XXX “Right, like you can actually understand what’s going on.” The sarcasm dripped thick like bitumen from Edward’s tongue, the sticky anger clinging to every surface.“You treating me with the polite decency of a stranger doesn’t actually make you a good person, Calvin – it doesn’t even make you a friend.”

Blowing a breath out, Edward rubbed his face, his shoulders stuck between wanting to spike up in stiff defense or simply drop down in defeat.

“Which is why you get the couch,” here his arms crossed, brooking no argument, “I don’t even know why you thought it was going to be fine just showing up, months after being an asshole thinking I would even put you up. I just know Edith would have you out on your ass, and honestly you’re lucky you got me when I was even in town. Hold on… Mr. Big Shot, you have enough money to get a fucking hotel room, why the shit am I even considering you to stay here with me? Why the hell am I not throwing you out on your ass?”

Another breath out, and Edward sighed, “No, this won’t do.”

With a slump, he plopped onto the couch, and glanced around his small living room, wondering why the hell he was even practicing this as a conversation. Calvin hadn’t dropped by in months. It wasn’t like he was going to any time soon. The lines had been clearly drawn, and even an entitled oil cowboy wasn’t going to pretend everything hadn’t changed.Apparently the weeks off were just giving him time to go crazy. Usually this would be the time he would jet off to Montreal, but instead he was stuck in his house losing it. He was worried if he showed up on Étienne’s doorstep he would just start crying. Definitely not a thing to do.

His thoughts were disrupted as the telephone began to ring. With a sigh, he rolled off the couch and grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Eddy!” Étienne’s voice rang out through the phone and wrapped around him like a warm hug.

“’Tienne,” Edward breathed out, automatically relaxing, he flomped down into the seat beside the telephone.

“I’ve been calling for weeks and thought you had died,” he joked, but the edge of worry was still there.

“Sort of had.” Edward murmured, “Actually I sort of moved out, I guess. Mac came down in January and I ended up moving north with him and picked up a hitch. Just got off and am laying around at home too dead to do anything.”

“Hitch?”

“Uhm working in the oil patch. Living at camp, pretty much isolated from the world…”

“Surrounded by big burly men? You could have at least sent me a postcard, Eddy,” Étienne teased, but there was an underlying tone Edward had difficulty deciphering, “I was thinking if it was my turn to come pull you out of the swamp of misery.”

“I guess I could have but… to be honest it all sort of just happened?” Edward sighed, “And once I was up in Fort Mac, and then out working, it’s difficult to really communicate. Just work till you drop, then into the camp to exercise or watch porn.”

“What? They actually supply porn?”

“And sometimes even prostitutes, but that’s apparently not truly allowed…” Edward paused, “but unfortunately no prostitutes were of interest to me.”

“How unfortunate. I was up to my eyeballs with inconvenient work,” Étienne paused, “Christmas was about the same as always, Suzette passes along her best wishes. The food was divine, and I ended up losing an arm-wrestling match to Élyse.”

Edward laughed, “What were the stakes?”

“Hmmm, well she got to eat my slice of cake; it was some terrible cake Samuel had made – yes I know, please believe me when I say he made this cake. Truly no real artisan of food would have produced something as terrible as that cake. I think it ostensibly was supposed to be a fruit cake – with a thick layer of chalky marzipan on top. Somehow he managed to over-alcohol a cake while having it be dry at the same time. I was ready to submit it to the Guinness Book of Records…”

“So why was Élyse battling you for your slice?”

“You see, I may have already had a fight or two with Samuel – he has some new boytoy, and he was being so insipid and sickly about it, I may have been ready to fight over any little thing. Élyse figured if I got rid of the slice via arm wrestling it could possibly save Christmas or something. Yadda yadda. Apparently no one seems to enjoy the Christmases when Samuel breaks down in angry tears and yells for an hour – not sure why when I find that sooooooo entertaining.”

“God I wish I was there for that… seeing Samuel’s face as if he was punched when he tries to cry elegantly is so therapeutic…” Edward murmured, “I feel like my Christmas was just me being the crying one.”

“Crying? What happened, Édouard?”

Squiggling in his seat, Edward wondered how much he should tell. A part of him wanted to spill it all, but another part wondered if that would be too much of an inconvenience. How much of his stupid worries did Étienne really want? Closing his eyes, Edward pretended they were in the same room together, maybe even touching, head on Étienne’s shoulder, not necessarily looking at the man, but bodies snuggled up, his hair getting played with. Those small stolen moments of bliss, where the worries got spilled, and he didn’t worry about the consequences.

“Christmas was so awkward; I don’t even know where to begin. The entire time I desperately wished I had gone to yours… it felt like the last time I try to be a functional person among them… hell, I only went because I thought maybe I could improve relations with people… start the new millennium off with some hope about the future.”

It really had been terrible. They had held it at the ranch – Bert’s ranch. Why the hell did he think hanging out with people at the ranch would be a good idea? Surrounded by people you probably should know better, but in reality only held passing pleasantries with. The one bright spot had been Calvin. Calvin who seemed to be best buddies with everyone who arrived, Calvin who smiled brightly at him and argued with him, distracting him from the knot of anxiety he was harbouring over whether he should come out during Christmas or hold off until New Years?

He was attempting small talk with Jo, who was talking at him about how they should go shopping together (did she not do other stuff?), when he overheard Bert loudly say “I personally don’t think those fags should be given the deal.”

It felt like time had slowed down for Edward. No one seemed to pause or care. Orson in fact nodded along with Bert’s rant, sipping his Sprite. Jo continued on with her plans for her next visit, and somewhere nearby Red laughed at a joke Madeline made. As he observed the room to see if there was any reaction to Bert’s loud rant, everyone was involved in their own conversations. Calvin was in the distance deep in conversation with someone he could not quite make out. 

Right, this was not the place. He still wanted turkey dinner, and as he dimly nodded along to Jo, Edward felt small. He had no allies here. Well, that wasn’t true. He was sure Edith supported him, but one in how many? Edward didn’t want to ‘ruin Christmas’.

“And you know how I’ve been thinking about coming out and stuff, but uh, can I just say no? If you were in the room you would understand – seriously Étienne, these people who claim to be my so called family would just as well lynch me as their Christmas bonfire – I dunno they could just douse me in bitumen and light me up human torch Christian martyr style for bringing the faggotry home for Christmas… Soooo I didn’t want to ruin Christmas and make the event awkward for everyone,” Edward related over the phone.

“And then horror of horrors, Orson managed to corner me in what he thinks is jovial conversation. It felt like everything he had to say to me was condescension masked in care and concern – honestly I am not sure how he even manages that. I think he felt like it was his civic duty to carry on a conversation with me. He even reminisced about the temple open house he dragged me to. Ok honestly I went to the open house out of curiosity, to see what sort of cult he’s in, but I didn’t think he would already be reminiscing about something that had literally JUST happened. Temple? Yeah, a Mormon temple just opened up in my city… so it meant I had the pleassssuuure of Orson coming up for the Open House and dragging me along. Stay with me? God no, please ‘Tienne I’m not that insane, what would I do if he snooped and found my big old dildo? Yeah he was staying with some church people since he was volunteering and such.”

“I think I wanted to die when he sat down at the piano – yeah, I didn’t even think Bert ever tuned that thing, but knowing Orson maybe he came extra early to tune it, and began banging out the Christmas carols. Like he’s talented and all, and I don’t mind a round of Jingle Bells, but he really has this creepy 1950s vibe and I wanted to roll my eyes when his eyes started to shine with unshed tears at Away in a Manger and O Holy Night.” Edward twisted the cord around his finger, as he listened to Étienne chuckle. Apparently the tactic was avoid talking about himself and instead rant about goody-two-shoes Orson? “You should count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with him on a regular basis… mmm? Yeah he is kind, considerate and is literally the guy to volunteer for the worst tasks but there is something about him where he is a little too perfect? Like somehow can’t let my hair down around him type of deal. Which makes him perfect for Lilith – as she always has her hair up, haha.”

Edward had relaxed into his seat, somehow feeling lighter, as the words slipped out, “And then New Years was somehow worse… no I wasn’t at the ranch. I probably should have taken you up on your fireworks show, because the one here is uh Edmonton grade. You know – trying real hard but still somehow failing to miss the mark,” he chuckled at his own joke, not picking up on the strained tension from Étienne over the phone. “Calvin came up, which surprised me since I assumed he would want to be gallivanting about in Calgary, but apparently he wanted to spend it with his best buddy which is me? Somehow? Don’t worry Teddy, you’re still my best friend…” Edwards voice lowered, as he realized what he was about to say, admit. Pause. “So how was your New Years? Aahh why are you yelling – oh you’re saying I didn’t mention why New Years sucked? It’s because it wasn’t with you, darlin’.”

