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1.
“Okay, y’all, we’ve got a big job this week,” Peter Pescadaro said, clapping his hands together like he always did before he prepared his crew for a rundown of an unpleasant job.
Gene, who’d been helping themselves to the breakfast Peter brought in for his sound and lighting crew, turned around abruptly, a cup of coffee in one hand and a half-eaten doughnut in the other. “I knew these doughnuts smelled funny, I just didn’t know it was the smell of bribery and betrayal,” they said, narrow gaze trained on Peter.
“Oh, Gene, once you’ve been here long enough, you’ll learn coffee and doughnuts are never a good sign,” Michael Carlish said, giving Gene a pat on the shoulder. “We just try to enjoy it before Pete spoils it completely with the news.”
“Yeah, Pete, like, what is the news? And am I gonna need short nails for this one? ‘Cause I just wanna be prepared.” Jocelyn’s voice came from the back of the room. She was stirring an ungodly amount of sugar into her coffee.
“We’ve been contracted to do the annual Children’s Hospital Charity Gala at the King’s Head Island Country Club,” Peter said, giving a strained smile.
“Hoity-toity,” Gene said.
“Just wait for it,” Michael whispered to Gene, covering his mouth, so Peter couldn’t see what he was saying.
“Bog Harbor SFX was supposed to take the gig, but they had to drop out at the last minute,” Peter continued.
“How last minute?” Gene asked, they began to feel a pit in their stomach.
“Wait.” Jocelyn asked. “Isn’t the charity gala, like, tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Peter chuckled, discomforted contorting his expression.
“Well, we’re fucked,” Michael said, turning around and grabbing a doughnut, as if giving in to the pressure.
The closest Seymour’s Bay came to the grandeur of Kingshead Island was the Glencrest Yacht Club and anything within a few hundred yards of the land Calvin and Felix Fischoeder’s home was situated upon.
If Gene Belcher had their way, they’d spend an afternoon amongst the people of Kingshead Island instead of the dull, visionless people of his hometown. Gene would make a case study of Kingshead Islanders instead, sponsoring their own fashion week and interviewing anyone they came across, all in the name of crafting their Masterclass in putting together the absolute best outfits for all occasions.
Gene spent their night ignoring most of the goings on of the gala, as they sat in the back of the room in their makeshift mix booth with Jocelyn, out of sight of the stuffed shirts and Richie-riches. Gene and Jocelyn made their adjustments to the sound system before the keynote speaker went on and turned their headsets on mute for the rest of the event, committing to their favorite activity of judging outfits and creating new looks via mixing and matching what guests wore. Gene taking the liberty of drawing said designs in the small sketch book they carried around with them everywhere.
After the crowd parted and the night was over for the philanthropes of the greater Seymour’s Bay area, the employees of Amp-Powering Light and Sound Design packed up their equipment, with Michael Carlish and Large Tommy, still known by his grade school moniker due to his considerable height, taking down the lights.
“I have some fun news,” Peter strolled up to his employees, as he clapped his and together. He placed himself in front of the mix booth to ensure everyone could see him.
“Oh, no, Mr. Pes-card-o, allow me,” said a young blonde woman, who deliberately stepped in front of Peter. “My name is Dahlia, and I’m the Manager here at the Kingshead Island Country Club. As a thank you for all your hard work tonight, we wanted to offer you all a meal on the house.”
“Isn’t that lovely?” Peter asked, doing his best to hide his annoyance with the woman standing in front of him. “And it’s Pescadaro, ma’am.”
“Dahlia, stop lying to the contractors. You’ll make it so they won’t want to come back,” said a blonde man. He was slightly older than Dahlia and made a show of straightening his tie as he extended his hand out to Peter, waiting for a handshake. “I’m Sasha Whiteman. I’m the Manager here at the Country Club. This lovely young lady is my cousin Dahlia, she’s the assistant manager. And I trust she’s been taking diligent care of you and your staff this evening?” Sasha gave a pointed look at his cousin when he asked this last question.
“Excuse me,” Dahlia said, wrinkling her nose. “I have paperwork to attend to.” She shuffled out of the room quickly, huffing like a child.
“We have plenty of leftover food that we wanted to offer you all. Partially as a ‘thank you’ for all your work tonight, but also because we don’t like to let things go to waste around here,” Sasha clarified.
“Sounds good enough to me,” Gene said. “Where can I dig in?”
“We need to finish tearing down first,” Peter said, looking at Gene.
As the crew struck down the setup, Gene tossed their sketchbook to the side, barely checking to see if it made it on top of their backpack, which was piled next to the other crew members’ belongings.
The crew had been allowed back into the kitchen to help themselves to the remaining food, buffet style, they were sitting at a table in the lobby when Sasha pulled out the chair next to Gene and sat down.
“Is this yours?” he asked, handing the book to Gene.
“That it would be.” They took the book from Sasha and gave a nod of their head.
“It was open on the ground. I looked through it. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not as long as you can recognize real talent when you see it.”
