Grand Adventures Read online

  “Nothing. It’s really nice of them. Nothing at all,” he said, going back to his food. “I just want to make sure they like me.”

  That seemed good enough for Beth, who launched into a long story about the time she’d first met her husband’s family and spilled red fruit punch all over her sister-in-law’s sweater. Benjy listened and laughed at all the right places, even though his mind was deep in enchiladas and German chocolate cake and candles.

  It was a relief to finally finish his shift. Benjy had just gotten home to his dank and slightly smelly apartment—it wasn’t an accident that he spent so much time at Kyle’s house, but his rent was cheap—when his phone buzzed with a text message from Kyle.

  Mom wants to know what kind of wine you want for the party. I told her merlot would be good. Let me know if you want something else.

  Benjy felt his stomach clench. Right at the same time, another text came in from his best friend, Brett.

  At JoJo’s… come over u wuss

  If anything would take Benjy’s mind off this impending party, it was Brett at their favorite dive bar.

  He was changed and heading out of his apartment in fifteen minutes.

  APPARENTLY BRETT had been at JoJo’s for a while before Benjy got there, because he was already slurring a little when Benjy pulled out the barstool next to him.

  “You’re late,” Brett said, leaning so far toward Benjy that he almost tipped off his own barstool. Brett was right around six four and muscled out—basically, exactly what the shorter and slighter Benjy wished he looked like. His skin was the color of light coffee, and he enjoyed reminding Benjy that “white boys like you never get as much play as mixed dudes like me.” Benjy liked reminding him that gay guys usually didn’t get as much play as bi guys anyway, since they only had half the population to work with.

  “You just texted me,” Benjy replied, pushing Brett back upright. “How long you been here?”

  “Long enough,” quipped Steve, the bartender. “Fat Tire, Benjy?”

  Sometimes Benjy worried that at only twenty-two (soon to be twenty-three), he already had at least one bartender who knew his favorite beer by heart. But Benjy worked hard—he deserved to have some fun, right? And he and Brett knew Steve from school, so they’d been friends even before the guy had started tending bar.

  “Yup,” Benjy said. “Thanks, man. How much longer you got, Brett?”

  Brett rolled his eyes. “Dude, I’m fine. We ain’t freshmen anymore. I can hold a few beers.”

  “Good.” Benjy thumped Brett lightly on the back. He needed at least two to forget about that stupid party. And Kyle was working a late shift at the hospital that night, so it wasn’t like Benjy had anything better to do.

  “So,” said Brett, “did I tell you I’m dating that chick, Cecilia? The one from my microbio lab?”

  “Dating or sleeping with?” Benjy asked, taking a sip of the beer Steve had thumped down in front of him. Brett was also a little bit of a manwhore.

  “Dating, I guess,” Brett said. “I mean, we haven’t had ‘the talk’ yet or anything.” He stopped to air quote “the talk.” “But I think I like her, man. She’s cool. She doesn’t give me shit about my apartment being all dirty or whatever, and she likes football….” His eyes started to cross for a second, and Benjy wondered if two more beers were really in the cards. “Benjy, how’d you know when you were all in with Kyle?”

  That was a little deep for Brett. He and Benjy had been friends for almost four years, and while Brett did know things about Benjy that nobody else did, Benjy could count on one hand the number of serious conversations they’d had about relationships.

  “Umm. Well, it was pretty quick. It was when I realized that he knew what I needed from him and what I didn’t.” It was actually a little more complicated than that, but that was the best Benjy could do at explaining just how he’d figured out Kyle was right for him.

  Brett frowned. “I want what you guys have, I think. I liked getting all the guys and girls I wanted, you know? But what you guys have….” He shook his head. “That guy’s got your back, Benjy. You got his. It’s cool, you know?”

  Benjy chugged most of his Fat Tire before he even realized he was doing it. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.

  Brett looked up, startled. “Whatcha mean, you guess?”

  Benjy shrugged and signaled Steve for another beer, since the first one was clearly on its way out. “His parents are throwing me a birthday party,” he mumbled.

