3. Settling In Jax

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S an Francisco was another world compared to Denver. First thing I noticed was the food. Or, lack thereof. All the restaurants at the airport were... crunchy . Organic, vegan, paper straws, and sourdough. A new world compared to my comfortable green chili. Nothing was spicy and I didn’t know the chains. Even the pizza was unfamiliar, covered in things I’d never dream of back home—things like artichokes and goat cheese.

Yuck.

My research into the layout of the city barely prepared me for getting around. There was absolutely no thoroughfare from one side to the other. A maze of stoplights separated the airport from the Golden Gate Bridge, which rose out of the mist in the north like an ancient, orange dinosaur. I knew it well despite never seeing it in person before. Unfamiliar familiarity. It reminded me of the time I went to New York City and knew my way around just because it was so popular in movies and TV shows.

The images I had in my head about San Francisco streets were pretty accurate, too. Hills reached up, up, up, and then crested like a roller coaster. Who the hell built a city like that on purpose? I missed the mountains, but now I had water. It was chilly and humid, even for late June, but the intense green everywhere was unreal. Hobbiton hills. Flowers I’d never seen blossomed on every street corner, and even the people were different. I heard new languages, saw new clothes and diverse skin tones, and reveled in the opportunity to expand my horizons and find things here I’d never considered before.

My boss told me to ditch my trusty Subaru and buy something new because driving a stick in the city was ridiculous. Once I saw those hills, I agreed. Public transportation wasn’t too bad, so I bought a used Mazda but took the bus most days.

I found a guy who needed a roommate, and thank God I did. Nobody could move to San Francisco alone without a fucking trust fund. The apartment as a whole was small, but the kitchen was decent, and he’d covered the windowsill in potted plants that required a lot of attention. Roomie was perpetually out of town which is why he needed me in the first place—if I hadn’t been there to water the greenery, they would’ve shriveled.

And so it was, my existence beyond the office was relegated to Plant Babysitter .

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D ad called after a month, right when I got off work. Took him that long to finally absorb the hour time difference. “Hey, kid. How’s it goin’ out there in Cally-forny?”

“It’s good, Dad. Big city.” I dodged somebody on the sidewalk and opted to walk through some shops a little, skipping the bus to avoid dropping the call.

“Uh-huh, right, right. Have you talked to your mom since you moved out there?”

“Nah, she’s busy with...whatever the hell she’s been up to, I don’t know. Somethin’ going on I should know about?”

“No, just curious.” He cleared his throat on the other end, and I could see him running a hand over his bald head in my mind. His fishing for info on Mom’s new husband, Brian, was obvious but unsuccessful. I never gave him fuel to beat himself up over losing her. Dad would’ve walked on the surface of the sun for Mom, and she no longer wanted to give him so much as a birthday phone call. She went through a midlife crisis, and we all knew it. Nevertheless, my poor father missed her and hadn’t yet tried to find someone else, perpetually hoping she would come back.

I got the hopeless romantic crap from Dad, one hundred percent.

He came back to the line after the traffic around me lulled. “So, your old buddy Chris came by here yesterday.”

“Augh.” I shook my head and clenched my empty fist. “What the fuck did he want? You know what—I don’t even care. Did you take a swing at him?”

“Nah. I thumped him on the temple like I did when you were a kid.”

Dad was pretty passive, so if he really did that, it was saying something. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

He sighed in that extra-long, extra breathy exasperation he always did whenever he had to say something difficult. “You know, he and Heather got engaged.”

I stopped cold, even though my feet landed in a suspicious puddle.

Dad understood how the words paralyzed me even from so far away. “Come on, sport. I know you’d rather hear it from me than online.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ve avoided all my socials. I can’t fucking believe this.” I wanted to scream, but I also felt an adolescent sense of being left out. What made me so easy to betray and cast aside?

“I wanted to tell you so you could, ya know...start movin’ on. Have you met anybody?”

I groaned and kept walking, albeit at a much slower pace. “No. My coworker Jenny wants me to try one of those dating apps. I hate that shit. Life was so much easier when we had to be in classes together or working together and that’s how you’d meet people. Now, everything’s online. People can be whoever they wanna be, which would be nice, except apparently what most people wanna be is an asshole.”

