Chapter 35

Joel had spent moretime cleaning his basement recreation room than the rest of the house combined. The non-TV half of the long, wide space had become the unlucky repository for misfit objects: outdated electronics, rejected dog toys, and broken kitchen gadgets he'd sworn he was going to repair despite his complete lack of mechanical prowess. By the time Daniel arrived, every surface of the rec room was spotless and orderly.

It took the two of them fifteen minutes to trash the place.

On the way home from the park, they'd stopped at a 7-Eleven and bought enough snacks to stock a fraternity house, which Joel's rec room was now beginning to resemble—or so he assumed, having never been invited to a frat party.

Then they busted out Joel's remaining medical marijuana for a viewing of Beverly Hills Cop 2, fulfilling a thirty-four-year-old promise. Halfway through, pizzas were delivered and consumed with abandon.

When the movie ended, they danced.

Under the colored disco ball in his rec room ceiling, they seized back one of the purest joys that that bastard virus had stolen from the human race. They started with a few tunes from their youth, but too much nostalgia still made Joel queasy, so like a wedding DJ, he took them rapidly through the eras to the present.

They were halfway through a Diplo-curated EDM playlist when Daniel made a beeline for their phones on the couch. He mimed turning down the music before answering the call.

"Joel Mendel's phone."

Joel gaped up at him from the stereo receiver. "Wait, what are you?—"

"This is his friend Daniel. How do you do?" His voice tipped up at the end of the sentences, because he was still adorably high. Joel reached for his phone, but Daniel waved him away with an I-got-this gesture. "Yep, that's my truck out there with the Nebrask—oh gosh, I'm so sorry. We didn't realize how loud…Yep, we'll keep it down, promise. Hope to meet you soon and make it up to you over a friendly barbecue." Daniel hung up and gave Joel a guilty grin. "Busted!"

"At least the neighbors called me instead of the cops." Joel took his phone to check the call log. His pot-muzzy eyes strained to focus on the screen. "The Barlows next door. They must have had their windows open too."

"I'll shut yours." Daniel lowered and latched the window, then tugged down the blinds. "Just as well. If I danced much longer, I'd probably collapse, bionic knee and all." He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, then wobbled as if he'd knocked himself over. "Starting to feel that long drive. Not to mention getting up at why-God-why-o'clock this morning."

"Let's slow things down a bit." Joel pulled up his music app to find a mellower playlist.

Over in the corner, Daniel switched on the lamp and started scanning the bookshelves. "You still have CDs?"

"Just a few faves—and why not, when cassettes are making a comeback? CDs have to be next."

"No judgment here. I buy vinyl just for the album art. Don't even own a turntable."

Joel selected a playlist titled Dreamy Folk/Indie. "I hope you like?—"

"Hey, what's this?" Daniel yanked out one of the green wire-mesh magazine files that held important journal issues and anything else that would fit. He held up one of the magazines.

Oh shit. Joel had forgotten to hide that particular file when he was cleaning up. Or had he just decided not to?

"I didn't save all of them," he said, as if that made the collection less obsessive. "I've moved a lot since 2004. Once I got an office at school, I kept them there." He scratched his beard and gave a nervous laugh. "Surprisingly few colleagues have asked me why a mid-Atlantic entomologist needed fourteen old issues of Great Plains Life."

Daniel said nothing as he carried the file box to the end of the L-shaped couch, where he sank with a whump into the deep cushions. His face was tight, twisting with an indecipherable emotion.

Joel took a tentative step forward. "Does this make you sad? I don't want to make you sad."

"No," Daniel rasped out. "It makes me happy. The fact that you kept them…" He withdrew the oldest issue in Joel's collection, the one with Ghost Towns of Nebraska on the front cover. "I remember this shoot." He thumbed through the magazine, then stopped at a two-page spread of an abandoned red schoolhouse sitting alone on a wide, wildflowered plain under threatening clouds. "The weather turned stormy real fast. I barely escaped a tornado."

"Yeah?" Joel sat beside him on the couch. "Tell me more."

They went through each issue in the box, Daniel describing the sometimes chaotic, often hilarious scenes behind the lens. For Joel, the magazine had been a window into another world, one that all his training and education had never offered. There were farms and even ranches here in Maryland, but nothing approaching the scale of those on the Plains.

He touched a page showing a giant grain elevator in the middle of nowhere, South Dakota. The weathered concrete behemoth loomed over the brown-grass expanse like an alien ship that had taken a wrong turn in its search for life. "Does it ever get lonely, driving so far and seeing so few people?"

"I wouldn't call it lonely. But it's a good test of being at peace with your own thoughts. When there's miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles, you have to be enough for yourself."