  Brett reached up to also signal Steve for another beer, but Benjy slapped his hand away. “Lemme catch up.”

  “Fine,” Brett whined. “Anyway, isn’t that good, dude? He wants you to meet his parents. I don’t get it.”

  Benjy sighed. “No, it’s not about meeting them. Just meeting them would be fine. It’s… well, it’s kind of stupid.”

  Brett wiggled his eyebrows at Steve, who was dropping off Benjy’s beer. “Stop it,” Benjy told him, whacking him in the shoulder this time. “Steve, when I finish half of this, you can bring him another, okay?”

  Steve just laughed. “You guys are even weirder than you were when we were still doing this in dorm rooms,” he called as he walked back toward the other end of the bar.

  “Annnnyway,” Brett said, “lots of things in the world are stupid. You should tell me anyway. You don’t tell me nearly enough stuff.”

  Benjy snorted. “I tell you plenty, man.”

  Brett looked down at the bar. “You never tell me ’bout your past. You know, when you were a kid.”

  Benjy rolled his eyes. Apparently they were going to be maudlin drunks for the rest of the evening. Great.

  “Brett, you’re, like, one of the only people I’ve ever told about any of that. Really. I just don’t like talking about the details, okay?” When Brett didn’t respond, Benjy sighed. “Look… I’ll tell you something else about it. And it’s why I’m freaking out about the dinner.” He chugged some beer and waited until Brett looked up at him again. “I’ve never had a birthday party before.”

  Brett blinked. “What are ya talking about? We went out to the clubs for your birthday last year. We’re going again this year.”

  “Yeah, you always take me out to the bars, and we all used to hang out and drink in the dorms to celebrate, and I’ve had people give me presents and stuff, but having a whole birthday dinner just for me? With candles, and everyone staring at me, and a bunch of gifts they’ll watch me open? Not really. Not that I can remember, anyway.”

  Brett’s mouth seemed to fall open a little. “How come you never told me that? Man, I would’ve thrown you a real party! See, you don’t tell me shit!” He eyed Benjy’s bottle for a second. “Look, half-full. Steve!” He called across the room. “And you’re buying that one,” he added, pointing at Benjy accusingly, “for not telling me you’d never had a birthday party before.”

  Benjy tried not to roll his eyes again, and he chugged more of his beer. “Brett, I never thought about it much. I had some really nice foster parents, but there usually wasn’t time or money for a whole party. And the home I lived in for a while just had parties every month for everyone who had a birthday. So I was fine with it and everything. It wasn’t like I felt I was missing out or something. But now this thing’s coming up, and I’m worried I’m going to make an ass of myself in front of Kyle’s entire family, ’cause I don’t know what to do or how to act at a party that’s just for me.”

  Steve dropped another beer off for Brett on his way down the bar, and Benjy was a little alarmed by how quickly Brett had half of it down this throat. “Well, ya gotta tell Kyle.”

  “No way! He’ll think I’m nuts. Who’s afraid of a birthday party?”

  “Benjy, Benjy, Benjy,” Brett professed, shaking his head slowly and dropping his hand onto Benjy’s shoulder. “Kyle’s into you, man. Like, really. And he knows all the shit about how you grew up and all. He’ll get it.”

  “No way. He already probably thinks I’m crazy—knows way too many other nut
job things about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll worry about it for a few more days, then get to the party and have an okay time, and it will all go away. That’s it. Or maybe I’ll end up working a shift that night so I don’t have to go. No big deal.”

  Brett frowned and shook his head hard. “Dude, you can’t do that to Kyle’s family. That’d make you a total asshole. Whatchoo worried about, anyway? Just that you won’t know what to do and shit?”

  “Well… yeah. And she’s making a whole dinner for me. When am I supposed to say thank you? When I get there? And there’s going to be presents, and they’re all going to look at me when I open them, and I don’t know how to deal when everyone stares at me….” Benjy shuddered slightly. “I’ve never even blown out birthday candles before. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do if they don’t go out. They always go out in the movies, you know? But what if mine don’t go out?” He shook his head. “See? Stupid shit, man.”

