A Tiny Piece of Something Greater Page 5

  “I should take you. We’ll find you something you but also, you know, that’s not going to smother you to death once we hit August.”

  “Oh, god, does the heat get worse?”

  Joaquim laughs softly and honestly, and Reid likes that. His parents and Felix treat him like breakable goods. Reid kisses Joaquim’s cheek. It’s a silly gesture; maybe Joaquim will find it too sweet for two men alone on a beach, but Reid doesn’t do impulse control all that well yet.

  Joaquim closes his eyes and takes a breath and, before Reid can move, puts his hand on Reid’s cheek, directing him into a kiss that doesn’t pause for introduction or tentative newness. They’re at all wrong angles, but Reid puts his hand on Joaquim’s and slides it down his forearm and up his bicep. Joaquim breaks away; his mouth is so close he catches Reid’s gasp.

  “We should probably be careful,” Joaquim says. Reid isn’t sure if he means their surroundings or the potential for going too far. But he’s right. Reid wants, and, judging by the way Joaquim’s eyes don’t leave his lips, it’s mutual.

  It’s been a long time since Reid’s experienced the buildup of caution, the drawing out of desire and touches. It’s been a very long time since he’s had someone new, someone to share the thrill of firsts with.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Joaquim asks, apropos of nothing.

  Reid smiles widely. “Absolutely.”

  Joaquim opens the cooler. He’s brought a fruit salad, two forks, and three different types of pop.

  “I didn’t know what you might like.” Joaquim says.

  “I’m not picky.” Reid takes a can at random. He picks at the salad. It’s been a while since he’s had fresh fruit; he’s not the best at the grocery shopping. When he looks up, Joaquim is watching him.

  “Sorry,” he says around a bite of pineapple, “I don’t mean to hog it all.”

  “It’s fine.” Joaquim’s voice is nearly lost in the sounds of wind and water. He stares at Reid, as if he too might get lost in the wind. Reid wants more kisses and more touches, but he’ll settle for raspberries and mangoes.

  “This is so good.” He forks up more mango.

  “So not as good in the States as in other places,” Joaquim says. He’s sorting the fruit to get to the raspberries. “They do something to get them into the country. Pick them too soon? I’m not sure. They have less flavor.”

  “I cannot imagine this having more flavor,” Reid says. They eat in silence and enjoy small glances.

  “Wanna check out the water?” Joaquim says once they’ve eaten most of the salad.

  Reid’s never been one for silence; he tends to fill it with inane chatter to cover his discomfort. This beach and moment are meant for quiet. The peace has been nice.

  “Yes.” Reid stands. He doesn’t hide his appraisal of Joaquim as he strips down to his swim trunks.

  “You keeping that on?” Joaquim gestures at Reid’s shirt.

  “I, uh, I forgot to sunscreen everywhere. Dumb.”

  “Not dumb; it’s fine,” Joaquim says. He catches Reid’s hand and pulls him toward the water. They pick their way over flotsam, wood debris, and seaweed. Rather than sand, under their feet is squishy silt. It’s one of those things Reid hasn’t adjusted to: the mud from the mangrove swamps that makes the ground slimy at the edge of the beach.

  “Tide’s out, so we’re closer to the sandbar,” Joaquim explains. Once out there, Reid sits and immerses himself to his shoulders. Then he lies back and floats. Above him, Joaquim smiles; the sun is bright behind him.

  Eventually they go farther out. The wind dries the water on Reid’s skin, leaving it tight with salt.

  “Do you like snow?” Joaquim asks.

  “Yeah,” Reid says. “Sometimes. Have you ever seen it?”

  “No. I’d like to, though. Why only sometimes?”

  “Well, I like when there’s a lot of snow. Right after a snowstorm. Also, in a storm, when it’s snowing, everything is quiet, and you can hear the snow falling. When it’s wet snow, it sticks to tree branches and wires, and everything is white. Magical.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Reid wishes them back.

  “That sounds so pretty. One of the things I love about being in the water is the quiet.”

