Don't Read in the Closet volume one (64 page)

“Long night, huh?”

“Yeah.” I couldn’t help sighing. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long
to get used to my new sleeping schedule.

We were quiet again until my street. He turned on his music
quietly, just to a level that it would be pleasant in the background. I nearly
fell asleep in the truck, with the windows down and the dawn breeze floating
over me, but I managed to peel myself up and grab my bike when the truck rolled
to a stop. A wave and a ‘see ya tonight’ were all I had the energy for before I
locked my bike in the shed and went inside to pass out.

****

“Hey, Dal, you got the Heinz over there?”

I checked the boxes that were surrounding me and saw the ketchup
bottles, red and squished into a box in square military precision.

“Yeah, I got it,” I called back. “Two boxes.”

“Sweet! I’ve been looking for that. Can I have it?”

I scooted the two boxes of ketchup bottles over to where Brooklyn
was busily checking inventory. We’d gotten into a comfortable routine the past
week. We worked, mostly in quiet, but with more and more comments every
night—some regarding work but other times they were random. We never brought up
the subject of how we’d hated each other for nearly ten years. It would’ve made
everything awkward when it was actually going pretty well between us for the
first time ever.

Brooklyn chuckled to himself when he started counting ketchup
bottles.

“What?” I asked. I was always a bit worried that he was still
laughing at me.

“Oh, this one time, back when my mom was still at home, I dropped
a full bottle of ketchup on the kitchen floor and that shit splattered
everywhere. My mom tried to be pissed but we both ended up laughing forever. I
swear we were cleaning ketchup out of little cracks and crevices for weeks.”

His smile was huge and engaging. I couldn’t help but catch my
breath. The last thing I needed was to notice that the guy who’d been my
nemesis and sparring partner for more than half of my life was, well,
hot
. I tried to smile back casually and
act like
the world as I knew it hadn’t just been dumped on
its head.

“Um, your mom is gone?”
Good
work, dork. Bring up something painful.

“Yeah. She left when we were in eighth grade.”

Come to think of it, he’d been quieter than usual that year. I’d
noticed it since, of course, we were in all the same classes like we’d been the
two years before.

“I, uh, think my mom is about to fly the coop too. Her and my
dad are
in the middle of getting divorced and it’s getting
more awkward and painful by the day.”

“Sorry,
dude, that
sucks.”

I shrugged. “I’m kind of over it. They’ve been fighting for
years. I just want her to be happy, you know? My dad is kind of a douche—you
were right all those years ago.” Brooklyn smiled sympathetically. “Besides,
I’ll be out of here at the end of the summer anyway.”

Brooklyn nodded in exaggerated agreement. “Me too. I can’t
fuckin’
wait.”

“Where are you going?”

“Baylor. I liked their sports medicine program.”

I choked. “You’re going to Baylor?” I looked up cautiously from
where I’d been regarding the ketchup with unnatural concentration.

“Yeah.” He started to laugh. “Don’t tell me.”

I nodded. “You already know.”

“Hey, at least we’ll have different majors, right?”

“And we won’t be in all the same classes.” I was laughing along
with him.

“Watch we end up in the same classes anyway.”

He had a point. If it were possible, then somehow it would
happen. “Yeah, there’s gonna be some cosmic university mix up.”

We were both laughing by then. “Aww, shit. I lost count on the
ketchup bottles.”

“I won’t say anything until you get them counted. Promise.” I
crossed my heart with my finger and made a dumb face.

Brooklyn grinned at me. “You know….”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He looked down at the ground and kicked at the box
of ketchup bottles.

“No, really. What?”

“It’s just, I actually...
like
you. It’s too bad we were never friends.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah. I know.” I shrugged. “We can be
friends now—especially since we’ll probably be sitting next to each other,
uh-gain, in all of our accidentally scheduled classes next year.”

He chuckled again then nudged me with his shoulder. “Quiet, you.
I need to get these stupid bottles counted.”

