Impatience Is a Virtue

by Francis Gideon

  “Well,” Patrice says after she notices the small scuffle. “Sometimes there is no waiting for the twelve days.”

  “Yeah,” Jack adds. “Indeed. Should we go after him?”

  Maura and Patrice both shake their heads. “I didn’t see anything at all.”

  “How’s everyone doing over here? Surviving?” Greta asks, poking her head from around an aisle. She moves next to the other two workers who nod politely to her.

  Jack rubs his elbow. “I’ll live, don’t worry.”

  “We were just redoing the twelve days of Christmas,” Maura introduces without missing a blink.

  “So many birds,” Greta says. “That is not true love in gift form. That man gave his poor wife nothing but bird shit to clean up.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Patrice adds.

  They go on and talk for a little while longer, bringing Greta up to speed. When a cleanup is broadcasted for the toy aisle, Patrice’s spot, she moves on. As does Maura, who feels the need to scout out some Batman toys for her nieces and nephews. She waves a slight goodbye to Jack and Greta as they sort through bins.

  “How is your Doctor Sexy?” Greta asks after a moment. The song over the radio is “Baby its Cold Outside” and Greta picks up two teddy bears and makes them dance as she asks again.

  “He has a name, you know,” Jack teases her. He picks up two boy teddy bears and makes them dance instead.

  “I know. It’s Doctor Sexy.”

  “Marshall,” he groans.

  “Right,” she says. “Marshall—”

  “Greta, please.”

  “Oh, leave me alone, sweetheart. I’m old and have to have my fun someway.”

  They continue to sort through the linen section, removing some of the toys that have been shoved in with the pillows. Though they are in the Bed and Bath area, a group of people come up to them with receipts and old, crinkled Target bags.

  “I’m sorry, no returns today,” Greta states. “You have to wait for tomorrow. And use a cash register.”

  “But I’m not going to be in town tomorrow.”

  “You should have thought about that before you drove all this way and then bought sixteen pairs of shoes. I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s the law in this land.”

  “Ugh,” the woman says, tossing down what she has just purchased without a second thought.

  Greta remains stoic, unaffected. She picks up the shoes and dusts them off. She then looks down at her feet, to Jack’s. “You think these will work?”

  Jack laughs. “With your eyes, Greta. Anything will work.”

  “Thank you sweetheart, maybe one day when you run away from here with your doctor, you can hit me up for some plastic surgery.” She smiles. “Not that I’m not beautiful on my own.”

  “Don’t worry, Greta. I’ll be thinking of you when I’m free,” Jack says with a smile.

  Jack wishes that he could say that the daydreaming wasn’t a regular part of working at Target, but it is. Especially for someone like Greta, a woman in her mid-fifties with three grown kids. She was supposed to have a good retirement plan from the lawyer’s firm she was the secretary at. But like always, the economy crashed. So many people, Jack knows, are here because they have to be—but it’s more than that too. So many workers were promised good jobs via their parents, their education, or their former employers. Some of them even had that for a while. But then it fell apart and all expectations were dashed. They were forced to fill out an application form during one of the busiest times of the year during one of the worst recession for a store that paid their workers shit and barely allowed them other rights, too. They had been promised something that was then revoked, so the only thing they could do was dream. Patrice wanted to go to Rome and visit the Parthenon that she had learned about in school, whereas Maura just wanted to do a road trip like Kerouac. Beyond the short New York City quest with her boyfriend, Maura wanted to go across the entirety of the country and then write about it later on. But Greta—Jack likes Greta’s plans most of all.

  “I dream of one of those tax free islands like St. Lucia or something. Warm all the time. Wearing bathing suits that no one cares about seeing me in. And then just relaxing.”

  Greta wants to do nothing with the rest of her life, having gotten this far already. She reminds Jack of her plans, and informs him of some of the plane rates she checked on earlier in the morning before coming to work, as if she could leave just when her shift was over.

  “It’s very possible,” she tells him now. “If this line-up would eventually die down, then nothing could stop me.”

  “One day,” Jack says to himself as much as Greta. “One day, we’ll escape. My doctor will have a private plane and we can go to wherever we want.”

  “I like it,” Greta says with a nod. “Just do me one favor?”

  “Uh huh?”

  “You’ll invite me to a feast, all of us, where we can recount our old stories of the Targé like war vets?”

  Jack laughs. He thinks of the man with his daughter suddenly, taking the backpacks just because they wanted them. Just like that, they had what they wanted. Jack wants it to be that easy for everything, from backpacks, to vacations, to money, and jobs in general. But it seems like patience is a virtue that only rewards some. The rest of the time, you just have to take what’s given to you—and then run as fast as you can.

  “Of course,” Jack finally answers. “Of course, we’ll do that when we can.”

  “Good. I’m counting the days.”

  Chapter 6

  The most romantic thing that Marshall has ever done is also the sexiest—at least, according to Jack. During his final year in grad school, about a month before they got the letter that would split them across the state, Marshall had insisted he needed to work late.

  “An exam. I really don’t know as much about the circulatory system as I need to pass this.”

  “Pass it,” Jack questioned, “or get perfect?”