“Theory isn’t the same as practice, Mr. Belcher.”
“I prefer Mx.”
“Happily, noted, Mx. Belcher.”
“Theory and practice in the fashion world definitely aren’t the same. Tell that to your cousin and her knock off Balenciaga dress.”
“You do have quite the eye.”
“If your shoes are anything like the rest of your closet, you have quite the eye, as well.”
“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Sasha asked, sliding his cell across the table, so Gene could input his number.
2.
“You’re not impressing me much,” Gene said as Sasha approached the table.
“That’s a bold statement to make the moment the person you’re meeting walks through the door,” he replied.
“Last time I saw you, your shoes were Gucci. This time, your shoes and belt are Gucci. I thought you were going to impress me.” Gene smiled.
“I like Gucci, sue me. I have a great lawyer, you won’t get any Gucci money out of me, sweetheart,” Sasha replied, moving his sunglasses so they sat atop his head. He took his jacket off, light for the spring weather and placed it in the booth next to him.
“I could do more with your Gucci money than you could even imagine. I bet you’ve never seen a sewing machine in your life,” Gene countered, friendly fire coloring his tone.
“I’m sure you could, which reminds me, did you bring some of those other designs?” Sasha asked.
Gene reached into their backpack and pulled out their large sketchbook, it was an older one that had most of the pages filled. It was the place where their best ideas went.
Gene pointed to the menu and looked up at Sasha who was firmly fixed on Gene’s sketchbook. Gene cleared their throat to get Sasha’s attention and he looked up at Gene. “I want this and this,” Gene announced, pointing to their menu selections, a slice of pie and an iced coffee.
“Okay?” Sasha asked, unsure how to respond.
“If you have that Gucci money, I presume you can pay for Pie in the Sky,” Gene said. “On this very business-y, occasion.”
“Um…absolutely. I asked you to meet after all,” Sasha swallowed. Sitting a bit straighter, not one to be thrown off guard for very long.
Gene sucked their iced coffee as Sasha leisurely drank his hot Americano. The two flipped through several designs until they landed on one that made Sasha slap his hand down on the middle of the page. “Stop!” he commanded.
“In the name of love?”
“No, this. Can you make a pattern out of this shirt design?”
Gene took another generous sip of coffee. “I can turn pretty much anything into a pattern.”
“I have an event I’m going to in about six weeks. I want this shirt. I’ll pay you to make it for me. Is six weeks enough time?”
“As long as I can get your measurements, it’s plenty of time. I just need to know what material you want. I’ll do anything but corduroy. Corduroy is the Devil.”
Sasha’s face contorted at the mention of corduroy. “Dear, God. Never.”
“Say less.” Gene shut the sketch book with a dull thud.
“Gene, I must say, you always surprise. You’re quite palatial for someone who styles themselves with such low-brow means.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t mean anything derogatory by that. It’s simply impressive that you make all your own clothes or style old pieces in avant-garde ways. You’re quite resourceful. Though, I assume that must be out of necessity.”
Gene dug into the small pocket of their backpack and pulled out a small rhinestone compact and a tube of lip gloss, smoothly applying it, then checking their reflection to make sure their eye makeup was even. Gene snapped their compact shut and looked Sasha in the eye.
“Not everyone grows up as lucky as you or with the kind of money that you did. Some of us have to make do with what we’ve got. So, think about that next time you decide to slum it and let some ‘hobo-chic nobody’ design your clothes for you.” Gene grabbed their backpack and sketchbook, leaving Sasha at the table, without so much as another glance.
Sasha watched Gene exit the moving restaurant through the elevator. Sasha had always been the one delivering the scathing parting remarks, never the one left embarrassed and speechless. Worse still, left unable to apologize.
3.
The bell above the door rang and Louise swatted Gene on the head with her notepad to get their attention. Gene stopped admiring their shimmery set of gold nails and put a hand to the back of their head.
“What was that for?” Gene asked their teenaged sister.
“I just wanted to,” Louise answered. “But we also have a customer.”
“Then you get it,” Gene said.
“No, you,” Louise volleyed back.
“You’re aware I’m in front of you both?” the customer asked.
“Yeah, but at least you know we’re gonna serve you. You should see what happens to the ones we ignore,” Louise snorted.
“Right,” Sasha said, somewhat dismissive of Louise’s sarcasm. “I’m here for Gene, actually.”
“Well, you can’t talk to my brother unless you order something. Gene is reserved for customers only.”
Sasha shifted his gaze to Gene, who simply shrugged, as if to say they had no authority in the goings-on of the restaurant. Sasha shifted his gaze back to Louise. “Seriously?”
“Dead ass.”
“Okay, I’ll have one of those Day Time Burgers.”
“Coming right up,” Louise smirked, walking to the kitchen at a leisurely pace.
Gene already knew their sister was by the service window, doing more listening than cooking. Gene wasn’t in the mood to indulge either Sasha or their sister, but it would be easier to get Sasha out of the restaurant if they served him and sent him on his way. Though Gene would hve much preferred to avoid their problems given an alternative.
