In the Middle of Somewhere (38 page)

I’ve learned a lot about Rex this week too. He really is shy. I can see how hard he works to be polite to strangers, but years of saying as little as possible to avoid stuttering has made him terse. It’s clearly made people intimidated by him.

He’s also incredibly healthy. He exercises and eats well and stays hydrated, but he’s not obnoxious about it. It’s like his body is the only thing he can depend on, so he tries to make it run as well as possible, like customizing a luxury car.

There’s something about Rex that makes me feel calm. As if I’m scattered until the moment I see him and when he touches me I fly back together in a configuration that makes sense.

And ever since he told me about his dyslexia, things feel more settled between us or something. It makes sense, in that it must have been weighing on him, trying to keep it a secret. At first, I was surprised it didn’t come out sooner. I mean, how many times might I have asked him to read something to me or look something up? Then, when I thought about it, it became clear how hard he’s worked to make sure those situations didn’t arise. How much thought he must’ve put into avoiding them. How on edge he must have been, wondering if he’d be forced to out himself every time we were together. I hate that he felt like he had to do that, but I’m glad he can just relax now.

He’s worked incredibly hard to educate himself. Partly as a reaction to people thinking he was stupid due to his dyslexia, and partly because he’s just interested. He’s taught himself vocabulary and listened to books on CD.

He keeps trying to teach me to cook, but I’m hopeless, mostly because when he starts moving around the kitchen all I can do is watch him. He’ll be explaining how to mince something or how long it takes to make a hardboiled egg, and I’ll be watching the way his muscles bunch as he wields the knife or the way he blows his hair off his forehead. When he’s trying to show me how to roll out pasta dough or knead bread, I’m looking at his huge hands and strong forearms (which I’m basically obsessed with).

Once, I was so distracted by the thought of him kneading my ass the way he was kneading the bread that I was shocked to find cheese in the bread when I bit into it. Rex thought that was quite amusing, but I think he knows how hot I find watching him in the kitchen and milks it on purpose. Jesus, no wonder I can never re-create anything I see him do.

I’m cutting up pears for some delicious-sounding dessert when Rex comes up behind me, slow so he won’t startle me into cutting my finger off. He learned the hard way that I zone out sometimes when he came up behind me while I was making a fire and I almost clobbered him with a large piece of kindling.

“Sweetheart,” he says against my neck, “you don’t need to make everything so exact. You can just chop it up. It doesn’t need to be so much work.”

“I am just cutting it up,” I say. He’s said this to me before, but I’m not sure why he wouldn’t want it done perfectly since it’s about the only thing I can do when it comes to cooking.

“Here, look,” Rex says, easing the knife from my hand but keeping his arms around me. Hmm, it really shouldn’t be so hot to have Rex around me with a knife….

In a few easy, practiced movements he takes the pear apart. He knows exactly how deep to cut to miss the core, just how much force it takes to rend the flesh. It’s effortless.

Everything seems this effortless for him. He just has this way with objects, like, at his touch, the world becomes manageable, falling into place to be taken apart or put back together at his will.

“Got it,” I say, my throat suddenly thick with something like jealousy at Rex’s ease. Except I know it’s not that simple. Hell, I know just how uncomfortable he often is because of his shyness, his dyslexia. I still can’t help but feel like a major failure for not noticing his dyslexia earlier.

He puts the knife down and picks up a bit of pear, holding it up for me. I eat it from his hand, then kiss him, knowing he can taste it on my tongue.

“I know you think you have to be perfect at work. Out there,” he says, gesturing with his shoulder while keeping both hands on the counter, trapping me against his body. “But you don’t have to try so hard here. Not with me.”

I open my mouth to protest. But…
is
that what I’m doing? I never thought about it like that. I suppose I have been… on my best behavior around Rex. But that’s just because I don’t want to scare him off. I look down at Rex’s big feet, unsure of what to say.

“I just meant, you don’t have to think so much about everything you do.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I challenge you to find someone who went to grad school who hasn’t.

“You know, it’s not actually that easy to just change the way you
think
.” It comes out a little more bitter than I meant it to.

