Rum & Ginger (5 page)

“I wouldn’t do that.” Ben watched as Chance closed his WoW window. “That would be like pretending he wasn’t the Judge in
The Frighteners
.”

Chance’s hand froze. “The what?”

Ben smiled, pleased with himself. Chance had a vast knowledge of obscure movie trivia but not nearly as vast as Ben’s, especially when it came to horror-comedies of the nineties. “
The Frighteners
. With Michael J. Fox. Directed by your boy, Peter Jackson.”

Chance turned in his captain’s chair. “How have I never seen this?”

“Jake Busey is in it too.”

“What?” Chance stood as his computer shut down. “Do you have
it?”

“Maybe on VHS. You’d rather watch that than
Next Generation
?”

“Do you want to dig the VCR out?” Chance asked, walking to the kitchen.

Ben considered that. It had been so long since they’d used the antique piece of crap, he wasn’t even sure where it was. The last time they’d dug it out was to show Lena the old
Tick
cartoon. “I’m not sure where it is,” Ben answered.

“That’s fine,” Chance stated, pouring himself some water. “We can watch
TNG
.” He drank as though he hadn’t had a drop in days. “Which season?”

“You pick,” Ben offered. He pulled open a few drawers before he found the corkscrew and set to opening the wine. Chance made a giddy little sound and bounded off to the DVD rack. Ben had purchased a Pinot Noir from Oregon and a Cabernet from Napa. Chance liked lighter reds, and Ben opened the Pinot first. By the time they finished it, Chance wouldn’t mind the bigger red, which Ben preferred. He uncorked the bottle, retrieved two glasses, and poured the light ruby liquid. He could hear the
Star Trek
theme as he picked up the glasses. Patrick Stewart was telling them about the voyages of the starship
Enterprise
and its continuing mission as Ben took his place on the couch next to Chance. Ben handed him a glass.

He took a sip. “Mm. Oregon Pinot?” Chance placed his glass on the coffee table.

“Willamette Valley Vineyards. Nothing special.” Ben sipped at his own wine, tasting the tart cherry, the hint of spice.

“Still good.” Chance settled in, cozying up to Ben’s side.

“This is the nanite episode,” Ben said, gesturing with his wine glass.

“Season three. ‘Evolution,’” Chance offered. He reached out, retrieved his glass, and sipped his wine as the crew of the
Enterprise
went about their business. When Chance placed his glass back on the table, so did Ben. He could hear Chance mumbling the dialogue as the characters spoke.
So cute
, Ben thought. He pressed his lips to Chance’s temple, savoring the shampoo smell of the other man’s hair. Head & Shoulders, the same kind he’d used since they’d started dating. Chance reached up and pulled Ben into a kiss. Their lips touched, and Ben was pleased to finally get some contact, some attention from Chance. Ben pressed forward, and Chance balled Ben’s shirt in his fist.

Too soon, Chance broke the contact to recite a line of dialogue that particularly pleased him. Ben smiled reluctantly, the moment shattered. He reached for his wine, taking rather more than a sip. Chance picked up his own glass, drank, and returned it. Ben rolled his eyes. He hugged Chance closer, hoping his lover would get the hint. Chance leaned into the embrace, resting his head in the crook of Ben’s neck. Ben smiled as he sipped his wine once more. He leaned his head over onto Chance’s hair, contentment drifting through his limbs.

Ben pressed his lips to Chance’s brow, savoring the warmth of the skin. “Oh, Chance,” Ben whispered. “You’re so delightful.”

Chance responded by leaning closer to Ben and making a satisfied noise. Ben took it as a good sign and leaned in to kiss his lover once more. This time the affection wasn’t returned. Chance’s mouth remained slack, his eyes closed. Ben frowned and pulled away. “Hey,” he said. Chance didn’t respond. “Hey,” Ben said a little louder.

“Huhm?” Chance grumbled as his head jerked forward.

