Murmuration

Mike thinks it’s less so.

VI

HE’S CLOSING the door behind Happy, who might be a little drunker than he’d planned on getting at poker night. He’s with Calvin from the hardware store and Donald, the local barber, both of whom promise to get him home safely, even as Happy starts singing about the moon hitting your eye like it’s a pizza pie, because that’s amore, a song that’s less than a year old but that Mike’s already sick of hearing given that it’s everywhere. He likes Dean as much as the next guy, but not that much.

He’s chuckling as he shuts the door. He hears Oscar still out on the back patio, probably finishing off the cigar he’s been chewing on for most of the night. Mike’s walked away with ten bucks tonight, not a bad haul. More than he usually does with the card sharks he plays with.

Who are, of course, just as gossipy as his book club. The ribbing he took all night about finally getting his act together was nothing short of punishing. Happy had this impression of him, sputtering, “Sat-Sat-Saturday,” while bulging his eyes out and looking terrified. The guys found that to be the funniest thing to have ever been said (most likely aided by the Falstaff beer they’d been drinking for two hours by that point). Mike took his lumps, because he knew they weren’t being cruel. It’s just how things are with the guys, something that Sean has teased him for endlessly the few times he’s gone to poker night. It’s not his thing, but he sits there next to Mike sometimes, leaning over and whispering in his ear like he has no idea what he does to Mike. He says things like Three queens, that’s something right? and Happy’s got a tell, look when he touches his cheek and Boys and their games, as if he’s amused by them, as if he’s charmed and pleased by their very existence.

He’s thinking of Sean, so lost in thought about Sean that he almost doesn’t hear Oscar when he says, “Jesus Christ, his eyes are open.”

What an odd thing to say, he thinks.

He’s out through the sliding door and into the night, Tiki torches lit up around the patio furniture, Oscar lounging lazily in his chair, stogie lit and oozing smoke that curls up in the dark. If there’s anyone aside from Sean that Mike can relate to here in Amorea, it’s Oscar, and they couldn’t be more different. He doesn’t know why they gravitate toward each other, but they do, even if Oscar gives him the most shit about Sean. But Oscar loves Sean like a brother and is very careful with anyone who gets close to him. For a while there, it didn’t seem like Mike and Oscar would get along, but he thinks Sean said something to him. One day he was scornful at best and the next he was… well, less scornful, but Mike chalked it up as a win.

“Whose eyes are open?” he asks as he pulls the lawn chair away from the table and puts it next to Oscar before settling down. Oscar’s been distracted tonight, and noticeably so. Mike wonders at it and thinks how best to ask.

“Come again?” Oscar grunts.

“You said someone’s eyes were open. Right before I came out here.”

“How much you drink there, Mikey? I didn’t say shit.”

And that’s—it is what it is. He’s got a point. Mike laughed at Happy and the moon in his eye, but Mike’s feeling a bit loose, a bit warm. He feels good. Not so good that he’ll hate waking up in the mor

ning, but good enough that he’s mellow. He doesn’t allow himself to get like this often. Maybe it’s just the giddiness of the day, with everything that happened. He might have overindulged more than he usually does, but he’s allowed. He’s fine.

So could he have misheard something? Sure. Happy might have been singing even louder and he caught the edges of that. Or he could just be hearing things. The mind’s funny like that. Like it can make you hear things—voices, perhaps—that aren’t really there. It’s just how the brain operates. Projection.

And he might be a little drunk.

“You make a cheap date, white boy,” Oscar mutters, eyes closed, head tilted back.

Mike snorts. “Most likely.”

“Easy, too.”

“Hey now.”

Oscar grins as he puffs on his cigar, the burnt orange tip flaring in the dark.

They do this every now and then, just the two of them. Sitting next to each other, never really saying much. They get each other like that. Mike still has problems with his words sometimes, though he thinks he’s gotten better. He’s had to get better. He couldn’t be a business owner in a place like Amorea and not speak at all.

And then there’s Sean. Sean hasn’t met a word he doesn’t like, but that’s not to say he never stops talking. No, he knows exactly what to say and when to say it, and what to do to get Mike to respond. Mike’s always been helpless when it comes to Sean, ever since that very first day in the diner. He doesn’t mind, though. How could he? He’s got a date in the park with someone who might be his fella if he’s not already. Mike’s okay with talking.

But Oscar doesn’t make him. Oscar says he’s got an economy to his words, which really means that Oscar doesn’t like most people. He likes Mike. He loves Sean. He tolerates Walter. He ignores most of the rest unless they piss him off somehow. But most people don’t mind. “That’s just how he is,” they say. “That’s just Oscar for ya.”

Very rarely, though, Oscar does say something without being prompted.

It starts like this:

They’re quiet for a while, enjoying the night and each other. Soon Oscar will head out on home and Mike will start getting ready for bed. He’ll lie in the dark for a little bit, thinking (most likely overthinking) about how Saturday is going to go. What he’ll wear. What he’ll say. If he should tell a joke to try and make Sean laugh. What kind of food they should have. Maybe he can ask Oscar to whip up something special. Should he bring flowers? Everyone likes flowers, right? Doesn’t matter if they’re a man or a woman.

But that’s later. Now, it’s the Oscar and Mike show, and it’s as quiet as it always is.

Until.

Oscar says, “I’ve been thinking.”