Dad laughed. “Well, that’s what I told you when you were a kid. Don’t be an asshole, Jax. The world has enough.”

Hearing his lighthearted, rattly tone from his too-many-cigarettes and not enough sleep sunk my homesickness to a new low. “I miss you, Dad. It’s so different here, it’s like another country.”

“What, like Boulder?”

I chuckled. “Something like that. When I tell people I’m from Colorado, that’s the first thing they ask me.”

“Maybe you can find an ex-Coloradan support group. If anything like that existed, it would hafta be there , right?” Dad’s lingering snicker cut in and out. “Damn—that’s work, Jax. I’ve gotta go.”

It was over too soon but a gift anyway. “It’s nice to hear from you, Dad. Enjoy chili night, alright?”

“Extra hot, extra cheese, extra crispy relleno, kid. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I pocketed my phone and wandered around Union Square while people-watching. For an early Wednesday evening, it surprised me how many folks were out. It helped quell my loneliness to feel like I was part of the city’s pulse. Dad was right—it was time to start again.

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C ruising through Craigslist , I found a Thursday night call for RPG players downtown. I hadn’t done D&D in over two years—Heather had no interest in it, and I internalized her comments about not wanting to end up with a nerd. It threw me back into being fifteen, teased relentlessly for my braces, gangly body, and taste in anime. All I ever wanted was to be accepted for who I was and what I liked without being made to feel like shit for it. Loneliness beat me down so much in my twenties, I no longer had conviction for that same acceptance when it came to Heather.

Oh, yeah. Lucky me.

When I found the call for D&D night, an impossible fantasy played out in my head. I’d show up, introduce myself, and maybe tell a joke or two. I wouldn’t feel awkward or forced to like something I didn’t, like a football team I knew nothing about. Dad taught me how to meet strangers and instantly find something we had in common, so I had a plan.

Behind me, fashionably late, my soulmate would appear. Someone who would share my love for puns and stale candy corn. A person who wouldn’t cringe if I bought flowers and wrote poetry. Somebody who would know what they wanted and had dreams and goals of their own to accomplish. Someone who wouldn’t lie to me.

Only one person in my life fit that whole bill before, though the fool’s hope in my heart to rediscover her had faded. I purged the thought after years of disappointment when she didn’t appear in any internet searches. Despite technology’s pervasiveness, my first sweetheart left no footprint—if we were indeed meant to be, my interference made no difference.

Dragon’s Lair was like any other game and comic shop I’d seen in Denver. Bright colors and posters adorned all the walls and stacks of Magic: The Gathering cards piled high in the front counter’s case. It felt like home in a way—a haven for all those who wouldn’t fit in where sports memorabilia was sold, like an adult version of the Diversity Club I did after school as a teen. High school wasn’t exactly what I’d call the best days of my life, but it was still fun to relive the same kinds of excitement as an adult with more common sense to ground me.

In the far-right corner were five folding tables set up with rickety plastic chairs, and people of various shapes and sizes crowded around each other. Like Comic-Con, nothing was too outrageous. Unlike Comic-Con, I didn’t feel like I was going to be quizzed in Japanese as a greeting, and I was certain their clothes were all clothes and not body paint. Everyone looked to be about my age, too, or maybe even a little older.

My people. So, they did exist.

“Just so you know, store’s closing down for regular shopping in twenty minutes,” the guy at the counter said. His lime green hair was like a bug lamp, and it looked extra bright against his black brows, beard, and exaggerated mustache. A punky pirate. He talked to the counter he was cleaning more than he talked directly to me.

“Um, about that—I’m here for game night.” I glanced over the dice in the cabinet to avoid his eyes while forcing my introverted self not to back out. A set cast in contrasting gold and silver alloy practically waved at me. If this works out, I’m taking you home.

“That right?” He chuckled and slid down toward me. “I haven’t seen you in here before. Do you know what group you’re joining?”

