[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ]
It's been a while, hello, I'm very happy to be here again.
After finishing Parsons I told myself I would go back and edit (like a liar) and try writing off a few ideas (like a liar), but nothing made me want to keep writing until I thought this up. Now that the juices are flowing, I'm very glad to be back.
Putting that story aside, I hope you'll like this as much as I've liked writing it. As always, comments/feedback are always welcome.
Thank you,
M
•
Opening the window to welcome in the sounds of five o'clock traffic hadn't seemed to do the trick. Even the obnoxious car honks couldn't subdue how irritated Leroy's chewing was making me.
I turned over to the figure in the passenger seat, squeezing his hand to grab his attention. Peter knew I hated eating in my car, particularly a crumbcopia like a bag of chips, but he seemed to have failed to remind his best friend that every piece of Doritos that fell on my cloth-covered seats reduced one year off my life.
It was common, unfortunately. Peter and Leroy had been best friends since before we had begun dating. If I wanted a future with Peter, I would have to learn to live with the pest that was his buddy, orange fingers and all.
"Thamks 'gin, Ack," Leroy tried through a mouthful of tortilla chips. I didn't know if I had imagined a wet piece of chip hitting the back of my neck or had imagined it.
"No problem, man," I forced myself to answer, an effort of a smile sent via the rearview mirror. Peter squeezed my hand back, thankful for my attempt. It was routine at this point.
I loved Peter too much to allow the Leroy of it all to be a dealbreaker. We were closing in on five years of dating and one of engagement, having had the misfortune of meeting in group therapy for family members of trans people. It wasn't that it pained me to support my sister--up to then I had thought I was doing a pretty good job--but our parents had taken the truth a bit more harshly. With the amount of questions they had for the therapist, I spent the entire afternoon wishing I could sink into my chair hard enough to become one with the plastic.
The therapist must've had a different opinion, considering we chatted until the night came and he now shared a mortgage with me.
Everything fell in sync from the first time we met. My parents were cordial with his parents. My sister loved how the Morgans were so down-to-earth and welcoming, all seven of their immediate family. My mother wasn't the best at hiding her side-eyes at their religious use of pot or every time one of them had a peculiar health opinion. It often resulted in my sister, Chloe, reminding her that she should let everyone live their lives as they wished, although not even Peter had disagreed when my mother talked the fifty-nine-year-old Mrs. Morgan out of getting dreads.
Yes, they are.
Alright, it might not have been that in sync. But I loved Peter, and he loved me. Something about his wavy brown hair, his bright eyes, the way he laughed in a high pitch when something was shockingly hilarious... I loved every bit of it.
Every day, when I woke to his music, I had confirmation that every hiccup in our lives was worth it. I would also tease him to finally play something else other than Band of Horses. It's not that I hate them, but I'd rather hear them when it's raining at night or in shows with Josh Radnor in them.
Leroy crunched on another Dorito. Peter felt me tense up and held onto my hand tighter. It was as if he knew I was one nibble away from making the guy walk to the train station.
The idea that Leroy would finally be exiting the country had made me more than excited to agree to drive him. Maybe I should've felt bad over it, but the guy was a mess. I didn't understand how someone as calm and respectable as Peter could tolerate him. Peter himself was often frustrated with him. I just figured high school friends were hard to shake.
He was now leaving for France, though. I could stand his rude behavior, lack of etiquette, and painfully unfunny humor for one more car ride. I wasn't a monster--I didn't enjoy seeing Peter be so bummed out that Leroy was leaving, which is why I celebrated in private. One exit and four more lights, and I'd never have to fake laugh at shitty jokes again.
"Oh man, look at that, Pete!" Leroy called out as we stopped at a red light. He pointed to the left of the car. "They're closing Quarter!"
Quarter and a Half was an arcade that Peter and Leroy would frequent in their teens. They had first met in a Street Fighter championship hosted by the venue. Neither had won the grand prize of two large pepperoni pizzas and a free cup for unlimited milkshakes, but they walked out with a friendship of seventeen years.
Being a nerd looked ugly on Leroy, like the two-hour seminar he gave me for saying I didn't care for the quality of the new Star Wars movies. It did, however, just make Peter more charming. I loved how he dorked out on movies or anime or video games. I'd take note of his latest obsession and ask random questions every day. We had turned the extra room in our house into a mini home theater where he could show off all his memorabilia. Every special occasion I would grab him some new figurines for his display. Sometimes, before bed, I'd read fanfiction out loud to him and ask if it was realistic for the characters to behave that way. It was our favorite non-sexual bedtime ritual.
Peter and I looked over at the unkempt building. His face fell, matching the peeling paint on the brick. "We should've gone before you left. How long has it been?"
"Like half a year?" I proposed.
"Yeah!" Leroy agreed. "How'd you remember that?"
"Jack's just really good with numbers and stuff," Peter explained, looking at our backseat guest.
He was right. Working as a math community college professor kept my number details pretty good. For what it's worth, Peter was right that I was good with numbers. The sole reason I remembered how long it'd been was because Leroy had too many beers and Peter had brought him to spend the night. Stand-up McGee had gone home after Peter and I left for work and destroyed our microwave by forgetting that aluminum was supposed to be taken off our leftover pizza before reheating.
"You think it'll still be here when I come visit?" the friend asked.
Everyone went silent. The next time Leroy planned to stop by was for Thanksgiving. We were in March.
"Aw, c'mon everyone, cheer up. There's probably way cooler places in France," I tried.
Peter wasn't amused, which did catch me off guard. I'd expected him to agree and be positive. Instead, he let go of my hand. "It isn't about replacing the place, Jack. We practically grew up in there."
It must've been the nostalgia that defended that roach-filled place. I didn't want to upset Peter further. "You're right, babe. I'm sorry. Who knows? Maybe they'll have a second chance."
"Yeah," Leroy mumbled.
When we arrived at the train station, I offered to bring Leroy's luggage to give him and Peter some alone time. Peter didn't talk about it much, but I knew it was hurting him more than he let on. I was in no place to judge; neither of my best friends had ever left my side since we were kids. If it happened now that we were in our thirties, I'd be devastated.
Leroy's train was called on the overcom. With our lack of an airport, he had to ride the train into the city to head out into the country. As terrible as his company was, I had to give it to the guy: he was a genius. Not many people could say they've been invited to study some bacteria across the ocean.
"Well, Leroy, stay safe in Paris. Let us know if you need anything," I said, giving him a half hug and handing over his luggage.
I remembered the unclean Dorito dust far too late and begged God his hands wouldn't leave any marks on my jacket. He only hugged me tighter. "Thanks, Jack. You're the best. Take care of Peter."
I felt a little guilty.
