Chapter Fourteen
Donovan
I ’m never drinking again. My head is pounding, and I’m afraid to open my eyes for fear that’ll make it a whole lot worse.
We quite possibly drank our weight in liquor last night.
I think it might have been the first time Hayes has ever been drunk.
It was quite the adventure if I’m remembering everything correctly.
Ant called into work last night, and…did Hayes dance on Anthony’s coffee table? I’m fairly certain he had.
I ended up staying the night. I texted Eric to let him know I was sleeping over, and Hayes called Rylan to pick him up. He jumped into Rylan’s arms when he arrived, Rylan laughing as Hayes tried to tug off his shirt.
I smile, still afraid to open my eyes. Last night had been a blast. I didn’t realize how much I needed it, and it was another bonding moment that made me feel even closer to my fellow Jilted Exes.
Is it strange that part of me is thankful Malcolm happened because it brought Hayes and Anthony into my life?
Hayes and Anthony, whom I told all about being married to Eric.
While they were supportive, they didn’t get the logic, but then, they didn’t grow up with health struggles and not enough money to pay for them.
I stretch on the couch before I force myself to sit up. I’m lucky I’m off today. My schedule is wonky this week because of switching days around to help Eric. Usually, I work three days in a row, then have four off.
Amazingly, I don’t spin too much when I’m upright. That must be a good sign.
“Morning,” Anthony says, shuffling into the living room. “I hope the couch wasn’t too uncomfortable. I offered to share my bed, but you refused because you’re—and I quote—a married man.”
I rub my hands over my face. “No…”
“Yes.”
I groan. That’s so embarrassing. First of all, Eric and I clearly don’t have that kind of relationship, and second, it’s not as if I think Anthony was going to hit on me. “Sorry I’m an idiot when I’m drunk.”
“Hey, I’m an idiot all the time, so it’s fine. Coffee?”
“God yes. Please.”
I make my way to the bathroom while he prepares the coffee. After I piss enough for three men, I wash my hands, swish some mouthwash, and throw water on my face. I’m already feeling more human. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like I’ll have that bad of a hangover.
I have no idea why I told Anthony I couldn’t sleep in his bed because I’m married.
Does that mean something? That question immediately reminds me of what Anthony asked last night—if I could have feelings for Eric, or if I just haven’t allowed myself to consider that.
Truth be told, I’m not sure I want the answer.
The possible ramifications are too frightening to consider.
I return to the living room just as the coffee finishes brewing. Anthony pours me a cup, and I doctor it up with the creamer and sugar.
Leaning against the counter, mug in hand, I ask, “It’s stupid, right? Asking Eric to marry me.”
Anthony’s dark brows pull together. “No. It’s not. Is it a little extreme? Yes, but you did it out of love.”
“I’m not in love with Eric,” I rush out.
“I didn’t say you were. I just said you love him.”
My cheeks heat because he’s absolutely right. I do love Eric. I always have and always will.
“Anyway, most things done out of love aren’t stupid. You care about him. He cares about you, is vulnerable with you, and that means something.” Anthony shrugs. “You guys are lucky.”
I wonder about Anthony’s background. He hasn’t shared much with us.
They know I was sick, that Eric has been my best friend for most of my life, that we come from the high desert and our parents still live there.
All we really know about Anthony is that he was painfully shy as a child and worked hard to get past it.
Does he have family? Does he have people in his life outside of us who love him? “I’m lucky to have you too,” I tell him. “Last night, hell, our whole friendship, it’s meant a lot to me. I hope you know how grateful I am for you, Hayes, and for last night. That was fun.”
“I…thanks. Is this one of those emotional-drunk things, only for you it’s emotional hangover?” he says in a light voice that doesn’t feel quite real, like maybe Anthony is telling himself that my words aren’t true or aren’t a big deal, but they are.
“It’s an honest thing.” I set my mug on the counter and hug him.
Anthony returns it but doesn’t make eye contact when I pull away. “Thanks. I feel the same.”
We find other topics to talk about as we finish our coffee, and then we say goodbye so I can get home to Eric.
On the way back, I stop by a pastry shop Eric loves and get him a giant cinnamon roll. He loves them, and I want to do something nice for him. He’s cleaning the kitchen when I arrive.
“Hey, sit down. I can do that,” I tell him.
“Oh, it’s fine. I got it.” He keeps wiping the counter, not looking at me.
Um…okay. This is different. “Look what I brought you!” I set the box down and open it, which earns me an Eric smile and a sparkle in his blue eyes. There he is!
“Thank you.” He scoots it over but doesn’t eat it right away, giving his attention to the granite counter like it’s his favorite thing in the world.