“What brings you all the here from Kingshead Island this fine afternoon, Mr. Whiteman?”
“Gene –” Gene made a firm tsk, tsk sound, cutting Sasha off. “Mx. Belcher, I’ve come to apologize for the way I spoke the other day. It was wrong and rude, and I certainly wasn’t thinking.”
“This could have been a phone call. Or a text message,” Gene said, staring at their nails once more, though this time it was less out of admiration and out of need for distraction.
“Perhaps, but I don’t want you to doubt that I’m being genuine when I say I’m sorry.”
“Is this how you fancy people do things? Cause you can leave a message with my secretary.”
“Gene, this is getting a bit preposterous.”
“No, you and your hoity-toity attitude are the preposterous part.”
They were quiet for a beat, Gene not doing much of anything and Sasha staring at their phone. Louise passed the burger through the service window and Gene set the plate in front of Sasha. “Be careful, might be too low-brow for you,” Louise called from the kitchen.
Sasha stared at Gene with wide eyes and Gene gave Sasha a glare that said that was as good as saying, Of course I told my sister.
Sasha ate his burger quietly. Halfway through he said, “This is delicious.”
“So, slummin’ it is okay, sometimes?” Gene asked, exasperated.
“I wouldn’t say I’m slumming it. A friend recently taught me that it’s wrong to judge based on appearances. That friend happened to be absolutely correct. I realized that lesson immediately.”
“I accept your apology, along with your very generous tip you’ll leave for the staff.”
“I suppose that’s only fair,” Sasha sighed.
“That means you tip us both,” Louise chimed in, appearing in view at the service window.
“Of course,” Sasha rolled his eyes, as if Louise was silly to expect anything less. Sasha finished his burger and left his promised tip. He waved to Gene before walking out the door. “I still want that shirt made. We’ll discuss a day to take measurements.”
The bell rang above the door.
“He’s somehow gotten bitchier, and less bitchy at the same time. Is that even possible?” Louise asked. She looked over to Gene, who was still staring at the door, Sasha long out of sight. “Are you blushing?”
4.
“I told you I know my way around a sewing machine,” Gene bragged. Steven, the cat, who was curled up on the couch across the room “meowed,” seemingly in agreement with his owner.
Sasha popped the collar on his button-up shirt and ran his hands along the material. Malachite green and in the cotton sateen material Gene recommend, silk like, but easier to sew and supposedly would go “fabulously” with the sport coat Sasha had already picked out. “I actually love this,” Sasha said, as he turned around to look at the back, twisting his neck to get a view in the full-length mirror of Gene’s living room/workspace/music studio.
“Because you had doubt that you would ‘actually not love’ it?” Gene asked incredulously.
“You live your life to pick apart my words, Gene.”
“I only learned from the best. My darling younger sister. Not you, if you thought that’s where I was going with that. You haven’t earned my compliments yet.”
“You’re exhausting, it’s part of your charm.” Sasha took the shirt off and carefully folded it, placing it next to the sewing machine on Gene’s table. He shrugged on the shirt he wore to the try-on and buttoned it back up.
“Any last-minute adjustments you want made. Speak now or forever hold your tongue.”
“I did have one request, actually,” Sasha said, putting his fingers below his chin as if he were deep in thought.
“Denied; my work is perfection.” Gene crossed their arms.
“Your charm has its limits,” Sasha smirked. “My request, Mx. Belcher, is that you would be my plus one to this special event I’m attending next week.”
“You told him ‘no,’ right?” Louise shouted, from her place on Gene’s couch, waving her hands wildly in the air.
“Correct-a-mundo, I told you to bring a bunch of your old clothes because I said ‘no,’” Gene fired back, holding a much too small pink dress in their hands, sarcasm dripping in their voice.
“Don’t be such a big baby about it. If you like Sasha, just admit it,” Louise crossed her arms.
“Be nice, Louise, this is a big for Gene and we need to be supportive,” Tina said, coming into the living room with a tray of hot cocoa.
“I would be if Gene would tell us what exactly the Hell is going on.” Steven slowly weaved his way through some bolts of fabric and hopped on the couch into Louise’s lap. She uncrossed her arms and gently pet the cat.
“Sasha invited me to an important business banquet. His aunt Caitlin owns a small business on Kingshead and she’s merging with some company in Bog Harbor. They’re hosting the event in her honor, and I’ll be a dishonor if I have nothing to wear.”
“I’m sure Sasha didn’t say that,” Tina said.
“No, I’m saying I’ll be a dishonor to myself if I show up as anything less than my best dressed,” Gene continued to dig through the trash bag Louise brought, taking a hunter green blouse, and matching it against a bolt of fabric.
“Sasha’s aunt, like the mother of his crazy bounce house cousin?” Louise asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” Gene said absent-mindedly as they threw the hunter green blouse off to the side and thumbed through their sketch book for a design.
