Chapter 11

Midtown was littered with activity the following morning, car horns blaring over each other as motorists idled in bumper-to-bumper traffic and jackhammers rattling the ground as their operators worked to split concrete while wearing neon green vests. Two lanes of traffic were closed a half block down Magnolia Avenue for a construction project, forcing drivers in those lanes to merge without warning into one that was already occupied by a steady stream of rush-hour commuters. They stopped and started, inching their way in, attempting a zipper maneuver that was dead on arrival. People were pissed off, late for work, and tardy to drop their kids off at school. A flagger in dirty, oversized jeans and work boots ambivalently waved an orange flag at no one in particular while taking quick drags from a cigarette that hung from between his lips. He couldn't be bothered to do more than he was already doing to control the flow of traffic.

I took the back way to the shop, which was no longer and no shorter than the front way, just quieter, on a side street, which was easier than dealing with the traffic that was sure to be backed up on Tenth. In the crosswalk at Magnolia and Eighth, I weaved between the cars that caused the traffic jam, attempting to reach the opposite curb, thankful I'd decided to leave Maestro at home since none of the drivers could be troubled to stop at the intersection, red light or not. Someone honked at me as I apparently walked too close to their car. I gave them the finger. I hoped they were grateful. Had we been in New York, they'd have gotten a fuck-you-I'm-walkin'-here and a fist to the hood. It seemed like it was going to be a nice day, everyone in good spirits, happy to be heading back to work after the weekend.

It was a good day for me though. It had to be. My spirits were soaring after the date I'd had with Matti: the uncomplicated conversation, my confession about stalking him, his reaction to my amateur brand of stalking. And the kiss. That kiss. How could anything about the day be unfortunate after that kiss? Storm clouds could roll in and flood the neighborhood, the ground could open up and swallow us all, a plague of mosquitoes could attack the city, ruthlessly drain the blood from my body, and still, it would be a good day.

How could it be a bad day? The sun was shining. Trees and flowers were in full bloom. A song that I actually liked played on repeat in my head. It was a good day. I forced my way through a cloud of exhaust fumes, fiercely battling a barrage of noise pollution and seething anger as I crossed the street. Still, it was a good day.

Trees and buildings absorbed the sound of the traffic once I finally reached the sidewalk and meandered down the street that would deliver me to Grove. My thoughts, my memories overtook me as I walked, a cheesy grin on my face. I never smiled for no reason, but maybe I had a reason. I scarcely noticed the kid walking in the opposite direction on Eighth Street, toward me, at me, then directly into me, his face buried in a phone. He wore a uniform—on his way to school, I assumed. I tried to avoid him, shifting my body sideways, falling from the curb as he barreled into me.

"Sorry," he announced, seemingly annoyed that his attention had been drawn from his movie or game or whatever he was so involved with as he traveled. In his mind, he had been interrupted. He couldn't have been more than thirteen, maybe fourteen, teetering on the verge of high school, old enough to know better.

He wasn't sorry. I wasn't sure he harbored any emotion at all. He continued walking, eyes never diverting from the screen.

"Hey," I announced, demanding his attention. He turned to look at me, unsure of my purpose. "You just bumped into me. Knocked me off the sidewalk."

"Sorry," he said again, turning to walk away, face right back in his phone. The apology was disingenuous, insincere at best.

"Hey," I once again exclaimed, more force to my tone than the last time. He turned around once again. "You need to be more careful. Put your phone away when you leave the house. There's a whole world out here that you're missing."

No response. I could almost feel him rolling his eyes as he turned and walked away, unwilling to heed my advice, the advice of an experienced elder. I felt so old, so crotchety. Teenage Brandon would be ashamed of me, would tell me to ease up, chill out, smoke a bowl and let it go. I ignored that Brandon and bristled about the kid brushing me off. Only for a moment though. The kid would have to cross Magnolia soon enough, dodge angry drivers while lost in a world that didn't exist. I wished him luck. Today was a good day.

"Wait, what?" Calvin asked in disbelief from the other end of the phone. "Have I heard correctly? Brandon I-don't-date-because-what's-the-point? O'Leary has met someone that he likes? Someone he's actually willing to tell me about?"

"I already regret telling you."

"You should. I'm sharing it with everyone I know. Sending a mass text. Maybe I'll rent a billboard."

I was at work. Calvin was too, but he hated his job. He had been selling people things they didn't need for over ten years. He was good at what he did but no longer had the drive. I couldn't blame him. I'd been in his shoes. Calvin's charm and baby-faced, boy-next-door look helped contribute to his success at work. He was calculated and knew how to play to his strengths, but he became a different person in the privacy of his home, in the comfort of familiar faces. He became himself, a rugged if slightly goofy nice guy, strong but approachable. He would give someone the shirt off his back. I'd seen him do it.

