Undone by Leslie McAdam
Jason
I wrap a white towel around my waist and rub my fist in a circle on the fogged-up bathroom mirror to study my face.
At least I don’t have sex hair anymore. My scruff will need to be trimmed soon, but I can let that go a little longer. I look good enough, I guess.
Although it’s only Murph out there. Not like I have to impress him. He’ll have to get used to me being, well, me.
Opening the bathroom door, I exit to go to my bedroom to get dressed.
Murph is sitting cross-legged on his floor across the hall, surrounded by piles of neatly folded clothes. His legs look bony in his jeans, and his lean arms are fussing with fabric. His dark head tilts up as he hears me, and I don’t miss the slow sweep of his eyes from my head to my feet, lingering on my torso and my towel.
A missed drop of water trails down my chest, and I wipe it away.
Murph licks his lips. I can almost see the resolve on his face as he swivels his head, picking up a stack of shirts and setting them to the side.
It takes all my acting ability to maintain a poker face until I get to my room.
I’m going to have to get used to that. I don’t usually mind being ogled—not that there’s that much to ogle, though I stay in decent shape by running and keeping active.
Dropping my towel, I step into navy blue sweats.
Does it bother me that Murph looked at me that way? Like he wanted to have me for dinner instead of the baked ziti I’m planning to make?
I tug a battered old gray T-shirt over my head while I consider the question. Because now that I’m living with a guy who’s into guys, I have to sort out my thoughts on the matter.
If my roommate were a woman and she checked me out, would it bother me?
No. I’d be flattered.
So I guess I’m flattered by him as well. This doesn’t have to be complicated.
I take my towel into the bathroom and hang it up. Murph’s still on his floor sorting clothes, either absorbed in what he’s doing or ignoring me.
I’m not scared he’s going to put the moves on me or anything. Obviously. Since he knows I’m straight.
At least, I assume he knows that.
Shit, maybe I should be clear with him. So he doesn’t think there’s any chance—
Jesus, Jason. Not everyone wants to bang you.
I don’t know why my brain is getting all weird like this. And I’m not sure how to bring it up in conversation. Hey, Murph, I know you’re gay, but don’t try anything.
Yeah, that sounds like an utterly arrogant thing to say. It assumes he wants me and, moreover, that he’d act on it.
Neither of those assumptions is accurate, I’m sure.
Well, if it comes up, I’ll tell him. Otherwise, no need to make things awkward.
I pad out to the kitchen. It’s dinnertime, and I’m hungry. Between Marnie and Murph, I’ve been busy all afternoon—both activities fun in their own way—and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
Soon I’ve got sauce simmering on the stove, browned meat soaking up the tomatoes and spices. The kitchen smells delicious, and my stomach rumbles. I pinch some cheese from the pile I grated and pop it into my mouth.
Murph walks into the kitchen to help, but I shoo him out, handing him a beer and snacks. I opened the bottle for him—I swear he almost gets misty-eyed when he notices—and he goes to sprawl on the couch, feet on the beat-up coffee table, selecting one kernel of kettle corn at a time to munch on and scrolling through suggested movies on Netflix.
While I watch him.
“I had no idea this room came with board,” he mumbles. He’s changed into a cream kimono with large flowers on it. Maybe peonies? Sunflowers? Big flowers, at any rate. Under it, he’s wearing a loose white T-shirt with one of those necklines that slips down the shoulder and a pair of blue satin pajama pants. With matching slippers.
Murph’s kinda lovable in an over-the-top way. I can see how him being in your face with his gayness would spook straight guys who aren’t secure in their sexuality. But I find him entertaining and am watching to see what he’ll do next.
He’s just so … him. I don’t know if I’d ever be brave enough to wear anything other than, well, jeans and T-shirts. Or suits.
Murph was born to stand out, though.
“Don’t get used to me feeding you,” I grumble, not meaning it.
