Page 20 of Paint Eater
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Jay had been fully expecting for it to be borderline impossible to get Logan to his house. It was, however, spectacularly easy. All he’d had to do was send a text suggesting Logan study at his while Jay worked on a tattoo he was planning for a future client, and Logan had simply said yes.
It wasn’t that he was worried about his mom meeting Logan again. His mom was cool and had good judgment, even though she could be harshly protective of their family of two. It was just…it felt strange to introduce Logan to his home when they were ‘being casual.’ But, Jay thought, maybe this introduction had less to do with the sexual part of their relationship and more about the friendship that was hopefully building between them.
There were times, however, that Jay had to acknowledge that, even though Logan was solidifying bit by bit, Jay had nursed a phantom image of him for so long that sometimes it was difficult to differentiate fact from fiction. It didn’t help that Logan wore a mask fitted so tightly to his face there were moments when Jay didn’t know exactly what he was looking at—a wood carving, or something of skin and lip and bone.
Jay warned Logan that his mom would be in the house, having learnt that Logan needed warning for such things, that he wouldn’t appreciate going into an unfamiliar situation unprepared.
Jay bounded over to buzz Logan into their apartment, standing with the front door open as he listened to him climb the stairs to the third floor. Jay’s mom worked as a doctor but split her time between a private practice and a free clinic, limiting her income. Their apartment, however, was much nicer than the one they’d lived in when Logan was growing up. They had separate rooms now and a living room with big windows that lit up the wooden floors when the sun was out. The kitchen and single bathroom were small but serviceable. Jay knew it was nothing like what Logan was used to—he’d never been to Logan’s, but he could imagine what kind of Upper East Side place he lived in, having paid for the school Jay had gotten a scholarship to—but Jay wasn’t embarrassed. He was proud of what they had because it was the product of his mom’s hard work and sheer determination.
“Hey,” Jay greeted happily as soon as the top of Logan’s head appeared in his line of sight. Logan looked up, the rest of him materialising, and Jay couldn’t be subtle about the grin that took over his face.
“Hey,” Logan replied much more sedately.
Jay followed the impulse of leaning over and kissing him, quick and sharp. It stopped Logan in his tracks. He didn’t look displeased, just taken off guard, and Jay pulled him inside the apartment so the expression couldn’t turn into anything else.
“You’re not even winded! I always get winded when I climb up those stairs.”
Jay’s mom laughed behind him. “That’s ’cause you always run up them despite the many—I repeat,many—times you’ve tripped.”
“Notthatmany.”
“Many.”
Jay turned towards Logan, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, that’s my mom. Mom, this is Logan. I mean, you’ve already met but whatever.”
Jay’s mom smiled at Logan. “Sofia. Nice to meet you.”
Jay laughed. “Oh, right, yeah, that’s her name. Obviously.”
Logan nodded, looking uncomfortable in his own skin, a sort of strange, contained expression on his face. “Nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.” He then let one of the straps of his backpack fall from his shoulder, swung the bag around, unzipped it, and procured from it a bottle of red wine. “Jay said I could stay for dinner, so.”
Logan held the bottle aloft, and, for a moment, it was painfully awkward. Jay just gaped at him, and his mom didn’t react for a long moment, obviously caught by surprise.
“Oh. Well, look at that. Thank you, Logan.” She walked over to them and took the bottle with a smile before turning to Jay. “How comeyounever bring me bottles of wine? I’ve made food for you plenty,” she joked.
“I’m not even twenty-one,” Jay protested.
“Excuses,” his mom said, sticking her tongue out at him and turning to Logan again. “This is very nice. Don’t think I’m going to serve you any just because you gave it to me, though.”
“No! I, I—”
“I’m kidding, honey. I appreciate the gift. Jay, you made the bolognese?”
“Yeah, it’s in the pressure cooker.”
“Good. Okay, you boys go play or study or whatever it is you have planned. I’ll make the pasta when it’s dinner time.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Logan nodded stiffly. “Yes. Thank you.”
Jay motioned for Logan to follow and then dragged him along anyway towards his room.
Jay had tried to tidy up before Logan arrived, but he’d found a bunch of his old sketchbooks from when he was about thirteen and gotten completely distracted, so his room looked pretty much as it always did. The floor was clean, at least, ’cause his mom would go crazy if it wasn’t, but his desk, to the left of the door, was cluttered, bed on the opposite side of the room unmade, the large bookcase, standing at the far end of the space, filled haphazardly with art books and knick-knacks.
There was a drawing board standing on the other side of the desk, tilted so that Jay wouldn’t cast a shadow on it when the window above his bed lit up the room. Sunja had made it herself, gifting it with a rough, “Don’t even start. Just make good art,” when Jay had been caught between not being able to accept the gift and blubbering over the kindness.