Somehow Edward couldn’t do it. Couldn’t quite bring himself around to admitting he had come out to Calvin. How he had fallen into a depression when he got outright rejected. “Hmm? Well, how else can I put it… while I could have been kissing you and sucking your cock, I instead got to hold Calvin’s hair back as he literally puked in my poinsettias… yes… mmhmm. The poor plant didn’t make it.”

Tangling his finger in the phone cord, Edward found himself relaxing as Étienne told him about his New Years event, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. The other man’s voice soothing him. Trying to be home for Christmas and the New Years - attempt to enter the new millennium as a man of his own place, had been a major mistake.

He should have kept to his original plans of escaping to Montreal, escaping his own clay dirt to mold himself into his own dream man.Sometimes he wondered if he loved Étienne or simply wanted to be Étienne. A complicated mixture of feelings confusing him ever more when it came to that man.

“Visit? I would love to visit… oh wait, you want to come visit me? When? Hmm let me… check my calendar.” Edward sat up, looking around, and then picked up the phone, carefully picking his way into the kitchen, so he could squint at the calendar. His telephone cord ran out though, so he had to do an awkward strain, trying not to unplug the phone, while seeing his own scribbled-in life.

He wasn’t even sure what he was doing. He deserved it he knew, he knew, he knew, but why did Edward have to come out and make everything so damn complicated. To make it all worse they were forced into this situation, where running no longer was an option, where instead they were trapped together in the truck.

He may be living in the 7th level of hell, but even he knew that despite everything, a perfect gentleman would pull up and help someone out. He had simply assumed it was the sparkplugs or something. Edward’s sleeves were rolled up, hands black with oil, a smudge on his nose, and his tools out on the ground as he attempted to do the repairs himself. Calvin wasn’t sure how he felt when he realized it was Edward’s truck. A truck he knew, one that had him slowing down before even any conscious thought asked him what he was doing. They were on shaky ground at best, and perhaps this could help build that bridge one spaghetti piece at a time. Swallowing as Edward looked up, his hair damp from sweat, eyes in surprised recognition, Calvin wondered why the hell his heart was beating so nervously. Must be the fear that Edward had discovered an eighth layer of hell to drag him in to.

The whole point of an older truck, Edward tended to argue, is that one is able to fix it. Get it back to running. Except whatever had gone wrong, it had really gone wrong, wrong enough for Edward to take the rag and wipe down his hands and agree to Calvin’s help.

Edward sat beside him, smudge still on his face, purposefully looking out the window, not giving him the time of day.

It was driving Calvin crazy being ignored. He kept shooting glances at Edward, heart somehow pounding in his stomach area, mixing with the acid of guilt.

“Bet you’re not bitching about how I got the latest upgraded truck,” Calvin finally started, his cracking voice breaking the tense silence between them.

Edward’s eyes didn’t even flick towards him. A prickle of irritation ran through Calvin.

“Seeing as I’m towing your piece of shit truck back to the old folks’ home.”

Usually Edward would react to insults to his truck, but nothing.

He couldn’t keep silent. They were far enough out for the radio to be patchy, enough to have it turned off. He began to whistle, trying to fill the silence between them, wanting to get some sort of reaction out of Edward.

Casting another sidelong glance at Edward, taking in his dark tan, (was he working outside?), his more toned body (he had heard rumours that Edward was working up north, but Mac would neither confirm nor deny), the smudge on the cheek (somehow instead of silly, it looked… he didn’t know what he was feeling, better ignore it.)

The sky was getting dark, too early for night, it was the rushing clouds of a storm of some sorts, and Calvin hoped to be getting out of the mountains sooner rather than later. He sped up.

It happened faster than expected, the wind howling, the rain pummelling down onto the cab, barely able to see a foot ahead of them.

“Pull over.” Came the abrupt command. Edward was tense all over.

“’fraid of a bit of rain?”

“I’m worried your speeding ass is going to make my truck a tin of tuna,” came the growl, “pull the fuck over, McCall.”

“We’re fine!” Calvin exclaimed as loud thuds started to occur on the roof of the cab, and baseball sized hail bounced off the windshield. He screamed, swerved, slowed down, and pulled over. Hands shaking, he turned the truck off, attempting to breathe normally. The hail continued to fall, the wind rattling at the windows like some vengeful ghost attempting to come in. “We’re fine,” he muttered, then slightly more hysterical, he looked over to Edward, who had a slightly amused expression, as he squeaked “we’re fine!”

“I’m fucking not,” Edward dryly replied, “I think I’m going to have to get a soft rubber mallet to get the dings out of my truck.”

“Dings?” It was then that Calvin noticed the pockmarks on the front of his truck, and he had the sinking feeling it was not just the front of the truck. Almost as if to add insult to injury, a large hail stone, the size of an ostrich egg, plapped down onto the windshield, making a sickening cracking sound, and Calvin watched in semi horror as small cracks spiderwebbed across the glass.

A soft hysterical laugh escaped Calvin, “Shit shit shit shit, I didn’t get the extended warranty and I’m sure it ended like yesterday, shit shit shit.” His shoulders were heaving, from laughter? Trying to keep in crying? Why the fuck was he having some sort of tiny breakdown in front of Edward when he was trying to project the exact opposite. Be cool, suave, act like a fucking adult – directly above them cracked the loudest thunder, it felt and sounded as if it was a sword slicing through the truck to murder him, and he screamed loudly, tears (stupidly) springing to his eyes. Quickly he looked away from Edward, Edward could not see him crying due to fear from a stupid storm!

He heard a huff behind him, and let out another scream as he felt Edward grab his shoulder, forcefully bringing him into an awkward half hug, trapped by the seatbelt, leaning uncomfortably against the driving stick, head angled strangely against Edward’s shoulder.

“Idiot, you always cried during storms,” Edward’s voice was soft, as Calvin sniffled, some inner damn releasing as the tears began to flood out.

Unclicking his seatbelt, Calvin shifted, as he buried his face into Edward’s shoulder, crying for more than just the storm. Whatever Edward was doing in his hair felt good, some sort of soft petting, as if he was some goddam dog, but he didn’t care damnit, Edward was talking to him, and maybe this storm was the eighth layer of hell, but somehow even though he was dying of embarrassment, he felt lighter.

Just as quickly as it came, the storm passed, and Calvin pulled away from the awkward embrace, rubbing his eyes and attempting to calm down. His skin tingled from where Edward had touched him, and while he should be feeling bruised pride, all he could think about was thank god for the storm.

“Feeling better, champ?” Edward asked, genuine concern in his voice and face.

“Yeah of course,” Calvin couldn’t quite look at him, feeling too embarrassed.

Edward unbuckled his seat belt and slipped out of the truck, doing a full walk around and making sure the damage was mostly minimal.

By the time Edward hopped back in, Calvin had managed to pull himself together.

“Other than your windshield it’s fine. We should be able to drive… Actually… I noticed you’re heading to Calgary, why are you taking me there?”

Calvin shrugged, “Can’t you fix your truck wherever?” a sly smile appeared, “Unless you plan to finally scrap it?”

“Watch it McCall,” Edward growled punching him on the arm.

Yeeping in pain, Calvin teased in return, “I would love to watch it get crushed out of its misery!”

Narrowing his eyes, Edward looked as if he was about to say something, until he said instead, “You owe me a steak dinner.” Edward shifted, head against the rest, but no longer fully turned away from the other man, “I’m gonna take a nap, wake me when we are near food.”

Calvin nearly asked what the hell the steak dinner was for, but shut his mouth. Maybe it was a good thing Edward was willing to spend some more time with him, and maybe if he took Edward to one of his favourite restaurants – the ones specifically used to woo top-tier clients, they could add another strand of spaghetti to their wobbly bridge.

As always, before they even left the city, they had to pull into the Costco to get some essentials.

For Fort McMurray might be the place where most of the money was pulled out of the ground through the sweat and tears of the blue collar worker, but the money shifted south faster than a fart. The big city basics, the stuff the city dweller takes for granted, like Costco, Walmart, dipping out for some reasonably priced provisions…

Mac had to make the six hour journey down for that. He had come with a list. There was the usual on the list – toilet paper, essential food items such as potato chips, mustard pretzels, all the items that were hell to get up north – or if you could it would be twice the price for the inconvenience of lugging it up there. Never mind the desperation to get as much reasonably priced alcohol as possible.

