outfit to wear.

  (You’re going to be late)

  He glanced at the clock on the dresser. He was going to be late, he realized, something he could blame wholly on the pile of clothes on the bed behind him. What he was wearing would have to do.

  He looked at himself in the mirror again. The tie was too much, he said, yanking it off. Much better, he thought, smoothing down the shirt with his clammy hands.

  Really. When had his last date been? Real date, that is. Not the weird, confusing whatever-they-were with Patrick. He should probably call Patrick actually, he thought. To check on Peter.

  In the car, he did just that. “Hey,” he said, when Patrick answered.

  “Hi. What’s up?”

  “Actually, I’m on my way to that date.”

  “With the nurse?”

  “Yes. And I’m oh so grateful to your ex wife for forcing this.”

  Patrick chuckled. “She’s never been one to mind her own business.”

  “At least I have someone to blame when it doesn’t work out.”

  “If, you mean. You’re a catch. I mean, for a guy, I guess.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “It’s not even seven.”

  “It’s happy hour somewhere.”

  “You okay?” There was something off in his voice.

  “Great.”

  Andrew didn’t believe him, but he was also nearly at Richard’s. “I just wanted to ask how Peter was doing.”

  “Good. He’s at Christy’s. I’ll tell him you asked after him.”

  “Thank you. Listen, Patrick, are you sure you’re okay? You sound weird.”

  “Maybe I’ve had more than I thought,” he said.

  “Do you need to talk?”

  “No. I need you to go have a good time on your date,” he said. “You’ve helped enough.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant, you helped with Peter and all his gender whatever. You don’t need to worry about anything else. Go. Enjoy your nurse.” His voice was tinged with bitterness. Something was clearly going on, Andrew thought.

  (Not what you think)

  (Not what you want)

  “We’re friends,” he said. “Friends worry about each other.”

  “I’m good, Andrew. Look, I have to go. Have a good time.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure. Talk soon?”

  “Yeah. Peter will be there Saturday.”

  Andrew wanted to say more, but Patrick was already gone, and the awning of Richard’s suddenly loomed ahead. He didn’t have time to worry about straight man problems because he was now face to face with his own. What if it had been so long since his last real date that he didn’t know what to do?

  §

  He needn’t have worried. Kent was charming and effervescent and really quite adorable. He was there when Andrew walked in, and he actually stood up when Andrew got to the table, looking every bit as han
dsome in a shirt and tie as he did in his scrubs.

  (Told you to wear a tie)

  “How chivalrous,” Andrew said, as Kent pulled out Andrew’s chair for him.

  “Momma raised me right,” Kent said. “Of course, she thought I’d be treating a lady this nice, but hey, don’t we all deserve a little extra?”

  “I won’t complain.”

  “Good,” Kent said, sitting down and flashing a smile. He had dimples so deep that Andrew wanted to curl up in them and pull them over him like they were a big blanket. “You look nice,” Kent said.

  “Thanks. So do you. I should have worn a tie. I was going to, I just changed my mind at the last minute and now I’m feeling underdressed.”

  “Don’t,” Kent said, and he loosened his and slid it off over his head. “There. Now you can calm down.”

  “Sorry, that was a little rambly.” He took a sip of water. “I don’t date much.”

  “Really? I’m surprised. You’re so handsome.”

  Andrew felt his face flush. “Thank you. You’re very handsome too.”

  “Sorry. I’m really direct. I’ve never seen the point in beating around the bush really. Should we order?”

  Andrew was grateful for the opportunity to hide behind the menu for a bit. He was used to two types of gay men: ones that were direct about just wanting to get naked and fuck, and ones that did nothing but play games and avoid anything remotely resembling a genuine feeling. Kent was clearly neither of those.

  They ordered drinks and their entrees, and made small talk about the Torch and people they knew there. When their food finally came, Andrew’s musk ox medallion with roasted potatoes and asparagus, Kent’s prime rib, they let a silence fall as they ate their first bites.

  “I love the presentation here,” Andrew said, “and the food is great too.”

  “It’s my favorite place. I used to see someone that worked here.” Kent paused. “Well, sort of used to see.”

  Andrew smiled. “Let me guess. Colton?”

  Kent smiled back. “I guess a lot of people used to “see” him.”

  “Even after he and Jesse started dating.” They paused. Colton and Jesse’s polyamorous relationship was the stuff of legend. It had been brought to an end though, in the Wonderland Massacre. That wasn’t first date conversation, Andrew knew, even if it had affected every gay in River City. “They’d probably be married by now, if…”

  “Yes, if.” Kent smiled sadly, and Andrew knew exactly what he was thinking: too many “what ifs” had ended the night of the shooting. “What about you? Do you want to get married?”

  “Can we finish eating first?” Andrew winked. “I guess though. Isn’t that the end goal?”

  “Ideally.” Kent raised his wine glass. “To the inspiration of other people’s happy endings.”

  They clinked glasses, and Andrew couldn’t help but think of all the times he and Patrick had clinked bottles.

  (Stop thinking about him. Think about the very hot, very available, very gay man across from you)

  “Thanks for yesterday,” he said. “My friend was very worried.”

  “No problem. Wait times can be insane. I mean, if anyone there had really needed to get seen more immediately, I wouldn’t have, of course, but honestly, sometimes they’re there just to be there.”

  “A lot of regulars?”

  “You get to know the ones that just want to be somewhere indoors. Even in summer. Homeless, or mentally ill, or dealing with addiction. I was happy to help you though. And look, it led to this.”

  “Thanks again.”

  “It was a nice clean break. He’ll heal fast.”

  “Patrick is relieved about that.”

  “He’s a good looking man,” Kent said. “How long have you been friends?”