I should’ve emailed first to find that out. What a dumbass. “I don’t, actually. But if there’s not any room for a new guy, that’s—”

“No, no. We’ll find a good place for you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Ethan. This is my shop.”

“Nice to meet you. Jaxson Grady.”

After a few basic pleasantries, he told me to hang out in the store for a while so he could introduce me to people. I wandered through the figurines and paint for model making, even some comic book stacks. As for the single bathroom, instead of indicating gender as is customary, it had three crossed-out symbols: a boy, a girl, and a wheelchair, accompanied by a sign underneath that said, We don’t care. Just wash your damn hands.

I chuckled. It might as well have said, No assholes allowed. I loved it.

“Ready to hop in?” Ethan asked, passing me to lock the doors.

I nodded and followed him to the game tables, shaky with nerves. My heart pounded like it was the first day of school, regressing in age for how self-conscious I was.

Of the five groups playing, the troupe against the wall where Ethan took me was the largest. There were only four unoccupied seats—two at the end, and two on either side. He cleared his throat to get the attention of the folks chatting below. “Hey everyone, this is Jaxson. He’s joining us tonight.”

I raised my hand awkwardly. “Jax is fine.”

The girl sitting against the back wall emerged from her black hoodie to greet me, lightly parting her ash-brown hair to show her face. “I’m Annie. Dungeon master.” For someone who shrunk back into herself just as quickly as she said hello, it surprised me that she would volunteer to run the whole thing.

Another woman twisted to shake my hand. Her deep brown eyes, which matched her skin tone, were strikingly bright. The swirling pattern of her undercut mimicked the tight curls she had on top. She had an artsy feel about her that was rare in my Colorado circles. While she took me with a firm grip, she said, “I’m Cordelia, like the vampire slayer.”

I wished I had a clever retort for her Buffy reference, but I was glad to understand the joke at all. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Gavin,” said the tanned man on the other side of the table, waving for my attention. An intricate Chinese dragon tattoo wrapped over his right shoulder in a rainbow of blues and greens. He squeezed the skinny guy next to him closer. “This is—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” his boyfriend said, weaving his head enough to make his single silver earring dangle. The man’s slight lisp and overall demeanor outed him. “Call me Hawk.”

Ethan snorted. “Bullshit.”

Hawk folded his arms with a huff. “What? He’s new. Why can’t I tell him a new one with no strings attached? I’m so sick of my old name.”

“And Hawk ’s the better choice?” I asked.

“If he’s Hawk, I get to be Axolotl,” Annie said.

“Oh, oh, call me Optimus Prime,” Ethan said while doing a small robot dance.

Cordelia broke in, “Wait a minute, are we doing animals, or fictional characters? Keep it straight, guys.”

“Impossible, Cordy,” Gavin said, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe.

It was my chance to prove—to them and myself—that I could belong here. “Why not swing both ways, like me? I’ll be Pikachu. No, Charizard. Way cooler.”

“Ah!” Annie pointed at me. “This guy’s got it. He can stay.”

“Old school, I like it.” Ethan gave me a fist bump. “You really bi?”

“Yeah.” My cheeks went hot. Wow. First time I just...said it out loud like that.

“Excuse me,” Hawk said, now fussing loudly like a caricature. He pointed his nose at the ceiling.

“Don’t mind this one,” Gavin said, squeezing Hawk to his chest. “Every week he tries to convince us to call him something else. Nothing’s stuck yet.”

“I still vote for Voltron,” Cordelia said, winking.

Hawk replied in a know-it-all tone, “You can’t be Voltron. You can only be one of the Paladins.”

“Jesus, here we go,” groaned Annie.

“There can only be one Highlander!” Ethan cheered, which made us all bust up louder, earning annoyed glares from the other four groups trying desperately to stay in their own private D&D worlds.

The front door to the gaming shop rattled, and two men peered through the window and waved.

“Gotta get that. Pick a chair, just leave these two on the end.” Ethan left to let in the last of the group, and I settled next to Cordelia. Her linen clothing smelled like patchouli and Nag Champa incense, like my aunt’s place in my youth.

Maybe it wasn’t like my earlier daydream, but soulmate or not, I found my people at last.