Chapter 10 - Deacon
DEACON
I’m doing this wrong. This is easily a conversation I could have had with Evan in the kitchen. Literally all I want to tell him is I’m seeing someone, and he may show up from time to time, and oh, by the way—it’s your boss. Our CEO. Don’t act weird.
I’m not sure Evan even knows I’m gay. Millie’s over here so often he probably thinks I’m interested in her.
This dinner idea I had was because he seemed disappointed I couldn’t go with him to the new restaurant when he asked the first time.
He was having a rough morning on Monday, and I have a lot of guilt about being a shitty roommate in general.
I really do want to do better by him as part of the fresh start I’m making.
Living on the spectrum comes with challenges.
Some specific ones of mine involve difficulty reading social cues, giving appropriate responses, initiating spontaneous communication, and expressing emotions.
Also, I require a lot of stimulation. Nearly constant, which is why my unofficial label is AuDHD.
Meaning I’m a mess of contradictory traits.
I’ve also been told I’m highly adept at “masking,” which is a constant struggle, but also a habit I don’t think I can stop, despite my therapist’s urging.
No thanks.
I’m weird enough to be around without constantly humming the songs in my head or tapping out the one Bach song I learned on the piano when I was a kid over and over again on every surface my hand comes into contact with.
The usual things that bother people with my diagnosis—loud noises, crowds, flashing lights—well, that’s what I used drugs and alcohol for.
Being drunk or high lowered the urge to lose my shit.
But in order to really cope, I keep busy, and I hyper focus.
My interests are equally split between work and sex.
With the latter, it’s amazing the kinds of conditions I can ignore if some dude is fucking my throat.
Nothing’ll shut off my differently wired brain like a little fight for survival.
The way Isaac makes me feel is new, though.
His good looks are a feast for my eyes. His needs are crystal clear to me in a way that most people’s remain a mystery.
I’m not sure if it’s his voice I find particularly soothing or his word choice clicks in nearly the same way my therapist’s does, but I’m comfortable with him in a way I know not to take for granted because that shit is rare for me.
Isaac looks at me like I’m a solution—not a problem.
Not the way Evan is looking at me right now.
He’s waiting for me on the couch when I come out of my bedroom. He’s petting his huge dog on the forehead with rhythmic, repetitive strokes.
Apollo is a great dog. He’s simple, calm, and predictable.
He never makes a mess, and he doesn’t bark.
He was my biggest concern when Evan moved in, and I admit to having been more focused on how disruptive the dog would be when what I should have been thinking about was how difficult it would be to live with yet another very attractive man.
The dog distracted me.
Ryan was quiet and surly, a little messy in the kitchen, but otherwise kept to himself.
He was hot as hell, too. I used to have a lot of fantasies about him.
Sex dreams. Embarrassing ones that made me think I wanted him, but he barely noticed me, which I understood, because for a while, he was supposedly straight.
It was when he started hooking up with his co-worker—his former stepbrother—that I got really confused.
It was the first time I ever experienced jealousy.
At first, I thought it was specific to Ryan, but after a while, I realized it had more to do with the fact that he had someone to fall in love with.
Someone who needed him and basically worshiped him.
Because what would that be like? It was something that didn’t feel possible for me—until now. Until Isaac.
I’m positive I’m jumping the gun regarding Isaac, but what I do know after having been with him is that I want to find that person like Ryan did.
Someone who gets me, someone who wants me.
Someone to hold and feel and fuck and kiss.
One person I can talk to and take care of and please because most of my life I’ve been a disappointment.
The way Evan looks at me when he realizes I’m in the living room is a perfect example. The expression on his face is grim until he forces a weak smile. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
He stands. He’s wearing billowy cargo pants in a light gray and the same skin-tight black sweater he had on when he got home from work. He looks great.
The breath he takes is shaky, the way mine sounds when I’m anxious, and he runs a hand through his hair the way Isaac did earlier in the break room. For as much as he usually talks, his silence as we leave the apartment leaves me guessing.
The second we hit the stairs, we both stiffen when Millie’s door creaks open.
“Evan! Hey.”
She doesn’t sound right.
Evan and I turn around. Millie’s hair is a hot pink tangle on top of her head. She’s wearing pants that remind me of an Amish quilt and a white tank top that shows off the rainbow of tattoos on her skinny arms. She’s a lot on a good day, but I’ve never seen her looking at Evan like this.
