“You gonna turn me into a man?” Oscar asked. The bite in his tone jarred on his own ears. But Ryan was still fresh, and Oscar hadn’t had a chance to really respond to him.
“Nobody can turn you into something you already are, dude,” Joe said, turning on the tap. “And if anybody has ever made you feel that way, then fuck ’em.”
9
FRIENDS OF DOROTHY
Despite several misguided crushes and awkward Tinder dates that never amounted to much, Oscar had very little experience in the romantic realm, and judging by the time that had passed between his coffee-date breakfast with Aaron and their tragically-induced chance evening together, he set very low expectations in terms of seeing him again anytime soon.
This did nothing to extinguish the butterflies that came alive in his stomach when he answered the door that evening to find Aaron standing there with his disheveled hair and crumpled clothes, glasses askew on the bridge of his nose, a paper bag in his hand.
“Hi.” It pushed out of Oscar breathless, blowing light into Aaron’s eyes, curling his mouth into a smile.
“I hope you don’t mind me just dropping by. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Aaron threw Oscar a sheepish look. It made Oscar want to pull him in by the waist and kiss the doubt right out of him, but Oscar simply shook his head and ushered him in, shutting the door behind him.
“I was just about to start making dinner. Hungry?” Oscargestured around the apartment, as though this on its own would encourage Aaron to make himself at home. “You like noodles, right?”
Oscar hadn’t stopped thinking about them since he’d seen the pots on Aaron’s coffee table, and on his way home, he’d stopped by Paulie’s to get ingredients, bell peppers included, damn his cravings.
He headed to the kitchen, where he’d started gathering vegetables for chopping, and mentally calculated how much more he’d need to feed Aaron, too.
“Can I help?” Aaron asked.
“You’ve been working all day,” Oscar said. He swung an arm out, pointing at the TV. “Play. I’ve got us covered.”
“Well. Okay, then.”
Aaron was still standing in the middle of the living room, something indescribably soft and cloud-like about him, eyes drinking Oscar in as though Aaron wanted to freeze the frame of him, and Oscar paused, allowing his mouth to twitch a smile in Aaron’s direction.
Aaron loosed a soft, one-note breath that sang a song from Oscar’s well of wishes, and then he settled on the couch, fussing over Luigi, who had decided to abandon the prospect of chicken to say hello to their guest, leaving Oscar with the task of impressing him.
In the short time that followed, Oscar learned Aaron’s favorite cuss words, far milder than Oscar’s vulgar curses, whispered into the air each time the avatar fell to whichever nasty thing wanted to kill her.
But as entertaining as it was to watch Aaron get wound up over the video game, Oscar was glad to sit opposite him and eat. He hadn’t thought through the awkwardness of slurping noodles in Aaron’s face, but when Aaron started furiously chewing on his own food, Oscar let down his defenses, too, and asked him about work.
Their plates had been empty for a while when Aaron finally got up and took them to the kitchen sink, Oscar following behind and complaining that Aaron was his guest, while Aaron stubbornly scrubbed each plate and dish and handed them to a grumbling Oscar for drying.
The next hour found them sprawled across from each other on the couch, passing the remote while they nibbled on the fresh donuts Aaron had picked up from the coffee shop after his latest shift, and then he had the audacity to ask for coffee, and Oscar humored him while he shook his head and had tea, like a reasonable human being.
Except Oscar didn’t think a world without Aaron and his coffee could be reasonable anymore.
The next morning, wide awake and disappointingly alone after Aaron had suggested going home at half past eleven at night, Oscar went out and headed to the fanciest coffee bar on his side of town.
They hadn’t really agreed to meet again, but Aaron showed up after work that evening, and Oscar had already made enough for two. They had Papa’s lasagna and day-old muffins from the same coffee shop as the day before, because Aaron had a whole week of afternoon shifts replacing a sick barista there, and then Oscar brewed him the special coffee and watched with eager eyes as Aaron lit up like a Christmas tree.
On Saturday morning, Oscar’s phone disrupted a beautiful dream in which he was demolishing a burger with Joe of all people, while Anna fried nuggets and Papa wiped tables, smiling and singing to himself.
“Yeah?” he croaked, not even checking the display.
“Shit, did I wake you up?”
Oscar perked up like a parrot, head cocking, mouth opening and closing as joy and panic mixed in the depths of his gut.
“Hi,” he said. Luigi trilled as he jumped on the bed, mistaking Oscar’s softness for an invitation. Oscar rubbed the fur between his ears and smiled into his phone, as though Aaron could see him. “Aren’t you working today?”
“I asked to swap. You busy? I have an idea.”