Actually, I love to cook, and I particularly love having someone besides myself to prepare food for. So in all probability, Murph will be getting used to my cooking, which alternates between old standbys like tonight’s dinner and experiments I find on recipe sites. For a first night, I’m not doing anything weird. That’ll come later, when we know each other better.
By doing anything weird, I mean cooking anything weird.
God, my brain’s gone all kinds of haywire.
“Jason, I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you.” His voice is low, a kind of thrum.
Wait, what? I have to remember what I said, since I’d gotten lost in my thoughts.
He’s watching the television screen, which gives me an opportunity to look at him without getting caught.
I like his face. Whatever the opposite of RBF is, Murph’s got it. It’s like he radiates joy.
If only I could tap into some of that joy. But spending all day studying actuarial tables and telling people they’re going to die, so they should buy life insurance from me, isn’t conducive to happiness.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I should look for a new line of work. But then what would I do?
My new roommate stifles a yawn.
“Are you beat from today?” I ask.
“What?” He tilts his head to the side, finally catching my gaze, and sucks his lips in as if he’s stopping himself from grinning.
“Are you tired? From the move?” I turn my back to him and check the pasta water.
“I am.” He sighs dramatically. “I may never leave this couch. I’m stuck. Like an iron-on patch on a pair of jeans.”
I snort and look at him. “If you’re gonna use the couch as your bedroom, that’ll be extra rent.”
“Ha ha. No. I can make it to my bedroom by the end of the night.” His eyes dance, and he takes a pull of beer from the bottle. “I think my muscles found muscles they didn’t know existed and had a fight.”
God, this guy. I return to the stove and grin into the sauce I’m stirring. He makes me laugh, and I don’t have a lot of people in my life who make me laugh. I crouch down and pull out a pan to assemble everything for the pasta.
“Also, in case I pass out?” Murph continues.
“Yeah?”
“Dinner smells amazing, this place is gorgeous, the rent’s fair, and you’re the nicest roommate I’ve ever met.”
Something inside me bubbles up at his kind words, and I get this warm feeling all over my skin. I like how genuine he seems to be under the sparkle. But all I say is, “I appreciate that.”
He gestures at the plates we’re using. “Those are really unusual. I like them.”
“Thank you.”
“I bet there’s a story to them.”
“There is.” I grin. I wait to see what else he says about them, but he moves on to another subject.
“I loved my last place—I lived with my best friend Reeve—but he went and fell in love with his boyfriend, so …” He shrugs. “I’m just glad you had space.”
“My roommate needed to move, too. Everything seemed to work out.”
Murph gazes at me. “Yeah. Something like that.” He sits up straighter. “Tell me about yourself, Jason Falkner. Like, where do you work?”
“New England Life and Casualty,” I rattle off absently, now paying attention to dumping pasta in the boiling water and setting the timer for it to cook.
He’s quiet, so I glance over at him, wondering why. He blinks at me. “Isn’t that, like, insurance?”
“Yep.” I turn the knob on the oven so it will preheat.
“So you’re an insurance salesman?”
“Yep.”
He makes a show of looking around. “Is this 1950?” Lowering his voice, he stage-whispers, “Are you the man in the gray flannel suit?”
I snort. “That’s … Cary Grant? Or, no, Gregory Peck? Not quite. Though I do usually wear suits to work. I only wore jeans today because I figured I’d be helping you move.” Making my way through the kitchen, I stir the sauce, add more salt to the pasta water, and pull out salad fixings from the fridge. In some ways, cooking is choreography. “And the firm has been around since the fifties. It’s where my dad works. And my granddad used to.”
“Do you like your job?”
The question knocks me back. “I’m not sure. I kind of think it’s slowly killing my soul, if you must know.”
Saying the words out loud gives me a sour feeling in my stomach.
“I’m sorry,” Murph says simply.
“But I know how to do it—it’s familiar, I mean—and it pays well. Money matters.”
