Bruno arrived at the restaurant at five-thirty for the six o’clock reservation. Broken shutters knocked against the walls of the empty street. The diner stood out with its clean windows and working lights. There was a small bowl of water on the ground in the mouth of the
alley to his right. Bruno smiled a little, breathing out carefully.
She didn’t arrive until six-twenty-three, and for most of the wait he sat on a bench outside and watched the alleyway. A cat wandered over and stared at the bowl. It was gray and white with short hair, and Bruno watched it with wide eyes. It stared back only for a second before it disappeared again. In that moment he heard a soft clicking behind him.
“Bruno?” He looked up and saw a woman looking down at him from atop her stilettos. He stood up and tried to keep eye contact. They would’ve been the same height if it weren’t for the heels. And her hair. The top bun was properly messy with wisps framing her face. Her knitted sweater was tucked into jeans with acid wash patches, and her purse was bulky enough to be classified as luggage. Bruno took a breath and nodded.
“Yeah, that’s me.” They attempted smiles. “I’m Bruno.” They went inside.
He pulled out a chair for her, to which she laughed like he’d made a joke. He chuckled too, running a hand along the scruff on his face. “It’s June, yeah?” She nodded.
“Well, actually it’s August,” she said. He laughed again, just a little too hard. June picked up the menu and coughed. “Sorry.” Her cheeks were pink, but Bruno just grinned. He waited, deciding quietly whether to attempt eye contact or not, until she ordered, to which he did as well.
“So,” he cleared his throat, “what do you do for work?” She said she taught kids art, and he told her he worked public relations for a non-profit that shares medical supplies until he realized she doesn’t quite care that much and moved on. He told her about his roommate Carter; Bruno learned that she had two sisters and moved out of her dad’s place six months ago. That she liked painting more than she liked teaching kids. That she used to date more but hadn’t in a bit; that she was putting herself back out there.
He’d worried, but she wasn’t making him worry anymore. He uncrossed his ankles and nodded along with her stories, letting her talk until she wanted to listen instead. It was a good night. It was new, and it was nice. Then Bruno cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, and June said something that made him pause, fingers knotted in the curled strands.
“Are you close with your family?” It was a simple question. She asked it lightly, because it was that point in which the conversation had died down and needed a new prompt. This question, though, stalled Bruno’s brain. It’s that moment of panic when you’re watching something go terribly wrong but you’re too late to stop it. He shook his head.
“Ah, no. I actually only started talking to them again recently,” he said. Her brow furrowed.
“Oh, why?”
“They just don’t like who I am.” She hummed pityingly, tilting her head like she couldn’t understand. He didn’t explain it to her. He tapped his fingers on the table before exclaiming, as though he hadn’t yet thought of it, “Dessert!”
They didn’t get dessert, but they did order coffees and stir them for longer than they drank them. The clink of cutlery on ceramic quietly hammered the tension into place until June took the first sip. She said it was good; she said it was warm. Like a hug. Bruno took a sip and tried not to choke as he remembered that he really doesn’t like coffee.
The inevitable did come. He knew it would, he just really didn’t want to think about it. Dessert, however, only distracts for so long. She asked the right questions, once the spoons sat in empty mugs. He nodded slowly, unsure of how to begin.
“Yeah,” he said, “It doesn’t change who I am though—”
“When did you realize?” she asked, eyes wide and innocent and sharp.
“I don’t know, uh…”
“Sorry sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?”
Bruno laughed.
“It was really nice meeting you,” she said after. She gushed about how well he managed to pass, how she couldn’t even tell. He nodded. “We should talk again soon. This was fun.” He nodded. “I think… we could be friends,” she said. He nodded.
“Yeah.” Except that he really wasn’t thinking they were going to be friends. He was thinking that he might freak if she didn’t stop staring at his chest and studying the curve of his jaw.
It’s been established that you can’t tell, he thought.
Friends, he thought.
He left the restaurant behind with a tight chest and a bag full of leftovers. He rubbed at his sternum and felt his posture weaken, slumping forward in a practiced curve to hide his heart; It was only noticeable if you knew how tall he really was. He trudged back up the street, where he soon noticed that cat again. It was still there, staring at him rather intently. In the end it got the lettuce from said bag of leftovers, and Bruno threw out the box of crumbs a few streets down. He resolved to walk home once he passed the third bus stop without stopping.
