Page 90 of Perfect Mess

Gary raised his plastic cup. “Cheers.”

I tapped my cup to his, then took a sip, the wine loosening my tongue. “Really, they never should have been married in the first place.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He was a carpenter. She was a VP at a marketing firm. He was into baseball. She was into reading theWall Street Journal. He was into being a good dad and faithful husband. She was into screwing other dads and husbands.” There I was again, over sharing about the checkered past of my traumatic upbringing.

“Love is complicated,” said Gary.

“You’re telling me.”

It seemed like Gary had more to say, but whatever it was, he let it go. We both settled into the silence, leaning against the kitchen counter, once again, close.

As we both just sat there staring at the oven, it felt like my senses shifted into overdrive. The scent of Gary’s mint and oak cologne mingled with the smells of baked marjoram and simmering garlic. I took another sip of Syrah, notes of blackberry and pepper tingling on my tongue. I could both feel and hear the steady thump of my heart beating.

You know that feeling when something is happening to you, but it’s like you’re outside of yourself? Like it’s happening to somebody else. Like I was watching old home movies of someone else’s life on VHS cassette. Leaning forward on the edge of my seat.What’s going to happen next?

Mint. Oak.

Garlic. Smoke.

Smoke?

Gary and I both looked over to where the oven was doing its best impression of a smoke machine at a heavy metal concert.

“Gary!”

He sprang into action, donning a pair of oven mitts, then dumping the flaming pan into the sink. Dousing the flaming wreckage with the kitchen faucet, charred chicken fumes billowed across the entire room.

* * *

Dinner was a disaster,so we improvised. Gary borrowed a couple of fans from the neighbors, which we set up near the windows to blow out the smoke. Kyle and I went online to order delivery from the Thai place. We ate pineapple fried rice on the patio, out by the pool, while we waited for the smoke to clear.

We were all famished, so it wasn’t long before empty containers littered the table. I watched Gary take his last bite, then waited for him to finish chewing. “So. What did you think?”

Gary furrowed his brow, like I had just asked him to solve an algebra problem. “It’s good,” said Gary, poking a stray piece of pineapple with his fork. “I never realized how well pad Thai goes with garlic bread and margaritas.”

“I agree.” With the chicken Parmesan off the table, literally, and the wine long gone, I had decided a pitcher of margaritas wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I also made Kyle a virgin Pina colada.

“When can we go into the pool?” Kyle asked.

“As soon as you help with the dishes,” Gary answered.

Everyone pitched in to help. I washed. Gary dried. Kyle dumped the empty containers in the trash and then wiped down the table.

As I handed Gary another plate, I couldn’t help but notice he was humming. “Is that a Justin Bieber song?”

Gary’s face flushed, caught red-handed. “Sorry. I forgot you have some sort of weird Justin Bieber thing.”

It suddenly occurred to me I still hadn’t returned the T-shirt he let me borrow back when we first met. “I still have your T-shirt up in my closet. I’ll give it back to you before you leave.”

Gary waved me off. “Keep it. It fits you way better than it would ever fit me.”

“Thanks, I guess.” It was a gracious gesture, though it was a bit of a double-edged sword. I mean, it was a comfortable T-shirt and all, but it had Justin Bieber on it. I handed Gary another wet plate. “So you actually like Justin Bieber?”

“I mean, he’s okay, I guess.” Gary’s eyes shifted back to the plate he was drying. He stayed quiet for a few moments, like he was going over something in his head. When he looked back up at me, he said, “I got it when I was with Ann.”

“Kyle’s mom.” Gary had only ever mentioned her the one other time. On the nature hike of doom. I remembered thinking that he must have loved her very much. Not that I had any direct knowledge or experience on the subject. It just seemed that way. A gut feeling based on a vibe.

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