by Cameron Lowe
The middle-aged man stood up, and shook Malcolm’s hand firmly. Instead of introducing himself, he said, “I used to be a barber before I became a plumber. You want, I could trim up that shaggy dog look of yours really quick.”
“Dad!” Gwen snapped. “Malcolm, this is my dad, Elliot.”
“Uh.” Malcolm said eloquently. “Nice, ah, to meet you, Mr. Chaplain.”
“Caplan,” Gwen murmured.
“Must be a hell of a friend, Gwen,” Mr. Caplan said. His grin bore an awful resemblance to a skull’s. “Certainly glad you’re in our home, Malcolm.”
Gwen glared at him. “Yes, Dad. We are very glad to have him. Malcolm’s a nice guy. And he did a lot to help us move.” To Malcolm and Calvin, she asked, “Drinks?”
“Please,” Malcolm practically begged. Anything to get him out of the living room and away from a man he was sure wanted to murder him for no good reason.
Except in comparison to Daphne Caplan, Elliot was a kitty-cat.
She stood near a steaming pot, a red-soaked spoon in hand as she hummed. Gwen’s mother was a strange funhouse mirror of her daughter. Her frame was similar and they both shared the same narrow skull and long black hair, but from there, the details skewed wildly. Gwen’s facial features had been inherited from her dad, not her mom, giving her a few more soft edges, where Mrs. Caplan’s face, though slim, was squarish and severe, her chin far more pronounced, her nose more bulbous.
Another woman leaned against the counter near her, one Malcolm vaguely remembered from a pickup basketball game’s tail end. Janie? No. Juliet. “Hello again,” she said, favoring him with a wry, knowing smile he couldn’t figure out.
“Hey! Juliet, right?”
That transformed her smile into something far more natural, and she nodded. “Got it. We were just talking about you.”
Gwen made a strangled noise before darting for the fridge. Malcolm crossed the room and shook with Mrs. Caplan, who stared first at his hand like it might bite her, then at her daughter.
“Hi there, Mrs. Caplan, I’m Malcolm. Nice to…”
“Are you trying to sleep with my daughter?” she snapped, jabbing the spoon in his direction.
Gwen muttered a stream of profanities as she slammed the fridge door shut, cans of soda in hand. Calvin started cracking up, despite her glare.
“Cal, this is not funny,” Mrs. Caplan said. “This is our Gwennie, and…”
“It’s okay,” Calvin said, raising his hands and still fighting off the snickers.
“It most certainly is not!” the woman snapped.
“No, no, I’m not trying to sleep with anyone,” Malcolm said. “I swear, I’m just a friend. That’s all.”
“If you’re lying…”
“I’m not.”
Gwen’s mom studied Malcolm, her mouth working in an Elvis-like sneer before her stormy emotions vanished. “Okay, then. So long as we’re clear on that.” Like a horse flogged into action by its rider, Mrs. Caplan’s smile broke through and she said to Calvin, “Are you two sticking around to eat?”
Chapter 8
The flu walloped Gwen in the last few weeks of summer, when the sun seemed to strive the hardest in Rankin Flats to kill them all before it gave over its mission to that Montana asshole, Old Man Winter. She thought the fever at first was due to dehydration – she’d been trying to get into shape for an October half-marathon alongside Calvin. He didn’t seem all that enthused about it, and his plastic smile when they finished running each morning made her feel like garbage. If he didn’t want to do it, that was fine. He didn’t have to be there for everything Gwen wanted to do.
In any case, by the time she reached Dr. Robertson’s office, Gwen was swiping away snot from her runny nose with napkins from a Wendy’s. She held one as she went inside, explaining to the nonplussed vet that she needed a day or two off to cope with this lest she make their patients sick. He agreed only when she nearly sprayed his checkered shirt with a wet sneeze.
Back home, she prepared a cup of water for tea in the microwave, honking her nose into proper tissues this time. The cold medicine in their cabinet was mostly gone, a victim of her summer allergies. Perfect. Score one for Gwen and her usual preparedness.
