Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Geno and Ben, along with pink-haired, multi-pierced Natasha Kaslov, took a subway to Grand Central and then boarded a Metro North train. Natasha got off at Port Chester, answering Ben’s invitation to come hang out with a vague, “We’ll see.” But she kissed Ben’s cheek before departing, and the new ring in her lower lip sparkled as she smiled at Geno.
“Dude, it’s so on,” Ben said, craning his neck at the window.
“You’ve been saying that since September.”
Ben’s mother was an extremely short, extremely well-put-together woman who hugged both boys indiscriminately at the New Canaan station. She talked nonstop on the way to the house, where she showed Geno to the extra twin bed in Ben’s room, pointed out the bathroom and where the towels were. She declared her kitchen was his kitchen but under no circumstances were they to touch the pies. Exhausted by Thanksgiving preparations, she had pizza delivered for dinner and they ate off paper plates in front of the TV.
Geno got no sleep that night. Ben’s twin beds had handsome black iron frames. The headboard loomed up over Geno like the grille of an oncoming train, its slim crossbars clanging through the remembered slide of metal cuffs. He’d dealt with the bed issue at school by dismantling the frame entirely and putting the mattress on the floor. Here, he was trapped. Moving to a couch required too much explanation. Moving to the floor only slightly less. Finally he knocked back an extra Ambien and slept with his head at the foot end, then laughed groggily the next morning and said he had no idea how he got turned around.
The grogginess lasted most of the day. Luckily Ben was just as tired. The boys lazed around, decompressing, until Wednesday night, when they drove over to South Salem.
“My buddy Jason’s back from California,” Ben said. “He graduated two years ahead of me and went straight out to Hollywood to make a movie. Now he’s got some part in a Broadway musical opening up this summer. He’s the closest thing to a celebrity I know personally. And an amazing cook.”
Natasha said she’d come hang out and Ben was so excited, he could barely keep his clothes on. He kept checking his phone and checking his appearance in every reflective surface.
“Jesus, Marino, get a grip,” Jason Dahl said from the stove. His clean-cut look was probably trademarked. Sandy blond with bright blue eyes. Scrupulously groomed facial hair. Trim and perfect in track pants and a black T-shirt, he stood barefoot at the stove, sautéing mushrooms, rolling and tossing them in the pan without the aid of a spoon.
“All in the wrist,” Ben said.
Another guy in the kitchen, Seth, rolled his eyes. “Dude, I swear if you don’t get laid in the next hour, I’m gonna fuck you myself.”
The doorbell rang and Ben took off, his vacated stool spinning in his wake.
“Want another beer, Mo?” Seth asked.
“No, thanks.”
“Babe, you want one?”
“Yeah,” Jason said, grinding the pepper mill over the pan.
Seth cracked open a Blue Moon. Instead of handing it over, he moved up behind Jason and held the bottle in mouth’s range. Jason took a swig, winking at Seth over the bottle. Steam from the frying pan floated between them. As Seth chuckled and took a drink, his eyes found Geno’s staring gaze and his brows went up. Geno looked down at his phone, heart pounding heavy in his stomach as he wondered, for the first time in a while, how Chris Mudry was doing.
Natasha had new blue and purple streaks in her hair. She accepted a beer, hopped up to sit on a counter top and wrapped the male majority attention around her like a stole. “This is like having a harem,” she said. “Four hot studs and yours truly. Come here, guys. Selfie.”
“I’ll take it,” Geno said, holding out a hand for her phone.
“Geno’s Amish,” Natasha said, slinging arms around the boys. “You can’t take his picture.”
“For real?” Seth said.
“No,” Geno and Ben said together. Jason broke out of the pose, cursing as the pasta water boiled over. Seth went to help him while Ben stayed ensconced between Natasha’s knees.
Realizing he was the fifth wheel, Geno shivered. Loneliness put a cold, heavy arm around his shoulders. He bucked it off, determined to have a good time. He had zero to be depressed about. Good company, good food and inclusion. What the hell else did he want?
As they sat around eating big bowls of Jason’s pasta, Geno’s mouth moved in conversation and his chest released laughter at the right times. All the while he watched Ben caress Natasha’s arm or back, or twirl a lock of her hair around his finger. Her normally aloof manner toward him softened and she fed him from her plate. Across the table, Seth and Jason had their chairs close together. Every so often they’d lock eyes or smile like they had a secret.
Was Chris with someone tonight? Or was he back home pretending to be something he wasn’t?
Geno moved the last strands of spaghetti around the bottom of his bowl and wondered how it was possible you could crave physical affection even as the thought of it terrified you. His eyes found Seth’s fingertips scratching circles between Jason’s shoulder blades and he wanted to run crying from the house. He stared at Ben’s hand buried in Natasha’s cotton candy tresses and he wanted, wanted, wanted…
This is how my life is going to be. Included but excluded. An extra at the table and the one missing from the group photo.
“You okay, Mo?” Natasha asked. Through eating, she now sat tucked in the circle of Ben’s arms, practically in his lap. “You look tired.”
Geno blinked and found a smile. “I’m good.” He got up and started collecting plates.
“You don’t have to do that, man,” Jason said.
“Sit,” Geno said. “You cooked. I will slave.”
“Hey, that’s my line,” Seth said.
Amidst laughter, Jason sat back, relaxed and handsome under the drape of Seth’s arm, his terrier in his lap.
Geno loaded the dishwasher and ran soapy water into the sink, angry at the world and himself. Hating the two couples. Hating another sleepless night he’d no doubt spend, his head at the foot end of a twin bed and his back pressed tight to the wall. Hating the Thanksgiving meal he’d have to sit through the next day as the odd one out. Hating himself for feeling this way. Analisa would say it wasn’t kind. She only wanted him to be kind.
You bitch and cry you have nowhere to go, then you bitch and cry when you get there.
He wiped off his hands and sat at the table again. Jason and Seth on one side, Natasha and Ben on the other
He smiled. He talked. He laughed.
Caught between the desire and the fear of being left alone.