Several curious eyes pop up to me when I stomp my feet like a child. My schedule has been extremely wonky the past few weeks. With school requiring I be alert and awake during daylight hours, my phone calls with Elvis every night have me burning the candle at both ends, but I’ve loved every single moment of it. We talk about anything and everything: Dalton and Becca’s daughter, Danny’s failed attempt at finding love on an online dating site; even Chelsea has come up a handful of times. It’s been a wonderful flirty few weeks, but I am a damn wreck.
Me:I remember. I’m using your absence as an excuse to have an early night. I’ll call you before your meeting xx
I stare at the double x’s at the end of my message for several minutes, wondering whether I should delete them before hitting send. If it weren’t for Chelsea racing back my way with a smile a mile long I would have; I just don’t have time to dawdle. . . yeah, right.
I’m glad I couldn’t hold back when I see Elvis’s reply flash up on my screen just as Chelsea leaps into my arms.
Elvis:I look forward to it xx
“MY KNEE HELDup better than I thought it would.”
Elvis’s scrumptious chuckle barrels down the line. “I told you it would. It just needs retraining.”
His knowledge on injury management has me extra curious about his job title, but before I can ask, a much higher-pitched voice comes down the line, “Did you kick it, girl? You did, didn’t you? You totally worked that stage.”
My girly laugh gains me a handful of spectators. They abandon whatever the hell they do while hanging around the quad to stare at me. “You know I did. Heard your date wasn’t as spectacular though. What happened?”
I hear Elvis grumble a moan about it being “my fucking cell phone” before Danny’s voice clears his gripe. “He was a full-blown closet case. Like nota little, I could pretend it was a phase. He wasn’t coming out of the dark any time in the next century.”
I gag, loving the eccentrics in his reply. I also love how comfortable he is in his own skin. The only time Danny has ever been in the closet is when he was seeking his next haute couture outfit. That boy has style that puts the pages ofVogueto shame.
“But I hear things aren’t so dire for you? Do I need to schedule Elvis in for a Danny’s special? Could check his over for warts or just make sure he’s measuring up to expectations?”
The last half of his sentence comes out in a flurry. He’s either being chased or he just discovered the Back Street Boys are doing a revival concert, and he’s racing to get tickets.
I realize it’s the former when Elvis’s deep timbre sounds down the line. “You know the more you encourage him, the more he’ll hang around. He’s worse than the annoying cat I tossed a chunk of fish at four months ago. He’s at my doorstep every night at precisely six.”
“You love it.”
I twirl on the spot, my happiness at being included in their unique duo too intense not to respond. I’ve been friends with girls who have had gay male friends before, but this is the first instance where two men have such a profound relationship when they’re not chasing the same interests: women.
“I do, but that doesn’t mean he needs to know it. He might ask for a pay raise if he thinks I like him.” He suddenly stops talking, worried he’s said too much.
He has, and I’m not going to let him off lightly.
“Danny works for you?”
From what I witnessed in person last weekend, it’s clear Elvis is slightly higher on the totem pole than Danny, but I thought that was their dynamic. It’s the same as Skylar and me. The attractive, more popular one always ranks first, then the second more subdued one is a few steps behind them. Not by much, but enough for society to take notice.
I hear Elvis scrub the stubble on his chin before he murmurs, “He doesn’t really work for me; he works with me on mutual goals.”
“Like a partner?”
“Ah. . . I guess you could call it that, although I’d prefer you didn’t. Danny has separation issues as it is, let alone you calling him my partner.”
My laugh is cut short when someone calls Elvis’s name from across the room. He muffles his phone, advising he’ll only be a minute before focusing his attention back to me. “I have to go. My. . .meetingis about to start.”
“Okay. Go get ‘em, old man.” I roar like a tiger.
I thought he’d laugh at my playfulness, but his gargled reply is more pained than joyous. I’m not surprised. Whatever we’ve got going on is extremely new, but I’m already well aware how much he hates me mentioning our age gap, which is still a mystery to me.
After slinging open the front door at Mickey’s, I enter the foyer. Parmesan cheese, garlic bread, and the imaginary scent of Elvis’s aftershave smacks into me when I pace to the counter to order a much-needed calorie replacer. With Chelsea’s eagerness to learn fueling my eagerness for a comeback to ballet, I put in a few hours longer at the dance studio than usual today. My muscles are aching, but my heart is the biggest it’s been in two years.
“I’m about to gorge on a slice at Mickey’s, so I’ll be out cold in a food coma in around thirty minutes. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
“Alright, and Willow?” Elvis waits long enough for me to prompt him to continue before saying, “I’m proud of what you accomplished today. Just getting your mind to focus on anything but the pain it expects is the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest. But you did it. You took the first step. Now the world is your oyster.”
Wow.I didn’t expect his words to knock me so fiercely, but they have. I’m truly speechless.