I’m not upset about it, he thought. He never was anymore, except that he was walking fast with crossed arms and clouding his mind with half-finished song lyrics. It wasn’t until three streets from his run-down apartment that he ran out of songs.
The warm August wind rustled his hair, and he thought about June. The other times, they’d realized sooner. With her, he got his hopes up. He knows that’s why it hurts, and that it isn’t him, and that he shouldn’t care, but his clothes feel too tight. Exposed. Obvious.
Bruno realized he hated dresses at age five and cut his hair at eight. He found his name at thirteen and used a nickname until he could share it at eighteen, when he didn’t have to worry anymore. It still didn’t go over well, but it was okay. He was okay. After that he moved, and then he survived, and he’d been living ever since with a roommate and a job and endless dates that made his mouth ache. Not in a good way; lying through his teeth had made them hurt like a cavity.
Bruno is a man. Doesn’t make looking like one feel any less like lying.
I’m not lying. A lump grew in his throat. I am not a lie. His chest was still tight and now his heart was hammering, and it’s all too much to let him breathe. His vision wavered as he stared down at his body. He squeezed his eyes shut.
A small meow made him open them again. The same cat from before crouched a ways behind him. He made himself take a deep breath before walking over to it. He kneeled just a few feet away and tried for a wavering smile.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m Bruno.”
The cat walked closer, like it believed him. It might be because he fed it his leftovers, but it followed him all the way home.
The door unlocked with a quick jimmy of the handle, and the cat ran inside between his legs. The whole thing felt a lot less terrible with a cat involved. He shut the door behind him and flopped onto the battered couch. The ceiling light was a nice focus point to just stare and stare at.
He could hear the cat poking around the room and, unfortunately, could smell the remnants of his roommate’s dinner burning at the bottom of the oven. He forgot to turn it off again. Bruno sighed.
“Carter!” His voice cracked in the monotonous quiet and a groan echoed back from the other room. “Get your casserole out of the oven!” He stared in the direction of Carter’s bedroom, counting the seconds until he heard footsteps and looked up to see tired brown eyes. “It’s burning.”
“That’s how I like it,” Carter said, entirely serious. Bruno just glared at him until Carter huffed and walked the few feet into the kitchen.
“How was your night,” Bruno said. It wasn’t a question, he just didn’t know what else to say.
“How was yours? You’re back early.”
“Why do you know that?”
“So that I know when late is,” he poked his head out from the kitchen, “so I know when it’s time to call the cops.”
Bruno rolled his eyes. “No cops.” Carter came over then to sit next to Bruno and shoved him over to make space.
“I’d never,” he muttered. Bruno sat with his back to the armrest and hugged his knees to his chest. “But actually, why’re you back?”
“She got abducted by aliens.”
“Try again.”
“She was never the same after that, we just couldn’t work it out—”
“Bruno—”
“You know what happened. She said we could be friends.” He said it with a flourish, sweeping his arms in a regal manner, indicating the true honor of her offer.
“Ah…” Carter nods. “Well…” he took Bruno by the wrists and lowered his arms. “Tell her you already have friends.”
“Is that it?” Bruno raised an eyebrow.
“It is. Truly, the queue is full.”
“No chance she could get in, huh?”
“None,” Carter replied, with a somber shake of his head. They broke out into laughs quickly, of course, despite everything. As he sat there laughing, though, Bruno thought about how he’s actually quite happy. Despite it all, his chest is loosening again. Despite the tears, he
feels warm in his beat-up apartment with his fire-hazard of a friend.
“Sounds fair. I’ve already got you and Lettuce here.”
“What?”
“The cat, Lettuce.”
Carter turned his head very slowly in the direction Bruno pointed. There laid Lettuce, just below the radiator.
“Why-”
“I fed it lettuce.”
Carter nodded, since this was a very reasonable point.
“Exactly,” he said quite simply. “You’ve got me and Lettuce.”
Atticus Garrow 