giatinplaka

Jake stared down at his phone’s cracked screen. Three minutes ago he’d meant to order a pizza. Now he was staring at a social media post various family members had posted from a cousin’s wedding over the weekend. The photos came in bursts, one post after another, like the algorithm sensed he was online and wanted to rub it in.

The first was a group shot. His parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles all bracketing the newlyweds in front of the church he was baptised in. He could almost smell the lemon wax of the pews and the coat closet’s ammonia reek. His mother was center left and had her hands on the shoulders of the nephews he hadn’t met yet. His dad stood behind her. His siblings were beside them. The “picture perfect” All-American family. The only thing missing was Jake.

He scrolled and came across pictures of the reception that was held in a rented hall and filled with friends and family from his hometown dancing. He scrolled again and came across another post. Then another.

He let the screen dim in his hand then swiped to open his texts. He opened the thread he had with his mom and quickly typed out a message.

Jake: Invite to Chelsea’s wedding must’ve got lost in the mail.

Her reply came just a few minutes later.

Mom: We thought it might be less stressful for everyone if you and Bradley didn’t make the trip.

It was her polite way of telling him “you weren’t welcome”, and Jake knew it. He almost wished she had skipped the politeness and just said it out right.

Mom: Love you, sweetheart! We miss you!

Jake stared at the message for a minute, then set his phone face down on the couch. The cushions of it sighed against his weight. He folded his arms and stared at nothing in particular.

The apartment was too quiet so he opened Spotify and pulled up his Gym Playlist that helped him drown out his thoughts. AC/DC, Metallica, Foo Fighters, Five Finger Death Punch, and a singular rogue Taylor Swift song he’d never admit to liking.

He needed to be doing something with his hands. Something mechanical to get himself out of his head. Jake walked to the fridge, opened it as he considered making a protein shake then realized he and Bradley hadn’t gone to the store and he was out of half the ingredients he needed. 

He closed the door and then surveyed the fridge door. Bradley and Maverick at some restaurant, Mav’s hand on Bradley’s shoulder. Bradley and Maverick on a tarmac together. An older photo of a younger Bradley with his mom. A few random alphabet magnets from when Jake and Bradley had babysat for Bob and his missus. And then off to the side, almost behind the handle, was a photo of him and Bradley at the Padres game last spring.

He plucked the letters from the door and arranged them in order: A through Z, then flipped the numbers into their own neat column. Next, he sorted them by color, lining up the yellows, then the reds, then the greens and blues. It was mindless and pointless and deeply satisfying.

On the third pass, Jake spelled out FAMILY but when he stepped back, it felt both too bitter and too on the nose. He scrambled the letters again, this time leaving them blank, a pure line of nothing, no statement at all.

He made his way back over to the sofa and sat, feet propped on the battered coffee table, and thought about texting Bradley to ask what time he’d be home. Then he pictured the notification appearing on the home screen, imagined Bradley mid-shift at the gym, reading it and thinking Jake was pathetic. He waited until the impulse faded, then picked up the remote and started the same half-watched sitcom, the one with the laugh track loud enough to crowd out actual thought.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

An hour later the lock rattled, signifying Bradley was home. Jake could always tell how far Bradley ran by how wet his shirt was; today, the back was soaked, the hemline dark and sticking.

Bradley didn’t say hello. He paused in the entry, caught the Shinedown song in its third verse, then shot a look to Jake on the couch. He didn’t need to ask. In three quick steps he toed off his sneakers, let his gym bag collapse onto the doormat, and went straight for the kitchen. Jake, sprawled on the couch with his phone clutched like a lifeline, watched the ritual without moving.

“Hey,” Bradley called. “Want a smoothie?”

“I’m good,” Jake answered, aiming for normal, but overshot and landed on monotone. 