  Brett chugged the rest of his beer and pulled some bills out of his wallet before he hopped off his barstool. “Benjy, bud, finish your beer. I got this, man. We’re gonna get you ready for this party.”

  “How?” Benjy asked suspiciously as he pulled money out of his own wallet.

  “We’re gonna go throw you a practice party in your apartment.”

  BENJY DECIDED later that his first mistake was letting Brett pick out the candles in the convenience store. Brett instructed Benjy to find something they could use for a cake, so Benjy pulled down a box of Twinkies that had probably been sitting on the shelf since he was in elementary school, based on the amount of dust on the box. His buzzed brain decided it probably didn’t matter. They didn’t need to eat the things, and weren’t Twinkies filled with preservatives anyway?

  The two of them headed back to Benjy’s apartment, where Brett pulled a few Twinkies out of the packaging and studied them. “Dude, they’re a little hard,” he said. “But they should work.” He then proceeded to stick the entire package of candles into the Twinkies.

  “We really need that many?” Benjy asked.

  “You’re turning twenty-three, Benjy. I bet she puts a lot of candles on the cake. There!” Brett poked the last candle into a Twinkie. “Okay. Now you close your eyes, ’cause that’s what birthday boys do, and I’m gonna light ’em up, and then I’ll say happy birthday, and you’ll open your eyes again, and I’ll start singing, and when I finish, you blow out the candles. Easy!”

  “What if they don’t go out?”

  Brett blinked. “Huh?”

  “I told you, I don’t know what to do if they don’t go out.”

  Brett frowned. “Well, you give up, and people help you. Or someone gets a cup of water.”

  “Oh.” Benjy smiled, glad to hear it wasn’t any more complicated than that. “Cool. Okay, let’s do this.” He closed his eyes and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  And then he heard Brett whisper, “Oh shit.”

  He reflexively opened his eyes to see that the eight or so candles Brett had already lit were falling out of the Twinkies, which apparently were just old enough to be crumbling slightly. “Benjy, blow quick!” Brett called as he tried to light more of them.

  Benjy briefly wondered if maybe he should tell Brett to stop lighting more candles until they could get the other ones upright, but either the few beers he’d had or the craziness of the scene in front of him somehow kept him mute. So he just started blowing.

  While Brett kept lighting.

  And a few solid breaths in, it was pretty clear the candles Brett had picked weren’t normal candles. Every time Benjy blew one out, it relit.

  “They won’t go out!” Benjy panted between breaths as Brett used one hand to light candles and the other to hold the already-lit candles upright.

  Brett began laughing like a hyena. “They’re trick candles!” He chortled. “You can’t blow ’em out.” He was still snorting when Benjy blew a particularly large breath… and four candles fell all the way over, igniting the stack of notes from Benjy’s philosophy class that were sitting there. “Shit! Get water!” Brett howled.

  The next few minutes would forever remain blurry in Benjy’s memory. He vaguely remembered running for the sink and coming back to find Brett unsuccessfully trying to stamp out the ensuing fire with his sneaker. He vaguely remembered running into the table and throwing water across the mess there… only to stick the right arm of his long-sleeved T-shirt into the side of the Twinkie that still had lit candles stuck into it.

  “Benjy! You’re on fire!” Brett shoved at him. “Stop! Drop! Roll!”

  Benjy vaguely remembered looking in terror at his sleeve, which seemed to be engulfed in flames, and then smacking the thing as hard as he could into the table to try to put it out.

  He vaguely remembered realizing that the shrill sound of the fire alarm was echoing in his ears.

  He vaguely remembered Brett dousing him and the table with a giant pot of water.

  And he vaguely remembered saying to Brett, “See? This is why I didn’t want to have a birthday party.”