It was almost as an afterthought that Mac led Edward to the aisle with dishes, and wordlessly grabbed a single mug. Edward thought nothing of it, other than Mac obviously needed a new mug.

His hockey bag packed with the essentials, Mac’s truck with all his supplies, Edward felt slightly optimistic.

They had to time it just right, but with a few pitstops, and the black ice which even the winter tires had difficulty navigating, the five hours turned into six. The ride interspersed with their conversation, both of them smoking like chimneys, the country radio that dominated rural Alberta, but not enough to not cut in and out sometimes, the flat prairie farms turning into boreal forest, dominated by the tall frames of the lodgepole pines.  A land carefully cultivated for centuries with a respect to nature, a land which now was being cut up to feed the white man’s economy. Brushing that thought aside, Edward let himself contentedly look at the nature around him.  

As they pulled into Fort McMurray, Edward was interested to see how the place had changed, and how it hadn’t. It was an odd mixture, the place where the money flowed from, the place where the money often did not stay. A place of historic transience, where one’s home was contained in the heart, but physically was far away. Something like he was doing – running away, getting to work. The grief heavy within him had settled like rocks in the bottom of his heart and stomach. A manageable pain, a manageable self hatred.

As they drove up to a relatively new house, Mac got visibly nervous.

Almost shyly, Mac announced he had finally bought a house. “Oh ye knows, I was rentin’ but then the owner wanted ta move right? So I figures, it’s a nice place, might as well just buy.”

As far as Edward knew, Mac had bounced around his own town unable to settle, never bothering too much with property, probably because it was so easy to crash at Edward’s between hitches. Why invest in a place you barely spent any time in, right? Or at least that had been his own pet theory. It was a feeling of shock and surprise then, at this announcement. Surprise because the man hadn’t bothered to hold a housewarming party, or even mention much about it.

Edward was too tired to even ask why his friend was renting in his own town. Mac did things his own way, and sometimes you just had to accept that. Edward had not seen this house before, and the build looked relatively new.

Pulling his hockey bag out of the truck, Edward followed Mac inside. Mac’s arms were full of the shopping, the bags dangling from the elbows, as he huffed from the weight of it. Edward offered to take something, but Mac was determined to bring it all into the house in one go. Edward locked the truck, and after careful instruction from Mac, which involved awkwardly reaching into Mac’s jacket pocket to retrieve the keys, opened the door to the house.

Taking his boots off, Edward glanced into the living room and frowned. It was a rather sparse room.

Mac had moved ahead to lazily dump the bags down in the nearest location, rubbing his arms.

“Mac… do you live in the basement or something?”

“No. I rents that out.”

Edward looked again at the living room. A space with bare wood floor where huddled in a corner sat one lamp, a worn-out bean bag chair covered in duct tape, gaming consoles and a very large television.  There was an overflowing ashtray beside the bean bag, and if he looked hard enough he could see some of the foam peanuts leaking out of the bag.

There was nothing else.

“Where’s your furniture?”

“You blind or wha’? It’s all there.” Mac gestured to the bean bag chair.

“Do you ever have guests?”

“Sometimes – but ye knows holdin’ a kitchen party ye jus’ needs takeout and alcohol.”

Edward made a ‘hmm’ing sound as he shifted his bag. “Well, you can show me where I’m supposed to sleep at least.”

“Sure thing, though now I’m realizing maybe should have got you a blanket or something,” Mac laughed. Edward laughed as well, as he was lead to the guest room.

The laughing stopped.

Before his eyes, was a room yes. In the room? For guests?

In the middle of the floor lay the saddest mattress on the ground. No box spring, no pillow. No duvet.

Simply something that looked like it should have been burnt in the last century.

Attempting to keep his shit together (for Edward knew that while Mac was a competent man, he also needed to be handled in the right way), he asked in a high pitched voice,

“So… am I supposed to sleep in here, or?”

Mac frowned, “Guess it’s not ideal, didn’t really think this through eh?”

Looking at the other man’s profile, Edward let out a breath, “We can make this work, though, I think tonight it might be too late to get me a place to sleep.”

Inwardly he screamed, when we went to Costco you could have said I would need to buy fucking pillows! A duvet! An entire bed! Instead you encouraged me to get more mustard pretzels!!

“Hell we can just share my bed, it’s big enough.”

Raising his eyebrow, and not quite looking at the other man, Edward attempted to joke, “You sure? You might get gay cooties.”

In response Mac slung his arm around Edward’s shoulders and firmly squished him into his warm side, “Chuck, if I’s a gay that would have been apparent years ago. I’s not worried ‘bout that.”

“Years ago?” Edward questioned, peering up at Mac’s amused expression. His internal screaming monologue quelled for the moment.

Giving him a reassuring squeeze, Mac let him go and cryptically replied, “This ain’t a place bustling with women in case ye haven’t noticed.”

“Maaaac… are you saying you’ve been experimenting?” Edward slowly asked, feeling somewhat delighted and surprised.

“Chucky, just cuz I ain’t a big city slicker don’t mean I don’t leave the house and sees people and does stuff, and I’ve realized that I am for sure not going to be worrying about turning homo.”

“Alright then buster… we can drop my stuff in your room and make some food.”

Mac was silent on the way to his room - which unsurprisingly smelt like sweat and something else.

This room had more stuff in it at least, Edward thought. He looked at the bed – simply a mattress on top of a box spring on the floor with what he supposed was the head pushed up against the wall. He knew he should probably count himself lucky that the box spring even existed in this scenario. The bed was messy and unmade, and he could just make out the forms of crushed potato chips amongst the black sheets.

Directly above the bed was a poster of a lady in a bikini, and then on the walls were scattered posters of other ladies, Oilers stuff, and the odd truck poster.

Clothes overflowed from the dresser, balled up tissues propagated on the floor, hiding in the green shag carpet. Edward’s gaze returned to linger to the bed.

“Uh, when was the last time you changed your sheets?”

“Ye change ‘em?”

“…Do you have some like, fresh bedsheets, Mac?”

Mac shrugged, “Maybe? I dunno. Maybe in the cupboard.”

Maybe? Maybe? Was Mac’s plan to share the bed all along? Mac? How the hell did he live like this?!

Edward frowned, attempting to figure out if he cared for the night. He was tired, they both were tired. He had slept in worse locations. He knew when there were times to fight, he also knew when it was time to eat.

“Let’s eat.”

Edward attempted to keep his trepidation at bay. It was as if this house wasn’t actually lived in. Simply a place for Mac to play games and pass out. A house – not a home.

Mac had said kitchen parties but… the stove still had plastic wrap on it. He was not sure what to expect when it came to the cupboards. He opened one and saw an open package of cookies, the plastic tray slightly hanging out of the bag, and on further inspection, only one broken cookie left. Squinting at the bag, Edward realized the cookie had expired over a year ago. The cupboard beside that one was empty.

The next cupboard contained one bowl, one mug, and one plate.

His next step had his foot stick to the floor, his hand fumbling on the next cupboard.

“Oh I calls that the fly trap.”

“What?”

Mac gestured to the sticky patch on the floor, “Keeps meaning to clean it up but ye know, easier to just not step in it.”

“Mac…” Edward sighed, as he opened the next cupboard, and was relieved that it contained some packs of ramen.

He opened a drawer and found it crammed with odd bits of silverware, free floating in the drawer, a divider nowhere in sight. He could discern a sharp knife, a wooden spoon, two forks, a butter knife and three spoons. And what possibly might be a cheese grater buried at the bottom of it all. There also happened to be about six different types of novelty beer openers.  The drawer beneath that contained cedar planks, hot dog buns, a long lighter, a metal spatula, and those tiny condiments you get from take out.

“That’s the barbeque drawer.” Mac offered in explanation.

One of the cupboards under the sink was crammed full of fishing supplies. Edward dearly hoped that the locked metal container did not contain fish bait. He did not open to find out.

With slight trepidation Edward opened the refrigerator.

On the top shelf, was an open can of peaches with a fork stuck into it. It stood in the middle of the top shelf like a sculpture – a sculpture that smelled. In the door was some open juice, pickled radishes, mustard, ketchup, relish and hot sauce. Edward could deal with this, indeed he had dealt with far worse before when it came to mysterious refrigerator contents.

Opening the freezer Edward let out a cry of surprise. Neatly stacked, packaged and dated was various cuts of meat that Mac had hunted.

Is this what he spent all his time doing? Edward mentally grumbled, expend all the energy to make sure you ate the meat in the right order?