Are we in a fight and I don’t know it?
He takes a step on his crutches, when I say, “You don’t have to clean our kitchen, babe,” and Eric fumbles with the sponge in a way that isn’t typical.
I’ve been calling him babe for years. It’s my thing, our thing, and it’s never flustered him before. Is it now because of the jerking off the other night? He seemed fine with it, but maybe he had more time to think about it and now he’s weirded out…
Oh God. Maybe he thinks I want him, which I absolutely don’t! “I said you could bring girls here, right?”
“Wait. What? Where did that come from? Did you hook up with Anthony or something last night?”
I blanch. “No. We’re just friends. You know random hookups aren’t my thing. It’s just…I want to again make sure you know I don’t care if you have sex or if you have sex in this house. You could have a gangbang in your room for all I care.”
“I don’t want to have a gangbang in my room.”
“That’s fine too…or if you change your mind about Ana. Anything, really. You’re totally free to do what you want.” Translation: I don’t have feelings for you. I don’t think the other night means more than it did. Nothing has changed .
“Fine. Maybe I’ll call her. Or maybe I’ll go have that gangbang you’re talking about.”
“Okay…why do you sound mad?” Eric doesn’t get mad at me, and I don’t get mad at him.
He sighs. “I’m not mad, D. I just…”
He just what? Nothing else comes out, and I hold my breath, waiting for more. He just hates me? He just regrets marrying me? What does he just?
My cell rings, startling us. I take it out of my pocket to see Dad on the screen.
“You should answer that,” Eric tells me.
“I can call him back.”
“You love talking to your dad. Answer it, D. I’m gonna get dressed and call Ana to see if she wants to hang out.”
My gut twists uncomfortably, and I suddenly wish I hadn’t suggested he call Ana. “Oh…okay. I hope you guys have fun!” I say, too enthusiastically. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m being such a weirdo right now.
“I’m sure we will.” He turns around and disappears down the hallway.
For a moment I consider going after him, but he literally just said he’s going to call Ana. Am I supposed to then be like, Nope, you can’t go out with her ? And even if it’s a friend thing like he said, I was with Hayes and Anthony last night. Eric deserves time with his friends too.
I answer the call, though what I really want is to ask Eric to curl up on the couch with me and watch stupid shows on TV all day.
“Hey, Pops. How’s it going?” I ask, then go into the backyard.
“Not bad. We haven’t heard from you in a while, so I wanted to check in.”
He’s right. I usually talk to him or Mom every couple of days. They don’t even know Eric moved in with me.
And they definitely don’t know I’m married .
“Sorry. Things have been busy. Eric moved back in with me.”
“Oh, wow. Mom saw Sylvia yesterday, and she didn’t mention it.”
Shit. Eric hasn’t told his mom either. Guilt weighs me down. I didn’t mean to share something Eric hasn’t talked to his mom about yet. “Maybe don’t mention it? I’m sure he wants to tell her himself.”
“Sure, kid. No problem,” Dad says, and I smile at him calling me kid. He always has. “Honestly, I’m surprised you boys ever stopped living together.”
His answer is absolutely not surprising to me. My parents and Eric’s mom are always talking about how close we are and how special our relationship is. I know my parents wish Eric was queer and we’d settle down together. They’ve said it more than once. “We’re not that bad,” I tell Dad.
“Who said anything about it being bad? You know how much we love Eric. The two of you are practically married.”
I suck in a deep breath and then proceed to choke on it, coughing and spurting.
Dad laughs, not realizing why I’m dying.
“I know he’s straight and the two of you are just friends.
You don’t have to tell me again. We’d love it if the two of you were together, but we have accepted it won’t happen.
We just…we just hope you don’t let your friendship hold you back from finding someone for yourself. ”
“Eric would never do that,” I defend.
“I’m saying this all wrong. I’m not good at this kind of thing. We just love Eric, and we want you to be happy, is all.”
I nod, knowing what my dad means. “Yeah, well, I tried that with Malcolm, and look how that turned out.”
“He wasn’t good for you. Even before we knew how much of an asshole he is, I knew he wasn’t right for you.”
“You never even met him!”
“Exactly,” Dad says. “One of many reasons, but…I don’t know. I could hear it in the way you talked about him. That spark wasn’t there.”
What he doesn’t say is that he thinks I talk about Eric that way. I’ve tried to explain a million times that it’s just because he’s my best friend.
“How’s work going?” I ask.
It’s the change of subject I need. Dad talks about his job, then asks about work and the hospital. We chat for a while, and when we end the call, my pops gives me an, “Okay, be cool,” the way he always does when we get off the phone.
I go into the house to see if Eric is leaving…but he’s already gone.