Page 2 of The Idiot

Until that damned couple.

They’re starting to take up permanent residence in my mind lately, and I wish to hell they’d travel on. I don’t need the temptation. Everything was fine before I saw them. How many times have I caught myself out here staring off into space, dreaming about fairytales because of them? I’ve never done shit like that.

An engine revs in the distance, giving my pulse a jolt. I know exactly who it is before I even squint through the sunlight and make out Jesse’s pickup bounding down the path between the row of trees. Auggie jumps up, barking excitedly at the hell on wheels. How Jesse Carver ever passed his driver’s test is a mystery.

He’s… coming at us pretty fast.

Shit. Is he going to stop?

Ah, hell. I can see his stupid grin from here. The crazy son of a bitch. If he hits my picking wagon, I’m going to give him a beatdown to top all beatdowns.

I’m about to yell every curse word I know when he slams on the brakes. His truck spins,The Dukes of Hazzardstyle, peeling up the grass as his tires slide to a stop beside me.

Exhaling a slow breath through my nostrils, I bite the inside of my lip as he flashes me a shit-eating grin. Only Jesse can make me want to laugh and cause bodily harm at the same time.

“Hop in, Maloney Baloney! Let’s get some lunch,” he calls, his tawny arm hanging out his window where he pats the door.

With his blue eyes twinkling with mischief, it sometimes amazes me we’re the same age. While that maneuver was impressive, I refuse to share in his pride over it. Guaranteed, someone’s field is fucked up with tire tracks right now because he was probably practicing to show it off to me. Why that brings me a perverse pleasure that has me wanting to crack up is some secret of the universe that no therapist could probably ever understand.

We have a good cop/bad cop relationship. I’m the Abbott to his Costello, and it’s never deterred him. The more I stonewall him and school my features over one of his shenanigans, the harder he tries to get a reaction. We’re thirty years old. I thought we’d have grown out of this dynamic by now, but it only seems to grow stronger with each passing year.

“I think you took ten dog years off Auggie’s life,” I deadpan.

“What? No way!” Turning his head, he looks down at the mutt in question who’s come to greet him by way of propping his paws up on the door.

Jesse never lets anyone touch his precious truck out of fear of scratching it. If Auggie weren’t my dog, I suspect he’d get scolded to get down.

“You weren’t scared. Were you, Auggie Doggie? No. You’re a killer!” he coos, scratching him behind his ears.

“Auggie, down,” I warn.

He knows better than to jump on vehicles but seems to forget all obedience whenever Jesse’s around. Jesse’s good at sucking you into the vortex of his high-on-life, no-consequences attitude. I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re friends because as much as I shouldn’t stop to take a break, the enticing offer to get in his truck and escape my obligations for a while is difficult to resist.

“Danny took the week off. Thanks, but I can’t.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve got to eat. Don’t tell me I drove all the way over here to get turned down.”

Scoffing, I shake my head and busy myself picking the low-hanging fruit. “You only live ten minutes away. And I’ve got too much work to do. I don’t have an entire clan at my disposal like you and your family do. One-man operation here. These apples aren’t going to pick themselves.”

“I’ll help you after lunch. We’ll breeze through these bitches in no time. Come on. Come on, come on,come on!”

I’m glad he can’t see my face. I can feel my beard shifting over my stupid smile at his juvenile tactics. Sometimes I wonder if he’d try that playing cute crap if he knew I was gay.

Probably not. The thought has my stomach twisting into a knot.

I’ve grown immune over the years to the what-ifs where Jesse is concerned, having struck the question from my mind long ago. Keeping a loyal best friend that can make me laugh so hard I risk pissing myself seemed like a better option than being a friendless, single hermit who lives in the country with his mother. It’s not like there’s ever been an LGBTQ+community in rural Wenatchee for me to have any dating options, so it’s never been worth it to me to tell him.

I considered it briefly after I came back from my military enlistment, but we were already twenty-two by then, and Jesse had discovered strip clubs while I was away. I figured the window of opportunity for open-mindedness had closed.

We’ve known each other since we were seven. How the fuck do you drop a bomb like that on someone who’s thought you were straight their entire life and is about as hetero as it gets? I’d like to think we’re close enough that he’d be accepting of my secret, but I’m too afraid it’d make things between us… awkward. I can’t imagine a life with Jesse being awkward around me.

“Baloney,” he whines again. “Please?”

Ugh. I’m such a sucker.

Staring at the row of loaded trees, knowing I’ll get the benefit of his antics for a few hours after lunch while he helps me pick tips the scales. The rascal is a hard worker if nothing else, and time always flies when we’re together.

“Fine,” I pretend to act put out. “Auggie, home,” I order.

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