Thomas and Niko in the City of Trees - Chapter 7
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Look, I'm not saying we shouldn't have done it. I'm just saying that maybe we should have been more realistic about what we knew was fucking going to happen. My mind is still just doing backflips over the whole thing.
Would you believe it if I told you Thomas and I slept peacefully in his bed all night long with two feet separating us, the same as we've done for twelve fucking years? Well, that's exactly what we did. Picture him and me, best friends just keeping that childhood arrangement alive for yet another night like nothing happened. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. And when I woke up in the morning, and everything was just so goddamn familiar, it actually took me a second or two to remember. Once I did, and I looked over at him and he was still sleeping, I had this crazy, warm feeling wash over me. I guess you could call it euphoria. I felt a strong desire to reach out then and put my arms around him, but of course I didn't actually do it. All of this has been such an unpredictable shitshow, who knows what the result of that would have been.
I stood there beside his bed for a good minute or two, though. I was trying to decide if I should leave without waking him up, which I normally wouldn't have any qualms about. This time I decided it might not be the best idea. I said his name softly and he rolled over and looked up at me.
"I'm going to work now," was what I said.
He gave me this kind of shy smile that make me feel really good about everything and said, "See you later on."
Well, now it's fucking back to reality, and I'm standing in this dumb little booth, and I need a little time to process all of this, you know? And I know he does too, no matter what he says, no matter what kind of fucking one-eighty he's made in the last couple of days.
The good news is that he's texting me back—he was the first to say something, actually. It's not like I was really worried about that, though, since seems to have completely moved past his fucking doom-and-gloom phase. It helps me get through the day, along with the fact that my prison cell is now air-conditioned.
The first thing he says is, "How did you sleep?"
"I slept well," I text back.
"No regrets," he says.
"No regrets."
We're just sort of texting about nothing for a while. And then I say, "We need to keep this under control though."
His reply comes in right way. "No fucking shit." A pause. "We can't just go and do that shit whenever we want."
I type the words "The girls" and then just stare at my screen trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to finish that thought. And then I give up and hit send. I'll let him fucking deal with it.
"I know," is all he texts back.
Things go quiet between us for a while. As I'm serving cars I keep opening our message thread and it just looks so sad and pathetic they way we left it. We're the ones who are pathetic, is what I'm trying to say. Awhile later, determined, I pick my phone back up and type, "You know it counts as cheating right?" But I only put the words down on the screen. I don't send them. I look at them for a little while, and then I erase them. Half an hour later, I write them again. Then I erase them again. I'm the craziest piece of shit. I wish I understood myself better sometimes.
It's getting close to four. I'm just cleaning up some stuff and throwing a few rags into the laundry bag when that beat-up old Lexus just grinds up and lurches into a parking space nearby. Thomas gets out and he's wearing the red variety of his famous sleeveless shirt. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and comes over.
"Did you fucking work out without me?" I say.
"No. I though we could, though, if you wanted to." He folds his arms on the little order counter. "Hey, so I was thinking we should actually quit doing that other stuff, for now."
"I agree," I say. And It's true. I do agree. He's exactly right. Look at all of this other shit we have going on right now. That kind of behavior is totally incompatible with either of our situations, and we both know it.
"Like, actually fucking control ourselves," he continues, "and not just say we will."
"We've been friends for years," I say. "So I mean, we know what it's supposed to look like, just being regular friends who don't do that stuff. We'll go back to how is was before."
"Exactly," he says. "Man, I knew you would think of the perfect way to say it."
A straggler pulls up in a white Buick. It's a sweet old lady with a fucking mile-long order. Thomas waits in his car until I'm done. I close up the place and go over to his car. I get in and shove some stuff in the backseat. We go back to his place and run through our whole routine in the garage. It feels so fucking good to be working out with him again, I'm telling you. And when we finish and he pushes his protein on me, I accept that shit. I'm like a new man.
I know this might be hard to believe, but we go the whole rest of the week just being normal friends, like before. The thing about Thomas and me is that we care about our friendship more than anything. I'm hanging out with Lexie too, on and off, and things are going pretty good for us. Damn, that girl loves to smoke weed. You should see her. Now that summer has arrived, she's really relaxing about a lot of things. She gets a job as a cashier at a store called Lazy Afternoon that mostly sells crafts and shit like that. She tells me she can do it with her hands behind her back.
Thomas's job starts next week. He's a shop assistant to a mechanic in West Downtown. He did it last summer, too. He's all over that kind of stuff.