I made a locking motion on my lips and threw the invisible key
over my shoulder. Then I went back to my own shipping box of spaghetti noodles
and began a count of them. I had to tally, since I wasn’t as good at keeping
numbers in my head, but I did get them counted correctly and stamped with a
price sticker ready for the shelf.

Jesus, the night manager, poked his head in the back room right
when I was finishing and reminded us to take our lunch. I sat down at our
little employee picnic table and pulled out the container of pasta salad I’d
made earlier that day. Brooklyn had a somewhat anemic looking peanut butter
sandwich and an apple that had seen better days. From what I could tell, they
were both barely edible.

“Uh, you want some of this?” I asked. He looked at it
suspiciously.

“What’s in it?”

I shrugged casually. Same stuff I ate most of the time. “Pasta,
basil, tomatoes, grapes, feta, olives,
olive
oil...
spices.” I petered off before he looked at me like I was an even bigger alien.

“What’s feta?”

Oh yeah. He lives with his
dad. They probably eat peanut butter and Easy Mac every day... and Honeypots.
Gross.
I hated those damn things after all the years of my dad bringing
home samples all the time.

“It’s good. I promise. Here, try.” I loaded some of the pasta
salad onto my fork, making sure to add a little of everything, and held it out
to him. Brooklyn steadied the fork with his hand, fingers brushing against mine
just barely. Then he opened his lips (when did they get to be so perfect and
soft looking?) and took every last crumb off of the fork. He got a bit of feta
on his lip and snaked it up slowly with his tongue.

I had to hide my shudder. Watching him moan and chew was like
porn.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I’ve never had anything like
that. What did you
do
to it?”

“I just like to cook, that’s all.”

“Can I have another bite?”

I chuckled. “Go get one of those forks from by the microwave. You
can have half.”

“Really?” He shoved his sandwich aside and booked it to the
microwave cart for a fork. I couldn’t help grinning and feeling a little sorry
for the guy at the same time. There weren’t a lot of options for good food in
Sugarcreek other than barbecue (which I kinda hated). The rest of it was pretty
lame. I shoved the Tupperware into the middle of the table and we spent the
rest of our break happily sharing my pasta. It was weirdly intimate.

I liked it way too much.

****

The doorbell rang as I was scrambling to get my shorts zipped and
my flip-flops on after a hasty shower. Brooklyn and I had actually decided to
go through with our decision to hang out (don’t think the complete and total
weirdness of him and I becoming friends was lost on me). My mom and dad were at
one of those marathon meetings where they paid lawyers like a million dollars
an hour to watch them fight. I had no idea what was taking so long with the
divorce. It seemed like they both wanted the hell out so in my opinion they
should just go for it and skip all the torture.

At least I got some benefit from the meetings. I knew they’d be
gone for a few hours at least, then dad would go back to work and mom would
come home and sulk in her room. Brooklyn and I would have the house to
ourselves for hours.

I pounded down the stairs from the main level to the front door.
Opening it let in the brightness of late afternoon on a wave of punishing heat.
I swear I could see mirages on the sidewalk, like we were in the middle of the
Sahara—more like the humid, sticky weed crusted Sahara that was my front yard.

“Ugh, it’s awful out there. Come in, come in.” I ushered Brooklyn
through the door. “Downstairs is mostly my area. If you wanna go chill for a
bit I’ll get lunch.”

“You made lunch?” Brooklyn looked excited.

“Sure. Gotta eat.” I smiled at him. “I’ll be down in a second and
we can decide what we want to watch, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, you want soda or apple juice?”

“Juice please.”

I chuckled. “So polite.” Then before he could answer I booked up
the stairs to grab the grilled sandwiches I had warming in the oven and chips,
grapes, brownies, and the jug of apple juice.

Brooklyn smelled appreciatively when I put it all on the table.
“This is way better than what I would’ve had.”

“Mac n’ cheese?”

He blushed. “Yeah, probably.”

“It’s okay. Here.” I looked at the middle of the sandwiches.
“This one’s yours.”

“How is yours different?”

I hesitated. “Um, no meat on mine.” I waited for judgment. In
Sugarcreek, vegetarianism was probably just about as popular as gayness.

