When I wake up, I feel like I slept like the densest rock on Earth. I feel both incredible and incredibly groggy. After rolling onto my back and stretching, I smack my lips and open my eyes. Everything looks unfamiliar before I realize where I am: in Scotty's bed.
It turns out he got up before me, because I'm alone. I look to where his body was lying last night, running my hand over the bare spot on the sheets and sighing to myself. I can't believe we did that. I can't believe *I* did that. I let myself slip up in my inebriation, and now I'm going to have to face Scotty again.
What even happened, really? Yes, we were intimate, but *why*? Lying in my best friend's son's bed, I stare up at the ceiling and review last night's events, almost from a third-person perspective. I watch Scotty and me share drinks at the bar, flirt and console and laugh and talk seriously. I watch us steal glances at various people in the establishment and fight over the last nacho on the plate. I watch us exit the building, step out onto the sidewalk, and kiss passionately in the open.
That kiss. That fucking kiss. What compelled me to take action like that, after resisting for so long? For a minute or so, I just replay that one quote in my head: "Isn't it obvious?" What's obvious, Scotty? Now that things are said and done, now that I'm sober, I'm not sure I quite grasped the nuance of that question -- if there even was any. I'm sure I saw what I wanted to see. Maybe I just got lucky.
Stop, Antoni. Don't go down this road. Just talk it out with Scotty, get to the bottom of things, make sure you're both on the same page -- and although you both enjoyed yourselves, only allow this one indulgence. The last thing you need is to get yourself into trouble with Eric.
I tug myself out of bed and glance at the clock on his desk. It's nearly noon. Running my fingers through my hair, I curse myself for sleeping so late on a weekend morning and find my clothes are no longer scattered on the floor; they're neatly folded up on top of Scotty's dresser. I smile slightly, taking them and redressing myself before slowly opening the door. I check to make sure the coast is clear and then head back to my room, change into different clothes so as to not look suspicious, and then make my way downstairs.
Because it's a weekend, both Eric and Yasmine are home, sipping coffee in the kitchen while Scotty sits on the counter. When I enter, I freeze up as all three pairs of eyes point towards my direction. I look at Scotty first and see that he's grinning. "Morning, sleepyhead," he says.
Immediately, I feel awkward under his gaze with his parents right there. I just clear my throat. "Morning, guys."
"Antoniii," Eric says with a grin. "Thought we'd have to head upstairs and exhume you."
And find me in your son's bed? Thank God you didn't. "Nope. Very much alive," I say with a slight laugh.
"You hungry?" he asks me, gesturing to a fruit salad on the kitchen counter. "The only thing Yasmine does well in the kitchen."
Playfully, she slaps his arm in protest, which makes us all laugh slightly. "Be nice," I tell him. "She knows she can do better than you."
"Oh ho ho," Eric says, laughing loudly. Whenever he does that laugh, he clutches his lightly protruding stomach and knocks his bearded head back. "You bastard."
I just smile and make my way to the fruit salad, eager to busy myself with something -- and fully aware that Scotty's eyes are watching me.
Thankfully, Eric and Yasmine are a touch oblivious. They never realized that their daughter was a lesbian until she came out, even though I saw that a mile away, and although Yasmine always had a hunch about her son, Eric was blown away when Scotty finally came out to them. They're good people, but they often miss the details because they're so focused on what they call "the bigger picture." No one really knows what that bigger picture means, exactly, but I still love them. Eric is, after all, my best friend. Scotty was right in saying that we're both so different, but still, we have a brotherly bond that was established when we were kids. Even though he's far too rational, statistics-based, a bit dense, and even a touch conservative (though he's never had an issue with me being gay), he's a pillar in my life.
"Heard you had quite an evening last night," Eric says.
I turn abruptly in the middle of chewing a grape, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"Scotty told me," he says, gesturing towards his son.
I turn to Scotty, who's just smiling innocently as he swings his legs. "I told him I had to babysit you last night."
"Oh," I murmur, swallowing the grape and trying to look calm and collected -- but really, I'm just terrified that, for the first time, Eric will sniff something out. That'd be my luck.
Eric comes over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, leaning in, and speaking in a lower tone to imply that this is now a private conversation. "Listen.... Is everything okay?" Eric asks.
"Huh?" I say before nodding. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, everything's fine."
"Scotty mentioned something about money, said I should ask you."
"It's all fine," I assure him. "We can talk about it later, though. I'd like to get your opinion."
Eric just nods, satisfied. He's never pushy. "Sounds good, brother," he says, patting my chest.
For a while, we all just stand around in the kitchen, chatting about the day's plans. It's Eric's and Yasmine's anniversary (which I had completely forgotten), so they're planning on enjoying an evening out: fancy dinner at their favorite restaurant Canard, some live music, and a walk around the park. They do the same thing every year, but to them, it never gets old.
I do get some time alone with Eric to discuss the incoming money. His eyes nearly bulge out when I tell him the amount, and I tell him how I have mixed feelings about the situation. Unsurprisingly, Eric is not sensitive to the emotional side of things and murmurs "Are you stupid?" when I merely consider not keeping it. I knew he'd respond this way, but his rational nature does have some value, so it's still kind of nice to hear him nudge me in the "right" direction.
Then, Scotty knocks and steps into his dad's home-office space. "Yeah?" Eric asks.
"Mom wants to make cookies," he says, "from scratch."
Eric groans. "Are you kidding?"
"I tried to stop her," Scotty says, smiling slightly. Frankly, I'm amused too. No matter how many times she fails at cooking and baking, she always tries. Her own mother used to joke and say, "Thank God you're pretty."
"Christ," Eric mumbles. "Lemme go talk to her." We start to leave his office when he stops and turns, gesturing between me and Scotty and addressing his son. "You knew about all that money?"