The phrase dinged Joel's memory. Daniel had said that the pandemic had taught him how to be enough for himself. If he'd been enough for himself while he'd worked for the magazine all those years ago, had that enough-ness crumbled while he was with Corey?

He wrote himself a mental note: Dear Future Joel, do not allow Daniel to be in thrall to you, no matter how much it buoys your frail little ego. Sincerely, May 2021 Joel.

"I've always dreamed of driving coast to coast," Joel said. "Friends of mine who've done it say they wanted to slit their own throats halfway across Kansas. But after reading your articles and seeing your pictures, it's obvious that when you look through the right lens, every biome is just another kind of beautiful."

Daniel's eyes softened. "Yep. For my business, I've been to every continent but Antarctica, shot almost every kind of landscape on this planet. And it's all magnificent." He looked down and traced the endless Dakota horizon with one fingertip. "Some places are just more subtle about it."

Joel gazed at him. There was nothing subtle about Daniel's magnificence.

"You really should drive coast to coast, though," Daniel said, "if you want to understand deep in your bones just how big this country is. Not just space-wise, but people, too. America contains multitudes." He drew the last GPL from the box, dated September/October 2010. "Our final print issue. The annual music edition."

"Did you know when you made it that it would be the last one?"

Daniel shook his head, then tapped the cover, which read, Take Me Home: The Oklahoma Youth of John Denver in front of a field of golden wheat. An inset photo of the singer in his prime sat above the title. "My dad used to play his albums all the time before he left. Mom was more into guys like Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson—she liked her country music with an edge." His smile faded. "Likes, I mean. Present tense."

Joel reached over the pile of magazines between them to touch the back of Daniel's shoulder. Just to show he was here.

Daniel turned the pages slowly, almost reverently, giving an occasional hmph of recognition. "This was one of my favorite issues. Meeting these folk singers and musicians, hearing their stories…"

"I'd assumed you only did photography, but you wrote a lot of these articles too."

"We had a small staff."

"You're a really good writer."

Daniel shrugged, his face inscrutable again as he turned another page.

"Your photos, though," Joel said, "they're much more than gorgeous, jigsaw puzzle–worthy snapshots. There's movement in every one, an anticipation of something happening next. They each tell an unfinished story that our imaginations want to continue."

For once, Joel's words sounded as good out loud as they did in his head, but that could've been the weed.

Daniel looked up from the magazine into his eyes. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get me."

The sides of Joel's neck flushed hot. "I suck at getting people, so it must be you."

"Or it must be us." Daniel kissed him.

Joel gave a soft moan and pulled him closer. The pile of magazines between them spilled off the couch in a glossy cascade. No matter. He didn't need pristine photos when their creator was right here filling his arms, pressing him down into the couch.

As Daniel's mouth met his neck and his fingers slid warm against his ribs, Joel opened his eyes. The disco ball was still spinning, its rainbow of lights circling doggedly around the sphere, candy-colored dots twirling on the small patch of ceiling where they outshone the lamp.

"Hey, guess what? That short circuit is gone."

"Hmm?" Daniel murmured against his throat.

"Remember how I said earlier my brain and body felt kinda disconnected? I feel completely one now."

Daniel lifted his head to look at him. "Because you're still a bit stoned."

Was that why everything made perfect sense?

"I know we should ideally wait until we're sober." He undid one of Daniel's shirt buttons with semi-numb fingers. "But I promise that whatever happens next, I will remember it forever."

Daniel's kiss was a resounding yes, let's do this.

Joel reached down to cup his ass, provoking moans from them both and urging Daniel's stiffening cock against his own through their jeans.

Daniel kissed him harder as they kept moving, a delicious friction washing over Joel with every thrust.

Surely they would soon undress, rather than frotting their way to a pair of messy in-pants orgasms right here on his couch. But undressing would mean stopping—even letting go of each other!—for ten or fifteen seconds, and that was not happening right now.

Above their heaving breath, beyond the soft warble of a Sufjan Stevens song, came the most familiar noise of Joel's entire current existence.

"Yip!"

He groaned and turned his head. Florey and Archie were peering around the other end of the sofa, ears pricked. The clock on the TV cable box showed 11:54.

Joel dropped his arms. "The overlords have demands."

"Nonnegotiable demands, I take it?"

"I guarantee that puddles of pee on the carpet would be way more unsexy than us taking a break for final potties."

At the sound of the magic phrase, the dogs spun and danced like nobody was watching.

He extracted himself from Daniel's embrace, and together they gathered the pizza and chips that had survived their bacchanalia.