He slouched deeper into the cushions, trying not to look like a sad animal waiting for the vet. He couldn’t help tracking Bradley in the background, though. The way he peeled off his sweat damp shirt and tossed it over a chair before grabbing the blender.  The blender thundered. Jake used the noise to click over to his texts and saw Bradley’s last message, sent twenty minutes ago: On my way back.

Bradley poured the smoothie into a chipped glass, and walked over to the couch. He set the glass on the coffee table, then dropped onto the floor and stretched, muscles rolling under golden skin, gaze fixed on the TV.

“So, do I have to ask how your day went?” Bradley said.

Jake huffed, forced a smile. “Pretty wild. Had an existential crisis, alphabetized the magnets. You know. Living the dream.”

Bradley snorted, but didn’t take the bait. “Cool. If you want, I can throw the magnets around and you can do it again tomorrow.”

“That’s...honestly tempting,” Jake admitted.

Bradley rolled over, propped himself up on his elbows, and eyed Jake carefully. “You want to talk about the existential crisis?”

Jake stared at the far wall, tracking the slow path of a dust mote in a sunbeam. “I want to not talk.”

Bradley nodded. “Noted.”

After a few minutes, Bradley stood, stretched again, then padded off to the bathroom, stripping off his shorts as he went. The shower kicked on. Jake heard singing…something old, something Motown, the stuff Bradley always sang when he wasn’t worried about who was listening.

By the time the shower cut off, Jake had managed to replay every humiliating family moment from high school to last Christmas. He barely noticed Bradley return, now in gym shorts and a towel around his neck, until the couch sagged beside him.

Bradley’s knee pressed against Jake’s thigh. He smelled like the oceanic scent of his body wash. 

“Did you eat yet?” Bradley asked.

“Not hungry.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Bradley had a way of sounding stern and gentle at once, the effect as disarming as a very soft hammer. “Want me to make something?”

Jake shrugged. “If you’re hungry.”

“Okay.” Bradley waited, just long enough to make sure the offer had landed, then stood and crossed to the kitchen again.

The rest of the night was a series of small kindnesses: Bradley brought him a glass of water without asking, queued up a movie Jake liked, and didn't argue when Jake fell asleep halfway through. He just draped a hoodie over Jake’s shoulders and dimmed the lights, then went to brush his teeth and finish some emails.

Jake woke at midnight, shivering, and found Bradley at the table, screen-light glowing off his skin.

“You okay?” Bradley asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Just tired.”

Bradley watched him for a long second. “You want to come to bed?”

Jake did. More than that, he wanted not to be alone with the contents of his brain. He followed Bradley to the bedroom, stripped down to his boxers, and climbed under the covers.

Bradley didn’t push. He just lay there, arm draped over Jake’s chest, warmth seeping through like the world’s least efficient electric blanket. After a while, Bradley’s breathing evened, slow and calm. Jake matched his rhythm, let himself drift.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By morning, the residue of yesterday still clung, but thinner now, less solid. Jake woke to Bradley’s body curled around his own, hand splayed across Jake’s stomach. He lay still, not wanting to ruin it.

Bradley eventually rolled over, rubbed his eyes, and said, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Sure,” Jake said, before he could think better.

They walked the park near their apartment, neither speaking much. Jake watched the geese terrorize a toddler, and Bradley threw sticks for every dog that wandered close. The sky was the color of milk, thin sun barely registering.

They made it two laps before Bradley said, out of nowhere, “I saw the posts from your family. You’re allowed to be mad, you know?”

Jake kicked a rock. “I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Bradley said. “But if you want to be, that’s okay. You don’t have to pretend.”

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but it wouldn’t come. He watched two crows peck at a foil wrapper, wing-to-wing, like conspirators. 

Finally, he said, “I just wish they’d admit it, you know? Just say, ‘we don’t want you there.’ The pretending is worse.”

Bradley nodded, nothing dramatic. “You ever want to go back? For a holiday or something? I’ll go with you if you do.”