After a particularly drunken night out, we headed back to my condo so he could take a piss. The line for the bathroom at Handlebar was a mile long. In our haste, in our drunken fog, Calvin tripped over the leg of someone sleeping in a grove of bushes on Tenth. The impact startled all three of us. The guy in the bushes drew his leg back and apologized, to which Calvin responded by asking if he was alright. As he sat up, we saw that his T-shirt had been ripped badly. Dried blood and dirt stained the fabric around the tear. Calvin asked him what happened, but the guy wasn't lucid enough to describe the circumstances. A black garbage bag of his belongings—dirty clothes and trinkets from his past, the entire contents of his life—was being used as a pillow. Calvin asked him if he needed anything. He didn't respond. When we looked into his eyes, I saw pain where Calvin saw opportunity. He peeled off his shirt and handed it to the guy, who gratefully nodded, attempting a smile. We then continued our walk home, a shirtless Calvin traversing his way through Midtown, a trail of wandering eyes and ogling whistles behind us.

"Calm down," I laughed. "We've gone out twice."

"Calm down, my ass. You haven't called to tell me about someone you're dating in two years."

"Three."

It had been a long time since I'd called my friends with such news. I wasn't even sure why I called now. Two dates meant nothing. But these were more than just dates. Whatever was happening with Matti seemed more significant, deeper than anything I'd felt for anyone in my past. I didn't know if it was excitement or nerves or something else that compelled me to call Calvin that morning, but it was like I had to tell someone, as if I had no choice in the matter. Vonnie was busy upstairs. Alex had a presentation at work. But I had to get it off my chest. Someone else needed to know how I was feeling, otherwise I might have exploded.

"Fine. Three. Whatever."

"Anyway, we're not dating. We're just hanging out."

"But you called me. You don't call someone to tell them you're hanging out. You call them to tell them you met someone special, that you're dating someone," he clarified. "I'm calling Alex. We're going out tonight. It's been too long, and we need to catch up."

"It's Monday."

"Fine. We'll have dinner with our drinks."

"Let me call him. He's in a meeting until noon."

"I'm free after seven. Just text me the details."

"Yeah, yeah," I agreed in a hurry, a customer pushing the front door closed behind them. "I'll let you know."

We met at Drew's around eight that night, a quiet, cozy neighborhood spot tucked between Handlebar and Terrace on Tenth Street. It was as unassuming as it was historic, foregoing the glitz and glamour of mirror balls and boys in underwear dancing on the bar in exchange for a more natural, sophisticated gay charm, if that were a thing. One could easily miss it if they weren't looking for it, and that's kind of what I liked about the place. It looked as though the neighborhood had grown up around it.

Calvin snatched a corner table on a small, elevated platform a few steps above the main dining area. Walls painted yellow enveloped the space, dotted with artwork that hadn't been given a second thought and skirted by wood paneling. The lighting was kept dim, perhaps to hide signs of aging amongst its clientele, perhaps to keep anyone from noticing the stains and dings on the walls. It wasn't ugly, it didn't not work; it was simply Drew's, easy and comfortable. The wall of windows that faced out to the street cranked open like a giant garage door during warmer months, lending the place an open, airy vibe, almost like being outside.

Alex and I ran into each other on our way to the bar, joining Calvin not long after, strolling in as though we owned the place. We may as well have. Hugs and greetings were exchanged as if we hadn't spoken to each other in months, a welcome home after a long day at work, a much-needed emotional release. Silly, I suppose, considering we'd hung up with each other just hours earlier.

Alex snagged the corner seat, and I sat down next to him, just across from Calvin, ignoring the laminated dinner menus scattered about the table, knowing the lackluster options like the backs of our hands. Drew's was not known for its fare nor its flair but its no-frills accessibility, cheap drinks, and warm atmosphere. Only a couple of other tables were occupied, but the bar was nearly full, five out of six stools holding up warm, buzzing bodies. It was that type of place.

Calvin asked Alex if Patrick would be joining us, to which Alex responded with a maybe, if the job he was working on wrapped up sooner than expected.

The sun had almost set, and a carefree vibe was rolling into the neighborhood like a fog, out with the nine-to-fivers and in with those out for a good time. Even on a Monday, the steady, repetitive kicks from the music at a nearby bar were loud enough to hear, the bass heavy as it wafted down the street and through the open windows of Drew's, competing with the softer music that accompanied the video playing on the screen behind the bar. People passed by in singles, doubles, and groups, some dressed up, some dressed down, some carrying bags of groceries and others carrying briefcases or backpacks. There was almost a stillness that could be felt amongst the clamor—the music and cars and dishes and bottles clanging about—until my friends interrupted.