  “Honestly? A couple weeks. I know the son more. He comes to my Saturday storytimes at the library.”

  “He’s straight though? The dad? I mean, I don’t have competition, do I?” He grinned mischievously.

  “No, you’re fine. He’s totally straight.”

  “Oh? You’ve tried?”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean that. I wouldn’t ever make that mistake again.”

  “Oh?” Kent waved his hand.

  “His name was Karl. He was my best friend in high school,” Andrew said. “I’m sure you can guess the rest.” Leaving it like that was enough. Pretty much every gay man had that straight guy crush that ended badly. Kent could just think that. He didn’t need to know that in the case of Andrew and Karl, that crush had ended with Andrew bruised and battered.

  “Mine was Jeff,” Kent said. “We were fifteen. He still let things go pretty far though.” Kent winked.

  “Oh, do tell,” Andrew said, happy to let Kent regale him with his teenage sexcapades. He didn’t need to think about straight boys past or present.

  (Then stop thinking about him)

  (Patrick Patrick Patrick)

  PATRICK

  So much for cutting back on the drinking, Patrick thought, as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. Was it his fifth or sixth? All he knew was it was Monday night and he was warm and buzzed and not at all happy.

  He was obviously not adjusting to civilian life well. His whole life couldn’t be the gym or drinking. When he had Peter, things were better. Even with all the confusion he had felt about what Peter was like now, he was still the most important part of Patrick’s world. Which didn’t change the fact that Patrick was infinitely happy about Peter having a crush on a girl.

  Maybe Patrick needed to follow suit. He hadn’t dated since things started with Christy, and that was so long ago. They’d been together for two years before she got pregnant with Peter, which made his last first date thirteen years ago. No wonder he was feeling jealous of Andrew being out on a date.

  There couldn’t be any other reason.

  Getting back on the proverbial horse was exactly what he needed. He was single. He was good-looking. And really, he was horny. Too bad that Jess wasn’t single. She was exactly Patrick’s type. His dick jumped at the thought of her joining him and Andrew in the hot tub the day before.

  He finished off the glass, enjoying the burn as it went down, and then reached down and adjusted the erection in his pants. He wondered if Andrew was going to get some tonight. Did he put out on the first date? You always heard about gay guys and how easy it was for them to get laid. It wasn’t like that for straight guys, especially ones with a kid.

  Maybe, though, he didn’t need to worry about Peter for one night. He didn’t need to find himself a new wife. He didn’t need to find Peter a new mother. He just needed to unload. He needed to find himself someone he could just get hot and sweaty with, someone he could just fuck.

  Jerking off wasn’t enough anymore. It took the worst of the edge off, but he needed to really pound someone, and in this neighborhood that meant one place.

  §

  John’s Republic was the grand-sounding name of a hole in the wall dive bar a few blocks from Patrick’s. He and Christy had gone there a few nights. They had good nachos and Christy loved to play darts. Tonight though, Patrick wasn’t thinking about food or games. He was going there with one purpose in mind.

  He knew it was Monday, and he knew that meant the pickings would be slim, but he also didn’t really care. It sounded horrible, even to him, but he really just wanted to continue getting drunk and take some random woman home to fuck. John’s Republic had a reputation of being a bit of a cougar bar so he was confident as he walked in the door that he’d be able to find someone.

  Maybe tomorrow he and Andrew could kick back and compare stories about their respective lays. He wondered if Andrew was the woman when he was having sex. He’d have to ask, even though it would be a weird question.

  The bar was even quieter than Patrick had anticipated. A few solo people sat along the long bar, and a couple tables were occupied. The dance floor was an empty black hole in the middle of the room, the white spots of a circling mirror ball the
only movement. There was certainly no one there for him to fuck, but he was willing to wait a while.

  Sitting at the bar, Patrick ordered a double whiskey and soda. Normally, he like it neat, but he needed to dilute it a little. He sat there, staring into the glass. The music was bad 90s rap (like there was any good 90s rap, he thought). He wondered how Andrew’s date was going, and ordered another drink. He wondered if Jess and her husband had an open relationship, and ordered another drink. He wondered if Christy was getting any lately and if it would be weird if they hooked up for old times’ sake.

  “Another,” he said to the bartender without even looking up.

  “I hate seeing a handsome man drink alone.”

  He turned to see a woman leaning on the bar top. She had long brown hair that hung in front of her shoulders and was wearing the tightest jeans Patrick had ever seen. She had nice eyes. No, she had amazing eyes. They were this incredible green and definitely reminded Patrick of someone, but he couldn’t think who.

  “I’m not alone now,” he said, and he pushed out a chair for her. “Patrick,” he said.

  “Maureen,” she said. “Friends call me Mo though.’

  “Hi, Mo,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “You absolutely can.” She rested her hand on his arm, just briefly, but long enough for Patrick Junior to stand to attention.

  One drink became another, and then a third, and Patrick decided he didn’t hate 90s rap that badly after all. “Dance?” he said. He was out of practise. He could probably just ask her to come home with him, but he couldn’t find it in him. Dancing, though, dancing would seal the deal.

  “Sure,” she said, and the look in her eyes and the way she licked her lips told Patrick she knew exactly what that dancing invitation meant, and that the answer to the unasked question was going to be yes.

  She took him by the hand and led him to that empty dance floor. He put his hand in the small of her back and pulled her tight up against him. He could feel her fingernails scraping over the back of his neck. She slithered down him, and he knew she could feel him respond. He might not have hook up apps or overly confident nurses asking him out, but he still had it, he thought, as his left hand slid up her leg.

  “This song isn’t really the best for dancing,” she whispered in his ear. “I think we should move this somewhere else.”