Beside the meat was an assortment of frozen dinners crammed around a tub of ice cream, one of them nearly bent in half, and Edward did not want to spend too much thought as to how Mac had managed that.

He opened the door of what he supposed was going to be the pantry. He expected to find at least a potato or something, but instead it was full of neatly arranged video games on the shelves, and a few gaming consoles tucked into a corner. On the floor was a half full box of whippets.

His eyes scanned the pantry still searching and not finding.

There was something missing though. Sure there was a bowl and stuff, but what the hell did Mac cook his food in? Ramen existed, the one mug was not large enough to cook it. Did Mac just eat it raw like some moody teenager?

“Mac. Where’s your pots and pans?” Edward turned to ask the other man, who was leaning against the counter simply staring at him with amusement.

In answer he shifted and in the corner of the counter was a small silver pot. By itself.

Edward had no words, as in a dream like state he crossed the room, deliberately ignoring the sticky bits of the floor, and went to examine this battered little pot.

“Mac… why do you have a pot with no handle?”

“Oh you knows it broke a while back haven’t gots the time to jus’ pop down to the store to get a new one, and its not like I needs it.” He shrugged, “It’s like my bowl too – I just make the noodles innit then I moves it to the counter on the little cork pot pad and eats straight outta it.”

Edward was not quite sure how to describe the sensation he was feeling as he looked at the fully grown man in front of him. How… how did Mac survive? How was this even life? Sure he thought himself as screwed up but Mac seemed to be existing on another level.

“Mac… do you just spend all your money on your truck and video games?”

“Beers, cocaine, darts and the prostitutes too.” He gamely added.

“Mac… tomorrow we’re going to the store to uh…” Edward frowned, struggling to find words, “Well, to at least get me my own fucking mug.”

At this Mac brightened, “I got you one! It’s in the pile of crap I brought in from Costco. Chuck – Chuck why are you crying!?”

Edward was laughing as well as crying, as he looked up at the other man, “Mac… I think you’re more fucked up than I am. Shit – you’re supposed to be the epitome of the ideal man—well paying job, a house, passably white, heterosexual – and here you are-” at this Edward’s voice had raised in pitch as he held the pot, “using a pot with no handle! YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A FRYING PAN.”

“Don’t need it on the barbeque.”

Edward choked slightly at that response.

“Mac… tomorrow we’re going to Canadian Tire and I swear to god, I may be a fucking mess, but I at least know how to get a pot with a handle on it for you.”

A small smile graced the other man’s lips, “So’s did ya decide what ya wanna eat for dinner?”

“A microwave dinner.”

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll get it made then?”

Edward snorted. “Comfortable where? You don’t even have a kitchen table or chair.”

“Uh,” Mac’s ears turned red, his words apparently escaping him, his hands fumbling slightly with the microwave dinner packaging.

Realizing his tone was probably a little too harsh, Edward attempted to settle against the counter, “I’m fine standing here I guess.”

Mac nodded and stuck the meals into the microwave (which Edward pointedly did not look into, he feared for his life and decided that in this case ignorance was his friend.) For a man of money Mac didn’t have a lot of appliances, hell he didn’t even have a kettle or a toaster.

“What do you usually eat?” he asked, his voice slightly louder than necessary to be heard over the hum of the microwave.

Mac looked slightly ashamed, “Oh takeout, or I just go to my favourite restaurant or pub. I mean it’s not like being home is a place I’m at too much – spend most of my time up at the camps. They feed ye well there. Sometimes its just easier being at work. Don’t need to worry about nothing. Just get the job done.”

Breathing deeply, Edward nodded, “That sounds nice. No need to think, just work.”

“Which is why you’re up here.” Mac grabbed the meals out of the microwave, and they ate their respective meals standing in the kitchen in companionable silence.

Together they unpacked the groceries, Edward already attempting to bring some sort of order to the cupboards. Satisfied that there was some sort of start, he grabbed his toiletries and made his way to the washroom. Flicking on the light, his life flashed before his eyes.

He wasn’t sure where to start first. The dried pee puddles by the toilet, of a man who didn’t care if he missed? (Granted, he had been specifically trained by a VERY grouchy Edith to NEVER EVER make a mess like that.) The ragged shower curtain? The suspicious black mold in the bathtub, or the sink? It was as if Mac was simply a boy in a man’s body, with no one around to teach him about the joys of bleach. As he carefully shuffled into the washroom, mentally informing himself that all he needed to focus upon was getting himself suitable for bed, Edward looked at himself in the mirror splotched with water and tooth paste. His mind whirring to who possibly would be the person to take Mac to the side to teach him the basics of cleaning. Johnny B’y? Freddy? While they were capable men in their own rights, Edward wasn’t entirely sure how close they were to Mac to inform him what a mop was. Johnny B’y was rather outspoken, and Edward felt if he had visited there would be loud words… a thought crossed his mind. A rather unpleasant one.

Mac had mentioned kitchen parties, but the place really did feel unlived in. Sure there was empty beer cans, but there wasn’t any signs that the Atlantic coasters had dropped by. No off-brand screech, none of their specialty favourite foods… – hell he had Johnny B’y stop by for a short visit and he was finding random Purity brand items months later. If there was one thing you could count on, it was that a Newfoundlander would bring food from home with them. There was no evidence of that.  Mac was lying, came his conclusion.

Spitting into the sink, and cupping water to his mouth, Edward swished the toothpaste out, and then cleaned his toothbrush.

Not trusting to leave his toiletries overnight in this washroom, Edward packed them up.  As he went to turn off the light he cringed. Like the other light switches in the house, which he suspected were supposed to be white, this was a dark grey of grime. Things he hadn’t thought about cleaning were dirty – such as the edges of corners where one brushed up. He was fairly certain Mac had never thought about washing a wall. Or perhaps not tossing his dirty coveralls on the floor. Like a little boy with free reign of a house and no mother to nag after him.

Oh god, Edward panicked, am I the mother?

He was glad he had had the two to three beers. No one wanted to be sober entering Mac’s bedroom.

Mac had scrubbed his teeth before, and was already in bed, snoring lightly. Edward decided to keep his thought to himself, and try to sleep himself. As his hand brushed against something in the bed, that was not attached to Mac, and which was not a pillow, Edward concluded, maybe acting as the surrogate mother was not a bad thing.

XXXX

Entering Canadian Tire was like entering a holy cathedral, Edward thought, breathing the tire smell in deeply. Wherever you went Canadian Tire had the same smell, the same atmosphere, the same lighting that wasn’t overbearing, but instead felt like entering a sacred space. Directing Mac to the shopping cart, Edward lead the way to the main aisle which held the string of palettes in the middle of the floor, the first one piled up with boxes of sale Christmas decorations.  Ignoring the temptations, he looked around, torn between kitchen appliances and decent fucking bedding.

He was trying to block last night. Or this morning. Time had ceased to mean anything to him. Dinner had been alright, he was aghast that Mac wanted to use the dishwasher for all two forks. He asked where the liquid detergent was and from the shifty look on Mac’s face he realized that it didn’t exist. Unbidden to his mind was the memory of the bed. The foul smell. The fact that he had found a half eaten kubasa amongst the potato chips. There was even some marijuana hidden under the pillow. And then god, Mac’s snoring. Edward too afraid to move in the bed, in fear his foot would strike a crusty cum sock.

He was tired as hell, but simply being in the Canadian Tire was reviving him. His mind began clicking in place, as he headed to the kitchen appliances, it was the closest to them. Pots and pans gleamed on display, like holy implements of cookery. He stared at them hard, calculating the best costs, seeing what was on sale, what would be the easiest for Mac to maintain.

“You’re getting this set.” Edward pointed to a boxset of copper pots and pans. “And that cast iron skillet.” Edward bent down to lift the heavy boxset, grunting in effort. It was heavier than he thought.

“Chuck, stop.”

“Mac! You need pots with handles on them!” Edward grunted as he crab walked the box towards the shopping cart.

The box was suddenly lifted out of his arms, as Mac rolled his eyes, and easily placed it into the cart. “I’ll get the stuff, you point.”

“Oh.” A soft ‘oh’, a look of consideration, then, “Hmm am I supposed to be your…” Edward leant close to Mac to whisper this conspiratorially, “gay makeover?”

Mac snorted, “No, you’re supposed to help me get my shit together because the last time I was in charge of a home it was made out of animal hide.”

“Right.” Edward nibbled his lip as they navigated the maze of the kitchen area away from the pots and pans to the beverage accessories. “So… No one’s actually shown you how to housekeep?”

“Keep a house?”