The tea in hand, she headed for the living room, flopping onto their loveseat and searching for her cell phone. It was a new thing to her. Cal had one for a couple years, but she’d never seen the purpose. Outside of the city’s heart and the immediate suburbs, reception was shoddy, and another mile away from their home it was lost entirely. She tried to dial his number, found it difficult to concentrate on the numbers, and brought up his number from the contacts list, punching the wrong name twice with her trembling fingers.
When Calvin picked up, his voice was sterile, almost on edge. It was his professional voice, but there was a bite to it. “Hi sweetheart. Is everything okay?”
Shit. The audits. He’d warned her he would be busy all week and only to call him if it was an emergency. “Sorry, Calvin. I completely forgot-”
“It’s fine,” he said briskly, but clearly it wasn’t. “Call you back later?”
“Sure. I-”
But he was already gone.
Gwen turned on the television to a game show and sipped her tea, trying to get it all down. Game shows were her jam, her guilty pleasure, her one true television love. Forget reality television, forget the pop-sugary sitcoms Calvin liked, she was a game show freak, through and through. She’d inherited that from days spent visiting with her grandmother in a nursing home. They had little in common and her grandmother’s comprehension of the world around her was fading, but in game shows, they found an easy friendship her last few years. Now Gwen thought about her grandma as she watched a Who Wants to Be a Millionaire rerun, and cried, and sniffed, and coughed until she was hoarse.
Her phone rang, and she nearly fumbled it off her lap, not realizing she’d been dozing. “Ugh, hey, Calvin, I really am sorry I called you at work.”
“Well, thanks, but I don’t mind a bit,” Malcolm said, amused.
“Oh hey, Malcolm, what are you up to?”
“I was going to grab some lunch. Figured I’d come by and drop off the hose you loaned me. Cool if I just toss it over your fence, or do you want me to hold off until you’re home?”
“Well,” Gwen said, and coughed right into the phone. “Ugh, sorry, I hate when people do that to me.”
“Aw, you’re sick? Crap, that sucks.”
“Sick, and home. So just come on by. I am camped out on the couch.”
“Can I get you anything?”
She thought about the nearly empty medicine cabinet. “No. No, I’m good.”
“Okay, well… see you in a few.”
“Bye.”
She hung up, and tossed the cell phone on the coffee table before getting up to unlock the front door. More tea was in order, so she plodded out to the kitchen to heat another mug. When she came back out to the living room, she checked the box of tissues. Maybe three left. Crap. She headed for the bathroom to grab a roll of toilet paper, and when she came back out, the doorbell rang.
“Come on in,” she shouted feebly.
Malcolm came in with the hose in loops around one arm, and a plastic bag hanging off his fingertips in the other. “Ah, hey, anywhere you want this?”
“How about the boxes in the office? That’ll do for now.”
“Can do. Mind taking the plastic bag? It’s yours.”
“It is?” she asked, confused. Had Calvin loaned him something else other than the hose? He’d needed that after a long dry spout left his and Nic’s lawn in shambles. She took the bag, and peeked inside. There were a pair of Styrofoam soup cartons inside.
Malcolm came out of the office, hands finally free, and said, “Nic recommended the Herdsman Café to me. Said it’s the best soup in this part of town. I wasn’t sure what you’d feel like, so I got both of what they had for today. Chicken and dumplings and Wisconsin cheese.”
“Malcolm, I…” Gwen shook her head.
“Thank you. Please, let me repay you.”
“Oh, absolutely not. Least I can do, considering how many times the two of you have treated me to dinner or shown me the city.” He took in the toilet paper in her hand, and grinned. “Uh, hope I wasn’t interrupting.”
“Huh? Oh. No.” Gwen wished his smile didn’t make her heart purr, but it did. Revved up just like a kitten getting a good, solid behind-the-ears pet. “Just realized I was out of tissues. Probably better for my nose anyways. It has lotion on it.”
Great, Gwen, tell him more about your butt wipe.
His smile fell away. “Hey, I was serious. If you need something, all you have to do is ask.”
“I don’t. I shouldn’t have even told you that.”
“Do you have cough syrup? That sort of thing?” When she didn’t answer, he glanced away. “Look. I’m just trying to be nice. I swear, there’s no ulterior motive, nothing you need to worry about. I’m not trying to… to talk you into sleeping with me or something by picking you up some Theraflu or whatever. I’m just trying to be a friend. If I’m overstepping, I’ll go.”
