slow show

[savekeating]

When Laura left she took everything with her: the car, the green toaster oven, the collection of Dutch tableware her mom had gifted them on the day of their wedding that looked more like art than cups and saucers. Of course there were some things she had been left behind, like photo albums and an old cassette player with the mixtape Pat had made for her back in high school still stuck in the deck, but Pat made sure to put all those away in a box that's now sitting in the garage so he didn’t start getting sad again when he saw them lying around. 

Life without Laura was hard at first because Pat was a creature of habit: he liked things done a certain way and he relied on the predictable rhythm of his routine. It was comforting to know he was going to wake up every morning at 6 o’clock to the weight of Laura’s body curled against his. He looked forward to her cooking, no matter how outrageous, coming home from his shift and hanging his coat behind the door, announcing honey I’m home.

Laura didn’t take Marvin because she didn’t have anywhere to put him in her new apartment in Brooklyn. Pat’s neighbor, Ash Starmer, offered to look after Marvin while Pat was at work. Ash had just moved into the neighborhood a few months ago; he mostly kept to himself and never left the house as far as Pat knew. Pat figured he worked in IT. Those guys often worked from home. 

After work, Pat would stop by at Ash’s first to collect Marvin. This was part of his new routine post-Laura. Pat had to cook dinner for himself now and pack himself lunch and there was no Laura-shaped dent in his bed where one used to be. It was actually a different bed as Laura had reclaimed the mattress and half the furniture in the house.

Marvin, thankfully, loved Ash like crazy. Pat never understood why Marvin never took to him. Laura had bought him as a puppy from a shelter three years ago and he peed on Pat’s shoes all the damn time even after they trained him not to. But Marvin, he loved the hell out of Ash and always put up a fuss when Pat came to pick him up every night at 6:30PM. He didn’t want to leave and Pat couldn’t really blame him: Ash’s place, while smaller than his, was furnished with cosy touches: rugs, throw pillows, endless rows of potted plants lining the windowsill. His place felt lived in but also not; Pat couldn’t put his finger on it. 

And Ash himself was cosy as he always wore a green parka no matter how hot it was outside. But he looked good in it, cute even, Pat thought; it brought out his eyes which were nearly the same color, like freshly cut grass.  

“How do you do that?” Pat had asked once after Ash had deposited a sleeping Marvin into his arms. Ash was some kind of dog-whisperer dog-charmer hybrid. He knew how to calm Marvin down. 

Ash grinned at Pat before leaning in. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, and Pat thought it strange that he couldn’t smell Ash’s hair or his sweat despite how close he was standing. But he didn’t mind it; Ash’s non-smell. “I just have a natural allure.” 

Ash winked, and Pat couldn’t help but think it was secretly true: Ash did have a certain allure. 

This would certainly explain why in recent days he found himself taking a detour to Ash’s house instead of heading to the bar as per his ritual. Another routine, taking shape, but Pat thought it wouldn’t hurt to step outside of his comfort zone. Laura was always telling him to; maybe it was high time he took her advice. 

He liked hanging out in Ash’s living room anyway, listening to old Motown records as he drank a Bud Light, staying up listening to Ash talk about everything from the Turkish Wars to the history of atoms, until it was too late to go home, even just across the street and he would fall asleep on Ash’s sofa and wake up to the smell of Ash’s coffee. He never saw Ash eat or drink, but he always seemed to keep his fridge well-stocked for when Pat came over after dinner.

“I’m learning how to cook,” Ash said, when Pat asked him why his cupboard was so full. The next evening Ash came over with a plate of butter chicken lasagna with the cheese sliding perfectly off the top. Ash volunteered to put all the leftovers in a tupperware so Pat could eat them for lunch for the rest of the week. 

They clinked their glasses to friendship, put on a Blues record, and watched Marvin run around in circles trying to chase his tail. Pat fell asleep halfway into it because he’d been working weekend shifts to cover for a friend, and he was tired all the time and barely able to write his poems. 

When he jerked awake, his head was pillowed in Ash’s lap. He couldn’t remember when that had happened but he didn’t want to complain: Ash’s fingers in his hair felt marvelous. It reminded him of when he was a little kid and his grandma would pet his hair while he lay in her lap half-asleep. Her house always smelled of bread baking. He was happy in that house. He felt it now, lying here with Ash’s fingers in his hair: he felt serene.

“Sorry,” Ash said, when Pat blinked his eyes open and stared at him. “I should probably go.”

“What time is it?” Pat asked, sitting up. 

“Half past two,” Ash said, without looking at the clock.

Pat nodded and Ash quickly got to his feet. Pat walked him to the front door, rubbing the crick from his neck. Ash was still wearing his favourite parka that Pat kept meaning to ask about. They’d only known each other for about a month and Pat was already full of questions. But he knew for a fact there was time enough for answers; this was only the beginning after all. There was no need to rush.

“I’m glad you came over,” Pat said, hovering by the door. “Thanks for dinner, Ash.”

“No problem,” Ash said. “Did you like the cheese?”

“Yeah.” Pat smiled. “I loved it. Thank you.”

“Right,” said Ash, and then he was closer now, without having taken any steps, and he was looking at Pat’s chin, or his collarbone. Pat couldn’t tell because he was looking at Ash’s sea-green eyes that he sometimes swore changed colors depending on the time of day. But he digressed. It was late: time for bed not for musing. Half the city may be on lockdown but he still had a job to do in the morning.

Ash slid his arms around Pat’s shoulders, hugging him. Pat hadn’t been hugged like that in a long time, Ash’s slim body pressed perfectly against his. Ash didn’t smell like anything but his hair was so soft where it rubbed against Pat’s cheek that Pat almost wanted to cry.

“Be careful out there,” Ash told him, his arms still linked around Pat’s neck. He had little freckles across his cheek; Pat had never noticed them before. 

“Be careful of what?” Pat asked.

“You know,” Ash said, nudging him on the chest with a finger. “It’s not safe, Pat. Not for people. I don’t want you getting sick; I’ve been watching the news. You need to wash your hands, get some vitamins in you. You need to sleep more.”

Pat almost laughed at that. Sleep, he thought, but he knew what Ash meant.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” Ash said, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Promise me.”

Pat nodded; they were still pressed chest to chest but Ash must have been holding his breath because Pat couldn’t feel him breathing at all. “I promise,” he said.

“Good,” Ash smiled. “Good.”

Pat watched him cross the street to his house. Ash stopped to wave goodbye and Pat stood there for a long time on his front porch, wanting for some reason to wave back even though Ash had already gone. He crossed his arms and listened to the rustle of trees overhead, to the sound of evening birds and the croak of frogs in the flowerbeds and someone’s dog barking in the yard, and his whole neighborhood, quietly sighing in its sleep. He wondered if Ash were dreaming. 

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