Jake laughed, flat. “They stopped inviting me years ago. Mom says it’s about logistics, or keeping the peace. I believe her, but it’s still—”

“It’s still shit,” Bradley finished.

“Yeah,” Jake agreed.

They kept walking. At the end of the path, Bradley squeezed Jake’s shoulder, steered him gently toward the street. “Let’s hit the bakery. I want one of those cinnamon things.”

“That’s the real reason you wanted to go on a walk with me,” Jake said.

“You caught me,” Bradley said, grinning.

After the bakery, the day spiraled into chores, a Target run, a lot of not talking about the thing that haunted the edge of every moment. Jake felt himself loosening, like the knots were untying on their own.

It wasn’t until that night, when they were both shirtless and sticky with June heat, that Bradley finally said, “You know, you can come to Penny’s thing Sunday. You don’t have to, but she asked about you.”

Jake, who was lying on the bed scrolling mindlessly, didn’t look up. “She only invited me cause of you.”

“True, but also cause she likes you.” Bradley slid onto the bed, pressed a cold can of beer to Jake’s side, smirking at Jake’s flinch. “I like you, too.”

Jake looked at him, exasperated. “You’re so weird.”

“And yet, you chose me,” Bradley said. 

He reached for Jake, tugging him until Jake finally rolled over. Bradley spooned him, forehead pressed to Jake’s bare shoulder. They didn’t lay like that very often. Usually it was Bradley wanting to be held, a side effect of being “touch starved” according to Phoenix. But sometimes he felt like Jake needed to be the one to be held. To let the big macho mask he wore down and have someone take care of him.

“Seriously, though,” Bradley said, voice different now. “You don’t have to be okay with how they treat you.”

Jake went stiff. He tried to joke it off, “Being okay is my superpower.”

Bradley held on tighter. “You don’t have to make it easy for them.”

Jake lay there, quiet, until it was almost unbearable. Then, almost whispering: “I don’t want to make it worse for anyone.”

Bradley’s jaw tightened against Jake’s shoulder. “You’re not the problem.”

Jake closed his eyes. “Try telling my mother that.”

Bradley didn’t answer for a long time. Then he said, “We’re going Sunday.”

Jake didn’t argue. He didn’t agree, either. But he curled into the pressure of Bradley’s arms.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sunday came with the sense of being underwater for Jake. Every breath felt like effort as he dressed in shorts and a faded t-shirt, then decided to change into jeans and a slightly nicer shirt.

Jake’s truck was having some kind of engine problem lately so they decided to take Bradley’s Bronco over to Penny and Mav’s place. Jake stared at the dashboard, fidgeting with the AC as Bradley started it up. Bradley drove one-handed, wrist slung over the steering wheel, the other arm sprawled between them.

As they turned off the main road, Jake traced the route in his mind. Penny’s house was near the beach, but he couldn’t tell you the name off of memory. He scanned the curb, counting mailboxes as if there might be a prize at the end.

He caught his reflection in the passenger window, face thinner than he remembered, jaw set. He wanted to say something about how maybe they could just park and leave, or how it wasn’t too late to fake the flu. But he knew Bradley wasn’t going to budge on this one.

At a stoplight, Bradley reached over and laid his hand on Jake’s thigh. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t even glance. Just left it there, a steady weight. Jake felt the heat of it, the silent reassurance, the absolute refusal to let him drift.

As they got closer the houses became larger and closer together. Kids on bikes wove around cars, their shouts muffled by closed windows.

Bradley’s thumb made slow circles, absently tracing over denim. Jake clung to the sensation, used it to drown out the static.

He watched the houses slide by, the color of the sky, the mailbox numbers, the yard signs for political  candidates he’d never heard of. He counted them again. When he lost count, he started over.

Then Penny’s house was there, the driveway full, the street lined with cars. He swallowed. Bradley parked, turned off the ignition, and sat for a second before speaking.

“You ready?” Bradley said, finally meeting Jake’s eyes.

