Page 51
Story: Sweat
“Whatever, weird-o.” I roll my eyes, but I’m all smiles, just glad for the simple pleasure of Rowan not running away from me. “Can I take you somewhere first?”
The black FitBit on my wrist tracks my steps as I take Rowan on a meandering trail through campus. He asks multiple times where we’re going, but I let him be the follower this time.
I take him past the science building to the seldom noticed horticulture building. Around the back is a fence covered in ivy and morning glories, and I push open the unlocked gate. A placard on the gate reads CLOSE AFTER ENTRY, so I keep a hand on it while Rowan comes through, and I make sure it’s latched when I shut it behind us.
“What is this place?” he asks with a tone of wonderment and an amused smile.
It never ceases to amaze me how few people know this place exists, especially students who’ve been full-time here for years. Then again, the only reason I know about it is because Erica used to bring me here on weekends back when she was a Sac State student and I was in middle school.
“It’s the school’s garden for the horticulture program.”
“So, like, plants and shit?”
I chuckle and pat Rowan’s back. “Yeah, c’mon.”
It’s nearly an acre of winding pathways lined with native plants and small informational placards. We’re not the only ones here. It’s open to the public, and people like to bring their kids. There’s a chicken hatchery in the West corner, and a few of the hens run free across the paths. The first timeone bumbles from the brush in front of us, Rowan gasps and curses under his breath.
“Fuck me in the ass,” he mutters. “There’s chickens here?”
Wide eyed, he follows the chicken now, who leads us to the hatchery.
“The hell?” he mutters.
I laugh and put my hand on the hatchery gate. “You wanna go in?”
He looks awestruck and slightly anxious. “Like, to pet them?”
There are already a couple kids in the hatchery, timidly patting the more sociable hens. I open the gate to let Rowan in first.
It’s adorable, watching him be as timid and tentatively giddy as a child the way he scopes out the friendliest chicken and goes in for a gentle swipe of his palm down its back. The way he grins and breathes, “Holy shit,” makes me think he’s never been to a petting zoo before, like this is all a brand new experience. Makes me glad I brought him here.
“I can’t believe I never knew this place existed,” Rowan says as we leave the hatchery to continue exploring the garden.
“I would come here a lot when I was depressed. Always kinda cheered me up.”
Rowan looks sideways at me. “You get depressed, baby boy?”
I shrug one shoulder, trying not to blush under Rowan’s uncharacteristically soft stare. “Sometimes. Everyone does, right? Sometimes?”
Maybe not Rowan, but if the night Rowan cried to me in his car is any indication, he at least knows what it’s like to feel confused, overwhelmed, and maybe a little lost.
He doesn’t nod or say anything in agreement, but he walks close enough that his arm brushes mine, and he says, “Don’t be depressed,” like it’s that simple.
I crack a small smile. “Don’t be depressed. Another Rowan Hughes rule for success?”
“Nah. Just, a favor? As a friend?”
Friend.A term that sits so oddly in my stomach that I’m not sure if it’s a step in the right direction or the wrong one. I’m not even sure what the right direction is with Rowan, but so long as we’re friends, we can be together without scaring Rowan off and without making promises and commitments neither of us are ready for.
“I’ll try, but it’s not really something I can control.”
“Well, you can talk to me if you want,” he says, eyes on the path ahead of us. “I got you.”
14
Rowan
The next “family time” is dinner at Dominico’s Pizzeria. I don’t really want to go, but it’s important to Matt and Xiamara. Not sure why. I’ll never sneer at a free plate of Dominico’s spaghetti with meat sauce, but it’s hard not to feel like an interloper. Too old to be Matt’s son but too young to be his brother, and I’m the only one named Hughes. I don’t know what people think when they see me tagging along with him, his wife, and their three little ones. Chances are good that no one is thinking anything at all about me and them, but it’s something that lingers in my mind no matter what.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51 (Reading here)
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134
- Page 135
- Page 136
- Page 137
- Page 138
- Page 139
- Page 140
- Page 141
- Page 142
- Page 143
- Page 144
- Page 145
- Page 146
- Page 147