  Marshall was quiet on the line. Jack heard the skittish sounds of breathing, as if he was withholding a laugh and a sigh at the same time.

  “Come on, Marsh. I know you well enough by now. You want to get perfect, so you’re studying late into the night. But stress will kill you—remember that.”

  Marshall let out a low laugh. “You’re right, Jack.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. But I still need to get this done—and help Veronica, who’s also studying tonight.”

  Jack’s face fell. He should have known better than to get his hopes up. Marshall would always be studying, because this was important. This was both of their tickets out of minimum wage hell and Ohio. Jack had sighed, through clenched teeth, but eventually allowed Marshall off the line.

  “Don’t’ do anything that I wouldn’t do while I’m gone,” Marshall had joked.

  Jack barely mustered a laugh. Inside his apartment, he pulled over his laptop and decided to drown himself in his Netflix cue. When he saw that House and Grey’s Anatomy had recently been watched, he shut the laptop again. No more fictional doctors—McDreamy or otherwise. He picked up his iPod instead and cranked the volume as he started cleaning the rest of the apartment. There was so little space, and so often now that Jack wanted to relieve stress, that the small one-bedroom as practically immaculate. But Jack found some dust under the stove and set to work.

  Just when he was about to knock over the garbage can in the kitchen, just so he’d have something to clean, there was a banging at the door. He took an ear bud out and waited, craning his neck towards the doorway. He heard the sudden shuffle of feet. He waited for another sound.

  How could anyone even get in here? Jack wondered. There was a key system at the front. No doorman—he couldn’t afford a place that nice—but there was some type of security. He glanced out of his kitchen window and noted the parking lot filled with orange and white moving trucks. Right. It was the first of the month, so there was going to be a sudden deluge of people leaving and coming in—and propping
the front doors open with a rock so people could haul couches in and out without much effort. That meant anyone could come inside and mess up the apartment building. Jack ignored the sudden sounds from outside his door and went back to cleaning under the sink.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin entirely when a heavy-handed and insistent knock came on his door.

  “Yes?” Jack asked. He bit his lip, realizing he had given away his spot. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t home at all anymore. He pulled down the earphones and peered through the peephole. Nothing but a cluster of white flowers greeted him.

  “What the…”

  “Open up. I have a delivery for a Mr. Olmstead.”

  Jack grasped the doorknob in his hand. He knew that voice anywhere, even if Marshall was trying to disguise it.

  On the other side, Marshall stood in a long coat, holding up a white bloom in front of him, He grinned from behind his thick framed glasses and extended his arms. “Here. A peace offering.”

  Jack smiled. He felt his ears turn red. He glanced down the hallway, looking to see if anyone was around. A couple gruff men moved some boxes from the elevator, but they paid no attention to Jack and Marshall.

  “What is this?”

  “A surprise visit,” Marshall said. “You were right. I needed to come over. And speaking of which—” Marshall gestured with his hand. “You mind inviting me in? It’s a bit chilly out here.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” Jack took the potted plant under one arm and held the door with his other hand. As Marshall set foot inside, Jack realized he wore a long coat, though it was the beginning of spring. He took off his boots in the front hallway, and pulled out bare feet. He turned around and smiled again, the coat still buttoned up all the way to the throat. Jack felt his cheeks flame again as the realization hit him. Marshall was naked under his coat. It was beyond obvious to him now—and the thought made his heart pump faster in his chest.

  “I’m excited to see you,” Marshall said.

  “I, uh…I see that.” Jack looked at the flower. “What did you say this was?”

  “I didn’t actually. It’s a primrose. It’s a plant that represents freshness and spring…and forgiveness.”

  “Ah. Is that true?”

  “More or less.” Marshall grinned. “It’s for fresh starts, so I’m using it as a grand gesture to say I’m sorry. You’re right. I try too hard to get things perfect. I told Veronica to reschedule, after I made her drive me to get this.”

  “And you were in such a hurry you forgot clothing? Not that I mind. You’re forgiven on that front.”

  Marshall smiled. He took a step closer and placed his palms over Jack’s hips. Jack still held the potted plant under his arm. The petals brushed his burning cheeks. He was relieved when Marshall took it from him and placed it down on the end table in the front hallway.

  “The flowers were for forgiveness,” he stated slowly in a husky whisper. “But I’m showing up like this because I love you. And I want to see you tonight…All of you.”

  Jack bit his lip. Marshall’s hands slid around his waist and pulled him closer. Their mouths met quickly, brushing against the other’s dry lips without staying long. It was a tease, Jack knew, but he relished every second of the touch even as Marshall pulled back and grinned.

  “And, and?” Jack sputtered. “Isn’t there more?”

  “Shh,” Marshall said. He placed a finger over Jack’s mouth—only to have Jack take the finger inside. Marshall’s jaw slacked as he watched Jack suck his index finger slowly. “Shhh,” he repeated again, his voice a whisper. “I have more to show you.”

