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Chad could not get through a single fucking sentence without swearing or making a joke. Even to his friends. It was never “You mean a lot to me,” or “I value you.” It was “You’re good, bitch,” or “You’re my favorite slut.” Why? Why couldn’t he just be genuine? It was actually infuriating.
Herm was genuine. Yeah, he stumbled over his words sometimes and got flustered and had a panic attack when the drive through woman asked what kind of sauce he wanted. But when he had something important to say, that all melted away like so much cotton candy in that wet fucker’s fingers.
And there he goes again. He couldn’t even think something sweet without making some kind of joke.
He was so scared of being genuine, of being Chad, even though he knew Herm liked Chad, preferred him even, to Flambae. And Grandma loved Chad. And Chad loved Grandma.
And Chad loved Herm. There was no help for it now.
He pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook and laid it flat on the scorch-marked dining table. What to say?
I love you.
Obvious and boring.
You make me better.
Fucking cliché.
Your dick game is incredible.
True, but not the point.
Chad grumbled, staring around his apartment, searching for the words. He smelled smoke and looked down. The fucking paper was on fire.
“Fuck!” He crumpled it up and threw it in the sink, running the water for good measure.
This shouldn’t be so difficult. Wasn’t love supposed to be easy? Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
Well, he didn’t have time to dwell on it now. He had to go to work. And look at that adorable, sad puppy dog face for another eight hours of his pathetic fucking life.
He was starting to think he liked his life better when it was terrible.
At lunch he busied himself in his notes app, trying to find the words. Alice came in and threw a paper bag at him. “Bitch, hello? This ain’t fucking UberEats.”
“Huh? Oh, thanks,” he muttered, pocketing his phone.
“What’s up your butt?” she asked, pausing in placing a french fry in her mouth to say, “Actually, don’t answer that, I’m eating.”
He grumbled and started on his sandwich. A few other people came and went, but still no Herm. Where was he? Was he avoiding him? Why?
“Seriously?” Alice said, snapping him from his thoughts. “If I wanted to get ignored for an hour I’d call my fucking therapist.”
“Shit, sorry! I’m just, I have a lot on my mind.”
Alice smirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
He made to speak when the door opened and Herm came in, smiling and laughing with fucking Robert. Stupid Bob-Bob, little Mecha-bitch.
“Hi!” Herm said happily. He took a seat and smiled at them both. “I got a pizza, look!” He opened the box to show them. The pizza guy had spelled out ‘Thanks’ in black olives.
“Who puts olives on a pizza?” Alice complained. “That’s nasty.”
“I love olives,” Chad argued. He met Herm’s eye. And I love you, he thought. Herm’s cheeks went red as if Chad had actually spoke out loud.
“Um, yeah, I know that. Have-Help-if you want, there’s lots-plenty-enough…share.”
Chad saw Robert glance Herm’s way. It was rare that Herm got so flustered these days. “Well, anyway, good job out there. That’s my favorite pizza place. I’m glad it didn’t burn to the ground.”
Robert left and Alice arched an eyebrow at him. He stared from her to the door, telepathically telling her to get the fuck out.
“Whatever,” she said. “I’m out.”
“Bye!” Herm called, starting on his pizza.
“You want fries?” Chad offered, pushing the bag into the center of the table.
“Oh, yeah, you ever put fries on pizza? It’s so good!”
Chad shook his head. He couldn’t help but laugh.
“Hey,” he said, an idea popping into his head. “I need your help with something.”
“What?”
“Um, I need to write something. But it needs to be good and like, from the heart or whatever. It can’t be some bullshit. And I know you’re good at that.”
Herm blinked at him. He swallowed roughly. “Sure, um, okay. I mean, I’m not great with talking, words, but–”
“Herm, stop. Take a breath.”
Herm took a deep breath, smiling gratefully at him.
“Sorry, okay, so what do you need to write?”
“A love letter.”
Herm choked on his pizza. Chad waited while he coughed several times, his face going red. “Ack, sorry, what did you say?”
“A love letter, Waterboy. You heard me.”
Herm stared at him, his face falling slightly. “Um, okay. Yeah, I guess, I could assist–help with that.”
Chad pulled out another sheet of paper. “Okay. How do I start?”
“Um, just say your feelings, I guess?”
“Right. So I should just say, ‘I love you’? Isn’t that stupid?”
Herm swallowed again, even though he’d stopped eating. “It’s not stupid, if you mean it.”
Chad nodded. “Okay. ‘I love you.’ There. What else?”
“Well, I guess you could write what you love about them.”
Chad stared at him. This was torture. He could tell that Herm was about to burst into tears; convinced that Chad was writing this to someone else.
“Okay. How’s this? ‘I love your smile. And the way you care about people. I love how determined you are, to show everyone you are more than you seem. I love when you get really excited about your interests and forget to stutter. And I love how you don’t get my car wet anymore.’ Is that stupid? That’s kind of a joke, but maybe he’ll think it’s funny?”
Herm was red again, but not because he was choking. “Um, uh. Yeah, I think, uh, that he would think it’s funny. A joke. A good joke.”
“Right, what else?”
“Um, well, you probably don’t need to write a letter. You could, just, you know, say it.”
Chad shook his head. “No, because then I’ll just make some stupid joke, blow off how I really feel.”
Herman was smiling now, a glint of those pearly white teeth biting the side of his lip. “Maybe he likes that you make jokes. That you don’t take everything so seriously. Maybe he loves you the way you are.”
Chad reached out and took a slice of pizza with the most olives. “Maybe.”
Herm grabbed another slice, picking off a few stray olives and placing them on Chad’s plate. “Maybe he doesn’t even like olives on his pizza, but he got them for you.”
Chad smiled. “Now that’s love.”