Gwen sighed. “I… I just don’t want to give you the wrong idea. Calvin and I…”
“I know. I’m not going to lie and say I’m not attracted to you, Gwen. I think you know that. But I’d never try to come between you two. I’m not that kind of person.” He glanced back at her. “I… shouldn’t have said that. I’ll go. I hope you like the soup.”
As he reached for the doorknob, Gwen cleared her throat. “Um. I could. Use your help, I mean. If I gave you a twenty, maybe some cough syrup and some, you know, nasal spray and stuff?”
“Keep the twenty. No, hear me out, don’t give me that look. Keep the twenty and when you’re feeling better, make me up a batch of that meatball sub casserole.”
Genuine pleasure flooded her system from her head to her toes. Calvin had hated the dish. He called it too greasy, too fatty and rich and carb heavy. She’d loved it. “You liked that?”
“Are you kidding? Everything you’ve made that I’ve tried, I liked. Well, except the ham and scalloped potatoes, but I mean, that’s just because the potatoes needed more time to cook. Wasn’t your fault.”
She surprised herself, and him, by stepping forward and hugging Malcolm. Something in her soul she hadn’t realized was despondent needed that simple kindness, and she drank it in for a moment before she realized herself and pulled away hastily. “Oh, I’m sorry, flu cooties.”
“It’s… it’s worth it,” he mumbled. “I’m… I’d… I’ll be back in a few. Again.”
Gwen nodded. Calvin. You’re happy with Calvin. You have a home with Calvin. He’s a good man. He’s a good future for you.
But when she laid down on the couch, just to rest her eyes a moment, it wasn’t Calvin’s face she thought of as she drifted off, but Malcolm’s. And for the first time, she let herself be okay with that.
* * *
Malcolm knocked twice, and got no answer. When he tried the door, it was still unlocked. Gwen must’ve forgot to relock it. He stepped inside, her name on his lips until he saw her curled up on the couch, her knees drawn nearly to her chest. Dressed in formless sweats, she’d never looked so normal and sweet.
Malcolm quietly laid out the half-dozen cold and flu items he’d bought for her on the table. He knew where their bedroom was, and tiptoed in there to strip the bed of its light comforter. When he returned to the living room and tucked the blanket around Gwen, she let loose with a soft sigh and wiped away a dribble of snot from her nose without coming fully awake.
It took every ounce of Malcolm’s willpower not to lean over right there and kiss her fevered cheek, her forehead, her lips. She was, snot and all, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and his heart ached and sang, all at once.
Chapter 9
Nic lounged back in the bleachers, puffing on a cigarette as Malcolm finished the last few hundred yards of his jog at a lunging, erratic pace. Sucking great big lungfuls of air, he staggered towards his roommate, hands clasped behind his head as Nic clapped, the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you, thank you,” Malcolm gasped.
“You think you’re hitting it a little hard out there?” Nic asked.
“Nah, I like my lungs feeling like I just sandpapered them.” A sports bottle full of mostly melted ice cubes and water sat near Nic. Malcolm limped up the bleachers, grabbed it, and downed a full third. After settling it back down, he started his post-run stretches, groaning as he worked his sore calves and legs.
“Your mom called last night. Told me to tell you she’s sending some stuff for Halloween. Decorations, some candy.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“Yeah. I should tell you, though, our neighborhood’s not exactly the, uh, trick or treat capital of the city. And most parents aren’t gonna bring their kids by my place.” As if for emphasis, he tapped the cigarette. A fine dusting of ash blew away on the breeze. Malcolm might have said something if the track wasn’t synthetic and the bleachers anchored in concrete.
“You mind if I put up a few things? Just to make her happy?”
“Nah, be my guest. Maybe stick ‘em inside, though. You leave anything out on the yard, it’s gonna get vandalized in hours.”
“Good call.”
“Sit down, you’re making me nervous,” Nic said.
Malcolm did, and drank more water. He used what was left to splash his face, despite the cold in the air. “I gotta get back in shape,” he muttered.
“Why do you have to do anything?” Nic asked. “What brought all this on?”
I want a woman I can’t have and I need to do something to get my mind off her.