"So, tell me about this guy," Alex started in as Darryl, the only waiter I'd ever seen working at Drew's, approached the table, setting three glasses of water down on top of those disposable cardboard coaster things. "It's been years since you've been this agreeable."

Calvin laughed, inadvertently spitting the water he'd just sipped into his mouth back into his glass, ice and all, as Alex tried to hold back a smile.

"Agreeable?" I inquired.

"Yeah," Alex continued. "Pleasant. Optimistic. Peppy, even."

My eyes shifted back and forth between them as they struggled to contain their amusement, unconvincingly behaving as though their smug smiles weren't tiny jabs at my character. Pointing out my despondence to me in such flowery vocabulary didn't seem necessary.

"Fuck off," I announced to no one, a blanket request for the table. "I'm the same pessimistic asshole I've always been, so both of you can keep it down, alright?"

I couldn't help but join them in a fit of hysterical laughter after a moment of feigning emotional injury.

"Fine. But you got a stupid pessimistic smile all over your face no matter how much you try to hide it, love bug," Alex chided. "Don't try to deny it."

"He couldn't deny it if he tried," Calvin piled on. "Even his eyes are smiling."

They were right. I couldn't help it. My date with Matti had been on my mind all day. Even now, out to dinner and surrounded by friends, I couldn't shake the thought of him, the giddiness, the astounding titillation of having a crush on someone… at my age.

"What are you guys drinking tonight?" Darryl asked in a way that was both cordial and subliminally expressive of how much he was over his job. He was one of the sassiest people I had ever met, and I loved every minute of the guff he gave.

"Only the nectar of a lovestruck heart." Calvin pretended to swoon in a way that only he could, simultaneously charming and off-putting.

"Champagne," Alex corrected. "We're celebrating, apparently."

"And vodka," I announced, directing my deadpan gaze to Darryl. "If this is how they're gonna be all night, I need vodka."

"Sit with us," Calvin begged our waiter. "We're in desperate need of your wisdom, oracle."

"Oh? Did our dear Brandon meet someone?" he asked, suddenly interested in a prospective bit of drama that might liven up his otherwise dull evening.

"Yes. I met someone. That's it."

"And he loves him," Alex accused plainly, gesturing in my direction. "Look at that mug."

"I don't love him," I shot back, swiftly addressing everyone in the general vicinity of our table. "We've gone out twice. We're just seeing each other."

Both Alex and Calvin playfully scoffed at my dismissal of the prognosis they provided for my condition. Darryl squatted next to the table, dropping to my level, using his curled index finger to direct my chin toward him until I was looking directly into his eyes. He mockingly examined my expression for a few seconds. "Oh, girl… You got it bad."

Riotous laughter splashed over the table like a spilled drink, leaving me to roll my eyes and sigh, aware that this roast was necessary but hopeful it would be short-lived. Darryl stood, conveying a jesting air of pity, a ridiculing compassion, by pursing his lips and shaking his head back and forth. I didn't care for the ribbing, but in a way, it entertained me. It was as though we were in junior high and I had just received my first kiss. Or my first hand job. I didn't know what kids in junior high were experimenting with these days.

Darryl continued. "There are some emotions you can hide, honey: sadness, betrayal, regret. But love ain't one of 'em. You can see that shit in your eyes."

"Fine," I admitted, resting my hands on the tabletop so I wouldn't do anything more dramatic with them. I surrendered defeat to the satisfaction of my cohorts. Almost. "I like the guy. I'm kinda silly about him. I wanna see him again. But that's it."

"Well, hallelujah. Brandon has got himself a crush," Darryl exuberantly testified as though he were leading a Sunday morning service, leaving Alex and Calvin in tears. "I didn't think I'd see the day. I'm bringing the champagne."

"It's not a big deal," I announced loud enough for him to hear as he walked away.

"Years, honey. It's been years!" he shouted back, demanding the attention of every single person in the bar, interrupting conversations and forcing eyes and ears to contemplate his histrionics before landing on me. I was officially embarrassed. I used one of the menus on the table to conceal my face until everyone lost interest and returned their concern to their own lives.

"You guys think you can tone it down a little?" I asked, addressing my friends. "The whole bar is looking."

"Alright, alright," Alex started. "We're just happy for you, B."

"There's nothing to be happy about yet," I leveled with him. "It's been two dates. And I don't wanna jinx it."

"Fine," Calvin chimed in, adopting a relaxed disposition. "Tell us all about him."

For the next thirty minutes, I went on and on about how Matti and I met during a chance encounter on the street, how he stopped by the shop a few days later, what we talked about on our first date, the all-consuming details of our first kiss that had taken place less than twenty-four hours before that moment. I didn't even exclude the part about having occasionally spied on him in his condo, my friends having a laugh at my expense after learning of my humiliating discovery as I stood in the exact spot in which Matti had been standing while inspiring a brief but erotic moment of self-indulgence. As much as we all loved to razz each other, I couldn't keep anything from them. Alex proposed a toast once Darryl dropped off our champagne.

