A New Start with an Old Friend

When Mac is looking away, I sneak a sip of the red wine. It's just as incredibly smooth and delicious as the white. Not at all like battery acid.

Still not looking at me Mac asks, "How's the red?"

Busted.

~~

By the time we finish the appetizer, the bread, the soup and the salad, I feel like I've already eaten a whole meal. I tell Mac this and he laughs.

"You better loosen your belt. Dinner and dessert are up next."

I don't know why, but I reach out and take his hand, "Thanks for everything since I've been home. You've been so generous with your time. I feel like I've insinuated myself into your life and basically taken over." I notice a guy a few tables away looking in our direction, visibly disgusted. I realize my hand is still on Mac's. I pull it away.

Mac looks down at his own hand, where mine had just been. Is there a chance that he felt a little jolt too? Like the ones I get every time he touches me? No.

He says, "You can pay me back by letting me drive your midlife crisis whenever I want."

I say, "Fine, but we both know you'll never look as cool as me driving it." I wink at him.

His smile widens, "First of all, don't wink. Winking needs to be at the top of your I Can't Pull This Off list."

I snort.

We're eating perfectly medium-rare strip steaks with steamed spring vegetables. I keep drinking wine and my glasses never seem to get any lower. I finally realize that the wait staff is refilling our glasses as fast as we sip. I have no idea how much I've consumed. I'm not a drinker. I should slow down.

"Mac, do you remember the first time we met?"

"Sure. The first day of Sixth Grade."

Christ the King. Grades one through eight. The school was one hall with eight rooms, a gym and a church.

"A bit of a change from the public elementary school you'd gone to. You were in a tough spot," I say.

"It's funny. All those hundreds of kids in the public school and if there were any assholes, I didn't know it. It took transferring to the private Catholic school for me to even realize that there was such a thing as bullying."

I nod, "At Christ the King, the thirty kids in each grade share one classroom all day, every day, year after year. It's not easy for a newbie coming in off the street. You impressed me right away."

He cocks an eyebrow, "How so?"

"If any of the shit you had to deal with bothered you, you didn't let it show. You never let them see you sweat."

"That wasn't bravery," he says. "I physically didn't sweat back then. It was a glandular problem."

I laugh.

"The day I knew I wanted to be your friend was about a month later when we were assigned to be lab partners. You were one of only a few people who didn't make assumptions about me based on my being..." he trails off.

"The only person of color in our class?" Mac is mixed race.

"Right."

"You know what it was for me?" I ask.

"What?"

"It was right around that same time. We were working on our science lab and one of the class assholes 'accidentally' bumped into our station and ruined our experiment. You turned to me and asked, 'So, why were you sentenced to hell?' I loved the clever association of Catholic school with hell. Most eleven-year-old boys make each other laugh by telling fart jokes. Yeah, Mac, you were different. You were different because you were smart, you were funny and you weren't an asshole." I take another satisfying gulp of red wine but I cover the glass with my hand to prevent further replenishment.

Next, I say, "Tell me about the most serious relationship you've ever had."

"Romantically?"

"Yes."

"That's easy. It hasn't happened yet."

"Oh, come on."

"I'm serious. I'm telling you the truth." He drains his red but it's refilled almost before his glass hits the table. "You know I've dated. Hooked up from time to time." He forks a spear of asparagus. "I can't speak for the other people, but for me, there was never a real emotional connection. That's what I've been waiting for. I don't want to settle."

I say, "Mac." He looks up. "Dude, you're the best friend and the best person. You deserve the best and you shouldn't settle for less." I sip more wine so my voice doesn't crack. "Anyone lucky enough to be in your life knows this."

"What if this person that I deserve, the one who's 'the best', what if I already know who that person is?"

While we've been talking, I've kept half an eye on the guy from a few tables away. He signs his bill and pockets his credit card before leaning toward his date and whispering something in her ear. She smiles and he stands and starts walking our way. I can see now that he's a big, shiny, muscular fucker. He's coming from behind Mac, who's completely oblivious to this asshole's existence. I say, "Shit."

Mac says, "What?"

The guy sidles up to our table and says, "You know, if you two wanna be fucking faggots together, then that's fine with me, but you should really stay home and order in. The rest of us are trying to enjoy our meals."

I had seen the guy coming, but Mac, taken by surprise, says, "We're just having dinner, asshole."