“I think Gene has an idea. They’ve got idea face.” Tina took a sip of her hot chocolate.
“What’s ‘idea face?’” Louise asked suspiciously.
“It’s the look you get right before you have a great idea. That’s what Jimmy Jr. calls it when he makes a breakthrough in a dance routine or has a good museoem,” Tina explained.
“So happy that you’re marrying him,” Louise said through gritted teeth, doing her best not to choke on her hot chocolate as she sipped it, using the mug to hide her contorted facial features for her sister’s sake.
“Me too,” Tina said, extending her hand out to admire the small jewel on her finger. Something she seemed to do multiple times a day for the last several months since Jimmy Jr. had proposed.
“Yes, yes, we’re all very happy for you, but this is about me right now! My life will literally be over if one of you doesn’t come now and help me make this pattern.”
Sasha stood outside the hotel, waiting for Gene to arrive so he could escort them into the ballroom. All Sasha had to do was make an appearance and some conversation, laugh at a few horrible jokes, and then he could spend the rest of his evening with Gene – the way he would have preferred the evening to have panned out.
Sasha received a text from Gene, saying their Uber was almost to the hotel. He swept his hair back and fixed his posture, hoping that any small adjustment would get Gene’s attention, including the tie he’d selected specifically to match the malachite green of his custom shirt and the small, whimsical robot tie clip he’d acquired after Gene off hand mentioned during one of their many coffee klatches that they liked robots.
A car matching the description of Gene’s Uber came to a stop in front of the hotel, and Sasha rushed forward to open the door, but Gene was quicker, swinging the door open themselves and emerging from the backseat wrapped in a malachite green shawl, ankle length hunter green dress that rippled like water, and a gleaming sliver broach that matched their purse and new nail color.
“I’ve always loved shiny things,” Gene said, closing the door behind them.
No words could escape Sasha’s lips, he could only stare.
“Do I have something on my face?”
“You have a great face,” Sasha blurted.
“What?” Gene asked, not sure they’d heard what they thought they did.
“N-Nothing, whatever you heard was a compliment, but it was in poor taste. I’m sorry.”
“You like the look?” Gene asked. “That’s what I’m gathering.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Sasha said, this time measuring his words, doing his best to avoid the same embarrassment he’d brought on himself only moments earlier. He offered his arm to Gene. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” Gene said, linking their arm through Sasha’s. They strolled comfortably into the hotel ballroom, and Sasha began to feel that comfort become genuine with Gene by his side all his previous worries about his family’s approval or the potential harassment from his aunt’s new husband faded away. Sasha was much better at schooling himself and shoving his clapbacks aside in formal settings but being seen with Gene made him feel especially bold.
A server passed by with several champagne flutes on a tray and Sasha grabbed two glasses in a fluid motion, thanking the server as they passed. He handed one of the glasses to Gene, who took it reluctantly.
“I’m only twenty,” Gene said, eyeing the champagne cautiously.
“And I’m only twenty-two,” Sasha chuckled. “No one here is going to be ID’ing you, darling. Just enjoy yourself.” He clinked his glass with Gene’s and took a small sip, doing so to hide the color he was sure was spreading through his cheeks, when he realized he called Gene “darling.”
Gene shrugged and drank from their own glass, seeming to ignore or otherwise not notice Sasha’s slip of the tongue.
Gene was more comfortable in this environment than Sasha would have predicted, taking a new glass of champagne for themselves and one for Sasha. Gene made a point of sampling one of each hors d’oeuvre, offering Sasha half of the sampling, and though it was out of line with proper decorum, he couldn’t help but indulge Gene.
“Oh my God! Gene?” a female voice called from across the room.
“Hey, Girl!” Gene waved to a blonde woman, jogging delicately over to them on heels. She stood on her tip toes and slung her arms around Gene’s neck.
“What are you doing here? I’m super excited to see you!”
“I’m accompanying this fine gentleman,” Gene replied, gesturing to Sasha.
“Hi, I’m Becky Krespe,” she shoved her hand out abruptly, fully expecting Sasha to return the gesture. “I’m Tina’s best friend. Ya know, Gene’s big sister.”
“Sasha Whiteman.” He shook hands with this overly friendly stranger.
“You’re Dahlia’s cousin,” she said keenly, as she smiled brightly.
“Eh, well, that is true.” Sasha cleared his throat to hide that this stranger caught him off guard.
“I think we should catch up.” Becky shifted her gaze to Gene. “And I’d like to get to know Sasha a little better, too. Dahlia comes to our restaurant all the time.”
“I see. Tell me a bit more about that,” Sasha said, trying to shift the attention from himself.
“Spying on your cousin, are you?” Becky gave a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t cause any trouble, really. I think she likes it there because it’s out of the way and no one bothers here. We’ve gotten to know her pretty well. She recommended us to cater you aunt’s party tonight.”
“That’s lovely,” Sasha replied, hoping it sounded genuine.
“Where’s the King of the Kitchen?” Gene asked.