  “Yeah.” Reid nods. “Like that. But when it’s melting or when it’s only a little snow, it gets dirty, and everything is gray again. And when it’s cold enough, when you walk on it, the snow squeaks. I hate that.”

  “What, seriously?”

  “Yeah. And you can’t build snowmen.” Reid takes a chance, takes Joaquim’s hand. They walk back toward the shore.

  “I never thought of that, that snow could be different.” Back at their spot, Reid shakes out his towel and dries his legs. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a snowman-building sort of guy.”

  Reid shrugs. “My neighbors have little kids.”

  “You’re good with them,” Joaquim says with such certainty. “You’re good with Erin.”

  “Erin’s awesome.” Reid squints. “I don’t know. Kids are just… fun. It’s not that they’re less complicated than grownups. But having fun with them feels a lot less complicated.”

  “Yeah. That’s a great way of putting it.” Joaquim’s attention is undivided; that attention is both warming and alarming, because Reid has no idea what Joaquim is making of him. Reid has so long been a version of himself only reflected by his family and Felix.

  Joaquim checks his phone and sighs.

  “Time to go?”

  “Yeah,” Joaquim says. Reid helps him pack and searches for a recycling bin for their empty cans.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” Joaquim tucks the cans into the cooler and stands. Reid folds their towels. “We barely got to go in the water.”

  “It’s not like we haven’t done it together before,” Reid says. His words sound dirtier than he meant them to be, but that’s okay.

  “True. Maybe we’ll go swimming one time when it’s not work-related.” That sounds somehow dirty too, and Reid choses to take it that way. He winks at Joaquim.

  Joaquim stops with Reid at his car. Reid leans back against the hot metal and, with a finger around Joaquim’s, pulls him closer. Despite the cars, there’s no one around. When Joaquim kisses him, Reid tilts even farther back, asking Joaquim’s body to sway into his. He does and then pulls away much too soon. His smile seems to be a tease, a promise of more.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah,” Reid says, stupidly breathless.

  Eight

  “So,” Reid catches Joaquim at the shop before he leaves to teach a class. “Delia—that’s the girl I work with at Shell World—said there is this party happening on Saturday. I don’t know if you’re off—”

  “I am,” Joaquim interrupts. “It’s one of my rare weekends off.”

  “Do you want to come with me?” Reid says. He pauses. “She said to feel free to bring people, so if you want you could bring your friends.”

  “That would be great,” Joaquim says. He doesn’t quite smile, though. Am I not supposed to invite his friends? Does Joaquim think I don’t want to take him on a date?

  “Cool. I’ll text you the information when Delia gives it to me.”

  “Thanks,” Joaquim says. He peeks over his shoulder. He’s still working; Reid knows that he needs to be careful not draw all of his attention.

  “I’ve got to go,” Reid says. “I have to go work too.”

  They share a look. It’s full of promise, and Joaquim’s at work; still, Reid lets his eyes linger on Joaquim’s lips. Joaquim bites them, then gives a half wave before backing away.

  * * *

  The night of the party, Reid sits in his grandmother’s empty living room and tries to center himself. When Delia invited him, he was so excited to have a place to take Joaquim and to spe
nd time with him, he didn’t think through the part where he would have to meet a crowd of strangers. And there will be drinking. Reid and lots of alcohol aren’t a great mix.

  Finally, he can’t put leaving off any longer. He checks his hair in the mirror one more time; he re-dyed it because the roots were so long it was more black than blond. To make up for how light it is, he uses slightly thicker eyeliner.

  He texts Joaquim that he’s on his way and pockets his car keys and wallet. It’s not quite dark, but Reid still manages to piss off some drivers while trying to find the house by slowing down at three streets in a row. Eventually he can tell he’s found the place by the number of cars lining the street. He parks and walks down the street with his thumbs in his pockets. Disrupting the thick, muggy air and haze of sunset, noise and people spill from the party. Reid takes a deep breath and wades in. Despite the small size of the house, it takes him a while to find anyone familiar. Delia is in the back, red cup in hand, standing by a keg and an assortment of liquors on a wobbly folding table.

