On my way towards the backdoor, I am met with Wagner rising from his stool. “A word, son?” He nods towards the private hallway that leads towards the bathrooms.
I bristle at the word "son," but oblige him anyway. I like the old geezer well enough. He’s never done me wrong.
“I seen that look on your face, when my boy was out kissin’ on that other guy out front,” he tells me, keeping his voice low. “You and me, are we gonna have any trouble, Gordy?”
I shake my head. “Why would we?”
“I don’t know everything about what happened between you and Evan, but I know enough, and I want to make one thing perfectly clear here. If youevertry to fuck shit up for Gannett, too, I promise you this… youwillregret it. I’ve come to respect that you aren’t a damn thing like Marlin to watch you flush that all down the pisser, now. Ya hear?”
I nod. Then, feeling like I owe Wagner an explanation, and despite the pins-and-needles feeling of unease prickling within me, I offer him a nugget of truth to give him some perspective before it leads to the sensation of being battered by wave after icy, cold wave of pure panic—threatening to drag me under. “With all due respect, Evan being gay was never the true issue, sir. You knew Marlin. You know what an asshole he could be. Trylivingwith it. What I did was a terrible thing, I know, but at the time?” I suck in a deep breath through my nostrils, and blow it back out through pursed lips—a trick I picked up in therapy, to help keep myself calm. “At the time, as a fucked upkid, it seemed like the only way out. Being gay isn’t the issue, and it’snotan issue for me with Gannett either.”
“Wagner! Will you get your crotchety ass back out here and stop harassing the barkeep?” Walter shouts out.
“Hold your damn horses!” Wagner shouts back. However, he keeps his eyes narrowed on me—studying me. Then, his hardened glare softens a touch, his head tilts, and finally, he scoffs in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned…”
“What?” my face contorts with the confusion I feel.
“You’re just as thick-headed as he is, for crying out loud. If it’sjealousythat’s eatin’ away at ya, then we just got our wires crossed here. Git on outta here, and go take care of thatheadache.” He shakes his head and chuckles as he walks away.
What the fuck? Me?Jealous?
When I get to the top of the landing, my heart lurches in my chest. Instead of the charged energy I was about to come barging in with, I’m heated for a whole other reason instead—panic. I hear the sound of alarms beeping. When I open the door, I find Gannett, poised and ready with a fire extinguisher pointed at the microwave, black smoke billowing out of it.
“What the absolute fuck?!” I yelp, racing towards him and wrestling the red cylinder out of his grip. “Open the window and throw whatever it is you’re cookingout, now!”
“Right, yeah!” Gannett exclaims, and with the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth in one hand, he pinches something, and pulls it out. “Patio door’s closer, get that!”
The corpse of a charred bag of popcorn whizzes by my head and plops into the thin layer of snow on the floor of the balcony.
I scrub a hand down my face and groan, while he attempts to fan the rest of the smoke out with the shirt he yanked off himself. It takes a bit before the smoke alarms stop blaring. It takes even longer for the ringing in my ears to subside and my heart rate to drop back to normal.
Fucking Gannett, though, acts like this is an everyday occurrence for him—which it actually might be, knowing him. He chuckles as the same small seagull from the first morning swoops in and starts tearing open the still-smoldering bag. “Damn, that was a close one, huh? Well, at least I know Gulligan won’t starve tonight.” Shirtless, he wanders out onto the deck. “Wow, slow down, buddy,” he tells the bird, scooching down near it. “Eat too much too fast, you’ll burn your beak off. Trust me, the last thing you need is to lose your pecker.”
All pretenses about why I was formerly annoyed with Gannett melt away, replaced with newer, fresher agitation. “Are you seriously trying topata wild animal right now? You know they’re called dump ducks for a reason, right? They’re fuckin’ dirty sky rats.”
He gasps, placing his hands up like he’s trying to cover the bird's ears. Alarmingly, the gull lets him, as if hetrustsGannett now or something. Hell, he might, since the dingbat has been out there feeding it every day. “You watch yourmouth, Masterson. Gulligan can understand your insults. Besides, he let me pick him up earlier today.”
“Tell me you didn’t bring itinsidewith you,” I mutter.
“Oh, hell yeah I did! After I got back from work, I found re-runs ofGilligan’s Islandon your TV,” he admits. “He and I chilled for a bit before Micah came and picked me up. He pooped on your arearug, but I think I got it all cleaned up. Gulligan pooped, that is—not Micah.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and make a valiant attempt at another calming breath. “I can’t do this right now,” I say, heading back inside to try to bring some order back to my kitchen.
Gannett stands and follows me in, but not after telling the damn bird, “Come back tomorrow, bud. Daddy’ll give you some donuts. Don’t let what Gordy said get to ya. I don’t. It’s just his resting bitch personality.”
I spin on my heels and glare at Gannett. “Thefuck’d you just say?”
He wipes his snow covered bare feet on the rug, then shrugs, brushing past me to help pick up his mess. “Resting bitch personality. It’s like… the face, but when the face is your whole personality. You’re crusty, like a goddamn barnacle… only you don’t latch onto anything. So, maybe you’re like—ooh, acrouton.”
I blink at him. How the fuck do I even respond to that? Sure as hell can’tdenyit.
“Aren’t you even going to ask me how my big, gay date went, Croot?” he asks.
“Croot?” My brow furrows.
He chortles. “Because you’re a crouton.”
I shake my head. “No on the nickname, and no, I’m not going to ask about your date, Wee-Waters. Pretty sure I saw enough when he dropped you off.” Just the mental replay of it leaves me awash in that feeling of, I guess, jealousy again.