“Zeke’s in the back, making sure it all runs smoothly. Because, duh, what a fucking workaholic.”
“That’s a shame, I was so looking forward to meeting your…”
“Husband,” Becky filled in the blank for Sasha. “But you should totally come out for drinks with us tonight after! I have the company credit card. We know the guys at Bog’s Bar and Grille, so we’ll get a bunch of freebies, anyway.”
“That’s a lovely offer, but I would hate to impose,” Sasha said.
“C’mon, the night is still young,” Gene said, tugging on Sasha’s jacket sleeve.
“I suppose I could spare an hour or two,” Sasha said, giving Gene a grin.
“Fantastic, it’s settled!” Becky clapped her hands. “Gene, I want all the four-one-one. Jocelyn and Michael Carlish, have they finally gotten together?”
“Not officially, but it’s basically an open secret.” Gene took a sip from their champagne flute and Becky gave a squeal that was fit to be coming from someone years younger than her.
“Okay, we gotta be breezy when Zeke gets here, but I need the info dump about Jimmy. All the stuff Tina doesn’t tell me, so that I can set that little asshole straight. There will be no games before the wedding. Not on my watch,” Becky said, grasping Gene’s hands in hers.
Sasha loosened his tie and took a more generous drink of his champagne than he had so far that evening. The excitement and nervousness of meeting some of Gene’s friends tangled and swirled in his belly, combatting each other. Sasha had imagined a time where he would meet Gene’s friends, as far off and silly as the notion may have been. But it was still a hazy picture in his mind. He hadn’t expected it all to come so soon. He’d have to do what he did best and let his confidence shine through, even if some of that bravado was put on to make him seem less nervous than he was.
5.
Gene’s head was pounding, as they rolled around in bed, throwing their arm out, palming around to find their phone on the nightstand. But all Gene felt was more sheet and pillow and bed. Gene struggled, until their palm made a small slap on something that wasn’t the nightstand. Their eyes flew open. Gene’s hand was resting on Sasha’s back, Sasha still breathing heavy with sleep.
It was early enough that light was coming in through the bedroom windows, but Gene couldn’t see their phone on either nightstand. They got up from the bed and scanned the floor for their belongings until they eyed their purse near the door. Gene dove for the purse and rifled through it only to find they had dumped most of the contents the night before, as if they’d been desperately searching for something. Gene finally found their phone at the bottom of the purse.
Then that’s when it hit them. The thing they’d been so desperately looking for the night before. The emergency condoms Gene carried on them – just in case.
Because it never hurts to be prepared. The stupid expression Linda and Tina would always use and the very same that made Louise cringe and cover her ears, even to her present age of eighteen. Though in Linda’s case she usually meant a bottle of wine and Tina was often referring to the zombification of attractive men.
When Gene had expressed these sentiments to Sasha, he simply laughed and called the Belchers, “more delightful and hilarious” than he had realized which made Gene laugh as well. In their drunken state, Sasha and Gene agreed that “always being prepared” was the perfect reason to use the emergency box of condoms, and not any of the perfectly good ones in Sasha’s nightstand drawer. Gene gladly dumped the contents of their purse all over the bedroom floor like it’d been the best idea in the world.
Gene was stuffing their things back in the purse with no care or logical order when they heard Sasha ask, in a groggy voice, “Gene? Why are you up so early?”
“W-What are you talking about, I always get up this early.”
“It’s 6:30 in the morning. Not even I get up that early.”
“Well, you’re awake right now, so explain that.”
“You’re still sassy this early in the morning,” Sasha said, laying his head back down on the pillow. Gene shook their purse to create more space and stuffed their travel makeup kit in the small crater. “You’re really not coming back to sleep?”
“I’m already up,” Gene reiterated, with a nervous shriek.
“Alright. Well, what do you want for breakfast? I can cook or order in?”
“Cooking is fine.”
“Do you like pancakes?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“Do you want to take a shower? I shower in the morning. You’re welcome to join me.”
“That’s fine. I think I’ll just get dressed and reorganize my bag.”
“Okay, if you change your mind…,” he trailed off, leaving the invitation open.
“Totally,” Gene said, without turning to face Sasha. Gene waited until Sasha was inside the attached bathroom, door shut behind him and water turned on before they threw on their dress, scanned the room for any remaining personal items, and dashed out the door with their purse in hand.
Gene had thrown themselves dramatically onto the bed, spread out like a starfish, sans arm placed over their eyes in a defeated pose. Gene had come to Tina’s so early, letting themselves into the tiny house via the key hidden under the welcome mat, she’d still been asleep and when Gene flung down onto the bed, Jimmy Jr. woke to the strange weight on the foot of the bed, screaming at the top of his lungs as he jumped up and ran to the other side of the room.
“Why are you upset; it sounds like he likes you?” Jimmy asked, standing on the opposite side of the bedroom, arms crossed in front of his chest, in only his boxers.
