Chapter Three The Migration Pattern of Some Stupid Squid #2
“Well, I’m sure you don’t mind all the moving,” Hailey offers, finishing her glass of cider. “You were never all that good
at sitting still.”
“It’s been fun,” Jacob says. Owen’s not sure that anyone else picks up on the hesitation in his words, the quiet weariness
that Owen recognizes from when Jacob used to work late nights. Maybe he’s the only one who ever heard it. “Belgium is gorgeous, remind me to show you some pics later.”
Owen’s dinner threatens to come back up as he tries to shut out what Jacob’s saying, scraping food down the garbage disposal
before he slips into his bright red gloves. Might as well do the dishes now.
“Owen—” Ravi speaks through the serving hatch. “A friend of mine found a listing that’s got some promise, don’t let me leave tonight without showing you.”
“Oh . . .” Owen feels like a deer caught in the headlights, especially when he realizes that Jacob is also looking at him, his gaze curious. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.”
“Did you set a date with the bank yet?” Ravi asks.
“No, uh . . .” Owen forces his attention back down to the sink, steam rising from the steady stream of water and heating his
face. “Not yet. I wanted to have a spot in mind for the shop before I scheduled anything.”
“Fair.” Ravi nods.
But Owen’s holding his breath for Jacob’s reaction.
“Is this about the shop?” Jacob asks. “Full Metal?”
He still remembers the name that Owen’s held on to for years now. Basic, maybe, and Owen figures he’ll eventually need to
learn to pierce just to make sure he doesn’t give anyone the wrong impression.
“Yeah, Owen and I have been getting his proposal for the loans ready.” Ravi looks to Owen, like he’s expecting Owen to take
over the conversation.
It is his shop, after all.
“Uh . . . yeah.” Owen swallows. “Ravi’s been helping me a ton.”
“That’s amazing.” Jacob beams, and even if there’s no real condescension in his voice, that doesn’t stop Owen from interpreting
the words that way.
“Yeah!” he adds, suddenly brave. “It is, actually. I’m hoping to open it up next year!”
This is the first time Owen’s hearing about an opening date.
Owen’s loan proposal still sits in a Google Drive shared with Ravi, nowhere near ready.
He hasn’t even decided on a neighborhood.
Or if the shop is even going to happen. Even if the bank does say yes, by some miracle, owning a shop and working at one are two different beasts, a whole other level of responsibility.
Besides, it’s been such a dream for such a long time, there’s a sort of comfortable acceptance about the idea that it’ll permanently
be out of reach.
“Owen, babe?” Kaitlyn’s voice pulls Owen from his spiral. “I think you ripped the sponge in half.”
Owen opens his hands, staring down at the sponge halves.
“Sorry,” he says, taking the replacement that Kaitlyn offers. She eyes him before rejoining their friends back in the living
room as the topic of conversation shifts. Owen takes responsibility for cleaning the dishes, watching Kaitlyn and Abigail
pull out their Rock Band set. Hailey and Ravi join in, and even though Hailey takes the microphone, everyone sings along, like a group karaoke session.
It’s why he doesn’t hear Jacob approach.
“Kaitlyn wants to know if you want to do ‘Call Me Maybe’?” Owen jumps, nearly letting a glass container slip out of his suds-covered
hands. When he turns, Jacob’s looking at him bashfully. “Sorry.”
“I’ll be there in a bit,” Owen says flatly. “Still cleaning up here.”
“You should take a break,” Jacob says. “Don’t overdo it.”
“I’m good.” Owen glowers at the man.
“Just make sure—”
“I’m not a child, Jacob. I know my limits,” Owen bites out, hoping that’s the end of things.
“Okay, okay . . .” He takes a step back. “Sorry, I—”
Jacob’s expression softens, and Owen feels guilt wash over him. Shit.
Why does he feel so bad for being angry? He has every right to be. This is the man who decided that their relationship wasn’t enough. Sure, he hadn’t used those exact words, but he’d been willing to walk away from everything they had, all to research the migration pattern of some stupid squid.
And now Owen feels bad about calling the squid “stupid.”
They didn’t do anything wrong. No one did.
“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” Owen tells him, though he can feel a soreness in his legs; he’s been alternating
between standing and squatting too long. Even bringing over a barstool hadn’t provided as much relief as he’d needed.
Jacob doesn’t challenge Owen, but his gaze lingers, like he doesn’t quite believe him.
Then Jacob sniffs, his nose high in the air like an old cartoon character. Owen is sure he’d start levitating if he could.
“Is that blueberry cobbler?”
Owen turns off the alarm on his phone as it ticks down to the final seconds and opens the oven. No reason the dish can’t come
out now.
He hears the soft thump of Fitzwilliam dropping to the floor again, and Owen glances at Jacob over his shoulder. “Yep.”