"I'll clean up while they're outside," Joel said as they entered the kitchen. "Why don't you go wait for me in the bedroom? I won't be long."

"Got it." Daniel gave him a lingering kiss, then hurried toward the stairs.

Joel joined the pup parade to the back door. He slid it open and was met by a waft of warm, humid air. Definitely time for air conditioning, especially since life was about to get seriously sweaty.

While the dogs were outside, he put away the leftover pizza and snacks, closed the windows, then switched on the A/C.

It took several shouts to get Florey and Archie indoors. "What were you guys inspecting out there?" he asked as he wiped their paws. "New possums in town?" As usual, they had no answer.

Then he hurried upstairs, blood singing with anticipation.

On the king-size bed, Daniel lay on his back with only the top half of his bare chest visible, its curls of silver hair glinting in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"Well, look at you, waiting under the covers like some innocent ingenue."

No response. Joel padded over to the side of the bed for a closer look.

Daniel was fast asleep, arms spread and mouth curved into a serene half smile.

For an instant, he was Danny, sprawled supine in their meadow, his wall of coolness melting under the summer sun and Joel's dubious charms. At moments like this, it was achingly obvious that this man and that boy were the same person.

But they didn't need to be. This man, on his own, was enough.

Joel tiptoed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and clean his contacts. Then he returned to the bedroom, where he changed into a T-shirt and boxers, slipped under the covers, and switched off the lamp.

Daniel stirred at the sudden darkness. "Sorry," he mumbled as he rolled away. "So tired."

"It's all right. Let's just sleep."

"'Kay."

Joel settled his head onto his pillow, nestling his face into the customary patch that provided optimal neck support.

A hand brushed his, Daniel reaching back for him. "C'mere."

Joel crossed the border between their pillows and slid an arm around Daniel's waist. "Like this?"

"Mm-hm. My big spoon." Daniel's voice gave out on the last word, so it was more like, My big spoo.

Joel buried his face in Daniel's hair. How, after all this time, could his scent be so familiar? It made this two-year-old bed—this post-breakup, cancer-bearing bed—finally feel like a place of peace.

"You sniffing me?" Daniel mumbled.

"It's an animal thing. Making sure I found the right mate."

Daniel squeezed his hand in reply.

Joel let out a long sigh, his body sinking into the gravitational well they created in the mattress.

The last time they'd shared a bed, his mind had sprinted in every direction, seeking a path forward for them that wouldn't implode his life, never grasping that this man could be part of that life rather than a disruption to it.

But tonight, in the presence of Daniel's soft, steady breath, Joel's mind went quiet and still. There was nothing more to seek or devise. All paths had converged into this one, here and now.

A shoom-shoom-thunk tugged Daniel into the twilight between sleep and waking, enough to know he was alone in this bed—and, more important, enough to know his solitude didn't mean he'd been abandoned. He let his heavy eyelids close against the cotton-gray light seeping around the edges of the blinds.

Shoom-shoom-thunk!came again, the slide of the patio door in its tracks. Daniel rolled over and opened his eyes. The clock radio gleamed 6:05 in red.

The bedroom door creaked open. Toenails clicked on hardwood, then Archie's black-and-tan face popped up as he poised on his hind legs. Their eyes met, and the dog let out a whine ending in a question mark.

"Your dad says you're not allowed on the bed," Daniel told him. Archie's floppy ears hitched at the sound of the last word.

Daniel sat up before the dog could join him for a snuggle he couldn't resist. He sniffed the air for fresh-brewed coffee, but the only scent was damp paws.

He pulled a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt from his still-packed suitcase, then went to the open bedroom door. The bathroom across the hall was empty, and the house was silent. Why would Joel go back outside without the dogs?

Bleary-eyed and achy-boned, Daniel shuffled down the split-level house's short flight of stairs, then passed through the kitchen with Archie on his heels. In the dining room, he peered out the patio door.

Joel was facing away from him, sitting on the deck's top stair. His shoulders were hunched, and his hands pressed the sides of his bowed head as his whole body shook.

Daniel reached for the door handle, then froze. Was Joel crying because of him? Was he disappointed? They'd built up their reunion to such great heights, it was inevitable at least one of them would be let down.

He turned away. Maybe if he went back to bed and pretended everything was fine…

At the foot of the stairs, Florey stood with her tail wagging briskly, an urgent look on her perky face.

"What's up, girl?"

The dog lowered her snout to the floor and spat out a half-chewed…what the hell was that?

Daniel knelt to examine the weird little mass. It was honey white with a few jointed legs sticking out.

"Uh, thanks for the albino cockroach, I guess?"