  Marshall stepped back and began to undo his coat. One button at a time, he undid it like a slow New Year’s countdown, his smile hitching up as he revealed more of his body underneath. Jack was struck by the display. When Marshall got to the end of the coat, and stepped out of it, shedding it onto the floor, Jack rushed over to meet him. Their mouths were faster this time, opening up and taking the other person’s tongue inside. They were frantic, hungry, and even a little needy. Jack could feel Marshall against him, but he also realized that this was about more than just being sexy. This was about more than sex, though Jack knew that would come soon enough. This was about Marshall being vulnerable, being weak, and displaying all of his flaws. Marshall was a man who was so determined and so motivated to be perfect. To be successful. Admitting that his drive could have possibly screwed up whatever budding relationship they had was a huge confession for him to make. Removing all of his clothing, displaying his body, was a show of trust that Jack was not going to let go to waste.

  Jack’s hand moved over Marshall’s neck, caressing his cheek. Their breath became heavy, arousal thick in their mumbles and moans as they fumbled together. Marshall’s hands slid around Jack’s waist, lifting his shirt out of his pants, and touching the small ditch in his back. His palms were slightly chilled form the outside air, but it felt good. Jack pressed himself against Marshall more, feeling his erection against the thin fabric of his jeans. There was a clanging of brass and metal as Marshall worked through his belt and undid his pants. He slipped his hand inside Jack’s boxers, pulling out his cock and sliding it against his own. In the front hallway, Jack was almost completely naked before Marshall broke the embrace and laughed lightly.

  “I’m freezing. We have to go to the bedroom.”

  “Yes,” Jack said, agreeing with a laugh. He linked his hand with Marshall, and stepping out of his pants, and led them both down the hall.

  Marshall lay down on the bed first, his body already ready and waiting. He leaned back on his elbows and watched closely as Jack finished the rest of his own undressing. Marshall’s eyes moved up and down, appraisingly. It was then, as Jack moved over Marshall’s body, kissing him once again, that he realized the second half of Marshall’s appearance on the front doorstep. Marshall had shown his vulnerability—but he had also marveled at Jack’s strength. Jack was so used to being underappreciated, underestimated, and completely ignored by most people that he worked with. He was seen as a failure by many because he “refused” to amount to much. But Marshall’s hands traced over him like he was a God incarnate. And Marshall’s eyes went wide as he looked on at Jack, as if he truly understood what he had.

  Jack straddled Marshall’s waist and Marshall’s hands slid over his thighs and ass. He pulled Jack forward, until Jack’s cock was right above his mouth. Marshall took him between his lips, kissing the head of his dick, before he pulled him further inside. Marshall’s hand moved to Jack’s back, keeping him in place as he continued to suck him off. Jack rocked into the motion, appreciating the feeling of Marshall’s tongue—and his sudden relaxation. Half the time, their sex was so orderly and efficient. They would cuddle after dinner (if they had eaten together) and then turn to one another during a commercial break in a show (if Marshall hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch first), and then make out until someone’s pants came off. They’d shuffle to the bedroom, take off the rest of their clothing, and then usually Jack would lie down on the bed and wait for Marshall to get the lube and condoms out. Jack swore that those small actions, no matter how scripted, had set his skin alight when they first started to date because it was so new.

  And it wasn’t as if Jack had been dissatisfied with their current arrangements. He liked it. He was more into the pillow talk after sex, when Marshall was finally relaxed. He liked naked cuddling and talking with him, almost as much as getting off.

  But now—now things were different. Marshall was changing up their routine, because he wanted to show how much he appreciated Jack. And Jack, well, it felt good being on top of Marshall and having him look up at him in awe. He rocked his hips into his mouth, until Marshall slid a finger over his ass, quietly preparing for the next stage.

  There was a quick blur of naked limbs and kissing as Jack grabbed the condoms and lube. Marshall remained on the bed, lying down, and propped up by his elbows. Jack sucked his cock a little bit before he slid a condom on. Straddling his w
aist one again, Jack leaned into Marshall so Marshall could navigate the next stage. Jack clenched his jaw at the sudden cold feeling, and then rolled his head back as he felt Marshall’s eager fingers, and then his cock press into him without actually going inside.

  “You ready?” Marshall whispered. It was a small question—completely banal and common place between them, but to Jack it felt like so much more. Maybe it was Marshall’s tone, the way his palm held Jack’s waist, or the vague scent of flowers that still hung onto Marshall from the flower shop. But asking ‘are you ready?’ felt more revealing than asking ‘do you love me?’ More than ‘do you trust me?’ The question was a sudden revelation that their relationship was getting serious. That showing up at the door naked and with flowers was more than just a standard trick or stunt to get Marshall to forgive Jack. It was going to be emblematic of their life together. Marshall would ignore Jack in favor of his career, then he would suddenly realize that Jack was the best thing that ever happened to him. This would be a constant thing, a push and pull type of life. Jack would feel loved only in small, short bursts. But he would be loved, and loved better than he ever had been before.

  “Are you ready,” Marshall asked again. He held his cock outside of Jack’s body, his lips grazing his ear.

  “Yes, yes I am,” Jack said in a heavy breath. Even his answer to the simple question felt more weighted than normal. Marshall’s eyes gazed into his as he smiled lightly, and nodded.