Thanks for the patch up job. My spine will survive another day. You’re a great friend, and if you need to crash at mine again, it’s all yours. What are bros for, eh?
“Bros,” I read out loud.
We’re bros. Homies. Amigos. He said it himself.
I let out a big whoosh of air. Thismustall be in my head. I’m just messed up from last night. Zach doesn’t feel awkward. He doesn’t think we need to change. He’s still sending me memes like my old buddy pal. I didn’t wreck things by picturing him naked or imagining his lips on my lips.
It was a weird night. Anyone would be thinking weird thoughts after finding their boyfriend with another girl’s mouth around his dick. Maybe I just wantedun peu de vengeance.
But it’s a new day. The sun is out, the air is warm, and my friend is offering to let me crash at his place for a few days while I figure out where I’m going to live.
Nothing weird about that. Nothing at all.
* * *
“Zach, you are so weird.”
“What do you mean, I’m weird? I can’t believe you’ve never heard of peanut butter and pickle sandwiches.”
He puts a plate down in front of me on the coffee table. I stare at the brown bread, cut down the middle to make two triangles.
“Non. I will not eat it.”
I’ve spent two more nights at Zach’s place, and I have not pictured him naked.
Not even once.
Not while awake, at least.
I had naked dreams about someone who might have been him, but he was spooning me from behind, so who can say? Dream man had Zach’s voice, and I could feel that silly farm boy beard of his tickling me, but that doesn’t mean it was Zach. It could have been his cousin, or his secret twin. Dreams are unpredictable like that.
“I’m on lunch duty today, and this is all I made, so you’re going to have to eat it. Just give it a try. I promise it will blow your mind.”
“But it’s pickles and peanut butter!”
We have a schedule going at the apartment. Our shifts at the bar don’t line up very often, and Zach likes to get up early. All the years of late night shifts have turned me nocturnal, but we both end up eating something around noon—even if it’s breakfast for me. I told Zach I would make him lunch every day to say thank you for letting me stay, but he wanted to take turns.
“You have to see what a beast I am in the kitchen,” he told me, “and also my mother would never forgive me if I let a guest feed me every day.”
So yesterday I made him a very delicious chili that took me almost two hours, and today he makes methis.
“Try it. I swear you’ll love it.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and makes a big show out of going ‘Mmm.’
We’re sitting on the couch together. The apartment isn’t big enough for a kitchen table, so all the meals get eaten off the coffee table in front of the couch.
“I used to make these all the time with my sisters,” Zach continues once he’s done pretending to have a mouthgasm. “I don’t think I’ve had one in years.”
“Even your sisters ate these?”
“Yeah, it’s one of the first things my mom taught us how to make. She was always making really fancy stuff for like, bake sales and fundraisers. She’s an administrator at my town’s community center, so she’s really...involved. Anyway, she had a few recipes she called ‘silly food’ that were just for us. This was one of them.”
“Itissilly.” I pick up my plate and sniff the bread. “But it’s cute too. I like that. ‘Silly food.’”
I take one of the triangles off the plate and bite off just the corner of the sandwich.
“Oh come on,” Zach complains. “You didn’t even get any pickle.”
I glare at him and take a bigger bite. I chew for a minute. I close my eyes. I pretend like I’m thinking about it. Then I swallow.