  “Reid!” She folds him into a hug. He doesn’t resist despite his surprise. Her breath is beer-thick, and she grips too hard. Eventually he extracts himself.

  “Let’s get you a drink,” she says.

  “Um, no thanks. I’m, um—”

  “If you’re looking for your boy, I don’t think he’s here yet. Wanna meet my people?”

  “Sure.” Reid struggles to tuck his whole hands into the pockets of his very tight pants. He breathes slowly, trying to relax without being obvious about his discomfort and, when he focuses on his body, he notices how tight his shoulders are.

  Delia drags him around, and it becomes harder and harder to keep his anxiety in check. Joaquim isn’t here, and he hasn’t heard from him. Maybe he changed his mind? When Delia offers him a drink again, he says yes. As long as he goes slow and only drinks enough to relax, he’ll be okay.

  It’s been so long since he’s had anything to drink that the first drink loosens him up right away. He’s finishing his first beer when he spots Joaquim coming in. Joaquim scans the room, and Reid takes that moment to appreciate what he’s seeing. Joaquim is wearing cerulean skinny pants and a tight black shirt patterned with galaxies and stars. It’s a totally different look than anything Reid has seen him wear. When Joaquim spots him, excitement lights his eyes. Nina comes in behind him, and with them a tall, lanky, brown-haired guy who must be Bobby.

  “Hi,” Reid says when Joaquim comes up to him. Joaquim kisses both of his cheeks and flushes when he pulls back.

  “Sorry. Instinct.”

  “It’s okay,” Reid says. “Is this a thing?”

  “A thing?”

  “Like a Brazil thing?”

  “Oh,” Joaquim says. “Yeah.”

  “And you got two kisses, not one,” Nina stage-whispers, and Joaquim shushes her before she can elaborate.

  “So, Reid, this is Bobby.” Joaquim gestures, and Reid shakes his hand. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him. These people know about him. Nina not only knows him as a student, but through whatever Joaquim has told her personally. The magnifying glass he perceives, their direct gazes, make his cheeks burn.

  “And I am Delia,” Delia jumps in, making a face at Reid that indicates he should be doing the introducing.

  “Want a drink?” Reid says as they shake hands. He clenches his fingers.

  “Sure,” Joaquim says, and Delia leads them to the drink table. When Joaquim turns to ask Reid what he wants, his mouth is suddenly dry, and he doesn’t want to stand out more by not taking one.

  An hour later, he’s had two more drinks, and everyone in the room is his friend.

  “No, see, here’s the problem,” Reid says. He has one hand on the wall and an overflowing red plastic cup in the other. He was looking for Joaquim, whom he lost some time ago when Joaquim went to get a drink. Somehow he ended up with one of Delia’s friends, trying to express his dislike for current home renovation trends. “If everything is open, where the fuck do you hide? Like, what if your kitchen is a mess? And whenever they put those support-beam-things in, do you really know, like, know-know that they’ll keep the ceiling up?” His beer sloshes down his hand and onto the floor.

  “Listen, man, the only tools I know how to use are a hammer and a measuring tape,” Delia’s friend says. He has a name, Reid is sure. He’s just not sure what it is.

  “Well, yeah, no, me neither. I mean, sometimes not even the hammer.” Reid winces, remembering a particularly embarrassing incident when he became convinced he could build bookshelves after an eight-hour HGTV binge. “I tried to build a thing once. My dad hid the tools from me after that.”

  Whatshisname smiles. He’s about to respond when Reid spots Joaquim coming toward him.

  “J!” Reid spills a little more beer in his enthusiasm. Joaquim takes Reid’s drink before he can splash it all over them.

  Although he stops to spend time with Joaquim, Reid finds himself pulled to and fro in the house and these rooms, as if the people here are ocean currents. The sense of water tugging and pulling and washing over him is the best feeling, as is being the most-liked in the room.

  After that, Reid doesn’t remember much.