With his oven mitts on, Owen pulls the skillet out very carefully and lets it rest on top of the stove. Jacob and Kaitlyn’s
mother had given the skillet to him for Christmas years ago, shortly after she’d pulled Owen to the side and said the words
“The backbone of a good kitchen is the skillet.” She’d spent hours teaching him how to properly clean and reseason it, helped
him make her special cobbler in it, treating Owen like he were her own flesh and blood.
When the lid comes off, the kitchen is filled with the sugary scent of the baking blueberries. A few have burst through the crust, splotches of vibrant purple coloring the gold.
“Smells amazing.” Jacob hovers over the dish, no doubt having to stop himself from drooling everywhere.
“Mm-hmm . . .” Owen hums, biting back the words he wants to say.
Jacob hesitates, shifting on his feet uncomfortably as a silence stretches between them.
“It’s great to hear, about the shop . . . I mean.”
“Thanks,” Owen replies bluntly. “Looks like you were wrong after all, huh?”
Shut up, shut up, shut up, Owen pleads with himself. But it’s like his mouth has a mind of its own. A brazenly bold mind that doesn’t seem to care
that he has to spend the next few days sharing an apartment with Jacob.
At least the couch in the breakroom at Sunset Tattoo is sort of comfortable. Maybe he can just camp out there?
Shock registers on Jacob’s face for a split second. “Yeah, I guess I was.” He swallows after the words. “I suppose now is
as good a time as any to apologize to you about what I said—”
“Hey!” Owen interjects, forcing a smile. “Don’t even worry about it!”
“Owen, stop interrupting—”
“What is there left to say, Jacob?” Owen asks, ignoring Jacob’s wishes. “You made things pretty clear on that last phone call.”
“I still . . .” Jacob’s hand goes to the back of his neck, just like it always does when he’s nervous. “I thought that we
could talk.”
“Well, I don’t particularly want to talk to you,” Owen tells him, the words tasting bitter.
“I’m prepared to play nice; I’m not just going to ignore you.
That’d only make things worse for the both of us.
” As he says the words, he pulls the carton of vanilla ice cream out of the fridge where he’d set it to soften.
“So that’s all we’re going to do?” Jacob asks. “Play nice?”
“That’s pretty much the only option . . . isn’t it?” Owen stares, pondering the careful expression on Jacob’s face. He almost
looks disappointed. Like he’d come back wanting more from Owen.
“Come on,” Owen tells him. “Grab those plates and help me carry everything.”
“Jesus Christ, Owen . . .” Kevin gawks at all of the desserts as they’re laid out on the coffee table. Actually, they’re all
gawking.
“Too much?” Owen asks sheepishly as he sinks into the couch.
“I feel prediabetic just looking at this table,” Abigail says.
“Can I divorce Hailey and marry you, Owen?” Ravi asks as he bites into the patishapta, muttering something in Bengali.
“I’ll allow it,” Hailey replies, snagging a cookie for herself. “So long as Owen is okay with being a trophy husband.”
Next to Owen, Kaitlyn gently prods him with her foot. Having been friends for so long, Owen likes to think that he and Kaitlyn
have perfected the art of talking to each other without even saying a word.
You okay? her expression seems to ask.
Owen nods, hoping that the look he gives her is reassurance enough. He probably could’ve kept things a little quieter in the
kitchen. But it’s too late now. Another problem doesn’t arise until Jacob decides to plant himself right in front of Owen as Ravi puts on The Muppet Christmas Carol. The lights are turned off and anyone who has someone to cozy up next to does as the Greek chorus of Gonzo and Rizzo lay
the scene.
As if the ghosts of Statler and Waldorf themselves are taunting him, Owen finds his gaze constantly pulled to the back of Jacob’s head. And there’s something . . . different. Not just in the length, but . . . the smell too. Like he switched shampoo.
By the time the credits roll, Owen has to figure he’s set some kind of record.
Longest Time Gone Without Raking Your Hands Through Your Ex-Boyfriend’s Hair While He’s Sitting Right in Front of You!
Probably a little too specific to email Guinness.
The games come out, and Owen takes his chance to slip back into the kitchen. He’s never been all that into Magic: The Gathering anyway, and the four-person version of the game that Kaitlyn loves to make everyone play has the potential to go on for hours,
especially because Hailey’s never been quite able to get the mechanics down. Unfortunately, Owen can only avoid playing for
so long before he’s pulled into one of the smaller two-person games, stopping every few minutes to ask Kaitlyn or Abigail
for a reminder on the order of phases he’s supposed to take and when.
Anyone who is knocked out of the game early congregates back around the coffee table, picking at the leftover desserts. Thankfully,
Jacob’s much better at the game than Owen is, meaning Owen doesn’t have to make the effort to avoid him.