The Weight of I Love You

1

“She’s heading up the walkway,” I say. I’m currently crouching under the front window. I dare to sneak a quick peek over the sill. “She’s got, what I can only imagine, are a stack of pamphlets.”

Michael drops down next to me. “Shit. I think she saw me.”

“You know, that might happen when you walk by our hidey window.” Because, in today’s day and age, who actually opens the door for strangers? It’s always either Jehovah’s Witnesses or a salesperson pushing solar panels.

Jehovah’s Witness, this time. Our neighbor across the way, Denise, belongs to the congregation in town.

We get mail from them every so often, inviting us to join them for a day of worship.

Honestly, it’s a waste of mail on their part, seeing how us gays can’t be Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Which means the invites aren’t coming from Denise, since she’s very familiar with the situation of our condo. Sometimes too familiar.

“Michael! I just saw you walk by and duck down. And Daniel, it’s not like I can’t see you popping up in the window.”

I’m not as covert as I think I am.

I get up and open the door, Michael joining me moments later. Sure enough, Denise has a stack of folded pamphlets under her right armpit. She smooths the front of her skirt after she hits the top step.

“I know the Spring Book and Vendor Fair is next weekend. I was hoping you could place a pile of these at one of the tables.”

I watch Denise’s face as Michael explains to her, for I think the fifth year in a row, that the town had approved the event solely as a fundraising event by the shops in Old Wethersfield.

There were to be no targeted social activism, or religious beliefs, directed at the public through the event.

I’m pretty sure it’s because of a, now infamous, farmer’s market where there was a full-on brawl between the town Democratic and Republican parties.

Neither of us were fortunate enough to witness it, but still hear about it to this day at various town events and council meetings.

Denise sticks her hand out, the stack of pamphlets now hovering in our open doorway. “Well, could you at least put some near your register at the bookstore?”

Michael, always thoughtful with his sass, gently pushes the stack back towards Denise. “I think you and I both know those cannot be put anywhere near our store. You can always check with the Country Store or Aroma and see if they could though.”

Denise huffs, turns and walks down the sidewalk without saying a word. Michael closes the door, rolling his eyes as he heads back to the kitchen.

“Margie and Andre are really going to love that religious mission you sent her on.” I follow on his heels and drop down into one of the counter stools.

Michael busies himself at the coffee maker, pouring us both a cup of coffee.

He places the two mugs down on the counter.

I reach for mine, adorned with the words ‘Eat Dirt and Die, Trash’ and Blanche’s face from the Golden Girls.

Michael’s mug, sadly, a basic bitch Old Wethersfield ‘OW’ mug.

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure one of them sent the Girl Scouts our way. A bookstore with a bakery ended up with the cookie booth outside of it two weekends in a row. They’re fair game.”

I take a sip of my coffee, the hints of caramel hitting my taste buds. “Everything all set for the fair?”

I look over at our kitchen bulletin board, which always gets a bit crazy leading up to the event.

It was Michael’s brainchild, bringing the community together to raise money for underprivileged students in the surrounding towns.

Almost all the Old Wethersfield businesses participate every May, where the pedestrian traffic is already peaking due to Bicycles on Main.

The money raised provide meals for students over the summer, and also some basic necessities and books (the books being Michael’s one stipulation for usage of the funds, with him providing them at cost).

The event actually is quite revered in town.

As a silent partner in the bookstore, I help Michael get the event ready but mostly float around the various booths.

Well, I mostly float around the beer and wine tent sponsored by The Charles and their plentiful snack stations.

Main Street Creamery also always releases an event specific flavor that has a finite supply, and the flavor varies year over year.

Last year’s was a Root Beer Float, and it was fucking amazing.

“Just waiting on some menu details from Lucky Lou’s, and what Margie’s final plans are for her candy bar. I think people are trying not to increase prices too much from last year but are feeling a bit pinched.”

We are too, at the bookstore, but it’s weirdly comforting to know we aren’t alone. It’s reassuring that traffic doesn’t seem to have slowed any, even with the increased prices on the bakery side of the bookstore. Old Wethersfield has a weird but undeniable town pride for their local businesses.

“What’s your baked good special going to be again?”

Michael shrugs, placing his coffee mug down. “I dunno. You tell me. You’re the ideas guy.” He’s got a point. Most of the new bakery items do come from me, or…

As if on cue, Michael’s laptop springs to life with an incoming FaceTime call. He answers it, the screen filled with Niall’s face. “Hey Michael, hey Danny.”

“Hey One Direction,” I call out, placing my coffee mug in the sink.

About a year ago Michael had been perusing the trenches of Reddit and came across a very niche subreddit on multifunctional bookstores.

He and Niall had commented back and forth quite a few times until ultimately sharing contact information, and now they communicate at least weekly.

Well, I guess the three of us do since I’m usually around when Niall calls.

Niall helped Michael ideate expanding the bakery part of the bookstore into serving wine and cocktails in the afternoon. Michael, in return, shared a lot of recipes to help Niall offer baked goods in his shop Books and Brews.

“I know you’re super busy with the fair coming up but I’m having issues with the Reese’s Explosion cookie recipe we talked about last week. It doesn’t taste like the batch you sent me.”

Michael looks over his shoulder at me. “Maestro? A word?” I look at the screen, Niall’s holding a cookie in one hand and the recipe in his other. Immediately I see the mistake.

“You have all the butter listed as softened. You need to soften half and make brown butter with the other half. Make sure to let it cool as you don’t want hot butter in the dough.”

Niall slaps a hand to his forehead. “I made three batches and could not for the life of me figure it out. You’re the best Danny.”

I look at the clock, now a few minutes after ten. “Shit, I gotta run to class. Let us know how the fourth batch turns out!”

I wave to the camera, catching Niall’s smirk before grabbing my keys and heading out the door.