Brooklyn only shrugged. “That pasta you made last week was
awesome. If you don’t like meat, you don’t like it.”

I sprawled on the couch next to him with my eggplant and grilled
mushroom sandwich. It had marinara and cheese like his, just no meatballs. I
watched Brooklyn take his first bite, listened to those damn porny chewing
noises that made me so hard,
then
realized I had to
distract myself with my own sandwich before I made a fool out of myself by
drooling or something.

We decided on
Shutter
Island
and I hopped up and closed all the blinds and curtains to block out
the sun. I liked it there in the dark with him. It was comfortable and cool in
our downstairs, we had tons of snacks, a creepy movie, and when he leaned back
and crossed his ankle over his knee, his leg brushed against mine. He probably
didn’t notice, but I did. Heat ran up my neck and I had to concentrate on
looking casual when all of a sudden all I wanted to do was hold his hand.

Oh, shit. Where did that
come from? Watch the damn movie.

Shutter Island
turned
into a
Lost
marathon, which
eventually just became background noise as we played speed on the coffee table
and gorged ourselves on my mint brownies. Our feet and knees kept bumping and
fingers rubbed when we were gathering up the cards. My body was on edge
waiting, wanting, hoping for something it wasn’t going to get.

Brooklyn looked up and smiled as he dealt another game. My
stomach dropped. Part of me wondered if it would be easier if I still hated
him.

“Ready?” He asked
,
hand poised over the
first card to flip.

“Yep.”
Let’s start this
game. Distract me before I do something insane like kiss you.

We were in the middle of that hand when I heard the front door
slam open and running steps on the stairs towards the upstairs of the
split-level house. My mom. I looked uncertainly at Brooklyn.

“Go,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait unless you want me to leave.”

“Can you stay for a little bit?” Oddly enough, he was the first
person I wanted to have near me.

“Of course I’ll stay.”

I gave him a grateful smile and sprinted up the stairs to see
what was happening. My mom was in her room (which used to be the guest room)
slamming things into suitcases and muttering words like
asshole
and
fucking jerk
.
Based on her vocabulary choices, I imagined that the meeting went even worse
than the ones that’d come before it.

“Mom?” I nearly whispered.

She looked up, startled. “Dallas. I didn’t know you were still
here.”

“Yeah, I don’t work tonight. I have a friend over watching
movies.”

She looked embarrassed. “Is it Jeffie?”

“No. It’s, um, Brooklyn Thorn.”

That was enough to get her attention, even in the middle of her rant
against my father. “You can’t be serious. You two have hated each other for
years.”

“I know, but he’s kinda cool now. We work together. Doesn’t
matter anyway. What’s going on, Mom?”

“I can’t do this anymore, hon. I’m going to go stay with grandma
and grandpa until I have the money for my own place.”

My grandparents couldn’t take Sugarcreek, but they’d moved to
Houston from Philadelphia to be closer to their only daughter and her family.

“What do you want me to do?”

“It’s up to you. I know you’re leaving soon and you have a job.
You know grandma and grandpa would love to see you before you go off to college
but it’s totally your choice.”

I didn’t want to go. Things were different. “I don’t want to be
irresponsible, Mom.” It had come out of my mouth easily but while I could kind
of lie to my mother about my reasons for staying, I couldn’t lie to myself. It
wasn’t the job. It was Brooklyn. And I was the biggest idiot in the world.

“When are you leaving?”

“Now. I don’t want to be here when your father gets back. You
have my number and your grandparents’ number. If you change your mind and want
to come for a little while….”

I nodded. It might happen if I managed to make a fool out of
myself and do something stupid. I watched her pile clothes into bags and cases,
my stomach getting more and
more heavy
. My mother was
leaving. No matter how much I wanted to be out on my own, I hadn’t felt so much
like a little boy in years. She must’ve been able to see it in my face.

“Darling.” She gave me a long hug and I could feel the splash of
tears on my neck. “You know I love you. This isn’t
ever
going to be about me leaving you. I’ll have a home for you to
come to at Christmas. I’m not going to get a place without a room for you,
okay?” That helped.