“I mean all the nonsense like how to clean, and the types of comforts you don’t realize you need but when you have it you wonder how you lived without it before.”

“Like you know – having the double shower curtain, so the water doesn’t get out.”

“The double what now?”

“You’ll understand that particular one soon enough. I mean why didn’t you even bother to hire a cleaner?”

“No need to. Mess doesn’t bother me, not like anyone else comes to visit.” Mac’s words trailed off and he shot Edward a nervous quick glance as if he realized what he had just said.

Sensing the nervousness, Edward decided to let it slide. If Mac wanted to elaborate later, he could. “Well we need to make sure you get a kettle then. If there’s no tea in sight when the rest of the guys come over you know you’ll be in trouble.” They were standing in front of a selection of them, and he pointed towards a cordless kettle which was on sale.

“You’re right there. No need to be microwaving the mug.” Mac laughed as he grabbed the kettle carefully slotting it in beside the box of pots and pans.

They had moved out of the kitchen appliances to the aisle full of various cleaners. Rows upon rows of choices, each cleaner singing out their own praises in order to tempt the customer. Edward had to debate between sale and what he knew worked. He looked over to Mac, who was staring a little too hard at some Pledge, his brow slightly furrowed. Best not try new things, best stick to what he knew would work.

His hands darted out as he grabbed two different types of the same cleaner, “Do you care about smell?”

“Uh,” Mac was broken out of his reverie, looking at the choices before him. “Whatever you like Chuck.”

“Uh huhhh,” Edward decided to get both, handing the cleaners over to Mac, who neatly slid them into the cart, maximizing the space.

They had reached a section with discounted patio furniture, and Edward paused thoughtfully.

“Chuck it’s not the season for patios.”

“I know but… it’s on sale…” he nibbled his lower lip, and then moved towards a wicker chair with a cushion and sat in it. “Come try.”

Frowning slightly but in an action of trust, Mac sat down in an identical chair.

Wriggling, Edward let his head fall back, “I think this at least beats sitting on a beanbag with the beans falling out.”

“Hey! I’ll have ye know I’ve had that bag since like 1990! I’ve drug it around faithfully for over a decade, it’s my favourite chair!”

“It may be your favourite chair, but do you REALLY want to be playing Call of Duty with me snuggled half on your thigh as we try to share it?”

Narrowing his eyes, Mac stuck his tongue out. “Who says I have a second controller?”

“The one I literally saw in a heap on the floor?”

“Aw shit ye got me there.” Mac stretched out his legs, “I guess we could get one.”

“And that.”

“What?”

Edward was pointing to some sort of wicker loveseat. It was a different stain from the chair, not a matching set.

“Why?”

“So other people can sit their assess down somewhere.” Edward simply replied. He was looking around, wondering where the hell an attendant could be.

“Chucky, trying to find a Canadian Tire employee in the actual goddam store is like tryin’ to get a blow job for free from a hooker, not gonna happen.”  

Except that Edward had sprung up from the seat and was halfway down the aisle, talking animatedly with an attendant, who nodded and disappeared.

Mac had no clue what was happening, until the attendant appeared with a flat dolly to load the patio furniture.

“I’ll have it by the front for when you’re ready to go.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate your help.”

Looking pleased as punch, Edward winked at Mac. “And let’s just say I’ve gotten a few freebies in my past.”

Jaw hanging open, Mac sputtered, and then laughed as he stood up. “Geezus.”  His hands were back on the handle of the shopping cart, “Where to next, Chucky?”

“Uh bedding so I can sleep in a bed without half a pantry in it.” Edward teased.

“Hey kubasa is cured, it can keep.”

“Uh not for like a week in a bed!” Edward walked just fast enough to be outside of any chance of Mac jostling him. He hadn’t realized Mac had stopped, until he was about a few aisles down. A small surge of worry filled him as he wondered if he had gone too far.

Mac’s expression was hard to read; as he approached, he followed the man’s gaze. To his surprise it was at the paint chips.

“Mac?”

“Chuck… would it be weird to paint the living room?”

“Huh?” This was not at all what Edward expected.

Flushing slightly, Mac said, “I likes how your house is with the colours, but I don’t know how to goes about it.”

Gathering himself out of his shock, Edward nodded. “Sure… well we go look at paint chips and figure out colours…” he pulled a set of grey to black “Black walls? Express your true bituminous self?” he asked wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Holy fuck no, I stare at that shit all day at work, there is no friggin’ way I’m gonna be havin’ my living room be that colour!” Mac exclaimed as he aggressively moved past Edward, paused at the rainbow of colours and then plucked out a couple sheets in the yellow and orange range. “Give me the fucking sun all year round thank you very much.”

“But Mac! Look at these wonderful colours!” Edward managed to get out, stifling his giggles as Mac’s eyes registered the different chips in neon green, baby puke brown, and some sort of blinding hot pink.

“Ye must be nuts,” Mac snorted, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he was considering, “But maybe that shit brown could be a nice accent colour to…” he looked at the paint chips in his hands, concentrating, then nodded, “This soft buttercup yellow.”

“Ohh actually that’s a nice colour, I think we probably shouldn’t match it with shit brown.” Edward placed the rejected colours back, and after a moment, grabbed a sheet of various shades of white, “We could accent it with this eggshell? Unless you want to be bold with some soft light blue?”

“Blue’s getting a little out there but show me anyway.”

Taking a minute, Edward looked at all the light blues, before drawing three different cards, and holding them in turn next to the buttercup yellow. “This one – soft turquoise.”

Mac took the blue paint chip, and held it with the yellow, staring quietly for a long time. Long enough that Edward began to feel awkward standing there, waiting for his reply. Had he gone a little too off the deep end with the blue?

Mac’s gaze shifted from the paint chips to meet Edward’s eyes, and for an excruciating ten seconds simply held it. “Yeah sure, why the fuck not? Sun needs the sky, don’t it?”

The breath he hadn’t even known he was holding was let go, a broad smile breaking across Edward’s face. “Sure as hell does.”

Somehow, even though it was stupid, Edward felt like the stones he had been carrying around were being lifted, somehow being placed into that damned shopping cart between the kettle and the freshly mixed paint. Absolved of all his sins, as he joked with Mac, reminding himself that perhaps not everything had gone to hell since the New Years. That maybe there were other aspects of his life that were worthwhile, worth building. Worth using the stones he carried around to create a new base.

By the time they reach the till, Edward was pushing a second cart full of ‘essentials’, their banter loud and boisterous, their feet moving in a slight competition as to who could reach the till first. The bill is something Edward doesn’t want to know, but Mac doesn’t mind paying it. He jokes with the cashier, that his cousin is helping him get set up in life – help him get the chicks.

In a way he was looking forward to cleaning and painting and making the house a home together with Mac. Spending the time he never seemed to have before, with someone he feels (with some guilt) he may have been neglecting.

As they made their way out to the parking lot, snow crunching under the wheels of the cart, the gun grey sky dark with the weak sun, Edward took a deep breath in, allowing the tensions to release out of him. They loaded the truck together, carefully puzzling the furniture, trying to arrange all the cleaning products and shiny new kitchen items in the back seat. As Edward attempted to balance something, Mac frowned.

“Chuck, no, what the hell are you doing. Step back and let the master work.”

Before his eyes, he watched as Mac re-shifted everything, moving the packages and different shapes together in a nice tight satisfying puzzle. Somehow everything fit. Noticing Edward’s admiring look, Mac’s ears turned slightly red, “Probably spendin’ too much time on Tetris.”

“I’d say just enough time.”

As he returned the carts to the outdoor corral, Edward realized that maybe Mac had done him a favour. His concern and intolerance of the other man’s lifestyle had consumed his worries and fears about the future. It had given him a project, something with tangible goals to accomplish. A purpose in life. Turn Mac’s house into a home, a place that was no longer a place of transience.  But it wasn’t only that. It was Mac shifting his life, wiggling a piece out there, putting a new one there, providing Edward with a fundamental shift in his self-flagellation.

Étienne was wearing too many layers.

Sure it was winter and probably cold but no one should be wearing a fully zipped up jacket, toque and scarf ensemble inside the airport, Edward thought.

“Why are you dressed for an arctic expedition?” Edward asked his friend.

Étienne’s voice was muffled by the scarf, “Because I have a slight cold.”

“This is overkill.” Edward teased, “Do you need my jacket as well?”

“Non.” Étienne sneezed then added, “not yet.”

They were heading away from the airport in a taxi, Étienne apparently not patient enough to wait for a bus.

