Chapter 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?” Oscar gestured 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.”
Oscar smoothed his jeans, tugging at his T-shirt, even though he didn’t need to do that anymore, but he supposed muscle memory was a thing, and he’d hated having a chest longer than he’d spent without one.
It was warm outside, the sun yellowing the pretty paving, a cloudless azure sky blessing the crowd that had ventured out looking for fresh produce on this fine summer morning.
Oscar hadn’t been to the farmers’ market in a long, long time.
When he’d first moved to his side of town, he hadn’t really been able to afford anything other than the ugly discount fruits and vegetables in Paulie’s crate beside the door, so most of his fiber had come from packaged things that went in the freezer.
When Oscar finally could afford something like a real apple, he’d fallen into the habit of lazy Saturdays in, rotting in front of video games and eating candy.
The last time he had come here was with Grandma, and that had been a good few years before.
Now Oscar was standing on the corner, by the wonky streetlamp where they’d agreed to meet, studying the many heads of hair for a tinge of fire.
“Hello.”
Oscar whirled quickly enough to quite nearly fall but didn’t, as a hand reached out to steady him.
Instead, he tripped on his own tongue. Aaron in blue was something else, his eyes putting the sky to shame, his hair—which seemed to grow at supersonic speed—fluffy and soft-looking, bangs brushing his brow.
“Hello,” Oscar finally said.
Aaron had promised they’d find excellent deals on bell peppers and only the nicest berries, hand-picked by some of the people who set up stalls every Saturday in this lovely corner of their town.
It wasn’t too far from the cathedral, looming massive and white in the background.
No wonder Aaron knew all about what to expect.
“Ooh, coffee!” Aaron dragged Oscar to a cart selling fresh cups, and Oscar got to watch him bloom like a flower in spring as he tasted it. God, he’d turn into a bean if he could.
They never agreed to go home together, but Aaron got on the bus with him, and they used half the produce to make dinner, played games until it was late, and had more of the fancy coffee Oscar had bought for him.
He saw him every day the following week, and on Saturday, he didn’t need the phone call. Oscar was already up and dressed, ready to meet Aaron at the stalls again.
On the third weekend, the sky was painted an ominous shade of blackening grey, the spires on the bell towers poking the sky, begging rain.
By the time Aaron arrived, it had started to drizzle.
His eyes shot from the stalls starting to dismantle to Oscar’s face, mouth twisting, and Oscar wondered whether Aaron was as terrified as he was that the day would suddenly be canceled.
He’d see him again the next day and the one after that, but Saturday wasn’t Saturday anymore without their mornings, and an hour was equivalent to seven without Aaron.
“Pancakes?” Oscar murmured.
“And coffee,” Aaron replied.
Oscar wanted to kiss each dimple as it formed, but they hadn’t yet, and he wasn’t about to rush him. Maybe Aaron didn’t like kissing. Maybe he would never touch him.
As much as Oscar yearned for it, he could live with that.
He could die happy eating dinner, playing games, and watching Aaron drink his coffee.
More than anything, he could live. For the first time in his life, Oscar wanted it.
They got on the bus together, and Oscar didn’t look out of the window and pretend to be in a music video.
Life was better than the music videos now because Aaron was in it, with his reddish brown hair and those glasses and the freckles on the backs of his hands, which were brushing against Oscar’s thigh.
It was a wonder Oscar didn’t self-combust, but somehow, he contained himself.
They ran from the bus stop and straight into the coffee house, sheltering from the heavy downpour.
Aaron turned around, giggling, hair plastered to his forehead.
He reached out a hand, eyes darting down to Oscar’s fingers, then up to his face.
Oscar nodded, as though Aaron had asked a question, and slipped his hand in Aaron’s waiting palm. He wished the walk to their booth would never end, that he could stretch it out forever and hold Aaron’s hand until his own was dust.
But eventually they found a spot and sat opposite each other.
There was no produce that afternoon, but Oscar sat and listened to stories about Tobe and Marta, about her taking Aaron to get his first haircut when he was ready to come out, and they had pancakes with too much syrup and a whole pot of coffee, and outside the rain poured and poured and poured.
“Joe asked if you wanted to go to the gym this week. It’s pretty quiet because everyone’s on holiday,” Aaron said in between bites of his chicken. It was a Wednesday, and Oscar had to work a little longer after this because he’d spent the morning registering for the semester.
“Uh, yeah. Tomorrow?”