The asshole places his fists on our table, leans down closer and growls, "Keep it behind closed doors."

Satisfied that he's made his point, he turns to walk back to his waiting date. Totally not at all on purpose, I kick my left leg out and trip him. He lands hard. The floor actually reverberates. He'll probably end up with a little road-rash on his nose and forehead. I quickly jump up to offer my assistance, but in my haste, I accidentally stand on the asshole's fingers, crushing and grinding them into the floor, causing him to yelp in pain.

Squatting next to him, I say in a low voice, "You are going to stand up, apologize to my friend for being such a clumsy, ignorant douchebag and then walk back to your girlfriend or your cousin or whoever the fuck your unlucky date is that you're failing to impress before I do something to truly embarrass you."

The asshole stands and gives Mac a tentative wave of the hand as he says, "Sorry."

Just then, the manager comes by, "Is everything okay here?"

The asshole puts up his hands in surrender and says, "Yes. We're all good."

But I disagree, "Actually, sir there is a problem. Maybe you could help. This nice gentleman overheard that today is my friend's birthday and he came over to offer to pay for our wine. Is there a way to credit our bill and charge the wine on a separate check to this kind gentleman?" I turn up a palm and indicate the asshole to respond.

He sighs softly and says, "Yes. Please let me pay for their wine."

I thank the manager, wink at the asshole and sit back down across from Mac. I have to admit, my heart is pounding, my forehead is beaded with sweat and my cheeks feel fire engine red.

Mac's eyes are bulging and his jaw has dropped practically to the table. When he finally manages to form words, he says, "Alexander! Wow! Where the fuck did that come from?"

"On the sliding scale of ignorant assholes, this guy is off the chart. I couldn't let this fucker go. He saw me touch your hand before. I saw it on his face then. No matter what else did or didn't happen after that, he was going to put on a show to impress his unfortunate companion."

"You mean his cousin? That was a nice touch. It took everything I had to not laugh. And I was wrong earlier."

My napkin had been in my lap. I pick it up off the floor and dab at the beads of perspiration on my brow. "What about?"

"I told you never to wink. That you couldn't pull it off. I was totally wrong. That might have been the most awesome, perfectly executed wink I've ever seen." Mac is still grinning in a suspended combination of shock and glee.

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. My heart rate is gradually returning to normal.

Mac asks, "Are you okay?"

I nod. I'm not sure of I'm closer to laughing or crying.

"That was a pretty big dude. I can't believe you did that."

"I'm the middle of three brothers. I learned a few things growing up with them." I drain my glass of white wine. "The thing about an asshole like that: He's a big guy, right? But he's all talk. The last thing he's expecting is a physical response. When he gets one, he doesn't know what to do. Fucking ignorant coward asshole."

Now Mac takes my hand, "Are you sure you're okay?"

I look at his dark fingers laced in between mine and I feel that spark again, "Better than."

Just then, two obnoxiously huge slices of seven-layer chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream are set down in front of us.

"Here comes the sugar coma."

Mac laughs.

~~

Riding up to the sixth floor Mac says, "You know, that wine was really expensive."

Fortunately, we're alone in the elevator because the emotion finally spills out. I'm so relieved that it comes in the form of laughter rather than tears. "I know." I'm gasping for air and hanging on to Mac's arm as I almost fall to the floor in hysterics.

"I could tell because it was so good. I don't usually even like wine. Happy birthday!" The last part is all breathy gasping, but I think Mac understands me. "I'm not drunk, I swear," I manage in between fits.

Mac is laughing too. "My birthday was two months ago."

"I know." I'm still hysterical, "Belated."

Tears are streaming from my eyes. As we get closer to our floor, I untuck my shirt and use it to wipe the wet streaks from my cheeks. Mac and I know they're tears of laughter, but random strangers in the hall won't know that. Did Mac just sneak a furtive peek as I lifted my shirt? I must have imagined it. I'm not the sort of person to draw peeks of attention from others.

By the time the elevator doors open, I'm down to sparsely scattered giggles. Mac guides me down the hall with a hand on the small of my back. Safely inside his apartment, I say, "I'm sorry about all that."

"What are you sorry for? That was amazing! He deserved way worse."