Jake wanted to say no. He wanted to say yes. He said, “Sure,” and meant something in between. Bradley’s hand squeezed, once, then let go. 

“They’ll be happy to see you,” he said, matter of fact.

Jake looked at the house, then at Bradley, and tried to believe it.

They were halfway up the front walk when the door flew open and Penny burst out onto the porch.

“Jake!” She said as she pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t a polite one. I was a full body, slightly too tight squeeze. She smelled like sunscreen and lime and something sharp, maybe tequila. There was a tiny scar on her eyebrow Jake had never noticed before. She grinned as she let him go before saying, “thought you’d bail and leave Brad to face the wolves alone.”

“He made me come,” Jake said, jerking a thumb at Bradley.

“I can believe it,” Penny said, nodding. She clapped Bradley on the back as he entered. “You want a lemonade? Water? Beer?”

“Beer,” Bradley said.

“Lemonade’s fine,” Jake countered, feeling the smile spread before he could stop it.

The house was exactly as Jake remembered from the one other time he’d been there. The faint smell of lemon cleaner, the crush of shoes by the door, the table in the entryway. There were three mismatched chairs in the living room and a couch that looked newer than the one he remembered. Music played from somewhere in the back.

Jake let himself be led into the kitchen, where Penny was already popping bottle caps and filling a cooler. There were at least four people he didn’t recognize, each deep in kitchen tasks: someone chopping cilantro, someone else counting burger buns, Maverick manning the grill on the patio.

Bradley sidled up behind Jake, beer in hand, expression calm. “See? No wolves.”

“Give it time,” Jake muttered. 

He risked a sip of the lemonade, which was some tart and aggressively citrus. The fizz burned his tongue, but he drained half in a swallow.

A shriek erupted from the backyard, followed by the stampede of small feet. The sliding glass door burst open and three children hurtled inside, two of them wielding water guns, the third trailing a soaked beach towel. A man Jake vaguely remembered as Penny’s brother followed, holding a tray of ribs like a shield.

Penny reappeared, saw the mess, and cackled. “Perfect. Chaos is served.”

Jake hovered by the counter, feeling like an extra in a play he’d missed the first act of. People filtered through, always pausing to say hi to Penny or clap her on the back, or ask where the napkins were. Nobody seemed to mind the noise or the mess or the fact that the chips were being ground into the carpet by tiny, wet feet.

Someone in the living room called for help with the TV, and Penny darted off. Jake turned, found himself in the path of the little girl from before, now brandishing a piece of sidewalk chalk.

She looked at Jake, solemn. “Are you the one who says the bad words?”

Jake blinked. “That depends. Are you the one who tattles?”

She thought about it, then shook her head. “I’m the one who gets away with it.”

“Then I guess yes,” Jake said.

She nodded, satisfied, and ran off.

“She’s obsessed with you,” Bradley whispered, appearing at Jake’s side. “Mav’s been talking about you.”

Jake watched the room, the way people dipped in and out of each other’s conversations, the way nobody stood alone for more than a few seconds. It was messy and loud and, for once, not about him at all. He realized, with a mix of relief and confusion, that nobody here was waiting for him to perform. He could just stand, and sip his drink, and exist.

Still, the old reflexes kicked in. He drifted to the fridge, then the backyard, then back again, trying to spot the angle. He made three new jokes, all of them well received, all of them dissolving into the general buzz.

When dinner was called, everyone migrated to the backyard. Jake found himself at a long folding table, kids on one end, adults at the other. He sat between Bradley and Penny, who made a production of piling his plate with potato salad and ribs.

“Don’t even try to diet in this house,” Penny said.

Jake just grinned in response before he looked over at Bradley who only nodded. Jake waited for the catch. The inevitable look, the too long pause, or the half hidden smirk. But it never came.

