6. Malcolm
Malcolm
I t’s been three days and nothing. Not a call or a text. It’s been radio silence. Except for the box that was left on the floor just inside my apartment.
At first I was confused. There wasn’t anything on it indicating who it was from.
It could’ve been a bomb for all I know, and yet, I picked it up and carried it further into my house.
Normally, curiosity would get the best of me if it weren’t for the security I have in my apartment.
It can only be from one person. I set the heavy box on the floor in front of the couch and make my way to the kitchen and get a pair of scissors from the junk drawer.
Stopping by the fridge, I grab a beer, twist off the top, then head back to the living room.
I grip the scissors loosely in my hand, the cold metal pressing against my palm as I set the beer on the coffee table. The box waits for me like a secret—it sits on the floor, sealed with thick tape and silent promises.
Taking a deep breath, I sit down slowly on the edge of the couch, knees brushing against the cardboard. The scissors slip under the tape with a soft ripping sound and I flip the flaps open, exposing the contents inside.
At first, I don’t register what I’m looking at. It’s just a blur of colors and textures. But then my heart trips over itself. When the light goes off in my brain, I understand what the box holds.
My clothes. My toothbrush. Half-used bottles of shampoo and conditioner. My cologne, it was his favorite that I wore. A birthday card I gave him. I didn’t even realize I’d given it to him. A key chain with the key to the building on it. All dumped into a box and left like trash for me to clean up.
He didn’t even leave a note.
My stomach lurches and for a second, I wish it had been a bomb—because at least that would’ve made sense.
At least then the explosion would’ve been external.
Not this quiet, devastating implosion inside me.
This isn’t just stuff. This is rejection in cardboard form.
This is his silence, his decision, wrapped up and sealed with packing tape.
It’s over. He’s erasing every piece of me from his life.
And the worst part?
When he dropped it off. He planned it perfectly. He made sure I wasn’t going to be home, so he wouldn’t have to face me.
He calls me a coward for not coming out, but he’s one, too.
I’m already reaching for my phone before I realize what I’m doing. Fingers hover over the screen. My chest rises and falls with tight, shallow breaths. Should I call him? Text? Scream? Say nothing?
My thumb trembles over the keyboard. An internal debate raging within me. Confront him or not.
The message is already written before I know it.
Me: You really couldn’t even look me in the eye?
No. That’s not good enough. I immediately clear it out and type again.
Me: Thanks for the trash delivery.
Nope. That’s not right either. Too bitter. Not me.
Me: Why now? What changed? Why the sudden need for me to come out?
I stare at it for a minute, warring with myself if it’s the right message.
My eyes stay locked on the screen, the weight of the box still pressing down on my lap like it’s full of bricks instead of memories.
Do I send it? Is this the right one to not only convey how I’m feeling?
A message that will earn a response from him?
Nope, that’s not it. Suddenly it clicks and my fingers fly across the screen.
Me: Got the box. That’s how you wanted to say goodbye?
I hit send.
And wait.
The little checkmark shows that it was delivered and read.
But he doesn’t reply back.
The final dagger in my heart. He’s really done. I pushed him too far with my insecurities.
I fall backward. My whole world tilts as the phone slips from my hand.
What the hell am I going to do?
My phone rings, coming to life in my hand causing me to startle. My heart starts to pound, optimistic that it’s Jefferson. Maybe he’s had a change of heart and doesn’t want to throw all we’ve been to each other to the side.
When I see the number on the screen my heart deflates. It’s my mother. As much as I want to send her to voicemail, if I don’t answer, I’ll never hear the end of it from her.
“Hello Mom,” I answer, struggling to cover the disappointment in my voice and the fact I don’t want to talk to her.
“ Malcolm, how are you, son? ” I’m her son, and she still speaks so formally.
“Good. Busy though. I’m trying to get some work done. So, I really can’t talk.” I lie, but she doesn’t know.
“ Yes, yes. I’ll be quick. I need to speak to you about something important .”
Immediately my mind races. Is dad okay? Is she?
“Are you and Dad okay?”
“Of course. Are you still friends with Lionel and Mildred’s son, Harrison?”
Harrison? I haven’t seen him in over twenty years. What would be so important about him that I need to talk about?
“It’s just disgraceful. ” Even over the phone I can see the look on her face. Nose scrunched, lips pursed, brows furrowed.
“Mom, I really am busy.” I remind her, seeing how this conversation is going nowhere.
“ Harrison was seen in a romantic embrace with a man. Can you believe that? He’s one of those. ”
“Those what?” I already have an idea what she’s going to say.
“ A homosexual. ” she whispers as if saying the word would summon them to her.
And there it is. The exact reason why it’s so hard to come out about my homosexuality. Jefferson has met my family, but he’s never been exposed to this side of them. They hide their bigotry well from the public.
“Did you hear me?” Her shrill voice rises.
“Yes mom. Harrison is gay.”
“Can you imagine the shame his parents are feeling? To raise a son for him to be that. To be with another man is disgusting. I’m just glad you’re not around him any longer. Imagine if you were, he’d try to corrupt you.”
I can’t help but shake my head. Her small mindedness kills me. No one can make someone gay. But she doesn’t see that.
“Mom, I really need to go.”
“ Okay, fine. I just felt it was important for you to know. Are you still coming to dinner tomorrow ?” I can already tell by the gruff tone in her voice, she’s mad about me rushing her. About not joining in with her about the travesty this is.
“Yes.” Then just before I hang up, knowing if I don’t she’ll go back to talking about Harrison. “I’ll be there. I got to go.”
