“For what? Your surplus supply of three-in-one shampoo, body wash, and conditioner?”
“It’s efficient and cost-effective!”
“It’s full of harsh chemicals and probably smells bad!”
“Why do you care?” he asks sharply.
“What?”
“Why do you care what I smell like?” he asks, borderline smug.
I gulp back my masquerade fantasy, nearly choking on the heavenly imagined scent of him. It’s unfair. I can’t read him, but it’s clear he thinks he’s got me splayed open like a book.
“That’s what I thought.” He rolls his eyes before whipping open his newly claimed cabinet. I don’t know if it’s the abruptness with which he pulls or what he finds underneath, but either way he shrieks like he’s seen a ghost. He hits the far wall with his back. “What the fuck isthat?”
A laugh flies out of me when I remember what I stored under there. I race over and shove my way around him. “It’s a SpectraLite mask, you fool.” Feeling suddenly, unexpectedly playful, I slip on the pink-and-white mask and flip off the bathroom light. With the click of a button, the red LEDs underneath illuminate only my eyes and mouth. I ask in my eeriest voice, “Are you afraid of me, Hector?”
“Stop it! That’s creepy, dude!” He bumps me with his hip, reaching for the switch. I wrestle him away slightly, not realizing that the brush of bodies could morph into a frenzied press. “Come on. Quit it,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s holding back a laugh. A genuine one. He shoulders me friskily, and it takes my breath away, which is beyond weird.
When we’re back under the harsh-white buzzing light, I realize how close we are, and swiftly the light isn’t the only thing that’s buzzing. My skin is vibrating, and my own heart rate ratchets up. I’m glad I’m wearing this mask because otherwise he’d see my blush. This is too much like my masquerade daydream to handle.
He must sense my clogged-up thoughts because he skirts away, embarrassed maybe. “Jeez, where did you learn that voice from?”
“You pick up a few things when you practically grow up on the set of a high-fantasy TV series,” I say, sliding off the mask when the heat on my cheeks subsides.
He nods, the childish fighting coming to a cease-fire.
“What’s going on? What’s all the ruckus?” Concerned voices grow louder as Grandma and Gramps come racing (well, shuffling) around to where we are. “We heard screaming!”
Grandma’s face is aghast. “What a mess! Did a tornado blow through that we didn’t hear about?”
Hector and I step out of the bathroom sheepishly. Inspecting the scene, I realize it looks like two puppies had a tug-of-war over shared toys, and instead of playing nice, they ripped them all to shreds. The wreckage is everywhere. Hector and I don’t look at each other, and we don’t dare look at Grandma.
“I’m surprised at you two. I thought you were grown men. Not little boys.” She folds her arms andtsks. “What’s the meaning of all this?”
Neither of us has a decent explanation, so we remain silent, chastised, with our heads hung.
She shakes her head. “I was about to tell you dinner was ready, but never mind. Naughty boys don’t get to eat dinner until they’ve cleaned up their messes.” She pivots, but thinks again. “And apologize to one another for their nastiness.” Another shake of the head. Anothertsk. Gramps looks just as disappointed—if not more—as he goes.
Hector begins picking up his shirts, and I begin cataloging my beauty products, making sure none of them cracked or leaked. I need these for the duration of my stay or else I’ll be a blotchy, pimply mess.
When I glance over at the closet, even though it’s tiny, I realize I could stand to give up some of its real estate. Though it would severely ruin the flow and overall aesthetic of my garments, I have a mind to give him something close to half the closet for his homogenous attire. His reaction to the mask made him a little more human to me. Made me feel a little more reasonable. Generous, if you will.
I’m about to say something when—
“I don’t know why I feel guilty here. You started it,” he huffs.
My generosity vanishes in a cloud of smoke. “I start a lot of things: trends, passion projects, parties when I walk into the room, but that? What just happened? I give credit where credit is due, and that was all you, Hector.”
“You’re seriously something else.” Hector finishes folding his shirts and slides them into a wonky drawer in the defunct entertainment console. A compromise on his part, perhaps.
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”
“I hope you know I’m keeping this for emotional damages,” Hector says, pulling the cash from before out of his pocket.
“How lovely for you.” I clap my hands together. “Now, I’m starving. I trust you can pretend we apologized to each other?”
“As well as I can pretend we’re both going to make it to the new year alive.”