"Not him. I'm not sorry about standing up to that homophobic coward. If I ran away from dicks like him, I wouldn't be able to face myself in the mirror. I'm sorry I lost it in an embarrassing, emotional tsunami." I slip my shoes off and sit crossed-legged on the couch. "I promise, I'm not drunk."

"I know you're not drunk. And you feel the way you feel." He sits next to me, "At least that homophobic fucker wasn't a racist too."

I consider this, "We don't know that. Maybe he was choosing from a menu of hateful prejudices. He spun his wheel of misfortune and faggot won out over interracial."

"Either way, you were amazing tonight. Truly."

"Except for a brief five minutes that were totally out of our control, tonight really was awesome. You spent too much, but it was fantastic."

"It's healthy to splurge a little once in a while and you did just save me hundreds by taking care of the wine."

We both laugh.

~~

As we're headed to bed for the night, my body starts shaking uncontrollably and I drop to my knees in hall. Mac is there, hands on my shoulders asking me if I'm okay. Suddenly my cheeks are streaked with tears and I'm balling. Mac picks me up like a wounded soldier and carries me to my bed. He tries to sooth and comfort me, but through my bleary tears, I see the concern on his face.

Composing myself, I tell Mac what happened. The weight of the incident earlier in the restaurant finally caught up to me. It's not about fear of the musclebound douchebag or what he could have done to me. It's also not about what I did do to him. It is about what I almost did. I tell Mac about how it was my own rage that scared me. How I came an inch away from kicking the fucker while he was down; cracking his ribs, breaking his jaw or his nose. It actually took amazing self-control to not do those things.

Mac is rubbing my back in circles. "Alexander, that asshole isn't worth getting upset over. You were a hero tonight."

"Hardly."

"No, seriously. It's not just about taking him down and embarrassing him this one time. He'll think twice before trying shit like that again. You changed his future behavior. Imagine all the future altercations that won't happen now because of what you did. You're a superhero."

"But there are many ways to make a point," I say.

Mac shakes his head, "Not with this guy, not on this night. He wasn't open to reasoning. No words would have changed his mind. You reached him the only way he could be reached."

"But what I did didn't change his mind either. He'll always be a homophobic asshole."

Mac, still rubbing my back leans his shoulder into mine, "Right, but next time, he'll keep it to himself. Isn't that just as good? It's the best we can hope for."

I offer a weak smile.

Mac says, "I'm not leaving alone tonight. How old were we when we had our last sleepover? Fourteen?"

"Mac, I'm fine."

"I'll sit vigil in your doorway if I have to."

~~

I slept with Mac last night. Unfortunately, we literally slept together. No messing around, no tickle fighting, no teasing...just Mac holding me, spooning me, making sure I was safe. I was glad he was there. He kept the demons away.

I turn over and look at the still-sleeping-Mac, the best person I know. I was able to tamp down my desires for Mac when we were teenagers. Why is it so hard now? He's lying next to me on his back in nothing but a pair of boxers. He is irresistible.

I take a finger and trace lightly down his arm and back up again. Mac pretends to still be asleep, letting me have my fun. My finger continues its random journey across his shoulder and neck before migrating down his chest. I follow his sternum slowly down the path to his navel where I draw a few invisible circles before letting my fingers dance above the waistband of his boxers. There seems to be some sort of movement happening inside of those boxers. He can't keep up the act anymore. His belly quivers and his lips smile.

He grabs my hand and rolls on top of me. Our noses are almost touching. He says, "If you want to play a game of chicken with me, keep in mind that I never lose. The best you could hope for is a tie." He brushes his mouth across my ear, down my neck and hovers half an inch above my lips. Our eyes lock for a few intense seconds and then he rolls off me and out of the bed. In the doorway, he pauses, turns, smiles and says, "Gotcha back." He winks and disappears into the bathroom. I need several minutes to recover before I can get up.

He might have gotten me back but I can't stop smiling. I made Mac...I turned Little Mac into Big Mac!

~~

It's 8:00am on Sunday morning and I'm sitting in the passenger seat of my own car. I still don't know where Mac is taking me. He had told me to pack workout clothes, a swimsuit, dinner clothes and my toothbrush. Mysterious Mac.

I regard my traveling companion and observe, "You've driven more of the miles on my new car than I have."

His only response is an ear-to-ear grin.

