He raises his eyebrows, shrugging. “So?”
I scratch behind my ear. “You didn’t think to bring this one box by the studio for me?”
“Do I look like DoorDash?”
“I mean, no, but—”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Well,” I reply with a shrug. “You know I don’t have a car. I just thought—”
“Oh, so that thing you rolled up in, is not a car?” he says, raising his eyebrows even higher, crossing his arms.
I press my lips together, walking over to the box and freeze, my eyes widening.
“Did you open it?” I rush out.
“No!” he snaps. “I have no interest in that sort of thing, Seth. And honestly? I think it’s a little tasteless to put that label on it.Anal toys? Really? You couldn’t have written something a little more discreet? What if the new tenant found it? What would I say? What—”
“Look, Andy,” I turn around, facing him. “Can you please just tell me what it is about me that you can’t get over. ‘Cause I feel like we could’ve been—”
“Well, first off, my name’s notAndy,” he glares at me. “And honestly? I think what you’re doing is a little tasteless, too. Most of us don’t parade around our sexuality like it was the Pride festival every day.”
I frown. “What?”
“And just because you dress like adude,” he air-quotes. “Doesn’t mean you’re straight. You’re still a queer, and the factthat you walk around showing off hickeys from other men like it’s a badge of honor is simply repulsive,” he spits. It’s like I opened a can of worms.
I swallow, nodding before I grab the box. “Okay.”
“Just make up your damn mind, Seth!” He throws his arms out. “Either you’re gay, or you’re not. Stop baiting either side!”
Oh, so that’s the problem? I’m not gay enough? What a strange twist of irony.
“Okay,” I mumble as I walk past him. “Bye, Andrew.”
My pulse’s hammering in my ears as I throw the box in the passenger seat, and jump in behind the wheel. I take a few breaths, trying to shake the feeling off. My neck’s hot and I close my eyes, rubbing my forehead with my fingertips.
I’m not good with conflicts. I usually stay clear of them, and I wasn’t prepared for this today.
I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt every time he’s been shitty towards me. I tried to adapt, to not be too much, or too loud. I stopped bringing guys to the house.
I never left my stuff anywhere. I always did the dishes right away. I even folded his laundry sometimes. That’s what good roommates do, right? Never even got so much as a thank you for it.
I think he was relieved when I told him I was moving out. It was basically the first time I’ve seen him crack a smile.
I drop the box off at home before I go down to the studio. I park the pickup in the garage, where Kit’s crouched in front of his bike, as per usual. I give him an up-nod as I put the car keys on the table, and walk into the shop through the back door. Kaden walks in through the front door at the same time.
“Yo!” he says as he walks up to the coffee table. He moves the tattoo binders aside, and puts a wrapped-up baking pan on it.
“Sup?” I say, as I fill a balloon with helium and tie it up with a string.
“Mom said hi,” he says. “Asked when you’ll come over so she can feed you.”
I snort a laugh and fill another balloon, tying it up with another string.
Since Diaz is leaving in a few days, I planned a little get-together for him today. Kaden fiddles with his phone and then “No One Knows” by Queens of the Stone Age is streaming through the speakers. He walks over to me and helps with the rest of the balloons and then we make it over to the couches.
“What’s up, Sunshine?” he says, crossing his ankle over the other knee.