“Young Jim-othy, someone like you wouldn’t understand,” Gene said, dress bunched up around their knees. Tina sat in the bed, doing something on her phone, occasionally stroking Gene’s hair in reassurance.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Some of Jimmy’s lisp broke through along with his harsh tone.
“I broke my number one rule: never sleep with someone on the first date! Do you know what men think when you sleep with them on the first date?”
“Didn’t you get coffee with Sasha before?” Tina asked.
“That was a business meeting!”
“If I liked someone, I would still see them even if we had sex on the first date,” Jimmy chimed in.
“Yeah? How much, Jim-othy? How much would you have to like them?”
“Jesus, calm down.” Jimmy turned his head to the side, as if to deflect anymore of Gene’s unwarranted frustration from reaching him.
The doorbell rang. Jimmy’s eyes widened as he looked toward his fiancée. Tina just nodded and Jimmy went to answer the front door, still clad only in boxers, muttering something to himself about “what the hell” and “things going on this morning.”
“Nice get-up, Mr. Not Universe,” Gene heard their younger sister say from the other room.
“Shut up,” Jimmy belted out.
“That’s no way to talk to someone who brought you breakfast,” Louise said. Gene heard the crinkle of paper bags then smelled the wonderful scent of grease and fake bacon, only the kind that was stuffed into a fast food breakfast sandwich. “I want coffee, Pesto.”
“I want a quiet morning, but we can’t all get what we want,” Jimmy muttered, walking toward the kitchen.
Louise sauntered into the bedroom and leaned against the wall, “T texted me, I brought breakfast. And I brought you a change of clothes. But you need to shower first before you get either. You look the way you smell. And I can smell you from here,” Louise said. “Steven’s been fed, by the way. You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” Gene said.
“Get up,” Tina clapped. “Get up, get up, get up,” the sisters chirped in unison. Tina pushed Gene up on their back and Louise pushed Gene in the direction of the bathroom once they were standing up, handing them the bag of clean clothes and their before she slammed the bathroom door shut behind her.
“I called for reinforcements on my way over, but while we’re waiting, fill me in. Do we need to beat sense into Sasha or Gene?” Louise asked, turning to face Tina.
Gene dashed out of Tina and Jimmy Jr.’s bathroom, rushing to where the cacophony of voices took them. Gene stopped in the kitchen, with his sisters, Jimmy, Alex, and Courtney all smooshed together around the table.
“I can’t find my compact,” Gene shouted, the way it came out, the words were almost indiscernible.
“Your what?” Jimmy asked.
“Your compact? Like, the rhinestone one?” Courtney asked, practically squealing as her voice drowned out Jimmy Jr.’s.
“Oh, no,” Alex said.
Courtney leapt from her seat and pulled Gene into a bear hug. “Shh, it’ll be okay,” she whispered.
“You’re creeping me out. What the fuck is going on?” Louise asked.
“That compact I always have in my bag, the rhinestone one. I left it at Sasha’s!” Gene’s voice was more distraught than it’d been when they arrived at Tina’s.
“That compact is limited edition Cleavage to Beaver merch. She released it with an eyeshadow collab, like, two years ago and they don’t make it anymore. Its super hard to find them.” Courtney informed, rubbing circles along Gene’s back.
“Do you know where you last saw it?” Alex asked, getting up and wrapping his arms around Courtney and Gene.
“I had it last night. I’m pretty sure I left it in Sasha’s apartment,” Gene hiccupped, tears streaming down their face.
“Oh, honey,” Courtney cooed.
“Do you want one of us to go over and get it for you?” Alex offered.
“No, not r-right now,” Gene choked. “He k-keeps calling me. I-It’s too soon.”
“Cough it up,” Louise demanded, sticking her hand out.
“B-But it’s my whole life,” Gene said, looking at their sister.
“No arguments.” She waited until Alex deposited Gene’s phone into her hand. “This way this situation isn’t going to get any dumber than it already is.” Louise sat back down, typing Gene’s passcode into the phone, not making any attempt to hide what she was doing, taking advantage of her sibling’s emotional distress to read through all the texts and voice mail transcripts Sasha left. In the last few hours alone, there were several.
Jimmy bent down between Tina and Louise and whispered, not too quietly, “Why did the three of them ever break up? They look so happy together.”
“Why is Tina with you when you’re so far below her league?” Louise elbowed him. “How about don’t ask rude personal questions.”
“Jesus, that hurt!” Jimmy rubbed his arm.
“Stop it, both of you!” Tina lectured.
- (Or +1, the time Gene asked Sasha something)
Gene sat in the back booth of Bob’s Burgers, their third day off in a row where they came to the family restaurant and spent most of the day moping in one of the booths, sketching designs, and playing music loudly through headphones.
Bob approached Gene on the third day and put some menus in front of them, suggesting they help by wiping them down. Gene nodded and did nothing with the menus but push them to the far corner of the table.
“Let ‘em be, Bobby. They don’t usually come by on their day off, but Gene’s been here every day this week. I think they just wanna be close to us.”
