Take On Me

By Jennifer Parsons

This is a story about falling in love, about the families we’re born into and the ones we find along the way. It’s about grief and change and bravery. It’s about food and music and discovering our own ways of moving through the world.

But most of all, it’s a story about taking each other as we come, for who we are right now, and who we’re stumbling towards becoming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Parsons
• Release date: Feb 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949077049

Jennifer Parsons

A software engineer by trade, Jennifer Lyn Parsons is a life-long lover of story with a capital S. Her work has been seen in various magazines and she has published three books, with quite a few more in her back pocket. She counts Jim Jarmusch and Laura Ingalls Wilder as two of her biggest influences. Make of that what you will. When not writing either code or fiction, she reads books and comics, and sometimes makes things out of wool or paper. She finds joy in making things, be they digital or analog.

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DEDICATION

To my dear family. I can’t wait to see you smile, laugh, and even get a little teary when you find us in these pages.

Take On Me

September 17th

Will, can you come reach the cups?

Casey is short. Tiny. She can’t reach anything higher than the bottom shelf of your average kitchen cabinet without a chair. I think it’s adorable and she knows it. Casey is my work buddy, and well, also my not-work buddy, and has been since I moved back to Dover Bay from NYC two and a half years ago. We hit it off the first day and I’ve been her best gay ever since. I’m also her substitute arms when things are needed from tall shelves.

I walk into the storage room, scratching my beard as if I’m assessing the situation, and grab the box off the shelf. I hold it over her head.

You mean this one? This one right here that I can get without even needing a ladder?

She pouts and stamps a foot, but she’s fighting a grin. This is exactly the kind of response you want from your tiny work buddy.

Jerkweed.

She laughs and I know it’s because she loves me. And I’m lucky she does because the girl’s getting her Masters degree in Artisanry and Crafts. You don’t mess with those people. They know how to use glue guns. I risk life and limb every time I taunt her, but it’s one of my great joys in life.

Cafe Ducard is quiet, only a couple of regulars studying at the scattered tables. Even though it takes us a couple of minutes to get back out to the counter, there’s only one person waiting for us.

It’s him. The guy I’ve been crushing on for the past couple weeks. My heart may or may not skip a beat or two. Okay, maybe three. Time to be cheerful, but not plasticy. I hope I can pull it off. My stomach didn’t just flip when he looked up. Yours did. Definitely wasn’t mine. Nope. I smile at him.

Hey! How are ya? Sorry you had to wait. We were grabbing cups.

I show off the box with a grin before dropping it where Casey can finally get to it and start refilling the stacks. Classes let out soon and we’ll get bombarded by half the Dover Bay U. campus.

He nods, brushing his greying hair out of his eyes. His lips are pressed together in a small, patient smile. He’s even better looking when he’s a little tense. Damn, I’m almost not sorry I made him wait.

So, what can I get you? Americano? I ask, knowing it’s his regular.

Am I talking too fast? Keep it smooth, William. Chill.

He nods again, the smile loosening a bit. Is he surprised I remember? With almond milk.

Of course, I reply, making sure I don’t sound like I forgot.

I step behind Big Red, our crimson enameled beast of an espresso machine and get to work on the shots. It’s like second nature doing this now, though the smell is still something that gets me every time. I love that smell.

Grind the beans. Tamp them down. Pull the shots. Try not to get distracted by the man in my peripheral.

As I work, I wonder if he’s vegan, lactose intolerant, or what. We use good almond milk, so it’s not like it’s gross or anything. Still, it’s usually just the hippie college girls that ask for it.

I wonder about a lot of things with him. Like his name. And where he lives and if he likes good music. And yes, I will be the arbiter of whether music is good or not. As Frank Zappa once said, Most people wouldn’t know good music if it bit them in the ass. I happen to agree. I also happen to think the Backstreet Boys Millennium meets the qualifications of what’s good as much as Aaron Copland’s Rodeo so do with that what you will.

Did I mention Americano Guy is good looking? Because yes, he is. Not intimidatingly so, which is good, because between my beard (it’s just laziness not a fashion statement I swear) and dressing like some kind of lumberjack hipster, I don’t exactly light up the night with my dazzling looks. No self-esteem problems here, well mostly, but anyway, I’m okay with how I look, but honest with myself. And I’m really really okay with how he looks. He’s always a little sad, too. Not in a someone just kicked my puppy way but there’s something melancholy about him. Okay, he’s dark and brooding and that’s a turn-on, alright?

It’s always clean lines and grey or black with him. Lots of tailored stuff. Pinterest-worthy. Today it’s a button down shirt under a slim vest, snug jeans, well-worn Chucks. His sleeves are rolled up to the center of his forearms, revealing a slim leather bracelet around his wrist. It’s all so casually dashing I almost forget to ring him up.

