Free Sunset Park by Santino Hassell Page B

rejoin it.”
    “That was some deep shit.” Chris nudged Raymond. “I like this guy. He’s almost as smart as me.”
    “Aiight, Mr. Community College Dropout.”
    Chris pumped his fist in the air. “And I got a bomb-ass IT job to show for it.”
    Raymond didn’t reply. How were his friends so oblivious to the feelings of inadequacy such simple statements provoked? They’d known him for going on twenty years, and I had only recently become close with Raymond. Yet my eyes grazed the slight slumping of his shoulders, and I noticed how he zeroed in on his task with a singular focus; how his one-liners had become monosyllables.
    Was I reading too much into it? Pretending I had such a good read on him just so I could feel special? It was possible. It wasn’t like I hadn’t overanalyzed my connection with a guy in the past. In high school, creating entire fantasy relationships out of minor interactions had been a wretched hobby of mine. But this didn’t feel like a fantasy. My connection with Raymond had to be real. If it wasn’t real, it would be hard to have faith in anything ever again.
    Sharky joined them by the mess of coaxial cables and HDMI connectors, looking to redeem himself for the suicide comment. Raymond ignored him for a few minutes before caving and blessing Sharky with the usual half smiles and snarky comments.
    As I sat observing from the sidelines, I expected the outlier twinge to ping my heart the way it so often had in the past, but it never came. Raymond’s friends were so genuine and good-natured that I had a good time unpacking while laughing at their jokes. The only awkward moment came when Chris’s cheeks dimpled after he caught me paying a little too much attention to the way Raymond’s basketball shorts dipped past his hipbones. I suspected Chris got a kick out of tough, asshole Raymond rooming with a gay twink.
    “I like your friends,” I said when they were gone. “They’re funny.”
    “Hilarious.”
    Raymond found the box with his many marijuana-oriented implements as soon as I’d locked the door. He was loading a bowl as an Internet radio station played mellow indie rock from his computer.
    “Is this a station you listen to frequently?”
    “Sometimes. When I don’t want to be amped up.”
    “Makes sense.”
    I finished folding the empty pizza boxes and shoved them in a garbage bag. The kitchen was in disarray—empty beer bottles, crumbs, and a litany of paper plates and cups littering the countertops.
    “Bring your ass over here and stop cleaning.”
    “Crumbs attract bugs,” I said, swiping them into the trash with a paper towel. “And I hate bugs.”
    “If the troops gather that quickly, it’s inevitable.” Raymond packed the bowl of his pipe. “It’s our first night here. Relax.”
    If I had a dollar for every time Raymond told me to relax, I could pay off my student loans in a year.
    “You’re going to smoke with me,” he said.
    “Is that an order?”
    “Pretty much, yeah.”
    I padded over to him, navigating the clutter of our belongings while relishing the cool hardwood beneath my bare feet. The apartment was strewn with boxes and mismatched furniture, but I was still in love with it. It was cozy but had a slightly unfinished quality that was very urban. The french doors leading to my room added to the feel—like it had once been a library or a study before being converted into a bedroom. It was flooded with deep golden light from windows that overlooked the neighborhood. We didn’t have the most breathtaking view, but watching the setting sun reflect off the windows of warehouses in Industry City had its own charm. A lot of things about our apartment had a certain charm. Raymond was one of them.
    “Does Chris make fun of me?”
    Raymond flicked his lighter and took a hit from the pipe. He stared at me through the drifting smoke.
    “Stop worrying about my friends.”
    “I want them to like me.”
    Raymond passed the pipe and slumped down on the sofa.