“Maybe you should go to bed. Last time you fell asleep on the couch, I had to listen to you complaining about your neck for nearly a week.” Ben peeled his arm from Chance’s shoulders and crossed his legs.

“Whatever,” Chance grumped. “You’re exaggerating.” Chance’s exhausted words sounded more like, “Wa-evr, yer zaggeratin.”

“Fine. Sleep there, but when you start crying about your neck, I’ll be sure to say I told you so,” Ben snapped. He realized he was being irrationally short with his sleepy boyfriend, but he’d really been hoping for a little intimacy tonight. Maybe even sex if he was really lucky. His disappointment manifested itself as anger.

“You don’t have to be a dick,” Chance said much more coherently.

“What? I’m trying to help you out so your neck doesn’t hurt. That makes me a dick?” Ben grabbed his glass and downed the remainder of the wine. “Do whatever you want.” He stood and went to the kitchen for more wine. He’d had a pleasant buzz up until a minute ago. Hopefully he could get it back. No sound came from the living room as he poured a proper portion, considered it, then filled the glass. “What? Now you’re not talking to me?” Ben listened. “Real mature. Or maybe you fell back asleep.” Ben padded back to the living room and was only a little surprised to find the couch empty. Chance had slipped upstairs. “Fine,” Ben said. “Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.” He said it just loud enough, hoping Chance would hear it and maybe feel a little guilty. Ben hoped maybe it would force him to come down and apologize so they could salvage the evening.

Ben waited, sipping his wine and straining his ears for signs of Chance moving. After finishing his glass and the episode of
Star Trek
, Ben decided if Chance had heard, he’d decided to ignore it. Ben picked up the Xbox controller and pushed the button for the menu, exiting out to the home screen. He scrolled over to Netflix, found something suitably easy to watch—a zombie movie,
Land of the Dead
—and went to the kitchen. He polished off the first bottle and opened the second, taking it back to the living room with him. Ben stretched out on the newly vacant couch. Alone.
As usual
, he thought.

He drank his wine as animated corpses chased humanity’s last hope on his flat screen. His fuming had eased into an ornery pout. He kept running over the argument in his mind, trying to figure out where it all went wrong, what he could have done or said differently to prevent it. Ben feared this whole relationship might be in a nosedive that started too long for them to pull it out of its descent. Did he even want to salvage it? Ben considered that thought as his eyelids rebelled against his consciousness. The next thing he knew, the pale, gray light of predawn filtered through the living room curtains. He felt an immense pressure in his bladder, so he stood to relieve himself in the small bathroom downstairs.

When he emerged, Ben regarded the almost empty wine glass and the steps leading up to the bedroom he and Chance shared.
Shared
, Ben thought and sniffed. Not like Chance was willing to admit it. They still kept a spare bedroom that Ben pretended to use when any of Chance’s relatives decided to drop by. It was ridiculous. Why was Chance ashamed of him? They were adults. Who did they have to answer to? He sneered at the steps and flopped back on the couch. He poured out the last of the wine and finished it in three gulps; then pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and lay back, trying to find the most comfortable position. He rolled, turning his back to the stairs, the bedroom, and the man he lived with. This was getting to be a habit: Chance storming off to bed and Ben spending the balance of the evening on the couch.

T
HREE
DAYS
after their altercation, Chance still wasn’t talking to Ben. They made little comments but no conversation. Ben had grown used to the periods of silence. He didn’t like them, but he’d grown accustomed to them, using the time to catch up on reading or whatever. Chance immersed himself in his gaming and role-playing. That was fine with Ben. He could wait until Chance admitted he was being a jerk. Chance heaved loud sighs periodically, trying to elicit some kind of response from him, Ben assumed. He wouldn’t give Chance the satisfaction. Jesus, had it really come to this? Ben thought maybe it was time to confront Chance about the state of their relationship but then his phone vibrated on the coffee table.

What’s up? Want to come out?
It was from Lena.

Where are you?
Ben typed.

Scoops.

Ice cream.
Ben shrugged, even though Lena couldn’t see him.
Ok. Just ice cream?