Midway through the meal, Penny’s sister (Emily? Emma? God help him, he should have paid attention) turned to Jake and said, “So how long have you two been an old married couple?”

Jake blinked. “Us?”

Bradley, mouth full of corn, nodded. “Three years, give or take. Four if you count the texting phase.”

“Do you count the texting phase?” Penny asked, as if this was a question of legal precedent.

“Depends,” Jake said, glancing at Bradley. “Is texting pictures binding?”

The table howled. Maverick nearly choked on his beer. The kids, missing the context, resumed their earlier chant.

Jake glanced down the table and saw every head nodding, like this was the most normal conversation in the world. For a moment, he let himself float in it, soaking in the hum and spatter of jokes, the smells of barbecue, the sticky residue of sauce on his fingers. It was chaos, but it was the kind that made you feel anchored, not adrift.

After dessert (store-bought pie, devoured in seconds), Penny started barking orders for clean-up. Jake tried to demur, but Penny handed him a stack of plates and a grin.

“Not a guest, dude. You’re on dish duty.”

He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

In the kitchen, the sink filled fast. Jake manned the rinse station while Penny’s sister dried. Bradley cleared the table and stacked leftovers. The kids ran in and out, trailing clumps of grass and shouts.

“You’re a natural,” the sister said, flicking a dish towel at Jake.

Jake finished his stack, then wiped down the counter. When he turned, Bradley was leaning against the doorway, arms folded, a small smile on his lips.

“See?” Bradley said. “No wolves.”

Jake shook his head, mock disbelieving. “I keep expecting them, though.”

Bradley shrugged. “Maybe some families just…don’t do that.”

Bradley closed the distance, cupped the back of Jake’s neck, and kissed him lightly, trying to help ease the tension he could see in Jake’s shoulders. Jake grinned at Bradley, and for a second he let himself believe that the world could just…be like this. No test to pass, no trick ending. Just dinner, and people that treat you like family.

Jake dried his hands, flicked a towel at Bradley, and followed him back outside where everyone had gathered. The world shrank as the sun dipped below the trees, the yard going from fever bright to murky gold. The grownups drifted to the porch, beer bottles sweating on the rail, while kids ran loops in the blue twilight, shrieking and chasing each other with glow sticks.

By the time the last burgers vanished and the coolers had been drained of everything but diet soda, people started to peel off in twos and threes, hugging their goodbyes in the driveway. Jake watched as Penny hugged each guest, no exceptions, even the ones he was sure she barely knew.

When it was Jake’s turn, she pulled him in hard. She was smaller than him, but her grip was fierce. She patted his back twice and didn’t let go right away.

“You coming next time?” She said into his ear.

Jake hesitated. Then, quietly, “If I’m invited.”

She pulled back just enough to fix him with a look. “Don’t need an invite, Jake.”

He swallowed, found his voice. “Thanks. For–”

“For nothing,” she said. She let him go, but kept one hand on his arm, anchoring him for a second. “You and Brad are always welcome here, Jake.”

Jake drifted over to the Bronco, leaning against the passenger door. He could see Bradley talking to Maverick in front of the house. Bradley wandered over, shoes crunching on the gravel. He stopped in front of Jake, leaned in close, and rested his hands on either side of Jake’s hips.

“Ready to go?” Bradley said, soft, not needing an answer.

Jake nodded.

Bradley stayed where he was. “You okay?”

Jake let out a shaky breath. “I think so.”

Bradley kissed his cheek, then tucked his chin onto Jake’s shoulder, arms circling his waist. It was the kind of hug Jake usually gave, not received. The kind meant to keep a person from floating off. Usually Jake gave them to Bradley on the days he was really missing his parents. Jake found himself clutching the back of Bradley’s shirt, fingers digging in.

They stayed that way for a while, the yard empty now, only porch light and moths and the low drone of cars on distant streets. Jake’s throat was tight, the words stuck until he forced them out.

“I didn’t know family could be like that,” he whispered.