She’s usually focused on me, whether I like it or not.
“Hey,” Evan says. “You okay?”
I guess he can tell something’s off, too.
“No. Manon is pregnant. That’s what’s wrong with her nipples.”
I glance at Evan who looks amused for the first time since he got home. “Congrats. Do you know how many puppies she’s having?”
Millie’s brown eyes get even bigger than normal, and she takes a step toward the stairs. “You know what this means, right?”
“Uh…no?”
“Apollo did this.”
Evan huffs a dismissive laugh. “No he didn’t.”
“Yes. He did. It had to have been him. Remember New Year’s?”
I lean on the stairwell wall because I’m sensing this might take a minute to sort out.
“What about it?” Evan asks.
“The dinner party?”
Evan still looks like he’s got no idea what she’s talking about.
I help jog his memory. He was pretty drunk that night. We all were. “The one where Bailey made that winter sangria.”
Evan looks at me. “I had a lot of that.”
“Exactly,” Millie cuts in. “You weren’t supervising your dog and he—” She switches to a whisper. “He did it with Manon.”
“Did what?” Evan asks.
Millie folds her arms over her chest. “I’m gonna need you to take some responsibility for this. You can’t expect me to do this on my own.”
“Hold on.” Evan lifts both hands. “Are you saying Apollo railed your tiny dog? Do you have proof? Because Melvin downstairs isn’t neutered either, and he was a stud back in the day. I’m not sure if you know that.”
“Melvin is almost fourteen.”
The Golden Retriever they’re referring to is pretty old. He lives with the married couple in the apartment underneath mine and Evan’s.
“Just because he’s an old fucker doesn’t mean he can’t still fuck.”
Millie turns bright red. “I know it was him.” She points at both our doors. “She’s gained ten pounds.”
“Is there some kind of paternity test? You can’t tell me she’s never gotten away from you in the park.”
“I can too! She’s always with me.”
“Not on New Year’s apparently. How do you even know she was in the apartment? She could have gotten out. There were a lot of people there.”
“It had to have been then because that’s when she was in heat.”
In Evan’s defense, I feel compelled to add, “I have heard dogs wander when they’re in heat.”
“She doesn’t wander.”
“Millie.” Evan’s tone is gentler, clearly trying to deescalate the situation. “I’m sorry you’re upset. But I know my dog. He’s not interested in Manon.”
“I need help with vet bills,” she bursts.
“Are you kidding?”
“No! She’s gonna need a C-section. I can’t afford a surgery.”
“But you take her to the vet—”
I put a hand on Evan’s shoulder, and he shuts up. Millie takes Manon to the vet at least twice a month. Something’s always wrong with her. At least—according to Millie.
I speak up. “Evan and I have a dinner reservation. Can we talk about this another time?”
She seems to compose her face and takes a small step backward. “What time will you be home?”
“A couple of hours.”
“Fine. I’ll come by then.”
“Okay.” I turn Evan around.
“I’m not paying for her dog’s C-section,” Evan says. “What kind of fucking dog needs a C-section anyway.”
“French Bulldogs!” Millie half shouts. “Google it.”
She slams her door, startling both of us.
Ironically, as we’re leaving the building, Melvin is on his way in with the retired couple who live downstairs.
Evan gestures at him. “Look at him. He’s got ten times as much energy as Apollo.
Apollo’s never even humped my leg. Besides, if he were trying anything with Manon, we would’ve heard something.
He’s hung. That little dog would have gotten someone’s attention if he tried anything on her. ”
“The music was loud that night.”
“Your friends were loud.”
“They’re your friends, too.”
“Sort of,” Evan grumbles. “Millie needs another fucking hobby.”
“I think she already has a lot of hobbies.”
“Then she needs a tranquilizer.”
I laugh at that.
It’s mild out tonight, especially for February. I’m wearing a jacket, but I don’t need it. I run warm in general, and the thermal shirt I have on beneath my flannel is more than enough. We end the conversation about Manon’s baby daddy and finish the walk to the restaurant in silence.
“The suspense is killing me, you know?” Evan finally says when we get there.
“It’s not really that big of a deal,” I mumble. “I thought you wanted to try this place.”
“I thought you might want to,” he says.
I frown, trying to puzzle that out. “Why?”
“Because you like food?”