  * * *

  The next morning, Reid finds himself in his room, fully dressed and painfully hungover. Reid barely makes it to the toilet; everything hurts. He’s cold-sweats hungover. All of his muscles ache, and ache more after he finishes throwing up.

  Despite being disgusting even to himself, Reid ignores the shower, strips off his clothes, and crawls into bed. His phone is under the covers, and it takes him a while to find it. He has no memory of getting home. Reid shuts his eyes tight and moans, then regrets it. He thumbs through his messages and finds two from Joaquim and one from Delia.

  Joaquim: Where did you go?

  And half an hour later: Hey let me know if you get home?

  Reid must have left without telling Joaquim. God, how did I get home? Fuck, that’s awful. Joaquim had come to hang out with Reid, at Reid’s invitation. He would rather start puking again than have to face how he’s damaged the impression he had made on Joaquim. But it would be worse not to text back when Joaquim is clearly worried.

  Reid: I’m home and okay.

  He doesn’t add more. Reid doesn’t want to get into the “Hey, that was a blackout drunk” moment via text, or at all. But the thing is, he really, really likes Joaquim, likes the way he feels when he’s with him. Reid doesn’t want to give that up. Fortunately, he has experience trying to make amends for, or trying to explain, his behavior. Unfortunately, he knows how much making apologies sucks and how, sometimes, no words can change things.

  What happened?

  He calls Delia; it’s past noon, so he assumes she’s up.

  “What?” she snaps.

  “Sorry,” he says. Either she’s back to her usually charming self or she’s hungover too. “You texted telling me to drink water.”

  “You called me to tell me this? I know. I sent it.”

  “No, I just, well…” he trails off.

  “Honey, spit it out, I wanna go back to bed.”

  “Well, it’s just that I don’t remember what happened by the end of the night. How I got home.” God, please, please tell me I didn’t go home with another guy.

  “You’re a sloppy drunk. And a lightweight, too,” she says. There’s a rustling in the background and a sigh. “After you spilled beer all over Dylan and then puked, I made an executive decision, and he drove you home.”

  “I didn’t—I mean it wasn’t—”

  “No, nothing like that. He’s not even gay!”

  “Oh, thank god,” he says, closing his eyes and exhaling loudly.

  “Aren’t you in a thing? With that guy—who, by the way, is super hot?”

  “Yeah, but he texted asking where I was and if I was oka
y, like at one a.m. So he had no idea where I was. And I don’t really remember anything.”

  “Well, I don’t know where he went off to, but rest assured, your virtue is intact. I mean, any virtue you possessed prior to last night.”

  He smiles at her joke, but is too tired to joke back.

  “If we’re done here, I’ma go back to bed and wish for a quick death, ‘kay?” she says.

  “Ditto,” he mumbles, then slips back under the blankets and into sleep.

  * * *

  Reid doesn’t hear from Joaquim that day. He’s been busy and he’s almost finished with a specialty class, emergency oxygen or something like that. Reid can’t remember just what Joaquim said, not with so much else cluttering his mind. Not having a clear sense of where he stands is rocking Reid. He’s terrible at letting things unfold at their own pace.

  “Don’t chase,” Rachel says from her spot across the room on the couch. He’s doing his therapy virtually; everyone is distant and a little grainy. Nancy got new couches a few weeks after Reid left. He’s only seen them through his computer screen, but the pillows look soft. Both he and Rachel always pull the pillows onto their laps. It’s an inside joke. Elise often hands Reid the pillow if it’s on her chair. He likes the weight and the soft, plush texture he can run his fingers over to make patterns when the changed direction of fibers catches the light. On Skype, he finds that he still needs a pillow. He’s always thought the pillow was about needing a barrier, about having something between him and the ache of vulnerability in shared confessional spaces. Maybe it still is, even with the barrier of a computer between them all. But it’s also the touch, the grounding of having something to hold, the weighing down.

  His pillow isn’t the right shape or weight or texture, though. Reid’s going to buy a new one as soon as he can.

  “Remember that people need space to think things through. You can’t make someone communicate if they aren’t ready just because you need to resolve an issue,” Nancy reminds him.