Florey nudged the hunk of insect matter. It flipped over to reveal a translucent wing.

Of course. "I'm such an idiot." He ruffled Florey's black-and-white scruff. "Yes, you're a very good girl."

He hurried to the back door and slid it open. Quickly Joel sat up straight, wiping his face without turning around. "Morning," he said in a choked voice.

"Hey." Daniel sat beside him and put a hand on his back. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, the—" Joel let out a hiccuping sob. "More cicadas came out last night."

"That's a good thing, right? They waited for your birthday."

"I didn't-didn't know if—" The words were strangled by another sob.

"C'mere." Daniel tugged him into a hug.

Joel clung to his back with clawed fingers, breath rasping in and out. "I'm so fucking happy."

"Oh." What to say to that? "Great."

Joel's next sob mixed with laughter. "I swear that's all it is." He pulled away and dragged an arm across his reddened face. "Ugh, I'm a mess. Snot everywhere."

"How about some tissues and a glass of water?"

Joel nodded. "I can get them."

"I know, but let me." Daniel went inside, filled a cup at the sink, yanked a few tissues out of the box on the dining room table, then picked up the entire box and returned to Joel. As he handed over the stuff, he glanced past the deck railing into the backyard.

Holy cow.

The trunk of every tree had come alive, covered in newly emerged cicadas. Most of the bugs had already ripened into their strong black bodies, but some had obviously escaped their nymph—nymphic? nympho?—shells only in the last few hours. Beside their discarded husks, these stragglers waited, as pale and bedraggled as little Bumblebutt.

It was like watching troops assemble in a D-Day movie, knowing a good chunk of them wouldn't survive the battle. Yet through sheer numbers—trillions, Joel had said—enough cicadas would soldier on to continue the species for another seventeen, thirty-four, fifty-one years.

Behind him, Joel blew his nose. "Feel free to get your camera."

"Not sure a camera could capture this." He sat down again. "Plus, you're more important."

Joel grimaced into his cup, then took a small sip and swallow. "Damn. They say crying helps you shed stress hormones like cortisol, so I guess I needed that." He tugged another tissue out of the box with a soft whoosh. "Still, I should probably explain."

"Florey gave me a pre-chewed cicada, so I figured it had something to do with them."

"She's always so helpful." Joel pulled in a deep breath and let it out. "So you know how I told you about the cancer, how I responded really well to treatment, so my prognosis going forward is excellent?"

A chill draped itself over Daniel's shoulders. "Was that not true?"

"It's one hundred percent true now. But I left out the part at the beginning, when I was diagnosed with advanced-stage Hodgkin lymphoma. Stage four, to be exact."

"Jesus, Joel. You must have been terrified."

"Yeah, no one hears ‘stage-four cancer' without their life flashing before their eyes." Joel took another tissue and swiped the tears from his beard. "Fortunately, Hodgkin is treatable at any stage. It just meant more chemo, plus I had radiation after." He glanced at Daniel. "FYI, those radiation treatments have increased my chance of getting some other cancer in the future."

Was that meant as a warning not to get too attached? Too late. "We'll deal with that when it comes. If it comes."

Joel arched an amused-looking eyebrow, maybe at Daniel's use of we. "Anyway, the whole point of this news bulletin is that there was a time, not that long ago, when I—" His nose twitched as he bit his lip. "When I wondered whether I'd be alive to see these cicadas at all."

Daniel's throat tightened. The abyss of that parallel universe yawned before his imagination, and he had to shake his head to keep from diving in and looking around. "Yet here you are."

"Here I am—shit, here I am crying again." Joel squeezed his eyes shut. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Daniel murmured, rubbing slow circles over his back.

This time, Joel's tears came without sobs, in a pair of silent, glistening streams. This time, they were contagious.

"Weird coincidence," Daniel said while he could still speak. "I have an advanced-stage case of being crazy about you."

Joel groaned. "Dude, you are definitely the doofus."

"I guess that makes you the dork."

"Guilty." Joel downed the rest of the water. "I don't know why it hit me so hard today. The cicadas have been emerging for over a week, but I guess I was too busy doing final grades and cleaning the house to contemplate the enormity of it all."

"Makes sense. As long as it's not because of me."

Joel looked at him wide-eyed, his brows peaked with concern. "Oh, hon, you only ever make me cry-laugh, never cry-cry."

Was this the first time Joel had called him hon? It was a Baltimore thing, used for family, friends, and even strangers. But from Joel's lips, the word sounded intimate.

Joel swiped a tissue over his cheeks, then slid on a pair of black-framed glasses. "Do you want to?—"

"Hold up. Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Oh!" Joel touched the frames as though surprised to find them on his face. "Um, since always?"

