Chapter 12
The Special of the Day
Vince
I'm soaked to the bone from the rainy run when I get back home, my shirt clinging uncomfortably to my skin like a cold, second skin.
I turn the shower water hotter than usual, steam immediately fogging up the glass as I step in, not even flinching at the icy blast that hits me first before the warmth takes over.
On autopilot, I lather soap into my washcloth and over my chest, but I can't shake the image of Andy, shirtless and grinning in the rain, out of my head—the way his muscles had glistened, his laughter echoing through the downpour, making everything feel absurdly alive.
By the time I'm sitting at my kitchen table in a bathrobe, steam still rising from my heated skin, I know I can't let the day go on without calling Gary.
My knee bounces restlessly as I rake a hand through my damp hair, the towel still draped around my shoulders, droplets of water tracing paths down my back. He'd better answer.
Finally, on the fourth ring, Gary picks up.
"Why are you calling me this early, you gorgeous dickhead of a friend? Not all of us wake up before dawn to maintain washboard abs."
"Gary, I need help."
He sighs dramatically. "With what?"
"Andy."
Another sigh. "Vince, hun, maybe stop spending so much time with him. You're doing this to yourself. I can't help you. Nobody can help you." He chuckles, the sound groggy but amused. "Honestly, this is what you get for thinking you can be bi and still pretend to be straight."
"That's not what I'm doing, Gary. Don't twist it," I snap, my voice sharper than intended. "I'm not pretending to be anything. I'm bi. Right now, I want a woman. End of story."
A dry laugh crackles through the phone. "Oh, Vince. Sweetheart. I love you, I really do, but are you hearing yourself right now? You're treating your sexuality like a damn menu item you can order off or on depending on the special of the day. That's not how this works, and you know it."
"This is out of my hands, Gary. You know it'll change things in a way I won't be able to recover from."
Gary sighs, the sound crackling through the phone.
"Vince, listen to me. I know you're worried about coming out publicly, but this isn't the 1940s anymore.
You're not going to get blacklisted for being with a man.
" His voice softens. "Your career won't suffer—people won't stop casting you.
Your daughters love you; that won't change.
If their friends say anything, your girls are strong enough to handle it.
They're more resilient than you give them credit for.
" There's a pause before he continues gently.
"If you're feeling this deeply about Andy, then you need to be honest with yourself and with Sam.
You have people who care about you, who'll support you no matter what.
Don't make this harder than it needs to be by carrying it all alone. "
"No. I can't come out right now. It'll mess everything up."
Gary doesn't respond immediately. When I think he might finally be giving up, he speaks again, softer. "What's the worst that could happen?"
I let out a hollow laugh. "Are you serious?
Explaining it to my kids and hoping it doesn't confuse the hell out of them?
Becoming the only thing anyone wants to talk about in interviews or online?
Losing roles because some of my connections are bigoted as fuck?
You keep saying it'll be fine, but you don't know that for sure, Gary.
You could be wrong. Things are better now, yeah, but this shit is still hard. Give me a break."
The silence that follows is heavy, and I'm about to apologize when Gary finally says, "If that's how you feel, Vince, then I really don't think being friends with Andy is a good idea. The more time you spend with him, the deeper you'll dig this hole. You need less Andy, not more."
I lean back in my chair, groaning. "This morning, he runs next to me, shirtless, completely soaked.
He laughs at my jokes. He calls me out on my shit like he can see right through me.
And then he sits there in my car, quiet and pretty, while we listen to the rain.
Gary, I swear, it's like he's doing this on purpose. He's torturing me."
"He's not doing anything on purpose," Gary says, his voice calm but firm. "He's trying to be your friend. He likes you."
"I'm trying to be his friend too, but at this rate, my right hand is going to fall off—"
"Vince!" Gary hisses, clearly trying not to wake Frank. "Can you not?"
"Just tell me how to push this aside and be friends."
"You can't."
"What if we only run three times a week?"
"You can't, Vince. You're either in or out. Stop running with him."
"I don't want to stop running with him. He knows all my stupid book references.
He makes me run faster than I usually would—not that I'd ever tell him that.
He's a better runner than me. He completely smoked me on that one run, and it was humiliating in a way I can't stop thinking about.
He didn't say a damn word about it." I laugh at the memory, despite myself.
"Vince." Gary's voice is filled with exasperation.
"He's fun, Gary. He gets me."
"Then stop the flirting."
"He started the flirting thing, not me."
Gary groans loudly, the sound vibrating through the phone. "Why did you call me, Vince? The answer you want is how to get with Andy. Go dump Sam and ask him out. Problem solved."
"I can't." My voice cracks. "Gary, you know I can't. I'm not going to risk my career over this. I have so many projects lined up to promote. I just can't. What I need is to squash this and keep things normal between us."
"What the hell do you want me to do, hun? Wave a magic wand?"
"Start by telling him to keep his shirt on in the rain! Or maybe never take it off again. I can't think straight when I see him like that. God, his chest--"
"That's enough!" Gary interrupts, his voice a sharp whisper. "Keep me out of this, Vince. Good luck with your whole plan to be besties with someone who's scrambling your brain, you gorgeous idiot."
"Thanks, Gary."
The line clicks dead in my ear, silence flooding the room where his voice had just been.
I set the phone down on the polished oak table, the cool glass against my palm a stark contrast to the heat still clinging to my skin from the shower.
The steam has begun to dissipate, leaving behind a thin mist that hangs in the air.
My reflection in the dark screen of the television is a blur of shadows and muted light, a stranger wearing my bathrobe.
Gary's words echo in the sudden quiet, each one a tiny weight settling in my chest.
Scrambling your brain. Gorgeous idiot.
I run a hand through my still-damp hair, the strands catching in the rough calluses on my fingertips.
Outside my window, the sky is beginning to lighten, shifting from deep indigo to the soft gray of approaching dawn.
Another day. Another run. Another chance to stand beside Andy and pretend my world isn't tilting on its axis.
The bathrobe feels constricting suddenly, too heavy against my skin.
I rise from the table, the movement sending droplets of water cascading from my hair onto my shoulders. The sound is barely audible, yet it feels deafening in the stillness. Our next run looms ahead of me like a beautiful, terrifying edge. One more step, and I might just fall.