“Speaking of being close, while you’re all swell, I’m gonna go take my break,” Louise said, reaching behind her, pulling the strings on her apron loose.
“No, not right now, it’s almost lunch rush,” Bob said, lecturing his daughter through the service window.
“You sure about that, cause Logan Bush is on his way in, and I will beat him out of here with a moldy mop head.”
“Fine. Thirty minutes. This counts as your lunch.”
“Thanks, Dad. I would’ve left anyway, but I know it makes you feel better when it’s your idea.”
“Oh, My God!” Bob could be heard in the dining room, as Louise dashed back into the kitchen and out the door leading to the alley, abandoning the counter just as Logan sat down. Gene was oblivious to all of this, music blasting through their headphones.
Louise stood in the back alley, firing off several texts in a back and forth exchange she’d engaged in for the past week. This final message she sent before hopping on her skateboard and making the quick trip to Tina’s was very clear, the recipient needed to haul ass to the restaurant and bring some things with them.
Louise returned to the restaurant much later than the prescribed thirty minutes, casually coming in through the back once Logan’s car pulled away from its spot in front of the restaurant. She paced behind the counter, tapping her fingers on Formica, waiting impatiently.
She was busy making a new pot of coffee. Her parents were downstairs sorting containers of freshly ground beef when the bell above the door rang. Louise whipped around to find Sasha standing in the middle of the restaurant awkwardly, in a too nice green button up with a gift bag in hand, staring at Gene. Gene was aggressively moving pencil against paper in their sketchbook, unawares.
“You brought it?”
“Of course,” Sasha said, pulling the compact from his pocket.
“He’ll probably freak, so don’t take it personal,” Louise said, coming around from the back of the counter.
“I’m prepared,” Sasha said.
“You’re a real loser, you know that? Like, a huge simp.”
“If that’s meant to be a compliment, it certainly doesn’t come across as one, Ms. Belcher.”
“Just know that if you hurt Gene, I will be out for blood,” Louise said, before pulling the headphones off Gene’s ears.
Gene snapped up from their sketch book and grabbed their headphones from Louise. “Watch it, Sister,” they admonished.
“You haven’t answered any of my calls or texts,” Sasha said.
Gene’s gaze shifted to Sasha, eyes widening. They stood up and immediately made a beeline for the kitchen. Louise gave Sasha a bemused look before dashing after her sibling.
“What was that?” Louise demanded, swinging doors flapping on their hinges behind her.
“Why is he here?” Gene asked. They were tucked as far back in the kitchen as they could be before going out the door into the back alley.
Louise approached them, “Because you’ve been sulking for over a week, and you need to face up to the situation. So, I called him.”
“How did you even get his number?”
“I got it from your phone that day at Tina’s.”
“You’re the Devil!”
“Thank you. Now do you want your compact back or not?”
“What are you two fighting about in here?” Linda asked, as she returned to the kitchen. Linda gave a quick glance into the dining room and rushed across the kitchen. “There’s a customer and you two are in here fighting?”
“Sasha’s not really a customer, Mom.”
“I don’t care. That doesn’t explain why you’re not out there, Miss Missy.”
“Out where? What’s going on?” Bob asked, coming up the steps, carrying a container of fresh ground beef.
“These two are in here fightin’ when Louise should be out there watchin’ the kitchen,” Linda said, spinning around to face her husband. Bob furrowed his brow and looked through the service window.
“Can I help you?” he asked Sasha, who was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the dining room.
“I’m here to see Gene. If Gene is still here. They are still here?” Sasha turned to face Bob, lifting his hand halfheartedly to display the giftbag.
“Gene, whose that nice young man?” Linda asked.
“There’s no one out there. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gene replied.
“I think we should give these kids some privacy,” Louise suggested, grabbing her parents’ arms, and pulling them toward the door.
“The kitchen is not the place for Gene to have a private conversation,” Bob countered.
“Do you know a more private place?” Louise asked, tugging her father’s arm, trying to pull him toward the swinging door.
“And when we get a customer?”
“Us, get a customer? You’re hilarious, Dad.”
“She’s got a point, Bob. It’s been so slow today; Teddy hasn’t even stopped by.” Linda looked at her husband.
“Oh my, God,” Bob groaned.
Louise smiled victoriously as she pulled both her parents from the kitchen, Gene glaring at them all the while. As Louise came around the counter with her parents she said to Sasha, “Get in there. What are you waiting for?”
Sasha inhaled deeply and walked into the kitchen to find Gene hugging the boundary of the wall, ignoring his entrance. “Why?”
“What do you mean?” Gene asked, refusing to look Sasha in the eye.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls? Why did you take off that morning?”
“Wouldn’t you take off too if you slept with someone on the first date? It’s one night stand etiquette.”
“It wasn’t the first date,” Sasha replied combatively.
“All the more reason to bail then,” Gene said, matching Sasha’s intensity.
“I meant that wasn’t our first date.”
“That’s news to me, Mister!”
“What did you think we were doing at Pie in the Sky?”