For now
, she answered. Ben’s phone vibrated again.

Burnsy’s having a party. Wanna check it out?

Burnsy.
Ben sighed. Theodore Burnside was a career server at T.C.’s, and was thirty going on nineteen. It seemed to Ben that Burnsy fancied himself the lead in a raunchy, college comedy film, sort of a slightly less dreamy Ryan Reynolds. But maybe mindless indulgence and reckless fun was exactly what Ben needed. He glanced over at Chance, who had big headphones on and was typing away at his keyboard. “Chance,” Ben said. “Hey, Chance.” When Chance didn’t respond, Ben told Lena to give him twenty minutes to get ready.

Be home by then. Pick me up?

Ok.
Ben put his phone to sleep after answering her and headed upstairs for a quick shower.

W
HEN
B
EN
descended the stairs, showered and changed into his party shirt, Chance hadn’t moved. He was still hunched over the keyboard. Ben walked over and stood behind him. “I’m heading out.” Chance waved his acknowledgement but said nothing. Ben rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He stalked away from Chance and into the night.

H
E
PULLED
into the parking lot of Lena’s building, jumped out, and ran up the steps. As he reached the top, he rang Lena, and she buzzed him in. Ben entered, jogging up the steps to the third floor, where he knocked on Lena’s door. When she opened it, her eyes grew wide and her mouth broke into a brilliant grin.

“Party Shirt?” She chuckled. “You dug out Party Shirt?” She grabbed the dark fabric of his expensive, tailored dress shirt.

“We’re going to a party, right?” Ben pulled his arm back, removing the fabric from her grasp. Party Shirt was expensive but the dark fabric hid stains, and it was easily cleaned. Ben also knew it hugged his lean frame and accentuated his arms. Party Shirt was win-win.

“Damn right.” Lena raised her hand, forking the devil sign. “Wait.” She sniffed. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Ben asked, knowing exactly what Lena was smelling. Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue for men.

“You’re wearing Light Blue,” Lena stated accusingly.

“So?”

“So? Are you and Chance fighting?”

“Fighting? No.”

“Oh,” Lena said and turned. She walked to the kitchen, where she had an assortment of liquor bottles on the counter with a few mixers. Lena called it pregaming, having a few drinks before going to where she was planning to have many more drinks. She mixed a cocktail for each of them.

“What?” Ben asked to interrupt Lena’s silence.

“What what?”

“Just ask.” Ben knew she was holding it in.

“You never wear that shirt unless you’re pissed and looking to make Chance jealous. You’re fighting.”

“We’re not,” Ben answered. It wasn’t a lie.

“Bullshit.” Lena gulped her rum and Coke.

“We’re not.” Ben regarded Lena’s doubtful expression. “We’d have to actually be speaking to each other to be fighting.”

“Semantics!” she barked. “You son of a bitch, you knew what I meant. So what’s up?”

“I don’t know,” Ben answered. “I think Chance and I are over.”

“You say that once every two weeks.” Lena poured herself another drink.

“Yeah, but I think that’s a symptom. I think we’ve been over for a while and neither one of us wants to admit it.”

“Wow.” Lena frowned and placed her glass on the counter. She walked over and hugged Ben. “That sucks,” she whispered.

Ben patted her back with one hand and shrugged. “It is what it is.” He released her, and she moved back to the counter. “I think the magic is gone. But we’re kind of stuck because we’re trying to save for that big old house.”

“If you don’t feel it, you don’t feel it.” Lena drank.

“I do feel something. But I wonder if it hasn’t turned into something… else. I don’t think I love him in the same way as I started out.”

“You’re just pissed,” Lena stated. “He’s pissed. You’ll figure it out.”

“I suppose.” Ben sipped at the rum and ginger ale Lena made for him. “You ready to go?”

“Just got to pour myself into something,” Lena said with a wink. She dashed down the hallway, and Ben cleared away their glasses. Lena reemerged in a skintight red dress.

“That’s a little cliché, don’t you think?” He asked.