“Tell me about it,” he groans. “I love Vino and Veritas, but right now I don’t have enough hours to bring in enough moola to keep a girl in sequins and nail polish. So, like everyone, I’ve got a side hustle. Multiple, actually. Web design is the biggest. But don’t worry about the others,” he says, sotto voce. “I almost never have to resort to harvesting people’s organs to make rent. And when I do, I always clean the tub afterward.”
I can’t help my laughter. He joins me, and I think this arrangement is going to work out. At least, it’s a good first day with a new roommate.
When I’m finally composed again, it’s time for the pasta to be drained, and I assemble the baked ziti.
After I slip our dinner in the oven and toss a salad, I plop on the chair across from him with my own beer and put my feet up on the coffee table. I go to reach for popcorn, but my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket, and Marnie’s name flashes on the screen.
“Girlfriend?” Murph asks. He crosses his arms.
“More like friends with benefits,” I mutter. Or fuck buddies. But friends with bennies is more polite. “Her name’s Marnie.”
She wants to know if I’m available tomorrow afternoon.
Am I?
Jason: Not this time
Jason: Still moving in my roommate
Marnie: K
I’m not sure why I turned her down. Guess I don’t feel like fucking her tomorrow.
Marnie: Next Friday?
Jason: Ok
“Ah,” he says and turns back to the television screen.
I can’t help but think confirming I’ve got a girl I’m intimate with disappoints him. But his flirting with me will go nowhere, so it’s good that he knows about her.
Now that’s over with, I relax into the chair. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been, thinking I had to explain my sexuality to him.
Although he doesn’t have to explain his to me.
I’ve been overthinking this.
Still, I’m glad he’s here, and I hope we can be friends. He amuses me, and I can use some levity in my life.
“What’s your schedule like?” I ask, and he launches into telling me his hours at V and V and the time he spends on web design.
“Sounds like you’re a busy guy,” I say, impressed.
“Never too busy for you, sugar.” He winks.
His winks don’t make me feel uncomfortable. If anything, they make me happy. Like, aww, that’s Murph.
He’s certainly the most chipper person I’ve ever hung out with, and his energy’s contagious. Time slips away as we talk, until the buzzer goes off and it’s time to eat. I fill the plates with food, then serve him one.
“Did you grow up around here?” he asks as we sit at the table across from each other.
“Yeah. My mom’s parents are French Canadian, but they moved to Burlington before she was born. My dad’s family already was from here—like I said, insurance has been the family business for generations. They’re separated, though. My mom took off when I was young.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. My parents don’t get along that great, either.”
“No?”
“A gambler’s hard to live with,” is all he says. “Did you go to school here?”
Clearly, he wants to change the subject. “No. I went to Brown. Studied philosophy.”
“Oh, fancy-pants.”
I chuckle. “You’re the one with the fancy pants,” I say, leaning over to eye his satin pajama pants under the table.
His eyes widen, and I can tell he’s biting his tongue to keep from making some flirty comment. “Did you like school?” he asks instead.
I nod. “I did. I took some pretty esoteric classes, and I was friends with a diverse group of people. It was just so beautiful, and the classes challenged me. I liked being somewhere where what you thought mattered. You know?”
“Yeah.” He takes a bite of the pasta. “This is so good. Seriously.”
“Thanks. Did you go to college?”
“Two years at UNLV before I dropped out.”
I frown. “Why’d you drop out?”
He rolls his eyes. “School wasn’t really for me. I get it, you know? I get that part of going to a four-year college is about stick-to-itiveness. But I’ve always been easily distractible, and sitting in classrooms didn’t work for me.”
“I understand that.”
“So I quit and got a job in a casino, because Vegas. I bartended for a while. But then I thought I needed to figure out something about myself and get away from that place while I could. A friend of mine from college had moved to Vermont for law school, so I followed her. When she went back to Vegas, I stayed.”
“A female friend, huh?”
He nods. Then he visibly steels himself to share the next part. “Actually, there was a guy, too. Her brother. My friendship with her covered up the fact that I was dating her brother, who went to the same school. And it got ugly.”