I hang up not even waiting for her to say goodbye. I can’t stand to listen to any more of her venom, knowing it’s why I’m so hesitant about coming out. About being me. I just wish Jefferson could understand.
Jefferson
Three days. I thought he’d realize I truly meant what I said this time.
But he’s not sent one message.
He’s not fighting for me. For us. Maybe the love in this relationship was one-sided the whole time.
He left his belongings that night, not taking any of it with him.
Every time I looked at something of his, it was the same heartache of that night all over again.
Last night, I took one of his shirts from the dirty hamper and held it tight to my body as I cried myself to sleep.
It was then I knew I had to remove any trace of him from my home.
It was time to move forward. If he wasn’t going to fight for us, then I was done.
Instead of going into work this morning, I picked up a box and started packing.
Everything. I left no trace of him in my home.
I even had Janet, my housekeeper, come in and do a deep clean when I was done.
I didn’t even want his lingering scent here.
I knew he had meetings today. Malcolm hadn’t removed me from our joint calendar, so I knew what time he wouldn’t be in his apartment.
I didn’t waste a second taping the box up and driving to his place.
Just in case something changed, I didn’t want to risk running into him.
Seeing him, having a chance to touch him, I knew I would break and give in.
We’d be right back in the same situation we were.
Me wanting more and him wanting to hide me like a shameful secret.
When I told him I was done, I meant it. Now I need to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and move forward. Without him. It wasn’t how I saw my future, but now it's my reality.
I sat in his parking spot for five minutes, trying to convince myself to get out and place the box inside his apartment along with his key. The final thing to close the chapter in our lives. But, eventually I did it.
And came straight home and dropped onto the couch with a bottle of Tequila. Today and tonight I’m going to drink my sorrows away. Then tomorrow I’m placing Malcolm in the rearview mirror and moving forward with my life. At fifty-two, this isn’t what I envisioned myself doing.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, wallowing in sadness. Long enough for half the bottle to be gone when my phone buzzes.
Malcolm: Got the box. That’s how you wanted to say goodbye?
I wasn’t sure if he’d reach out. But he did. He’s wrong. That wasn’t me saying goodbye. We did that the other night when he couldn’t commit to me. No, today was about me letting go of the past. One that isn’t moving forward into my future.
The phone sits like a deadweight in my hand as I read his message over and over. I want to reply.
I don’t.
I hold firm.
Instead, I turn it off and toss it on the table as I lift the bottle to my mouth and take a large swallow. The clear liquid burns as it slides down my throat. But I don’t care. I welcome the pain. It’s a momentary reprieve from the ache in my heart.
The loss of the love of my life.
How am I going to move forward?
Bradley
I’d given up on hearing back from Foxy’s Rent-A-Date, and I didn’t want to bug Scout.
He was going to put a word in for me, but with the accident, I didn’t know if it slipped his mind or if he had time to.
He has a lot on his plate, with Jennifer’s death, now having Juniper, and working to get guardianship of her.
I couldn’t add more to his plate, not when he was trying to help me.
I know the struggle of having the weight of the world over your head far too well. I wasn’t adding to his burden.
Letting out a sigh, I get the few bags of groceries from off the passenger seat and open my door.
Slowly, I make my way up the driveway to the porch.
I’m already dreading going inside to the quiet.
To the memories. To the realization that I’m about to lose this home.
The last tangible piece I have left of my family.
I’ve just put the frozen meals into the freezer when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
It’s not a call. There's nothing missed. It’s an email.
Odd. Probably just another reminder from the bank of my time slowly ticking away. The official start of the get your shit together to move out of the only home I’ve known for the majority of my life.
Opening the app, I see it’s not from the bank; it’s from Foxy’s. I take a few deep breaths. This can go either way. It can be good, and welcome to the business, or sorry, you weren’t the right fit for us.
“Okay Bradley, get your shit together. If this is a fuck off message, then you’ll just come up with another solution to get the money,” I tell myself. Almost like my own little pep talk, because I don't have a back-up plan.
I take my time. Reading each line. My eyes go wide, and a smile spreads across my face.
“I got the fucking job! Fuck yeah!” I shout as I start jumping around the room like a madman. I pump my hand in the air just like every bad boy male main character in an eighties movie.
Opening my text app, I shoot off a quick message. I know he’s busy and I’m the last thing on his mind, but I want to thank him.
Me: Scout. I got the job, man. Thank you so much.
Scout: It was all you, man.
Me: How are things? Do you need anything?
Scout: They’re going. But I’m good.
Me: I’m here if you do.
I’ve let him know I’m here for him. If he needs anything, he knows I have his back, just like he did mine.
Drink. I need a drink to celebrate. Opening the refrigerator, I take out the last bottle of beer I have. I’ve been holding off on drinking, wanting to savor it for a time I really need it. Now, thanks to Foxy’s Rent-A-Date, I’ll be able to buy more. I’m going to save my house.
Details. It hits me fast. I need to read the email again. Make sure I do everything I need to on my end so that I can start right away.
I need a bio, picture and sexual preference for dating.
I can’t help but smile, remembering Scout telling me how I’d be a hot commodity being bisexual.
Even though I prefer men, I’m committed to making money.
I reply back, letting them know my hours for the month, which are wide open.
I’m free twenty-four seven. The first thing I need to do is pay the back taxes and then work on the past due payments on the mortgage.
But my spirits are higher now. I have an actual way to do it. My future is finally looking brighter.