  BENJY THOUGHT about not even telling Kyle about the whole debacle, but that didn’t appear to be an option. The apartment was fine—the table was ruined, but other than that, there was no lasting memory of the fire except for a thick layer of smoke that just needed time and multiple open windows to dissipate. They’d even gotten the fire alarm disabled before it alerted the landlord (or worse, the fire department) to the mini-emergency in Benjy’s kitchen. But Benjy had an angry-looking red burn running from the bottom of his hand down the inside of his left wrist. You didn’t just slide that sort of thing by a doctor. Plus, it hurt, and Benjy wasn’t actually sure if it needed medical attention or just a whole lot of ice and cold water. So Brett finally texted Kyle, told him they’d had a little bit of an accident, and asked Kyle to come over after his shift.

  Benjy wasn’t sure what else went on in that texting sequence—he was too busy holding his arm under running cold water and trying not to whimper—but Kyle must have gotten the idea that things weren’t all that okay, because he was at Benjy’s place long before his shift ended.

  He took one look at the scene and then sized up Brett and Benjy, who were standing over the sink together. Then he sighed.

  “Twenty-two is a really stupid age,” he finally said, and he walked over to study Benjy’s wrist.

  Neither Brett nor Benjy tried to argue.

  Kyle, the quintessential doctor, had the situation organized and under control faster than Brett and Benjy had set the place on fire to begin with. He bundled Benjy’s arm up in a large wet towel, made sure the smoke had cleared from the room, and packed both of them into his car so he could deliver Brett home and Benjy to Kyle’s place, where he insisted he had better first-aid equipment. And a kitchen that didn’t have a half-collapsed and charred table in it.

  Kyle didn’t even ask Benjy what had happened. Not until he had Benjy bandaged up with ointment and soft cotton, dosed on Tylenol, and lying on the couch with his head on Kyle’s lap.

  He always did seem to know what Benjy needed. And Benjy knew then that he was going to spill the whole story. Not just because it was the only way to explain what he’d done to his kitchen, but also because Brett was right. Kyle always had his back.

  “So what happened?” Kyle asked, stroking Benjy’s hair lightly.

  Benjy sighed. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Yeah, I’d guess so.”

  “I’ve never had a birthday party of my own before.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ve never had a birthday party. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do when you open presents in front of everyone, or how much you should thank someone when they make a meal just for you, and I’ve never blown out my own birthday candles before, or if I have, I don’t remember doing it. I’m going to probably do something stupid at the dinner your parents are having for me because I’m the only dumbass turning-twenty-thr
ee-year-old in the world who’s never had his own birthday party before. Then they’re going to realize I’m a total freak, and they’re going to hate me.”

  Benjy took another breath and realized there were tears running down his cheeks. “Brett and I were at the bar, and maybe I drank that last one a little too fast, and he decided we should have a practice birthday party. You know, so I could get ready. But then the Twinkies were all stale, and they weren’t holding up the candles, and fucktard Brett bought those candles that don’t blow out, and my philosophy notes caught on fire, which totally sucks ’cause I have a test next week, and then I was trying to put it out, and my shirt caught on fire. I’m a freak. I know it.” Benjy took a deep breath.

  Benjy was facing away from Kyle and couldn’t see his expression—but when he felt Kyle continue to run his hand over Benjy’s hair, Benjy relaxed a little. Even if Kyle didn’t speak for what seemed like a long time.

  Finally, Kyle eased Benjy’s head out of his lap and helped him sit up, forcing Benjy to look at him. “Benjy, you are not a freak. You are an amazing, kind, hardworking person who my family will love as much as I do. They won’t care if you don’t know what to do with the candles on the cake. And they definitely won’t care if you don’t thank them the right way for dinner. And you know what? They’ll probably be just as excited as I am that this is your first real birthday party.” Benjy started to speak, but Kyle put his hand up to stop him. “I don’t mean that I’m excited you never had a birthday party before. That sucks, even though I’m sure you’ll tell me it’s no big deal. I just mean it’s exciting that my family gets to throw you your first birthday party. I think it’s really cool that we get to be the ones to do that for you. That makes me really happy.” He frowned. “I’m not happy you and Brett set your kitchen on fire because you were so worried about this. Why didn’t you just say something, Benjy? You really didn’t have to light up that gawd-awful table of yours just to get my attention.”