I finish making his drink and he’s on his way out the door when I see Denny walking in. And Denny stops and talks to Americano Guy.

What. The. Fuck?

They shake hands and chat, then Americano Guy leaves and here comes Denny.

You know him? I ask Den, blurting it out instead of playing it cool, before he even gets to look at the menu.

Black coffee, and yes, I know him, Denny replies, shifting his laptop bag on his shoulder. He comes to the coding meet-ups on campus. He’s mostly a front-end developer, but we need that. You never want to see a hardcore backend guy try to write CSS. That way ends in tears.

I nod, vaguely understanding what he’s talking about. I design a lot of websites as part of my freelance work, I’m not completely clueless. But Den’s a genius programmer (no seriously). If he goes much deeper into geek speak, he’ll be way over my head.

So, you guys see each other often then? I ask, hoping the cool is back in my voice.

About once a month, why?

I grab a wet rag and start wiping the counter down. Oh, ya know, just–

Will thinks he’s hot. Casey interjects, destroying my cover completely and getting a bit of her own back in one fell swoop. Bravo Casey.

Denny chuckles. Riiight. Well, we don’t talk about relationships and shit much during the meetings, he says. But we did have a beer once. Con, that’s for Connor, by the way because I know you’re going to ask that next, is a good guy. And he’s bi and single from what I’ve gathered, so there’s definitely a shot for you there.

That was more information than a casual beer with a new acquaintance usually produces. Casey and I exchange worried glances.

Did you put him through the Denny Masters Five Point Quiz? I ask, kind of horrified, also simultaneously absorbing that Americano Guy is now Connor, uh, Con. And hello, bi and single?

Denny just nods, smirking.

Oh, Den, that’s awful. Casey crinkles her nose.

Denny has this weird five-point evaluation for whether you’re worth his time. It’s actually not hard to pass if you’re a decent human being who knows how to be a good friend. It doesn’t hurt if you’re a bit of a nerd, too. Anyway, one of the questions is Are you straight? and it’s not which way you swing that matters to him, it’s how you answer the question.

I passed with flying colors when we met in high school, though the questions were a little different then. Casey ran the gauntlet a couple years ago when Denny started working from the cafe a couple days a week. So, we’re Denny’s friends.

Even though I was away living in NYC for a bunch of years, somehow we managed to pick our friendship up again when I moved back. It’s kind of a miracle to get your best friend back after a decade or so apart and we both know it so we see each other pretty often. He comes for coffee most days and on Wednesdays I hang out with him a bit at the comic book store where he works a few hours a week. Big comic discount for me! Woo!

Casey gives Denny his coffee and I catch her sliding her fingers down his palm as she hands him his change. He smiles sheepishly as he takes his cup. Huh. Well, that’s new.

Anyway, Cafe Ducard has this amazingly comfortable charm to it. It’s a deep space with worn couches and armchairs interspersed with tables and chairs. It even has a little stage along one wall where we have music on the weekends, but for now it’s covered in more couches and chairs.

Denny claims his usual spot, a quiet corner on one of the stage couches, pulling his laptop out. He gets his code face on, as he calls it, and I go back to work. He’ll be there all afternoon, except when he needs to run upstairs to deal with some server thing or another at the startup renting the second floor. It was lucky timing that the founder was down here getting her mid-morning latte when Denny was complaining about wanting to get out of his last contract. Bonus for me because it means we get to hang out a lot.

You know, Casey says, leaning on the counter. Con doesn’t usually come in if you’re not here.

Yeah? I reply, not sure where she’s going with this. Do I want to know what happens when I’m not here?

Mmhmm. She’s smirking now. I’ve seen him walk by and look in, but he usually keeps walking if he doesn’t see you.

Really? I am sounding way too eager right now, and trying to hide my enthusiasm by giving the counter some serious attention with the rag. This is new and awesome information, right? If he skips his coffee when I’m not here that’s…that’s good.

I hear the back door slam shut and some mild cursing. Sara’s back, I’ll go help. I tell Casey before she can drop any more info bombs. This one is enough to keep me going for now.

She nods. She was pretending to fiddle with Big Red while Denny and I talked and turns now to go back to her cup stacking. As I push open the door to the kitchen, I wonder if it’s me or if Casey has just repositioned the cups so she can see Denny while she works.

I inhale deeply when I step into the kitchen. It always smells like baking and coffee back here. So good.

Hey, Squirt!

I’m thirty-five years old and my cousin still calls me by her childhood nickname for me.

Thank whoever is watching over this fuckshow of a world you’re here. Help me with this crap.

Sara, my cousin, who likely should have been my sister we’re so close, is flushed but smiling. She owns Ducard, built it from the ground up after her mom died. It’s what Aunt Lacy always hoped she’d be able to do someday, so it’s incredibly sad and poetic that Sara’s inheritance let her build all this.