Edward had packed light, he had managed to establish a Drawer for his Montreal clothes at Étienne’s, an accomplishment he tried not to think about too hard (but which, if he could admit to himself, he was delighted over). He had noticed in the brief interim that they had been outside that it was not that cold, and he figured it was probably just an Étienne thing that the man was dressed in so many layers.

It was only when Edward won the fight of paying the entire cab fare that he felt something was off with the other man.

This was confirmed as they entered Étienne’s place, and the man was refusing to de-layer his clothes.

“Étienne, it’s hot as Hades here, and you’re trying to put on another sweater – alright what’s going on – did you get a shitty tattoo? Do you have scarlet fever?” Edward huffed feeling very annoyed at his friend, his hands reaching out to bat the sweater away.

It was like unwrapping a wriggling child, dodging, and weaving away from him, as Edward firmly grabbed one end of the scarf and unwound it from his friend’s face.

Étienne’s eyes were red, his nose was red and dripping, his cheeks flushed, and he looked as if he had just crawled out of the frosty pits of Niflheim.

“Jesus Christ you look like shit.”

“Thank you Eddy I appreciate the commentary.”  Edward realized Étienne sounded weird because his nose was plugged. Étienne grabbed the scarf and rewrapped it around his face. He did however concede in removing his jacket.

“So uh can I assume we’re not going to the club tonight?”

“Excuse me? Obviously we still are, you flew out to have a good time and I’m-” Étienne had to pause to hack a lung out, “am going to show you a good time!” he did a dramatic arm flourish, over tilted, banged into the wall, cried out in pain, and then nobly righted himself, attempting a more subdued ‘we are totally going out and getting dick’ pose.

“No we’re not.” Edward said firmly as he finished taking off his boots, “We are going to stay in.”

“Eddy!! Even if I don’t go out you should go out, you didn’t come all this way to just sit on my couch and watch TV.” Étienne protested as the other man gently guided him to the couch.

Giving his friend a Look, Edward said darkly, “Do you think I fly my ass all the way out to your beautiful city to see some guy’s cock?”

“Well, you always complain that you can’t really do the same stuff in Edmonton so, yeah. I guess. You come here to get tail and I don’t blame you. Nor do I want to hold you back. And I don’t want you to get sick!”

Edward was busy firmly tucking a blanket around Étienne, ensuring that max cozy was achieved.

Étienne was still fussing, and unthinkingly, Edward leant forward and gave the other man a small kiss on the forehead to calm him down. It immediately worked.

“I’m not worried about that. Anyways. Just so you know. I happen to haul myself these many miles to see you. Since you are, you know… my friend. Now I am going to make you a hot drink, and then get take-out, ok? Wong’s is still open, yeah?”

Étienne nodded.

“And if you move from the couch for any reason other than going to bed or peeing, I will look not happily upon that.”

“Ok maudit mardeux.”

XXX

When Edward returned with take-out (he had gotten a lot, with the plan that the leftovers would tide them over for a couple days), he was happy to see that Étienne was still on the couch, the mug of hot tea in his hands, still slowly sipping.

“Eddy,” Étienne turned a plaintive look to the man, looking at the giant bags of take-out, “I’m suffering… can you get me some tissues?”

“Sure, sorry for not getting you them before I left.” Setting the take-out on the coffee table, Edward went in search of the tissues. He also figured the other man would want a personal garbage, and while he was at it, he also grabbed two bowls and cutlery.

Returning, Edward immediately worried as the other man was crying.

Étienne had moved out of his blanket fortress, one of the take-out bags were open, and before him was a round Styrofoam container, lid off, gently steaming.

“How did you know?”  he asked quietly. Soft teary eyes looked at Edward; a look that could almost be classified as tender.

Edward looked at Étienne in confusion. “Know what?”

“That I love hot and spicy soup when sick.”

“Because you once wrote me five pages of a letter dedicated to Wong’s hot and spicy soup and how it cured you of the bubonic plague, Étienne.”

“I… I don’t remember that.”

“Judging from your spelling I think you were still high off soup or something,” Edward paused as he watched his friend happily slurp the soup, “However I greatly enjoyed reading it… even if it didn’t quite make sense, especially that weird part where you tried to rhyme in iambic pentameter.”

“I have no fucking memory of this. You’re bullshitting me right? Iambic pentameter? You’re gonna have to show me this letter.”

“Only if you promise not to destroy it,” Edward teased. “Plus, hold on let me see if I can remember.” Edward sat down beside the other man, setting down the items, and then moving to help himself to the food. “Shall I travel the world for a potion? Nay, for the cure exists in Montreal. Dew of the gods in comparison pales. For yea the cure is at Wong’s; Hot and Spicy.”

“Oh my god that’s not even good,” Étienne choked slightly, and then coughed, “That last part isn’t even proper iambic pentameter.”

Edward shrugged, “Hey, you at least tried. I nearly hurt myself laughing, and I mmmmmmaaaaybe hung that up on my fridge to look at for a solid week.”

Étienne narrowed his eyes, “You better watch out Murphy, I’m sure we both have an arsenal of blackmail material in our decades of letters.”

“When did one’s life and feelings become blackmail material, Maisonneuve?” Edward quietly teased, his gaze focused to the news report on the television. The low murmur of the day’s events filling up the strange gap between them.

Étienne blew on the soup and then took a slurp. Slyly he asked, “So that letter where you drew images of your favourite buffalo can be shown to anyone?”

Edward quickly looked at Étienne, “That image was only for you ok – not for the world!”

“But it’s so cute, if I had had a refrigerator at the time it would have gone on that. Though I guess I have one now I can put it up.” Étienne paused, frowned, “Actually, Eddy, you haven’t really drawn anything for me in a while. Why did you stop?”

“Because…” Edward was surprised to find he did not have a ready answer. Life got busy? He got more self conscious? It was something that had simply fallen to the wayside without him noticing? He had grown up and decided drawing was a childish thing? “Huh. I guess I just stopped.”

His friend was wiggling, that wiggle he did when he had one of his brilliant ideas.

“’Tienne, what is it?”

“Since I am so sick, and dying, you should entertain me by drawing me a story!”

“A story?”

“Yeah! One about… buffalo.”

“Draw on what?”

“Oh uhm, let me get you-“

“Just tell me. You stay put… but can we eat first?”

“…Fine… but you are going to draw me a story.  Even if it’s in crayon, ok?”

“Yes sir,” Edward laughed, “So do I get any hot and spicy soup?”

XXXXX

“Once upon a time there was beautiful prairie, where the sound of the drums was the heartbeat of the land. Upon the prairie roamed the buffalo, strong majestic animals in whose footsteps sprung new life.”

As he drew the story, Edward narrated. The art items he found were pencil crayons and a pad of paper. The buffalo on the green grass was probably akin to a five year old’s drawing, but as he glanced over to his friend, who looked absolutely thrilled and despite suffering from a sort of plague, who was sparkling in happiness that this was even taking place, it was worth it.

“There was a very tiny calf, whose legs still wobbled.” Edward added little shaky lines to his badly drawn tiny calf, “who got separated from the herd.”

“Edward if this is going to be a sad story I want you to stop now.” Étienne interrupted.

“Shhh.” Edward settled in more, as he paused in his story telling to draw the next page. “This calf, whose name was Stardreamer, had gotten separated from the herd when following a butterfly to a small river. When Stardreamer realized he was no longer with his mother, he called and called, but got no reply.”

“Eddy…”

“Instead a wily old Magpie appeared, letting out  a cheeky laugh. Stardreamer attempted to hide, and stayed very still as the Magpie flew down and sat upon him.

<Fear not little one,> the Magpie said, as it began to pick ticks off the calf, <I am a friend.>”

As the story progressed, Edward found himself adding more twists and turns, and what was originally supposed to be only ten pages it became thirty. Étienne’s full rapt attention was addictive, and the man’s slightly wet eyes when Stardreamer reunited with the herd he found endearing.

The story of Stardreamer continued throughout the week as the two of them, instead of simply vegging out and watching movies, found themselves cooped up as the snow piled up outside. The only times Edward left was to get more food and to shovel the sidewalk (which apparently dumbfounded Étienne, who informed Edward that clearing the sidewalk was the city’s job, to which Edward rolled his eyes and asked if the people of Montreal were suddenly missing arms and shovels, which then lead to a heated debate of the role of the city when it came to snow, a debate which kept popping up).

As the week progressed, Étienne got better, his nose less plugged, his body less feverish.

As the week progressed however, Edward began to display the same symptoms of illness that Étienne had had. Something he attempted to hide from the other man… rather unsuccessfully.

