Page 7 of Hot Mess Express
“Try 31 this fall.” His face twists with confusion. “Weren’tyou coming in Saturday? Why’re you here now?”
Pete frowns. “ItisSaturday.”
Cody peers across the kitchen at Trey, who has since settled against the counter with a demure smile balanced on his face, like the slightest nudge could knock it right off. “Well, I’ll be,” grunts Cody with half a laugh. “I lost track of the damn day of the week. And that oughta tell you where my mind’s at. You … didn’t happen to hear the conversation with my husband just now, did you?”
“Nope,” says Pete a hair too certainly. “Not a word.”
Cody grins. “Still a terrible liar.”
Trey takes a quick breath, adopts a friendlier face, and pushes away from the counter for a handshake. “Hello, Pete, welcome to our house. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you after all these years. I mean, other than that very bad Skype call we attempted however many years ago. I’m … oh, sorry, spilled coffee over my fingers.” He quickly retracts his right hand and awkwardly replaces it with his left. Pete shakes it. “Trey Arnold-Davis, the hubby, a pleasure.”
“Handsome fella in the flesh,” notes Pete with an appraising smile. “But I wouldn’t expect anything less from a guy like Cody.”
“Ah, shush,” grunts Cody, “stop suckin’ my dick. No, actually, keep going, I’m kinda loving this.”
“Fuck you,” snorts Pete, and the three of them laugh. “So how about this house? It’s big! Pictured something else from what you described. Weren’t you living in your grandma’s old place?”
“This is Trey’s dad’s house,” explains Cody. “We recently kind of played musical chairs with our houses …”
“You can blame me,” says Trey, attempting humor, “asI’mthe one who wanted to be closer to the church, having taken over as reverend and filling in my dad’s shoes. My dad keptcomplaining about how much ‘house’ this house was, so it made sense that he downsize and get himself a smaller place … and we moved in.”
Pete nods. “Alright, alright, I see. So you guys kicked the old man out of his castle, huh?”
Cody laughs. “Well, it worked out for everyone. My mom sold her house n’ moved into our old place—my grandmamma’s house, now spruced up with a beautiful back patio, hot tub, and garden.”
“It really is a nice house,” says Trey with longing. “I miss our Sunday potlucks.”
“We can still have them here,” Cody points out with a smile.
Trey returns a gracious nod, then lapses back into silence.
Maybe something about mentioning each of their parents and their new living arrangements has Trey’s mind right back into the dark, parentally-romantic storms allegedly brewing.
Cody glances at me. “And who’s this guy?”
I’m about to introduce myself when Pete blurts, “Oh, this is my buddy Bridger, recently discharged, like me.” His face twists in a moment of visible panic. “Didn’t I … tell you he’s coming, too?”
A glance exchanged between Cody and Trey says that no, he apparently did not mention I’d be joining him. This is typical Pete. Absentminded at the most inconvenient times. Forgets that others beyond himself exist. I even asked him before joining him on this venture whether Cody and his husband would mind an extra guest and Pete never said a word.
“We only have one available guestroom,” says Trey, working it out in his head, determined to keep a hospitable air despite the lingering tension in his eyes from his argument with his husband, “with the other being an office and having no actual bed, but I can easily make up the fold-out couch in the den, if one of you doesn’t mind sleeping—”
“Nah, don’t worry, we can share the room,” Pete insists, his words tumbling carelessly out of him. “I’ll even sleep on the floor. I’ve slept on many floors in my life. I could manage a decent sleep on a slab of cement. Don’t go all out, please, not for us. We’re just here for a little while anyway. Right, Bridge?”
I imagine just a single night more spent tossing and turning next to the almighty dragon snorer.
“It’s not a bother at all,” insists Trey, much to my relief—and possibly reading something off my face I didn’t mean to show so openly. “The couch is arguably more comfortable than any of the beds, anyway … Just ask my husband.”
Cody laughs, until he realizes it was a jab and goes silent.
When Pete’s about to have the gall to protest yet again on my behalf, I step forward. “Thank you for the couch. It’ll be great.”
Trey smiles back at me. “A friend of Pete’s who’s a friend of Cody’s is a … a friend of mine. Wow, that was more of a mouthful than I intended it to be.” After an awkward chuckle, he gestures at the coffeemaker. “Either of you want a cup? We got off to a late start this morning ourselves, and I—”
“I’ll take a beer if you got it,” says Pete.
Everyone looks at him, silent.
“Make that two,” grunts Cody with a grin.