“Daniel.” He cups my chin and forces me to look at him. “I get it. The self-consciousness? Believe me.” He huffs out a breath. “But I’ve seen you try so hard to figure out what someone was thinking about you that your eyes about crossed. You’re thinking about things all the time. How people react to you. If they misinterpreted what you said, understood your joke. You’re so used to feeling like you don’t fit in that you’re always trying to be one step ahead. Figure out which Daniel’s called for in the situation. But….”

He trails off, stroking my hair like he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

“But?” I prompt.

“But you can’t read people’s minds, baby. You can’t always figure out what’s gonna happen just by being smart. And even if you could—” He shakes his head. “—you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t have to try so hard to fit in because you’re scared.”

I tense, but Rex’s hand is still gentle in my hair.

“I know, I know, you’re never scared, right?” He gives me an unreadable smirk. Amused? Doubtful? Indulgent? “Just, people are gonna like you or they aren’t. There’s no sense in trying to change how you act to suit them. It’ll just drive you crazy.”

I open my mouth to say something, to insist that I don’t do that. But then Rex is kissing me, holding me in place with his soft hands and his hard body, until all I can think about is how damn good he smells and how amazing he feels.

“I like you, Daniel. Just you. I like you so much.” Rex’s voice is low and sincere and I can feel in his kiss how much he means it. It makes me feel… treasured. Appreciated in a way I don’t recognize. “And I want to keep getting to know you. The real you. Okay?”

“I… like you too. A lot.” Jeez, and the award for Understatement of the Century goes to…. But he’s right. I love getting to learn all the strange little things that make Rex Rex. I may have been on my best behavior with him, but I’ve also been more relaxed when I’m around him than I can ever remember being with anyone but Ginger.

“Like, you know that feeling,” I try to explain, “where it’s Sunday night and you have school or work the next morning but then it’s a snow day and you don’t have to go in? You feel like that.”

“I feel like a natural disaster?” he teases, but his gaze is intent.

“No,” I say, forcing myself to say what I mean. “A relief. You feel like a huge relief.”

Rex’s eyes go very soft.

“You feel like a relief too, Daniel,” he says.

I decide to take Ginger’s advice, pushing down the roiling fear of rejection in my gut. “Hey, Rex?” I ask. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing,” he says, his eyes narrowing.

“Would you want to maybe have it with me?” I try my best to keep my tone casual so he doesn’t feel any pressure to say yes.

“Yes,” Rex says instantly. “Yes, please.” He kisses me hard and pulls me into his arms.

“I like this whole not overthinking thing,” I tell him.

S
O
,
YEAH
,
this week has been pretty great until I run into Will at Mr. Zoo’s when I go to invite Leo to Thanksgiving. And I remember that he knew about Rex’s dyslexia and purposely hid it from me. Until I remember that he’s touched Rex and therefore I hate him. Okay, so, apparently I’ve also turned jealous and irrational this week. At least where Rex is concerned.

Will and Leo don’t notice me at first. Leo’s behind the counter and Will is leaning on it, his chin in his hand as Leo talks quietly. When I wave, Leo turns bright red, as if I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t be. Will just straightens up and levels me with a look that dares me to tease them about their obvious flirting.

“Hey, Daniel, how’s it going?” Leo asks, fiddling with the tape dispenser.

“Can I have a word?” I say to Will, and walk back outside before he can answer.

“Let me guess,” Will says, as he leans against the shop window. “This is about Rex.”

Now that he’s standing in front of me I don’t know what the fuck I’m thinking. What I want to say is, “Why didn’t you fucking tell me about Rex’s dyslexia!” But, why would he? He barely knows me. Rex was his lover. It’s not his place to say a goddamned thing. But I’m so angry with him for knowing and so angry with myself for not noticing that I say it anyway.

“Excuse me?” Will says.

“Fuck!” I say. “I know, I know. Never mind. Goddammit!”

