Undone by Leslie McAdam
Murph
It’s the morning, and I’m perplexed about where I am. Who I am. Why someone is bothering me.
Then I remember I’m in a new home. A new bedroom. New light pouring through new-to-me windows.
Every part of my body aches from moving.
I groan. I think a knock on the door woke me up, but I can’t be sure.
Not until after I’ve had coffee.
“Murph? You awake?”
Oh my sweet heavens. Is it my beautiful roommate-slash-man-of-my-dreams Jason Falkner? Hovering at the door to my bedroom?
And why the hell is he doing it this early in the morning? I mean, if he’d been at my bedroom door last night, this would be an entirely different conversation. But now, in the light of day? A girl needs rest.
“No,” I mutter into my pillow.
A low, already-familiar chuckle reaches my ears. “I heard that. Come with me,” Jason coaxes from behind the door. “It’s a gorgeous morning. Let’s go somewhere. Get out of Burlington. Can I come in?”
“Mumph,” I say from under my covers, curling up like a pill bug.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
It’s certainly not a no.
I hear the door open but make no move to emerge from my duvet cocoon. “Is it daylight? I’m only fully operational in the dark.”
He chuckles again, and the warmth of his tone reaches somewhere deep inside me. I shiver, but I am very very far from cold.
“Is this normal roommate behavior?” I grumble. “To wake me at no-way thirty in the morning?”
But before I can get too grouchy, I push the comforter off my head and open my crusty eyes to see him stretched out in the doorway of my room. His hands hold either side of the doorjamb, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything prettier on a Saturday morning.
What right does he have to be all glowy and standing in my door? My gaze travels up his tight black T-shirt to his scruffy face and down to his dark jeans, and good gracious I have a hard-on. I grunt and roll onto my stomach, closing my eyes again.
His voice is cajoling. I can hear the grin, even if I can’t see it. “Mur-rph.”
“Don’t know anyone by that name, sorry.”
“There’s a great farmers market today in Norwich. C’mon. You know you want to come. What else are you doing today?”
“Why do you want to drive that far? Isn’t there a closer place to buy food? Isn’t there a farmers market in Burlington? Like, today?”
“Sometimes I just like to go for a drive. Get out of town. And it’s the mother ship of farmers markets. We can stop off in Colebury for breakfast at this great place I’ve heard of. I’ll buy you coffee.”
I open one eye. “You speak of the nectar of the gods?”
Jason laughs, a full-on laugh, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard in the morning. Like, ever. “I do. Come on. I don’t feel like going alone today. And it’ll be fun.”
I heave a heavy sigh, but honestly, I’m excited. By the time we go and come back, it will be hours and hours with Jason.
If my charming roommate wanted to take me to get elective surgery and then file a few tax returns, I’d still probably love hanging out with him. “Okay. Give me a few.”
He turns to go but then looks back at me, a hand on the top of the doorway. Exposing a sliver of his toned stomach.
Goddess, does he know how sexy he is? It’s like he’s posing, only I know he’s not.
He gives me a hard stare.
“What?” I ask, trying to not sound defensive and failing miserably.
“You’ll just take ‘a few’?”
Yawning into the mattress, I snort-laugh, and it’s kind of embarrassing, because princesses don’t snort. “Okay, yes. True. I’m a little high-maintenance. You love me anyway. I can be ready in under an hour.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
Forty-seven minutes later, I’m sitting in the front seat of Jason’s car as he deftly navigates us through the leafy Vermont-ness. I’m surprised by his choice of music—Hamilton.
“You like musicals?”
He reddens. “A little.”
Huh.
We drive on Vermont’s main highway until we get to a bakery, the Busy Bean. We step inside to the good smells of fresh bread and hot dirty bean water.
“My treat,” Jason says. “What do you want?”
“Will you marry me?” I ask as I yawn, rubbing my eyes.
Jason laughs. Then he turns to the cashier, who I recognize. “We’re together. I’d like coffee, black, and a sourdough bagel, toasted, with cream cheese.” With his chin, he indicates that I should order.
“Hey, Roderick,” I say. “Can I have the same?”
Jason stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“No latte or something fancy?”
“Nope.” I chose the same thing as him partially to not be rude by ordering something more expensive. But it’s also because I genuinely don’t like things that are all that sweet.
Except for my landlord, of course.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy with an occasional umbrella in my drink. But I don’t need everything to be filled with sugar all the time.
“Coming right up,” Roderick says. He glances between us, and his tone goes all flirty and kind of accusing. “Where are you two going? Is this your new man, Murph?”
Before I can open my mouth, Jason lets out an embarrassed noise. “No, we’re only roommates. He moved in last night.”
“Too bad.”
“Thought we’d go for a drive. We’re headed to the farmers market in Norwich.” Jason glances between us and turns to me. “I didn’t realize you knew people in Colebury.”
“This guy?” says Roderick, giving me a wink that means nothing, because I know how devoted he is to his other half. “Murph and I go way back.”
“I’ve been your bartender, what, twice?” I deadpan.
It’s been a couple more times than that. Besides, while not every gay guy in Vermont knows every other one, Roderick’s partner, Kieran Shipley, is in a well-known family. His … cousin, I think, sells prize-winning cider. Wouldn’t surprise me if there was a Shipley contingent at the farmers market today.
Roderick says something back, but I tune him out. Then he and Jason start chatting.
But I’m still staring at Roderick. Because … he thought I was with Jason? That’s amazing. It makes me want to twirl.
Now I’m lost in a world where I could walk down the street holding hands with Jason. Where I’d wake up with him in my bed, not my doorway. Where—goddess—he’d kiss me.
Or much more.