“Gotta get back on the dating scene,” Malcolm said. That was the truth. His brother Brent had gone through a nasty breakup his first semester at college. His long-time high school girlfriend, and the woman he thought he would marry someday, dumped him out of the clear blue in a message on his answering machine. Devastated, Brent went into a funk for weeks, but eventually climbed out of it when his friends hooked him up on a series of blind dates. He’d been miserable throughout the first few until, he later told Malcolm, he just wasn’t anymore. There was no great shift, no moment when the pain went away. It just took time and effort.
“Yeah?” Nic asked, perking up. “Alicia’s been talking about setting up a coworker.”
“Know anything about her?”
“Not a damn thing.”
Malcolm laughed. “All right. If she’s not eighty or something, hook it up.”
“Cool, cool.” Nic stared at his friend, frowning. “You really gonna sit on my car seat with them sweaty-ass balls?”
* * *
The date wasn’t a disaster. If it had been, maybe Malcolm could have laughed it off, or shrugged his shoulders and moved on. Instead, Runa, the twenty-something assistant manager at Alicia’s weekend job at a Goth-centric clothing store, was not just pleasant, but quirky and self-deprecating, two of the traits that drew Malcolm in like a magnet. No, the date sucked because she was fantastic.
When he pulled into the parking lot, Alicia leaned against her car with a slight Asian American woman dressed in dark gray jeans, a blue top, and a halter sweater. Her long hair kept getting in her eyes from a stiff breeze, and she was laughing about it when Malcolm and Nic stepped out of the Grand National.
“Awesome car!” the woman said enthusiastically.
“Thanks!” Malcolm said, “Runa, right?”
“Yep. And you’re… wait a minute, let me remember here… Horatio. Gatorsnout. Hufflepuff.”
“All of those are correct,” Malcolm said, grinning. “And nice Harry Potter reference.”
Runa turned to Alicia. “I like him. He can stay.” She stepped forward to accept a hug from him. “Ooh, hugs when we meet. Nice play, Gatorsnout.”
“Hi, dumplin’ butt,” Alicia said to Nic.
“I am ready for some tacos. Also, hi.” He leaned in and kissed he
r cheek.
And tacos Nic did have. They all did, since it was the only thing on the menu. The place was known for that. Alicia called it one of the better cheap first date places in the city, and Malcolm liked the look of the place from the word go. Lit in cheerful blues and purples, the whole place had a strange under-the-sea vibe to it, especially combined with the seashell-like wallpaper. When they’d been seated, they all decided on the taco bar rather than ordering off the menu, and sidled up to the long counter full of meats and toppings to fix their feast.
“See, my thinking was,” Malcolm said to Runa, “if two people can see each other eat the messiest date food possible without being grossed out, it’s a rock-solid foundation.”
She turned, a ladle in hand. “Well, I hope you’re prepared, because this shirt? Gonna be coated in salsa. Guaranteed. I can’t eat a thing without it exploding on me.”
He laughed as he started loading up his plate with a pair of hard-shell tacos. “How about… mm… cereal?”
“Spilled the milk on myself just, what, three days ago? No joke.”
“Pop Tarts.”
“Oh, I could find a way.”
Once they grabbed their food, they settled in at a booth to talk. Despite Alicia and Runa originally staking their claim on one side of the booth before they hit the taco bar, now Runa moved her glasses of water and Coke to the other side, clearing her throat loudly when Alicia tried to join her.
“Told you he’s cute,” Alicia said, winking at Runa.
“Oh yeah. He’ll do.”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow at Nic. “I’ll do. You hear that?”
Nic already had a mouthful of chicken taco and grunted something vaguely friendly and assuring.
With Alicia at the helm, the conversation stayed lively. Runa was delighted to hear Malcolm had actually read a few manga, and they launched into a discussion about their favorites, drawing groans from Nic and Alicia alike. He hit troubled waters when Runa asked specifically when he first started reading them, because it had been Blair of all people who first introduced him to a few and he very much didn’t want to dive into ex history on the first date. Nic was the one to save him from going down that hole, mentioning offhandedly Malcolm used to date a Japanophile. That both sated Runa and led them into a discussion of Minneapolis, and more specifically, the Vikings, who she thumbed her nose at as a Packers fan.