“I’ll put on some K-pop, and it’ll pass in no time,” Lina said, waving a dismissive hand.
Oscar wondered who had turned his little sister into this impressive person who did everything so incredibly well without breaking so much as a sweat, who could break up with a boyfriend of three years and smile about it so soon after, who could take care of herself and everybody else better than anyone Oscar knew. Maybe he was being unfair. Maybe nobody had turned her into this, and Lina was just impressive, period.
“Okay,” he said, because if Lina said she was good to drive, then he would trust her. Oscar made to go, but as he turned towards the car door, an invisible hand seemed to reach for his wrist and press it. Oscar imagined it as the same hand that had ruffled his and Lina’s hair.
Papa had always given the best kisses, and Oscar and Lina had missed him for too long. Maybe Lina could take care of everyone the way Papa had. And maybe Oscar could love them the same. In a rare show of affection, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his sister’s temple.
“Drive safe, Minnie,” he murmured. “I’ll see you soon.”
He didn’t look back as he leapt out of the truck and ducked into his building. He didn’t want Lina to see the tears in his eyes. He wondered if she’d been tearing up, too.
How long must it have been since anyone had called her that?
12
TOTE BAG TOWN
Oscar had a boyfriend, and his name was Aaron.
His days became colored in speckles of red, brown, and blue, spots of purple and yellow, dashes of green. Aaron consumed his thoughts day and night, his phone blowing up when Aaron was on break or in between shifts, the other end of his couch dented with the press of Aaron’s weight while he knitted and watched him race time to get to the final stages of the video game before semester started and he had to shift to simpler projects.
It was an August of farmers’ market Saturdays, going home with bags full of brown, aromatic mushrooms and the smallest portion of chanterelles now they were in season, coffee dates in the afternoon, home-cooked dinner in the evening. On Sundays, they had movie nights with Anna and Joe. Anna always chose the goriest bloodiest shit and Aaron encouraged her. On more than one night, Joe and Oscar decided they were hungry in the middle of whichever macabre sequence was playing and they headed down to the takeout shop on the corner and lingered until enough of the film wasover that they could return with food ahead of video gaming into the late hours.
During these moments, Oscar realized that he really liked Joe. He wished he’d had a friend like him growing up, but late was better than never, he guessed. Sometimes, while they were waiting, he’d text with Lucas. He’d told Joe all about Lucas and the games he liked to play. And he’d told Lucas about Joe and how he was about to start taking the hours Oscar didn’t work during the semester at the beta testing gig.
Life had grown increasingly sweet and not only because of the insane amount of candy and sugar Oscar consumed whenever he spent time with Aaron and his friends. The coffee-and-pancakes-bookshop dream that had played through his mind in slow motion the morning of their surgeries became their Friday evening.
For the first half of September, Aaron held a steady placement at a cinema, filling in for someone who’d just had a baby until they hired a more permanent replacement to cover her absence. On the last evening of Aaron’s least temporary temp job, Oscar walked through the wide front doors of the complex, down the aisle to his ticket booth, leaning on his elbows as he bent down to match Aaron’s sitting height.
“I would like a ticket to a hot date with a handsome booth attendant, please,” he said.
This was his favorite film: the fireworks lighting up the sky of Aaron’s eyes through the screen of his glasses, the opening curtains of his splitting lips as his white teeth flashed a grin.
“That’ll cost you a cup of coffee,” Aaron replied, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll offer an entire pot,” Oscar said, winking.
He did that now. He winked. In the time they’d spent together, Aaron had unraveled him, drawing out the strings that had been tightly coiled inside his chest since Papa had died. In the time they’d spent together, Oscar had laughedwith tears streaming down his cheeks, he’d nestled in warm arms, he’d fallen asleep listening to a heartbeat he’d come to know.
“You ready?”
“Indeed, I am.” Aaron put up theDesk Closedsign, waving at the girl who’d just settled into the booth next to his, and then he disappeared through the door behind his chair. Oscar wondered what kind of qualifications one might need to become a chair Aaron would sit on for eight to ten hours a day.
His wondering was cut short when Aaron appeared from around the stall, already slipping off his vest and undoing the top button of his shirt. Oscar’s eyes darted down to the dip of his throat. He’d kiss it if they weren’t here, in the place Aaron might want to temp at again someday.
Aaron didn’t seem to mind it very much. He leaned in, stretching on his toes, because he was a couple of inches shorter than Oscar when he wasn’t wearing his usual sneakers, which only made him cuter, and then he pressed his lips to Oscar’s—a soft sweet peck announcing pumpkin spice season.
Oscar’s hand no longer went clammy when he slipped it into Aaron’s. Their fingers linked like they’d been built to do it, pieces of the same puzzle, come together at last.
“Tell me about your day,” Oscar said as they walked out to the street, the bright flashing lights of the bars and clubs they passed catching the red of Aaron’s hair.
And Oscar listened, studied the lines of each expression, watched the rise and fall of Aaron’s excitement as he went through his shift, animating it for Oscar, bringing every hour they had spent apart to life for him, making it as though they’d been together then, too.
Around them, the city came alive. People in short skirts and heels, fancy cologne and dress shirts, passed in their couples and groups, laughing, carrying the heavy stench ofalcohol as they bounced between the first clubs of their night, others heading to fancy restaurants for their dates or group dinners.
Meanwhile, Oscar and Aaron walked away from all the fuss, turning towards the quainter streets of the older part of town, walking on until the spires of the cathedral loomed in the distance.
The bookshop welcomed them like old friends, the rainbow painted on its glass reminding Oscar of his hardest afternoons, the hours he had spent in here, leafing through books he couldn’t afford, drinking the cups of water Laura brought him again and again.