Mac drives on and I get lost in my thoughts. The thing is, these days, my thoughts are mostly filled with Mac. How did this happen? I've been Mac's roommate for mere days. Mac, who I hadn't in 10 years. Yes, there was social media and the occasional text message, but still. Why am I so...I don't even know. Taken by him? Drawn to him? What do I even want to happen? He's my friend Mac. Do I want friendship? Do I want more?

I think I might want more. But he's straight. He's not shy about putting hands on my body, but some straight guys are like that. Right. And Mac has always been a hugger and a toucher. Not necessarily of every square inch of my body...but still.

And every touch from Mac gives me that jolt of electricity. I think about how he slept with me and kept me safe when I was upset. There was also the massage he gave me when I was sore, the oddly intimate stick shift lesson, the time I was teasing him about the basketball game and he grabbed my foot before assaulting my vulnerable belly... If I'm honest with myself, I felt it from the early moments of that first day when I took him out to lunch, our knees and toes kept accidentally bumping under the table -- I felt the spark then.

Except I really have no idea how Mac feels about me. Maybe he wanted nothing more than to reconnect with an old friend when he invited me to stay with him. Maybe all the feelings I'm experiencing are completely one-sided. Maybe the things he says, the things he does, his commitment to everything...maybe that's just Mac being Mac. He goes all-in. That's who he is. He's just so...extra.

"Are you okay?" It's Mac, snapping me out of it and bringing me back into the present.

I realize that my right hand is gripping the armrest and my left is in a white-knuckled fist. I unclench, "I'm good."

~~

I never knew places like this existed. It's a state-of-the-art fitness center, spa, hotel combination kind-of-a-thing. I peruse the brochure while Mac checks us in. What don't they have here? They do have indoor and outdoor tracks, tennis, Peloton Spin Bikes, Ellipticals, weights, indoor and outdoor pools, saunas, hot tubs, professional masseurs, spas...

I'm still staring at the brochure when Mac hands me a keycard. "We have a full day ahead of us. Let's get changed."

I follow Mac to the elevator and wonder if our rooms are next to each other. Maybe there's one of those interior adjoining doors. He presses the button for the seventh floor. That's a good start since the number on my keycard is 711. He leads us down the hall and stops at room 711. My pulse quickens slightly as he swipes his card. The door opens to reveal a large suite with two queen size beds.

He says, "I hope you don't mind sharing. We'll hardly be in the room at all so it seemed like a waste to get two."

"This is fine," I say light and casual as I angle away from him to hide my reddening cheeks.

"Here's the plan," he begins as he sits on one bed and I sit on the other. "Today is all about hard work and hard play. Pain and pleasure. Yin and yang. I'm gonna work your ass off on the track, in the weight room, swimming laps, on the bikes and on the tennis court." He slips out of his old, worn VANS and crosses his legs on his bed. "On the flip side, we're gonna relax in the sauna, in the steam room and in the hot tub. We're getting facials, massages, manicures and pedicures. Don't look at me like that. Men do such things. And we're going to eat delicious food. I'm telling you right now, there are no dietary rules today. Got it?"

It sounds like I don't have much choice, but I gave my day to Mac. I've trusted him this far. I slip off my Chuck Taylors, cross my legs and mimic his position, "Got it, sir!" I salute like a well-trained cadet.

Mac laughs, takes one of the too many pillows on his bed and throws it at me. "You're such an idiot."

~~

So, we do all of those things. Mac did not exaggerate. He drives me hard during the "work" part of the day. We run longer and push harder at everything.

We grab lunch in between activities, sitting at an umbrellaed table on the outdoor patio. We have light club sandwiches and side salads with glasses of water and iced tea. I usually hate iced tea, but for some reason, here in this place, it's delicious. I suspect that the reason has a name: Sugar, but I push that out of mind. The sandwich is good too. I try not to think about the bread that I would never eat under normal circumstances. It's not that I don't like bread. Who doesn't like bread? It's just that it's so bad for you. But I agreed to Mac's terms, so I don't mention it. Instead, I look inside my sandwich and ask, "Do you think they repurpose their cucumbers?"

Mac stops chewing and looks a question at me.

"Do you think these cucumbers were on other people's faces in the spa yesterday?"

Mac laughs so hard he almost chokes. With red, watery eyes, after his coughing fit subsides, he says, "Such a fucking idiot."