He had taken himself to the washroom to blow his nose, only to bang his elbow on the wall when Étienne’s voice spoke up from the other side of the door separating them.

<Eddy, I’m so sorry, I never meant to invite you over and then give you the plague.>

Cursing and rubbing his elbow, Edward was silent a moment, then said, <I do not have the plague, it’s allergies.> This lie was quickly laid to rest as he started having a severe coughing attack. One severe enough that Étienne forced open the bathroom door to stride in and sit Edward down on the edge of the bath, gently rubbing the other man’s back as the coughing fit eventually passed.

As Edward struggled to breath, his nose and throat plugged up, his eyes red rimmed, Étienne shook his head. <Looks like it’s my turn to take care of you.>

Blowing his nose, Edward sniffled. Rubbing his forehead he managed to croak out, <I’m supposed to fly out.>

<Hmmmm, are you well enough to travel? Are you able to rebook?>

Edward was too busy coughing to respond.

<Will they even let you onto the airplane, Édouard?>

Edward shrugged, “I dunno.”

“If you insist on returning…” Étienne paused <I will simply have to travel with you. Make sure you don’t faint on the way.>

Looking over to his friend, his expression a mixture of surprised misery, Edward croaked, “You’d really do that?”

Raising one eyebrow, Étienne quietly responded <You are sick and my responsibility. I would be unable to rest at the thought of you travelling alone in such a condition.>

It was unclear whether it was the fever or something else that caused Edward’s cheeks to flush, as he looked away, his slumped shoulders relaxing, as he leant into the other man.

After Calvin had left him, Edward had realized what a fool he had been to even think that a new century could mean a new him, a new future, a new reality, a new hope.

He had watched Calvin grow over the years, become a (somewhat) capable man. From the spoiled child to the awkward teenager to someone who he could view as an equal, someone he could talk to beyond their competitive games. Where their rivalry was one that lifted the other person up – but with the tacit knowledge that when shit hit the fan the other would have their back. Or that’s what he had thought. Where Calvin was person he could trust – he had made the mistake in viewing him as a genuine friend. The fact that Calvin had dropped and broke his cup in shock, said some hurtful shit and just… left, had torn open a gaping wound in Edward.

Everything that he had been certain of, the stuff he had felt slightly hopeful for, gone like smoke in those actions. A true betrayal. All those times where he had supported the other man through the toughest of times, their decades of friendship, meaningless. He had expected Calvin to be shocked, sure, but he thought you know, maybe after a bit of shouting or disbelief, the other man would stick around. Swallow his pride, realize that just because he discovered Edward was gay – which he had always been for the entirety of their friendship - didn’t actually change anything. It felt as if Edward’s entire identity had become subsumed into the nebulous concept of “Gay,” and that Calvin had purposely forgotten who the hell Edward was – is. The exact thing Edward hadn’t wanted to happen had happened. He was no longer an autonomous person, but simply the outcast.

Somewhere, rambling in the deepest pits of feeling sorry for himself, Edward felt a slow burning anger. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge, something he purposely was drowning to death with his own tears. Instead he fell into what he knew, the grooves of self-pity he felt most comfortable in, drawing it around him like a heavy damp protective blanket.

It had been an absolute fucking mistake to come out.  All the crushing anxiety and depression which he had thought would magically disappear if he would be goddam honest for once in his fucking life fell upon him like the walls of Erebus. The rest of his plans, his next steps were in disarray all around him.

The plans of coming out, trumpeting across the land that he was here, he was queer, and yes he was a homosexual, had crumbled. The plans of telling Étienne that he was coming out finally, after years of prodding, offhand comments, seeing the other man’s frustration as Edward kept dragging the other man into the closet with him, that the plan of saying those words would somehow magically heal that rift between them. That rift created by him – it was entirely his fault. By him not coming out. He could see how each interaction, as their relationship became more entangled, was slowly hollowing the other man out, turning Étienne into his personal closet. Here he was fucking it up again, and the other man didn’t even have to be in the same province. The space he had carved out with the other man, where he thought he could step outside, had vanished with the first step he had taken, and he feared that turning around, telling Étienne what a failure he had been, would seal that door forever.

All he could think about was the North Saskatchewan during the winter. Where each tension between them had turned them into a separate ice flow. Like crystalized scabs upon the surface of the fast running river, where once they had been jammed up beside each other, almost as if one sheet of ice. Those tense gaps between them, the words he could never say, had grown from a splinter to something more where the current was tearing them apart. And soon with the spring, or perhaps a false spring, when the weather gets warm in February and the rift between the two ice sheets grow, and you think maybe the thawing is a good thing, where instead of being brittle you can turn into the water and bend into each other --- that doesn’t happen. The river refreezes and between them instead of the water, it’s a new sheet of ice, whose growth shoves one and the other to opposite sides of the shore, one towards the slow moving inner bend, the other to be lost completely under the fast moving outer bend, to be subsumed and drowned, communication between them gone.

Edward knew which one he was, hell he was drowning in his own tears.

Edith had stopped by, but he hadn’t wanted to let her in, instead ignoring her persistent knocking. She had come in anyway and tutted over him. “Why are you laying on the floor like a dead baby seal?” she was crouching beside him. In response he turned his face further into the blue shag carpet.

“Edward…” she fully sat on the ground beside him, her fingers carding into his hair as she gently stroked. “What happened?”

He simply grunted in response.

“It didn’t go so well, huh?”

She sat beside him for a while, allowing him to roll into her thigh and ugly cry.

“And a no to you having a birthday party?”

He let out a sniffle in response.

Edith began to hum, as she played with his hair, “Are you planning to lay here all day and night like a lump?”

Her brother did not respond, “So this again huh? Do you need me to get you some more chips or something?”

Edward gave a small grunt, which Edith interpreted as a yes.

“Look, I gotta go, but I will return with chips,” Edith gave Edward a small pat, as she finally began to move, grumbling about her legs falling asleep and needing to pee.

When she had left, Edward suddenly felt even more lonely. As if the one piece of hope had left the room, and the misery fully descended upon him again.

In some ways it was like when Gretzky had left. That was another time when he had turned into a useless lump, but at least that time Étienne had visited and made him feel better.

Étienne wasn’t visiting now.

No one was visiting now.

He was fairly certain he had not moved for days, but to be honest he had no sense of time, other than the fact Edith had returned and restocked his favourite comfort foods. An hour felt like a century, a minute an hour, it could have simply been a day. Simply gone dormant, wake up enough to cry, but that’s about it.

This was perhaps why he nearly shit himself when out of the blue he heard Mac’s voice not even a foot away from him.

“Lord jaysus to the sun and moon and back what de hell is ‘appenin’ here?”

It was interesting how over time Mac’s language had simply accommodated, or perhaps incorporated Atlantic turns of phrase, Edward mulled over. Mac used to speak his English slower, more measured, probably because he spent most of his time thinking in his odd mix of Chipewyan, Cree and French.

<My imminent death,> Edward joked in Cree.  

“Yer speakin’ tongues, me son.”

Edward rolled over, rubbing his eyes, and sighed, “Mac, for the last time, you are not from Atlantic Canada and don’t need to put on this… fake accent.”

Mac frowned, “I have an accent now?”

“Yeah and its like the bastard child of everyone who ever decided to live in you.”

There was the sound of a plastic bag crinkling, and the sound of the couch springs straining as Mac sat down. Edward heard the sound of the beer can being popped open.

A few minutes of silence passed, until Mac gently ventured, “So I takes it ye don’t want to do the usual New Year cross country skiing?”

Edward frowned. How could he forget? It was a ‘tradition’ started god knows when. Probably when travel between his and Mac’s got easier, where sometime with the New Year’s snow, they would arrange a time to ski together. Strange perhaps, but having someone who instead of bitching about the snow and cold took absolute delight in it was refreshing. There were times where Edward didn’t want to pretend to hate where he lived, and being with Mac was one of those times.

“I think I need to eat first… and maybe wash.”

It was as if with Mac’s arrival the strings to the puppet master had got reattached, and Edward found himself once more able to get up, go through the motions of ‘human.’

They did not go skiing that first day. It was as if by Mac’s arrival, Edward suddenly became conscious of how disgusting he had been living, so instead, he recruited Mac to help him clean up.  The other man didn’t comment much, only asked on how to clean certain items, and once, got his hand trapped in the vacuum cleaner while trying to change the bag.