"Always-always?"

"I've been nearsighted since I was ten. Usually I wear contacts." He angled his shoulder away.

"Don't hide them from me. They're kinda sexy."

"Really?" Joel adjusted his glasses with a small smile. "Okay. Cool. So do you want to eat breakfast or go back to bed?"

Daniel put a hand to his stomach to keep it from growling. "You decide. It's your birthday, after all."

"Ugh, can't we just ignore that?"

"Not when I got us a dinner reservation at that fancy vegan restaurant in Clarksville."

Joel gasped. "I love that place!" He shook his head. "It's been so long, I can't remember the name. I used to go there a lot in the Before Times." He brightened. "This is perfect, because there's something on the way that you need to see."

"Can you tell me now?"

"Better if it's a surprise. You'll know it when you see it on the side of the road." He bounced his fists on his knees. "I'm so stoked to eat at a restaurant again. You got an outdoor table, right?"

"Of course." He wasn't taking any chances with Joel's immune system, not after reading that even in remission, lymphoma patients were more prone to infections.

Out in the yard, a few cicadas—probably ones that had emerged last week—were testing their wings with slow and tottery maiden flights.

"They kinda suck at flying," Joel said, "especially on their first couple days. Reminds me of a kid learning to ride a bike without training wheels."

"Hm." A flash of memory: Vanessa calling him to the bedroom window. Hailey wobbling up and down the driveway on her canary-yellow Schwinn. Vanessa taking his hand, asking him not to interfere but simply to witness with her. Hailey falling three times, rising three times, until finally balance and momentum worked in her favor and she was sailing down the street, her sandy ponytail streaming out from under her helmet.

Standing there, he'd had the strongest feeling of ecstatic contentment—the kind of tingly sensation those creepy ASMR videos were supposed to produce—of his entire life.

Until now. Now his skin seemed to shimmy quietly, like Joel's dogs did as they settled into their beds, with that last tiny snuggling maneuver before the big sigh. He could sit here with Joel for hours, absorbing the simple vitality of the world around them, breathing in what these trees breathed out.

But then an image invaded, of Joel sitting on this deck two years ago, afraid and…alone?

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about this more, but…"

Joel squeezed his knee. "Just ask me."

"Were you single when you got diagnosed?"

"I was with someone."

Daniel's heart twisted in his chest. "Was it serious?"

"It had been." Joel reached down to his dew-dampened sandals and pulled a dandelion stem from between his toes. "We were already falling apart by the time I was diagnosed. He had one foot out the door, and I couldn't expect him to stay and look after me."

Daniel's fists clenched. "He left you alone with cancer?"

"It was my fault he left." Joel tossed the stem over the railing into the yard. "If I'd married him when he asked, we'd probably still be together. Surely it's harder to leave a cancer-riddled husband than boyfriend."

So this was that guy, who'd taken his bed with him when he'd left. "You think a marriage certificate would've made a difference to an asshole like that?"

"Michael wasn't an asshole, and it's not the piece of paper that makes a difference. It's the vow. We never promised ‘in sickness and in health.' He wanted so much to be married, I think those words would've made a difference to him."

"Still, you shouldn't blame yourself for being alone during your cancer."

"So I've been told."

Daniel slid his arm inside Joel's and took his hand. "For what it's worth, I would've stayed with you, vows or not."

Joel offered a sad smile. "Thanks, but you don't know that."

"Yes, I do." He kissed Joel's shoulder through his T-shirt. "And you do too. Why else would you invite me and not some other rando from your past to visit for an indefinite amount of time?"

Joel checked an invisible wristwatch and gave an exaggerated wince. "Actually, you need to clear out by Friday so I can get the place ready for Steve. And then Doug after him, and then probably Jennifer—although maybe Zach should be after Doug. I haven't decided yet."

"At least I got to be first."

"As far as you know. By the way, you'll get an email at the end of the summer if you've made the next round." Joel stuffed the wad of used tissues into his empty cup. "Seriously, though."

Daniel waited for him to finish the sentence, but he seemed to be looking for a prompt. "Yeah?"

Joel turned and placed his hands on Daniel's knees, his dark eyes still glistening. "In case it's not obvious, you're the only one I want. Here and now, in this crazy-ass place and time…it's only you."

He moved in for a kiss, and Daniel gave it to him—the next kiss in a line of thousands, if he had anything to do with it. The salt-strewn taste of tears was quickly banished.

Joel tugged the collar of Daniel's T-shirt. "Seeing as it's my birthday, and you gave me a choice between breakfast and bed…"

No need to wait for the end of that sentence. "Lead the way."