“Why?” My fingers form fists. I force myself to relax them.
“Because he was so far in the closet, no organizer would’ve found him even if they’d tossed everything out. He was stuck in the back. Like in a panic room above the closet.”
I don’t laugh. “He wasn’t public with you?”
“He was barely private with me. And it sucked, because I liked him. A lot. But he was ashamed.” Murph gives me a brave grin. “How could you be ashamed of all this?” He gestures down his body.
“I wouldn’t be,” I say seriously. “And he has shit for brains if he didn’t treat you the way you needed to be treated. The way you deserved to be treated.”
“Well aren’t you all Sir Jason the Gallant? So chivalrous.” He pretends to swoon, falling back in his chair with his hand on his forehead.
“No,” I scoff. “Only a human being with some morals. I hate that shit. When someone likes something but denies it because they’re scared they’re going to get teased. A girl ‘too old’ for dolls who wants to play with them anyway, or a guy who prefers poetry over sports. Then, when they’re older, the habit of pretending they don’t like it stays, and it sucks. They should be proud of who they are. If we were all the same and liked the same things, imagine how boring the world would be.”
“Preach it, knight in shining armor,” Murph says and lifts up his hand for a high five, which I dutifully give him, trying not to crack up. The high five turns into a quick hand squeeze, and then he lets go. “You’re an upstanding guy, Jason.”
“Thanks. I try. You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Oh, no. I’m extraordinary.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “You are.” But I wonder how much damage it did to Murph to date someone, even follow him across the country, when he wouldn’t admit publicly that he liked Murph. Whoever dates Murph needs to accept him fully. That’s basic human decency.
I frown, and Murph notices. “What’s wrong?”
“Just thinking about your asshole ex.”
“Oh, don’t bother. I’ve totally forgotten about him. Tra-la. He’s gone. Poof!”
But Murph’s light words don’t fool me. I think he’s scared of being hurt again.
I may know something about that, too.
After dinner, which he describes as “the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, and that’s saying a lot,” he tries to kick me out of the kitchen to do the dishes. I’m not used to anyone doing things for me, so I butt in. He washes, and I dry. There aren’t enough dirties to put in the dishwasher, so we do everything by hand.
I package up the leftovers for my lunch and make him one, too, showing him where I put the container in the fridge.
“Well, this is cozy,” he says, nudged up beside me as we peer into the refrigerator together. I’m aware of how much smaller he is than me. And my hip accidentally grazes his butt as I close the door. “You’re so thoughtful, looking out for me like that.”
His blue eyes catch mine, and heat gathers in my cheeks. “Pshaw. It’s nothing. Just leftovers.” But Murph’s reaction makes me think that for him it means something more.
* * *
It’s the first night with a new guy in my space. And strangely enough, while I’m aware of him, it’s no big deal. He’s quiet, and we go to bed around the same time.
I want to go knock on his door and check on him, but that’s a weird move, right?
Just as I’m about to get up and see if he’s got everything he needs, my phone lights up on the bedside table.
Marnie: I have to cancel Friday. Gotta go see my sister in Syracuse. She’s having a baby and the doctor told her she needs to have bedrest
Jason: Oh shit. I’m sorry. Is she going to be okay?
Marnie: I think so. She’s at 36 weeks, so not that much more to go
Jason: Wait, isn’t that like nine months? Is she about to pop?
Marnie: Silly boy. Babies come out at 40 weeks
Jason: I knew that
Jason: Actually, I didn’t
Jason: And you knew that
Jason: I mean you know that I didn’t know that
Marnie: LOL
Marnie: Anyway, sorry, I’m going to be scarce on weekends for the next month or two. That gonna be okay?
Jason: No problem
Huh. No fuck buddy for a while. I feel … nothing about that. I wonder if I should start looking for an actual girlfriend instead of a sex partner.
Or if I should be by myself for a while.
That thought sobers me, and I fall into a restless sleep.