The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs 3)

“None. I work my ass off every day. When I stop dancing, I’ll deprive myself.”

I hesitate because the conversation keeps leading to future talk. “Me first,” she says, setting down the container. “I picture a grand church, lined with large pillars with high arches hovering above. White roses showing little greenery everywhere. Everything white. All of my family and friends gathered. The perfect music.”

“Are we really doing this?”

“Yes.”

She lifts the box along with the chopsticks to my mouth, and I take the noodles eagerly. “It’s so beautiful, right?” She nods toward the snowdrift falling outside the window next to us, both blanketing and shielding us from the world outside. When I pictured coming here, a night like this is more than I could have ever hoped for.

“Absolutely.”

She hands me the container and stands. She has on a long sweater and thick socks, no panties. That was my stipulation for her getting dressed. She didn’t put up much of a fight.

“I’m going to go grab some wine while you think about what you want.”

“It’s Christmas, and we’re talking about our funerals.”

“Play along, Prescott.”

“Fine.”

She saunters to the kitchen, and I stay put. The last few hours have been bliss, but I’m tired. I will much needed sleep away because I’m afraid to close my eyes.

I hear a little conversation as she opens a drawer and uncorks a bottle.

“Yes, I’m fine. Shut up. Okay, you were right. Whatever. Is Ricky home? So, you’re not alone? Good. I love you too. See you tomorrow night? Merry Christmas. Rainbows.”

“René calling?” I ask, staring down the window at a surprisingly calm New York.

“Yes, he’s just checking on us, making sure we haven’t killed each other. I didn’t even ask, do you like wine?”

Regret weighs heavy on me. As much as we do know about the other, we don’t know simple things, everyday things that a couple would know if they were able to be together publicly. The irony is we don’t have to hide anymore, and we haven’t had long to take advantage of it.

“It’s not my drink of choice, but I’ll drink some.”

“What do you drink?”

“Beer or whiskey.”

“Huh.”

“Yep. So, can I ask why you end your calls with him with rainbows? I was always curious when we were together but never asked.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing he wouldn’t share. He got caught kissing a boy at dance camp, and it outed him early. We were eleven. He was mortified. His parents were called in.” She shakes her head behind the counter, pulling two glasses from the cabinet. “Can you imagine? He was destroyed. One of the camp counselors—who was a pastor—called him an abomination, but there was another who stood up to him and told him he had no place preaching or speaking of love when he didn’t understand the meaning of it.”

“That’s cool.”

She walks toward me with two glasses in one hand and the uncorked bottle. “It was pretty spectacular the way he came in and consoled him. That counselor didn’t leave his side or mine all night because I wasn’t about to abandon René as distraught as he was. He talked him off the ledge. To this day, I think he saved his life, just by being there for him. I mean, I was there, but I wasn’t an adult, so I think it meant a lot more to René coming from someone with more authority. He told him that as stormy and horrible as this time would be, there’s always going to be that time after, that promise of a flipside, a rainbow moment that will make the trials worth it.” She hands me a glass and pours. “So, no matter what we go through together, we just remind each other of that horrible day and that there’s a flip side. Rainbows.”

“That’s awesome.”

“We’ve been inseparable since.”

“He’s good to you.”

“One of the absolute best people on this planet.”

“I’m glad you have him.”