But no. I can’t let myself feel things for Jason. Sweet Jason who buys me breakfast.
Because loving someone who’s unavailable is the quickest way to heartache.
I should know.
“Hey there, space cadet,” Roderick says. “Here’s your coffee.”
I blink again and remember that I’m standing in the coffee shop next to this bearded hottie who dragged me out of bed. I need to wake up. I need to stop this fantasy.
I focus on Roderick. “Thanks, cutie,” I say.
“Taken,” he responds, shrugging. Then he gets this dreamy, faraway smile on his face.
“Shame.” I sniff.
But I’m only kidding around. I follow Jason back to the car, each of us carrying our coffee and bagel.
Jason turns to me before he starts the engine. “Funny that your friend thought we were together.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Funny.”
But it’s really not.
It’s kind of a bummer, actually.
* * *
The enormous farmers market is so full that people are parked in places that aren’t meant for cars. Patrons of all types—families, ag types, hippies, foodies—swarm everywhere.
We’re in the heart of late summer, speeding into fall, so apples and all kinds of gorgeous fruits and gourds are starting to show up. I resist making some kind of phallic gourd joke to Jason, because I’m above such humor.
Instead, I try sophistication.
“You know,” I say, “In Vegas you can get a lobster or oysters or whatever the hell you want, but it has to be trucked in or flown in. But here in Vermont, it seems pretty special to get tomatoes from up the road.”
Jason gives me a big grin. “Exactly. I figured you’d been to a farmers market before, but this one’s unique, and it’s ending for the season soon. I wanted you to come.”
I want to come, too, but I keep that to myself.
We wander past stalls where woodworkers sell toys, people hawk quilts and old-lady-style crocheted toilet paper holders, and tables showcase stacks and rows of all the lotions and potions a guy could want.
“What are we shopping for?” I ask.
“Food, mostly. Do you want to cook together? We could do meal planning. Cooking for one sucks.”
Again, the man of my dreams is, in fact, the man of my dreams. Not even my mother cooked for me. I had to scrounge around for boxes of cereal and mac and cheese as a child.
“I would love to,” I say. “But I don’t know the first thing about it. I’ve never been that great at planning.”
“Let’s start with your schedule this week.” Jason eyes a box of heirloom tomatoes. “You’re working in the afternoons and evenings, right?”
“Pretty much. Sometimes I go in early, though.”
“Then let’s get stuff for breakfast and lunch, and I’ll make soups or things that keep. You could pack them up to have for dinner on your break.”
If I thought my heart couldn’t get any meltier, I was so wrong. I stare at him. “Jason. You don’t have to do this for me. I can fend for myself. You’re under no obligation to feed me.”
His cheeks pink under that beard. “I know. I just. I’d like to. If that’s okay.”
“Oh, shmoopie, I’ll let you,” I say. “But let me split the bill.”
“Sure.” He sounds distracted as he looks at the produce on display.
I really need to stop mooning over him, or this is going to get out of hand.
But maybe I’m allowed to wallow in him for one more day. A second day of enjoying him just as he is.
And then we can go about our lives, and we won’t see each other since I work most evenings. For right now, though, I love wandering through a farmers market full of people with this big guy at my side.
Jason buys salad ingredients, as well as a few loaves of bread and some cheese. I pick up ingredients for sangria, because hello, is there a better drink? It’ll be amazing with white peaches and raspberries. I also get artisanal sausages, because I can’t help myself. Jason stifles a snicker.
We wander past a stall staffed by a woman who gives off every impression of being a soccer mom. I say this because she’s wearing one of those sweatshirts that has a kid’s soccer team on it and the name of her kid. So I’m not being that judgy.
But she is.
My T-shirt reads, Sounds gay … I’m in. A little on the nose, but I like it. When she sees me picking up a cucumber and inspecting it, she pulls down her glasses and gives me a flat gaze over the rims. I can’t resist hamming it up.
“I have a lot of ideas for what we could do with this,” I say, licking my lips and cocking my hip.
“Shh,” Jason says, laughing. “No. Murph!”
The soccer mom makes a choked noise, and her face blanches. Then she gets an ugly twist to her mouth.
I turn to her, wide-eyed. “What? I meant salads. Pickles. Gazpacho. Cucumbers are very versatile.” So am I. “What were you thinking of?” I set it back down.
She starts laughing, her face red. “Oh, my goodness. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to … Never mind.”
“Not used to queers like me? Oh, honey, I know. No worries.” I whisper, “There are lots of uses for the cucumber.”
Jason shuffles his feet, pressing a fist to his lips, trying not to laugh.
Soccer mom’s hands drop to her sides, and she leans toward me, her head tilted to one side and her face softening to a smile. I can see the moment she decides that I’m her new friend. She’s gonna tell all the other soccer moms about me.
I count that as a win.
“Tell you what,” she says. “For that laugh, the cucumber is on me. You and your partner have a good day, now.”
My head swivels fast to my dangerous hunk of a roommate, to see him staring at me, mouth parted in … amazement?
Turning back to soccer mom, I hold my hands to my heart. “You sweet thing, you.” She picks up the cucumber and hands it to me. I accept it like it’s a bouquet of flowers, and Jason and I move on to the next stall.
Jason turns to me, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Turn a moment that could have been awkward into something hilarious.”
“Look, Jay Jay. This isn’t my first time being the main exhibit at the zoo. I get looks all the time. You have to learn to roll with it, you know? I can’t take offense that easily. Otherwise I’d be taking offense all the time. I’d rather be someone’s safe and chummy first gay friend than someone they fear.”
“You shouldn’t have to be anything but you,” he says.
I shrug. “That’s correct. And that’s exactly what I do.”