Page 126 of The Menagerie
“You didn’t see shit, Doc. Put those fuckin’ gray sweatpants on and let’s roll.”
AT MAL’Sgentlenudging, Rowan orders a bacon cheeseburger with waffle fries but draws the line at the chocolate milkshake that Mal adds to his own order.
Mal heads to their usual booth, and Rowan surreptitiously orders a piece of carrot cake for them to share while they wait for their food. Sheila smiles knowingly and slides the plate across the counter to him, along with two forks.
“Jesus…,” Mal huffs when Rowan places the slice of cake on the table, complete with a layer of white frosting topped with an orange-and-green carrot.
But he grabs a fork before Rowan has even fully sat down in the booth, stabbing it straight through the center of the carrot and taking a chunk out of the side. He shoves it fully in his mouth, cheek bulged out to the side as he chews. It’s cute, and Rowan knows he shouldn’t find it cute that the same mouth that licked his own precome off of him is struggling to contain a sweet dessert, but he does.
Rowan digs in with his own fork, and the cake melts on his tongue. Sheila really is a culinary genius.
He and Mal go for another forkful at the same time, and Rowan quips, “Looks like I gotyouto eat rabbit food this time.”
Mal stabs him with his fork, the tines leaving four white dots on his hand that disappear before Rowan’s laugh fades from his lips.
WHEN THEIRfood arrives a short while later, Rowan has to admit that the burger looks and smells delicious. He squirts a large pile of ketchup on his plate, watching in horror as Mal squirts zigzags of ketchup directly on top of his fries.
“You’re such a barbarian,” Rowan comments.
“All goes to the same place, Red. More efficient this way.”
They eat in relative silence, save for the occasional jab at how the other is eating despite there being no classy way to eat the greasy, messy burgers. All the same, Rowan watches with rapt attention every time Mal’s tongue darts out to collect a bit of sauce from his lips.
It feels weird to be at the diner and sharing a meal when they’ve already discussed their scene. Every other time that’s been more or less the main reason to come here—to wind down and hash out anything that didn’t work and figure out what did, all while getting some much-needed calories back. And while they’ve gotten considerably more comfortable with having regular conversations that don’t revolveentirelyaround sex, thanks to their frequent texting, in-person is still a different story.
But it isn’t awkward by any stretch. Rowan thinks that Mal might actually be the easiest person to talk to he knows, aside from Jay.
As they eat they toss back snippets of conversation. Mal snatches some of Rowan’s fries off his plate even though he still has plenty of his own. In turn, Rowan scoops up the tomatoes that Mal picked off of his burger and left on the side ofhisplate.
The meal and the atmosphere and—most importantly—the company are soothing in a way that fills all the spaces in Rowan’s body and mind. There’s a soft rock song playing on the jukebox that Rowan doesn’t recognize until he hears Mal softly humming the chorus.
Ah, “Summer Breeze.” He’s not even sure Mal knows he’s doing it until his eyes meet Rowan’s over Mal’s chocolate milkshake. And Rowan knows he’s smiling like an idiot—can feel his cheeks start to hurt from it. Quickly, Mal clears his throat and wipes his already-clean mouth with the back of his hand.
The display is enough to make some deeply buried part of Rowan awaken and long for something he never thought he’d get to have. Someone to come home to, someone to cook with, someone to wrap his arms around at night. Something that goes beyond the shallow things he’s called relationships in the past. A life. Alove. And fuck, Rowan wants it. It isn’t clear how long he daydreams of it, but the song has changed at least twice by the time the bus girl drops off the check at the table.
“I’ll get the bill,” Rowan says when Mal goes to grab the slip. “You paid two times in a row a couple weeks ago.”
Rowan’s half standing and about to slip out of the booth to pay when Mal’s quiet voice stops him.
“She wanted to name me William,” Mal says, apropos of nothing, that same distant look in his eyes from earlier in the evening threatening to bore a hole through his plate. As if sensing Rowan’s confusion without even looking up, he adds, “My mom.”
“Oh.”
He hums absentmindedly, eyebrows raising as if he’d suddenly realized that he’d blurted out something inappropriate. When he looks up at Rowan, his expression melts from worried to neutral, apparently seeing no judgment or shock on Rowan’s own face as he sits fully back down in the booth.
“How did she settle on Malcolm, then?”
“She didn’t,” Mal scoffs. “My old man did. Larry.”
It’s the first time Mal’s mentioned anything about his father since all those weeks ago when Sheila hinted that he wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen. Something about not judging someone for the sins of their father, she had said. Rowan waits, sensing that Mal has more to say.
“She came home with a blank birth certificate. Course Larry wasn’t at the hospital. Mom said she liked William, and that they could call me Billy for short. Larry said he wasn’t gonna have a son with a bitch name. Said everyone would call meWilly, and that his son wouldn’t be a fag.” He pauses momentarily to shake his head. “Plot-fuckin’-twist, I would’a been one no matter what they called me. But Malcolm was the name of some dead relative or whatever, and he thought it sounded tough, so he made her write that.”
“AndLarryisn’t a bitch name?” Rowan jokes, attempting to lighten the mood. Though he files away Mal’s father’s name in the back of his mind in case it ever comes up again.
Another snort from Mal, but he continues talking, easily the most he’s spoken in a single sitting. “He was a fuckin’ idiot.”
Something about the vulnerable half confession makes Rowan want to push, a lingering question in the back of his mind from weeks ago left unanswered by Mal’s story. “So how does using your full name at the club come into play?” Rowan asks, dots still not quite connecting.