It was rather obvious to Edward that while Mac was competent in many aspects of his life, cleaning was not his forte. But maybe that was fine – he hadn’t laughed in ages, and seeing how stricken the other man looked, hand trapped in machine and bag, had acted as a medicine he hadn’t known he needed.

And somewhere between here and there Edward remembers that between the broken parts, sometimes there are still pieces worth picking up.

XXXX

The cool crisp air, the shhh shhh of the skis slicing the fresh snow, their breath hanging behind them like airplane trails. That feeling of being in another world with the snow-laden pine trees, the magpies laughing in the distance, the slow rush of the river, the water running under the large ice sheets, propelled by necessity to continuously flow.

The powdery snow all around them like the powdered drug they had taken before leaving for a small buzz, a shared bad habit ‘between men’.

Both of them bundled up, Edward could only find his bright blue ski suit, but Mac hadn’t said anything – hell the other man had brought a bright orange one, which he had joked had been assigned from ‘OH&S’.

His cheeks fresh with the cold, Edward felt his mouth become unhinged, as suddenly the words began to flow out of him. Stuff he usually would never consider telling Mac.

Mac, a man who was hard to read, hard to determine what he was thinking, (or Edward knew, many people wondered if Mac even thought), where assumptions were made without even meeting the man.

However, Mac in his own quiet strange way, was one of the people closest to him (not that a lot of other people would know that, it wasn’t like he brought the other man up in conversation all that much, specifically for the fact he did not want to spend his time listening to tired refrains of how bad the other man was).

“I’ve fucked up, really fucked everything up and I can’t un-fuck it.” The words were flowing, and he could tell the other man was listening.  “And it’s something I can’t go back on and once it’s out it’s out. I don’t even know where to go from here.”

“Tells me, do ye wanna un-fuck it?” Mac slowly asked.

Edward closed his eyes, breathing deep, “So so badly.” Tears were freezing on the edges of his lashes as he took a gulp of air, attempting to pretend it was the exercise making it hard to breathe.

Their skis had come to rest at a small out of the way overlook next to the river. Mac took out a small mickey of whiskey, took a swig, and passed it to Edward.

“Can ye un-fuck it?”

“I told you I cant.”

Mac shook his head, “I means like, whatever it is, is this sometin’ that would be out regardless?”

Edward sighed miserably, “Mac, I’m a dick-sucking faggot, and I made the irreversible confession to Calvin on New Year’s thinking… I dunno… he would be fine knowing I’m a homo? And obviously he wasn’t, he just lost it and no one wants to be near me because- because I’m who I am and--- Why the hell are you sniggering?”

“Wells, Chucky boy, did ye just tells Brisy that yer a dick-suckin’ fag? Like was those the words you said? Ye knows how he’s a bit of a prude—I thinks he was just shocked by you mentionin’ dick.”

Edward took another swig of the whiskey, “No! I just said I was gay!” He glared over at Mac and then added, “Why the hell are you so fucking fine with this?”

Mac shrugged, and took the whiskey back, “Chuck, I knews sometin’ was up wi’ ye for aaaaages.” He switched into Cree as he teased, <No girl’s ever interested you, your eyes always wandered.>

<Are you saying I was always obvious to you?>

<We’ve known each other since before the current laws, we like as we do, I may not be central in social life but that does not mean I don’t see.> Neatly tucking the bottle into his jacket, Mac switched back to English, “Ye been assumin’ I just am some brainless rig pig? Be tossing ye into the river just cuz y’ve left me more women to fuck?”

Flushing from embarrassment, and realizing, that yes, on some level, he had been making such assumptions about the other man, Edward was silent. The knot in his stomach had begun to loosen, as he realized that perhaps he was not quite all alone. He looked out at the river, calm, heavy with the ice, and his eyes drifted to the open gaps around the legs of the bridges, where it never did quite freeze over, the pillars disrupting expected flow, uplifting something different, new. Bridges where before there were ferries, and where once existed the makeshift pully gondola; to pull the horses and goods up the cliff like walls of the river valley.  Those continuous changes built by men like Mac, whose hard labour uplifted the walls of the fort into the towers of the city. The working-class who broke their bodies to support their family, to support their bad habits to support their broken bodies, and whose narratives were stolen by the more eloquent rich. He should have known better. Hell, he and Mac had often held the same job. He let out a shaky breath, not sure what to say or even how to apologize.

“Anyways, as I sees it ye owes me a case of beers for bein’ a stupid as shit idiot,” Mac grunted as he set out on the trail again.

Crossing his arms, Bert looked away, eyes crossing across the water of the tickle, wondering why he was even visiting Ben. Sure they were best friends who tended to get into a hell of a lot of trouble, but usually it was Ben visiting him, not the other way around. The other way around meant he had to touch ocean, and not that he was scared or anything, but somehow Ben had no fear of the water, and even laughed about how once his house got swept out by a tsunami and he had to row it back in and – if that wasn’t terrifying he didn’t know what counted.

“Seas calmer den grandmudders underpants on de line b’y,” Ben continued to cajole, as he held the boat steady, “Steps in will ye, or I’s be tellin’ de odders how afeared ye are of de sea.”

With a huff, Bert stepped into the water, glad he had learnt his lesson from last time, and was wearing the fishing waders and rubber boots, as he quickly stepped into the rowboat, and sat his ass down onto the wooden plank seat.

Not liking the wide smile Ben had as he gave the boat a strong push and hopped into it in an action of pure fluid poetry, Bert clutched to the seat and watched as Ben picked up the oars, and began to use big long strokes to pull them farther away from the shore. Ben was the type of man who seemed to hate silence, and as he stroked be hummed to himself, taking them along the shore line, and turning a corner, until he finally reached his unspoken destination.

“Dids I ever tells ye ‘bout de time I’s got swept out to da sea with da tsunami?”

“Yes.” Bert responded as he took a glance, appreciating that it was rather rugged and beautiful. The landscape that is.

“So’s y’knows Betty and Juanita me neighbours at de time, guess ye could be calling dem lesbians, afore Juanita be meetings Betty she had a husband, bad man, not sad he drowned, ‘n she had tree kids, which she ended up raisin’ wit’ Betty wha?”

Bert was half wondering if he should be listening intently or tuning the other man out. It wasn’t that hard to tune him out, he thought as his gaze drifted over the bunched up biceps as they gave a lazy stroke in the water. Ben’s hair was glistening in the sun, one of those rare sunny days, Bert appreciating the man not wearing a hat, while at the same time glad he had managed to remember to keep his on.

“-so’s the great great great great great great great granddaughter—hell dat the righ’ number of greats? Shit I dunno, n’yways, the great times infinity granddaughty she’s been runnin’ a local microbrewery off by Bona Vista ‘n the beers better ‘n any in Alberta-”

Bert perked up, as he frowned at the other man, “Excuse me? You took me out here to insult Alberta beer – the BEST beer in the entire world?”

“Jus’ checkins to sees if yer listenin’ b’y,” Ben had the audacity to wink, “I tooks  you here to see dat actually.” He gestured with his chin in the distance.

At first Bert assumed it was the iceberg. Sure it was nice, but visiting the other man he had seen plenty of icebergs, breathtaking, beautiful, the usual. He didn’t see why he had to be in a boat to see it.

That was when he saw the spouting mist of an exhale, as a whale surfaced.

“B-Ben—is that.”

“Mmhmm, figures ye mights wants t’ be seeings them afore they’re all dead, if ye looks closely there be a lil’ tot aside the mudder.”

Heart racing, not in fear, but in self-preservation, Bert stared as the two right whales moved closer. “M-mother and child? Aren’t we in a whale murder zone?”

Ben let out a loud guffaw, “Lord jaysus me son, ye thinks I’d be to widya to a whale murder zone?”

Bert did not respond, absolutely fixated, staring at them. He was not sure how much time had passed, but he felt himself slowly relax as the whales moved on, away from them.

“Been seein’ dem in dis area for a while, figures it would be nice to shares it wit’cha.” Ben explained. He looked up to the clear sky and frowned, “Best be getting’ in now, the weathers ‘bout to change.”

“The sky is clear,” Bert said in puzzlement.

“Can smells it, gonna be a nasty storm, best be inside afore fog rolls in.”

Bert knew better than to question further, and settled into his seat, his gaze flickering to the other man, taking in the sweat on his brow as he rowed them around the bend to where they had pushed off. Perhaps Ben was not the most beautiful of people, certainly didn’t have anything on a pretty lady, but there was something about him that kept drawing his gaze.

Not letting himself think any further on that, he let himself feel relief as they reached shore and he once more set foot onto the solid ground, helping to drag the boat up out of the tidal line, and up onto the truck.