My friends briefly interrogated me about his appearance and his personality so they could bet on what I'd start to find annoying about him, as was my custom. They even pressed me on his sexual habits, to which I had to admit I wasn't aware of any, mainly because that part of him was still a mystery to me.

The grilling quickly ceased when they heard the way I spoke about him, the way I smiled when describing him. We were two dates in, and there wasn't yet anything that stuck out to me as a deal breaker. Matthias, which I'd learned was his full name shortly after what felt like the world's greatest kiss, was sweet and confident and attractive and seemed to be tethered to reality. He was forthcoming and direct yet accessible. He was polished yet natural. And he was incredibly attractive. I knew he wasn't perfect, but from what I'd learned so far, he seemed pretty close, closer than any guy I'd ever developed an interest in. My friends indulged me in my gushing, as stifled as it may have been. I didn't want to appear too into him too quickly. But I felt like I was.

The subject changed, eventually, once I'd started repeating myself and they grew bored listening to me drone on about a man to whom they hadn't yet been introduced and knew nothing of intimately, unable to make their own judgments. But after a lull in conversation, after our glasses had run dry and the bottle had been drained and we waited for Darryl to return to take our food orders, Alex asked me a more pointed question. "Have you talked to him today?"

"Who?" I asked, my stupid ex silently creeping back into my thoughts. It was a fair question. I hadn't mentioned to either of them that Nate had approached me yet again over the weekend, preferring to keep the stain from spreading and ruining our conversation.

"Matti." He rolled his eyes. "The guy you haven't shut up about since we sat down."

"Nah," I replied indirectly as I thumbed the stem of my glass, averting my eyes.

"You haven't even texted him to tell him you had a good time? Or that you want to have dinner with him again? Or that you want to see him naked?"

"Technically, I've already seen him naked."

Alex rolled his eyes again.

"But no," I continued. "I don't wanna seem too eager."

Calvin chimed in. "You told him you were stalking him, and he made out with you. I think you're good."

"I hate you guys."

"B," Alex leveled with me. "I'm not trying to be shady, but you're almost forty years old. Why play these junior high games? If you like him, you need to tell him."

I looked around the table, around the bar, waiting for someone—anyone—to chime in with a smart comment, a mordant jab at my expense. Where the hell was Darryl? No one spoke.

I had a bad habit with budding relationships: always leaving the ball firmly in the other person's court, never wanting to seem too thirsty. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, a way to avoid putting my heart on the line. All it took was one person with a hammer or a brick or a penchant for covertly sleeping with other guys to break it into a thousand jagged pieces.

But Matti hadn't minced words about his intentions.

"I guess you're right."

"Yeah, I know," Alex confidently barbed. "So?"

"So what?"

"So call him or text him or send him a fucking smoke signal. I don't care. But you need to reach out and set up the next date."

Alex stared at me without a sliver of remorse for the words he'd so bluntly sailed in my direction. I guess that meant I should reach out now while my friends watched. Maybe they figured I would back out if I waited until I got home. Sometimes they knew me too well. I would have to suck it up, pick up my phone, and begin typing, "I hope you had a good day at work. I just wanted to let you know I had a really good time hanging out last night. I was hoping you might want to get dinner this week. Let me know."

I stared at my phone for a second after sending it, then placed it on the table upside down, no expectation of a response anytime soon.

"What did you say?" Calvin asked, referring to the text message I'd just dispatched.

"Nothing," I lied.

"Bullshit," he continued, needling me for more information. "Did you tell him you loved him and you couldn't wait to see him again?"

"I just asked him if he wanted to get dinner this week."

I was interrupted by the sensation of my phone vibrating against the tabletop. I hurriedly picked it up as my friends looked on. Matti had responded. "Hello, Brandon…"

Dancing dots.

"My day was fine. Thank you. I hope you had a nice day as well."

More dancing dots. Perhaps my annoyance with him would arrive by way of the manner in which he texted, leaving me on edge for another message, clamoring for a taste of what he might type next.

"I would love to have dinner with you again. Name the time and place and I will be there."

A kissy-face emoji lit up the screen after his last message. My heart raced, and my cheeks turned a shade of red. A childish, nonsensical, embarrassing smile pulled at my lips as I reread the message.

"What did he say?" Alex prodded.

"Name the time and place."

"Uh-huh." He nodded, all-knowing and arrogant. "Seems like you're not the only one who's thirsty."

I impishly rolled my eyes at Alex before typing a response to Matti. I asked him to meet me at Rosa's the next night for dinner. It would be simple and perfect. It had to be. It was a good day.