Page 3 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

“You’re not?” Goose asked. He narrowed his eyes, but it wasn’t in a menacing way. It was like he was studying Alexander for sincerity, holding out hope that luck was finally on his side. “But, we’re—”

“I know. I’ve known for a while.” Alexander fixed a smile on his face, because he was happy, he thought. He was happy for his houseguest. He was pleased Duck and Goose had found pleasure where they could. But there was a low, humming feeling, deep down, right to his core, pulsing out waves of something that felt a lot like envy. Maybe not envy at Duck for claiming Goose specifically, but it was strong and true.

So, their lives went on. For four months, Duck and Goose would spend their days together, and Alexander would sit with Goose when the night grew late and Duck’s bedroom light lit up down the street.

On an unfortunate Tuesday night, shortly before it all came to a head, Duck lost his way. He and Martin took a trip, and when they returned, Duck no longer remembered Goose. It was as if they’d never met.

They realized what happened at a neighborhood block party. Alexander was carrying a cooling bowl of potato salad, and thanks to the humid heat of Northeast Texas, condensation dotted across the crystal bowl. Goose has been beside himself the week Duck was away. He clung to their photographs, staring at them, trying to return to the memory. He slept a lot, and told Alexander he was replaying memories of Duck like movies in his head while he charged.

Goose was staring down and kicking a patch of gravel when Duck approached, his smile wide, eyes bright as a baby’s. He looked up at his purchaser adoringly in a way that made Alexander’s stomach sink.

“Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Doug.” He placed his hand on Martin’s chest, displaying an extravagant ring. “And this is my husband, Martin.”

Goose jerked his head up, his mouth gaping. “Duck?” Duck flinched but recovered quickly. Martin noticed and didn’t look very happy.

“Doug,” Duck corrected. “Doug Moore. It’s very lovely to meet you. Have you lived here long?” Martin turned, flagging down a man carrying an ice chest. As he trotted toward the man, Goose took his opportunity, rushing forward and wrapping Duck in a hug.

“Ducky-duck, I missed you so much,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow morning. I’m going to—”

“Are you okay?” Doug/Duck interrupted, sounding confused. “While I do love hugging, I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” He shimmied out of the embrace and took a step back, staring at Goose like he was a stranger.

“Baby?” he whispered. “Duck?”

He took another step back. “Why do you keep calling me that?” As he took another step back, Alexander thought he saw a flash of blue light in the corner of his eyes. A brief spark of sadness laid clear for all to see. “Why are you— What are you—” Suddenly, Duck slammed his eyes shut and shook his head, backing away.

“No.” It wasn’t really a statement. It wasn’t much of a question either. It was a resignation. The initial shock of loss. “Not again.” And then Goose lost himself. He looked at Alexander, tears pooling in heartbroken eyes, somehow keeping his voice neutral when he said, “Martin had him reprogrammed.” His jaw trembled. “Duck is gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

Goose sniffled. “Mother strips our mind and we start over from scratch.” Alexander brushed a tear from Goose’s eye, but Goose backed away until his back was against Duck’s chest, eyes closed, breathing in, his exhale escaping as a sigh. “They’ve done this to him once before. When we were still at Mother’s. We spent a month with each other, sharing a room . . .” He looks over his shoulder at Duck, eyes cautious but hopeful. “Partners in crime. Do you remember? Please?”

Duck blinked a few times, but it was like he couldn’t put words together.

Goose turned and cupped Duck’s cheeks, forcing the biggest smile Alexander had ever seen. “I told you last time, I won’t do this without you. Not again.Neveragain.” He leaned in and kissed Duck’s forehead, his lips locked in place as he lifted his arm and drew the shape of a star a few inches above his wrist. Looking over his shoulder, Goose smiled sadly at Alexander. “I need you to do me a favor, Alexander.”

“Anything,” he promised, and he meant it. At least, he thought he did, because what Goose said next had Alexander’s eyes bulging and his head shaking slowly back and forth.

“Please, don’t wake me up. He’s gone, and I want to go too. You’ve been kind to me, Alexander. Kinder than anyone else would have been. T-thank you.” Tears trickled down his cheeks, and he turned, giving Duck a final kiss on the cheek and whispered, “Goodnight, Ducky-duck.” Then Goose powered himself off.

Alexander rushed to catch him and then quickly carried him home before anyone could see his lifeless body. As he ran toward their house, he glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. Curiously enough, one man was. On the other side of the street, standing beside Alexander’s cooling bowl of potato salad, a tear was trickling down Duck’s cheek. He was staring at them with an unreadable expression, then he turned and returned to his husband.

Five nights later, their world went up in flames.

The night before everything changed, Alexander woke to the sound of weeping and wails so loud they rattled the bedroom walls. When Alexander brought Goose home, he placed him in bed. He slept at Goose’s side for three nights before deciding Goose wouldn’t want Alexander to waste away worrying over him in his powered-down state.

Still, he checked on Goose when he returned home, hoping he may have somehow switched himself back on, deciding to take life into his own hands. That wasn’t the case, so Alexander quietly shut the door, walking away from Goose’s bedroom, once again feeling like a man alone on an island. He had no friends to call and lift his spirits. His mother was probably fast asleep. It was at that moment, Alexander realized he wanted connection. He needed something—someone—tangible to cling to when the nights were long and his heart was heavy. And while he cared for Goose and wanted him to be happy, he hadn’t ended up being the partner or friend Alexander hoped for.

He was only asleep for an hour before the sounds of crying jolted him awake. Standing, Alexander rushed toward the source. When he entered Goose’s bedroom, a giant weight lifted from his shoulders, and it felt like he could finally breathe.

In Goose’s bed, Duck held him close to his chest, rocking the crying automaton back and forth. “I’m so sorry, Goosey-goose,” he whispered; his eyes were wet, but his cheeks were dry. He was trying to hold back his hurt so it wouldn’t eclipse the ache in Goose’s heart.

“I don’t understand,” Goose eventually said. “You were gone. I saw you. You didn’t recognize me.”

Duck nodded, his lip trembling. “You needed to forget me.”

“What?” he growled. “Why the hell would I ever need to forget you? You’re mine, Duck. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Duck shook his head insistently, a look of devastation wrapped around his face like a mask. “I’m not yours. Not anymore. I belong—” His throat clicked, and the words wouldn’t come for a while. When they did, Duck’s voice was soft and resigned. “I’m his property. I belong to him. We ain’t ever gonna get to run away together. I’m always gonna be stuck with him.”

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