“Look, Daniel, everyone Rex has ever cared about either died on him or left town, okay? Then, here’s you. The hot professor from Philly who’s slumming it in our little town until something better comes along. I mean, I get it; I do. You’re so Rex’s type it isn’t even funny. The perfect lost cause. I’m not surprised he’s all over you like a dog on a bone. But, before you come in here with your accusations and your self-fucking-righteous demands about Rex, I want to ask you one question. Are you here to stay? Or the second the ivory tower says jump are you going to say
From what window
?

“Because, in case you can’t tell, Rex thinks you might just be passing through. I can tell just by looking at you together: he’s hung up on you something good, but a part of him won’t let himself open up to you because he thinks you’ll be fucking out of here on the next train. Frankly, I’m shocked he told you about his dyslexia. And if I were a betting man, I’d say he didn’t. I’d say it came up some other way and he was too much of a mensch to outright lie to you about it. So you just watch yourself, Daniel, is what I’m saying. You’re crazy about him; I can see that too. But I don’t trust you. I think you’re scared and I think, when it comes down to it, that you’ll hurt him.”

Will delivers this whole monologue without pausing or looking away once.

Fuck. When he puts it like that, I guess Rex really did only tell me about his dyslexia because of our shitty date. Was it
not
actually a sign that he trusted me, but just a sign that he felt sorry for me?
Would
he have told me otherwise? I don’t know.

And even though I should be furious at Will for what is clearly his low opinion of me, the way he told me off reminds me so much of Ginger that I’m filled with a rush of warmth and longing. Longing for Ginger, but also the briefest thought that maybe Will and I could be friends.

“Do you want to come to Rex’s for Thanksgiving?” I ask him. And I allow myself a brief moment of satisfaction as his self-possessed mask falls away and he looks genuinely surprised and, I think, a bit pleased.

“D
ANG
, I
like this Will guy—sorry, pumpkin. He’s so got your number.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“So…” Ginger pauses. “
Are
you going to stay? I know you didn’t want to at first. You said you were going to go on the job market again.”

“I dunno, Ginge.” I’m sure she can hear the conflict in my voice. “I mean, I’ll definitely at least look at the job list when it comes out. See if there’s anything too good to pass up. But… fuck, I really don’t know. I just never thought I’d be in this position. God, I used to pity the people who had partners they had to take into account when they were on the job market. It just makes everything harder.”

“Partners, huh?”

“What? No, I just meant—”

“I know what you meant; don’t hurt yourself.”

“So, we’re having Thanksgiving. Me and Rex.”

“That’s great, sweet cheeks. I’ll be eating The Burrito with my window open, so if I choke while I’m alone then the smell of my rotting corpse will waft out the window and I’ll be found more quickly,” she says dramatically.

“I think having the window open in November would make it so your corpse didn’t really smell that much, actually. Seriously, though, you’re not going to your parents’ at all?”

“Psh. I might stop by,” she says. “Of course, it’s not much use trying to go to dinner at the house of someone who sucks up all the oxygen in the room. Makes it kinda hard to eat, ya know?”

Ginger’s mother is the kind of nervous, hovering woman who counts how many glasses of wine Ginger’s had and tells her about all the neighbors’ children’s accomplishments but never acknowledges Ginger’s. It doesn’t help that Ginger’s older sister is certifiably off her nut and always needs to be the center of attention, or that her parents refuse to say her older brother’s name and pretend that they never had a son.

“Christ,” I say. “Do we
know
anyone with a normal fucking family?” There’s a charged silence on the line. “Ginge?”

“Well, actually….”

“Actually…?”

“I kind of… met someone. And his family seems about as normal as they come.”

“Holy shit, you already met his family? Tell me.”

“Well…. You know him, actually. You remember that sandwich place that opened down the street from the shop at the beginning of the summer?”

“The one you said had real bagels?”

“Yeah. Anyway, you remember the cute guy who worked there?”

“Uh, dude, not to judge, seriously, but that guy’s like eighteen.”

“No, not the kid with the glasses! The redhead.”

“Oh shit, right. He’s hot, in a Josh Homme kind of way.”

“I
know
, right? That’s exactly what I thought. I went in there for a bagel and cream cheese a few weeks ago before I opened the shop. I was half-asleep—you know how I am before I’ve had my coffee—and I dropped the bagel on the floor as I was putting cream in my coffee.”