“Having a business meeting,” Gene confessed, cheeks heating up as they lifted their gaze to meet Sasha’s.
“Gene, please tell me you’re joking.”
“We we’re discussing a design. A design that you were having me make.”
“But I paid for the meal.” Sasha said, astonished.
“I never say ‘no’ to a free meal,” Gene conceded.
Sasha ran his free hand through his hair. “Even if that banquet had been our first date, what on Earth would possibly lead you to believe it was a one-night stand? Did I give you any indication I wanted you to leave?”
“It was a favor to both of us, I was just making it less awkward when I did leave. Even break and all that.” Gene was channeling their best Louise, because in moments where they couldn’t use humor to deflect, Gene had to resort to something else they knew best, acting bold and even like something they weren’t
“There’s not supposed to be a break. I wanted to keep seeing you. I want to keep seeing you.”
“We’re too different for anything to work between us,” Gene said, refusing to look at anything other than their cuticles.
“I don’t think that’s the case.”
“You have a Prince and the Pauper fantasy or something?”
“Gene, why are you acting like this? Things were going fantastically. We had a great night and then you want nothing more to do with me. It doesn’t help that I’ve tried to pick apart everything about that night in my mind to figure out what I could have possibly done wrong.” Sasha put both hands against his chest, gift bag slipping to the crease of his elbow.
“It doesn’t have to do with you.”
“Well, it must! Because if it didn’t, then we would have been talking again long before now.”
“Not necessarily.” Gene’s voice was small.
“I can’t piece it together. Did you introduce me to your friends sooner than you wanted to? Were you uncomfortable around my family?” Sasha’s voice also grew small. He brushed his eye with the heel of his hand, trying not to make a big show of it. “Did I do something during sex that you regret? I’m afraid I hurt you and you won’t tell me.”
“It was my first time,” Gene said, louder than they meant to, covering their face with their hands.
“Oh.”
“Is that all you have to say?!”
“No, it’s just…not what I was expecting. I wish you had just told me. Then we wouldn’t have had to spend all this time –”
“All this time chasing each other around for nothing?”
“I was going to say, ‘spend all this time apart because of a fixable misunderstanding.’”
“That’s part of the problem you’re not getting, I lost my virginity during a night of drunk sex. It was supposed to be romantic and theatrical and dramatic,” Gene waved their hands with flourish.
“This whole debacle has been very dramatic,” Sasha said.
“It was supposed to be special,” Gene returned combatively.
“You didn’t think it was?” Sasha asked, nonplussed.
“You did?” Gene asked, an air of suspicious coloring his tone.
“Yes. I’ve never had sex with someone like that where there wasn’t any pressure, and we could just laugh like that and be ourselves. You’re fun and funny. It’s so sexy.” This was the first time Sasha was unable to meet Gene’s eyes, his own cheeks turning red.
“I am incredibly sexy,” Gene said, sounding more like their usual self.
“I don’t care if you’ve slept with zero people or one hundred. I still like you.”
“You have proven that you have exceptional taste.”
“I do. In clothing and people and much more,” Sasha agreed.
“You’re wearing the shirt,” Gene said, finally appraising Sasha.
“I am and I have something else of yours with me.” Sasha reached into his pocket and pulled out the compact, placing it gently in Gene’s hands. “I figured you’d want it back. It’s limited edition, after all.”
“How do you know that? It only said that on the packaging” Gene asked, eyeing Sasha suspiciously.
“You think you’re the only one who follows Cleavage to Beaver on socials? Dahlia and I were watching her YouTube channel before she got super famous.”
“You’re lying,” Gene said, stuffing the compact in their pants pocket to ensure its security. “Name the collab the compact came from.”
“Rhinestone Rings,” Sasha’s smirked.
“You got lucky.”
“I think I may have,” Sasha agreed, though Gene had a sense Sasha wasn’t talking about the answer to Gene’s question. He extended the gift bag toward Gene. Gene took the bag and shuffled the tissue paper aside.
“Are these Chunky Blastoffs? The new formula?”
“The new, new one that’s supposed to taste like the original.” Sasha nodded.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t. They’re my favorite and I know you like chocolate. Call it a hunch.”
“You’re too good to be true,” Gene blurted.
“Maybe we’re more alike than you initially gave us credit for?” Sasha asked.
“What’s the catch?” Gene looked at Sasha, stopped digging through the bag. “Because this is too good to be true.”
“There’s no angle, Gene. The only angle is trying to get you to pay attention to me. Which is something I’ve never had to say to anyone before, believe me. This is embarrassing.”
“Brag much?”
Sasha chuckled, “I’m serious. I’ve always been serious about what I want. There’s no point in dallying when you can get what you want by simply going for it.”
“Some people would consider pulling out all the stops to be manipulative in a situation like this,” Gene said.
“I know,” Sasha said, face and tone solemn.
“Some people. For me – keep all the presents and praise coming.”
Sasha took a step forward and gave Gene a peck on the lips. “For you, always. As long as it comes in rhinestones or silver.”