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AsIreluctantly crawl into a standing position and stretch out my sore back, the ratty beach towelIused as a yoga mat catches my eye.I’vebeen neglecting my mindfulness practice right whenIneed it the most.Therest of the world can wait a few minutes.
Ipull up the blinds and unroll my towel right in the dusty patch of sunlight.Theheat on my skin and the faint drone of a lawnmower in the distance anchor me asIsit with my eyes closed and my mind clear for fifteen minutes.Iused to be able to meditate for an hour at a time, but my anxiety has chipped away at the foundationIbuilt.WhenI’mfinished,Irun through my favorite yoga stretching routine, and end with five minutes splayed out on my back inSavasana.
WhenIfinally put my mat away and dig in my dresser for some clothes,Idon’t have any more answers, butIdo feel better.SinceIdon’t need to dress for work until this afternoon,Igo for comfort with a vintage red and orange flannel and some frayed jean shorts.Isaved up for a month and drove all the way to a clearance sale inDenverfor these, soI’dbetter look cute.
Theguys’ voices drift down the hall asIopen my door, followed byRoman’slaugh.Partof me wants to hide fromBeckforever, butI’ma mature adult andIneed my tea, soIhead for the kitchen.
“Morning.”Scoutwaves a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in my direction asIstep overTubbs’ massive body stretched out in the doorway.He’ssitting on the counter withRomanbetween his thighs, whileBeckbalances on the back of one of our rickety kitchen chairs.Thesepeople are allergic to eating at tables.
“PB&Jfor breakfast?That’sa bold choice.”Ifill our dented kettle with water, then set it to boil on the only burner that works.
“Wantone?”Beckoffers indistinctly through a mouthful of bread.
“Notreally.”Ishake my head without looking at him and grab the half empty bag of cereal we’resupposedto be eating for breakfast.Lavenderchamomile tea and staleCheeriosaren’t a match made in heaven, butIneed to make sure these hooligans have enough bread to last the week.
“Roman’sbeing problematic,”Scoutcomplains, flicking his crusts onto the floor.Tubbslurches to his feet and lumbers as fast as he can across the room, body-checking me out of the way so he can slurp them up.
“Idon’t think that’s possible.”Ilook up from putting tea leaves in myYoucan’t scare me,Ihave three sonsmugBeckandScoutfound at a garage sale.
“Thekid said it was okay to visit,”Romanprotests in his mild, slightly rusty voice. “Tubbsmisses his brother.”
“Hisbrother.Theone-pound kitten.”Scoutsounds annoyed, but he rubs the back ofRoman’sneck and gazes at him with that helpless adoration that always betrays him when he tries to say no to his boyfriend.Romecould announce that he wanted to set our house on fire andScoutwould just nod along, all googly-eyed.
Beckclears his throat. “Didn’tyou say he could bring the cat back here, big guy?Notthat we’d go hunt them down.”
Romandoesn’t get stubborn often, but when he does it’s like trying to argue with a brick wall.Hecatches my eye and offers me one of his small, determined smiles. “I’mgoing.Wannacome,Dal?It’snice out; it’ll be a pretty walk.”
It’simpossible not to grin back at him. “Sure,Rome.”I’mprobably supposed to stay neutral in this argument, butIdesperately need fresh air and a chance to clear my head in a place thatBeckhasn’t held my hand, or kissed me, or pinned me to the fridge.
“Fine,”Scoutgrumbles. “I’llget my shoes.”
Atthe wordshoes, the dog’s tail starts whipping back and forth so fast it could leave welts. “That’sright,”Romancroons, rufflingTubbs’ floppy cheeks as drool splatters on his forearms. “Walktime.”
Tubbsmanages a single, earth-shaking bounce and a loud “ruff”, then capers over to the back door where his leash hangs.He’sfilled out so much in the last six months, and his glossy coat makes him look years younger than when we found him.It’sall thanks toRoman–meals skipped to afford his food, endless research about dog care on a low budget, daily brushing, hours of walks, and long, cuddly naps together in his dog bed.
IgrabScout’sold enamel mug from the cupboard and transfer my tea into it.WhenIturn around,Beckis still sitting on the back of the chair, elbows propped easily on his knees.Hissinful white tee is gauzy enough to reveal hints of his ink and loose enough to show off his biceps and the light brown hair under his arms.Hisblack jeans grip his thighs, and his mane of hair has been cleaned and brushed back from his face, glowing in a shaft of sunlight.
Whenhis hazy, intent green eyes meet mine, all the breath in my lungs disappears.Idon’t know howIever looked at him without drowning in want.MaybeIdidn’t.MaybeI’vebeen lying to myself.NowIcan’t get away from it, not with the memory of my first kiss, tasting of whiskey and absolute longing and forgiveness.Ofhis thick, hot dick filling my hand with only a paper-thin layer of cloth between us.Ineed to know how he feels about last night now that we’re in the daylight.
Scouthops back into the room on one leg, dragging on his second sneaker. “Arewe ready to go sic the world’s biggest dog on an innocent child and his kitten?”
Romanshoots him a warning look as he clipsTubbs’ leash on his collar.Adog that powerful needs something sturdier than a simple nylon lead, but he walks like an angel forRoman.I’veseen a squirrel run two inches from his face, and he just looks back adoringly to see what his master thought of it.Ifone of us tried to walk him on our own,Ithink it would be mayhem.
Beckslides off the chair, his eyes dropping to take in my oversized flannel.Theman wouldn’t know fashion if it hit him in the face with a frying pan, but he’s the only person who takes a moment to appreciate my outfit every day, without fail.Heoffers me a hesitant smile that looks even more crooked than usual with his black eye. “I’min.”
BeforeIcan find any kind of normal human response,Scoutgrabs his arm and pulls him toward the door. “Good.I’mstuck inAngryBirdsandIneed you to dig up the eleven-year-old-Beckelite strategies for me.”Thenthey’re gone, withRomanandTubbsbehind them, andI’malone in the kitchen.Iclose my eyes and take a deep inhale of the steam off my tea, trying to grasp the tatters of the centered calm that fell apart the secondIwalked into the noisy kitchen.
Wenever bother to lock up during the day, soIjust let the screen door slam behind me asIsprint to catch up withRoman.BeckandScoutare fifty yards ahead of us, gesturing animatedly and bumping shoulders as they follow the hard-packed dirt track between irrigation ditches that carry fast-moving water out to the corn.Calvindidn’t tell us where he’s squatting, but based on our knowledge of the woods by the river, there’s only one option–a sheltered clearing that always has someone illegally camped there.
Romanmoves unhurriedly, pausing to letTubbslook at the water and sniff every footprint in the dirt.Ienjoy keeping pace with him; his sweet, steady energy always grounds me whenI’moverthinking.Ilook up from kicking a rock into the ditch and realize he’s studying me thoughtfully with his tawny gold eyes. “Areyou okay?”
“Totally.”Inod too aggressively. “I’mjust a little overwhelmed.”
Hisface falls. “Scouttold me what happened.Youwere really fucking brave.”
“Right,”Imumble whenIrealize he’s talking about the bar. “Freezingup and crying made me a hero.”
Heshakes his head firmly. “Cryingdoesn’t make you less brave.”