Is it that warm out? I ask and she nods in return.

And I’ve been hauling all this stuff around on my own. I need to bring someone with me next time.

Maybe Kirk? I ask. It’s been a week or so since I’ve seen her partner, which means he’s not been out of the house much except for work.

I take the box she’s carrying and it’s warm from the sun. The scent of fresh herbs hits my nose. Love that.

Nah. Did I tell you there’s a full-time librarian position opening up? He’s putting in an extra day when he can for good measure, but we’re sure he’s a shoe in. It’s going to be really good for him.

That’s great, I tell her and mean it. I like Kirk, I want to see him happy. They’ve been together for a couple of years now. He’s family.

She sits down on the stool at her desk, fanning herself with a pile of junk mail.

Late September used to be all sweaters and apple picking when we were kids, remember? Now it’s summer heat and humidity even after we put the pumpkins on the tables.

I nod. I miss the cool weather, too. The leaves haven’t started changing yet, but I pulled out the box of sweaters from my closet last night. I live in hope that the heat will break soon. Can’t wait to see Americano Gu…Con…in autumn clothes. Did I really just think about that? Yup.

I go out the back and carry in a couple more boxes, some of them have some real heft to them. Sara definitely shouldn’t have to get them into her truck on her own.

The fresh food all smells amazing, crisp and bright. It’s Thursday and that means Full Dinner night at Cafe Ducard. Lots of the university students go home for the weekend and front-load their classes to have Fridays off, so the place always feels a bit like a celebration on Thursdays.

I like working Full Dinners and helping Sara cook everything up. A couple of the part-timers come in to start their shifts while we’re unpacking vegetables. Sara sends them out front to help Casey with the afternoon onslaught as we clear the baking bowls and tools off the big worktable and settle into prep. I spend the rest of my shift chopping stuff, listening to music, and thinking about Con and how nice it is that he doesn’t get coffee when I’m not here.

September 21st

Dover Bay is an interesting town. It’s sort of a city, but the neighborhoods are kind of sprawling in places. There’s a university in the sort of midtown, a cool art scene near the bay, and tech start ups growing like mushrooms in the gentrified warehouses. It’s the kind of place people look for when they want the good kind of city life. There are problems, just like any small city, but it’s mostly good. It’s not NYC, but then what is, really?

It’s Monday, I’m working at Ducard again and taking a break, grabbing an iced tea on my way to an empty table. Denny is here, sitting on one of the beat-up green couches by the window. He’s spread himself out with his laptop open, but it’s been shoved aside to make way for a Solitaire break. Not the computer kind, but the actual deck of cards kind. The guy knows about thirty different variations by heart, it’s kind of amazing. He waves me over before I have a chance to sit.

The armchair creaks when I sit next to him. Sara got all the furniture lightly used, but it’s super comfortable despite its age.

Hey, he’s got an odd smirk on his face. Denny’s not a smirker. I don’t trust it. My band’s playing Saturday night at The Basin & Sink. Want to come rock out?

Okay, so usually when someone says Hey do you want to come to my gig? you have to say yes to be nice even though you know you’re in for a lousy night of out of tune guitars and lyrics that make you cringe and drummers who don’t know that drum solos are best left to the professionals. But this isn’t that kind of request. This is Denny, king of impeccable taste. When he asks, you just say When and where?

Den’s the rhythm guitarist in The Screamers. I love them. They’re kind of punk? Kinda gritty? They’re cool and don’t play out much because they all have day jobs. The Basin & Sink is an all-ages hole-in-the-wall downtown. Of course I want to go rock out.

Hells yes, I tell him. I’ll be there. Hey, that reminds me. I’ll be right back.

I duck into the back and pull a CD out of my bag. It’s got a custom printed label and case.

New mix? Denny asks, grinning when I hand it to him.

He admires the cover for a minute before opening it up. I’m beaming. Den is my toughest mix critic and he gets copies of every mix I make. It’s a challenge, keeping him surprised. Music is something we’ve always shared, and the cover designs let me stretch out a bit creatively. Mixtapes (I refuse to call them playlists) are everything. I mark time by them. I track relationships with them. They weave through my life.

Fresh off the burner. It’s based around songs with math and science in them. I took my time with the cover and it’s kind of awesome, if I do say so myself.

Today’s working music then.

That’s the true Denny Masters litmus test of awesomeness. If he can work to it, it gets his stamp of approval.

His phone buzzes and he picks it up to read the text.

So, he says, still smirking, holding his phone between two fingers and waggling it at me. I invited Con to the gig and he’s coming, too.

My heart starts racing a bit. I…you asshole! I don’t know whether to hug you or slug you.

He just laughs as my mind races for some way to back out of this. Con and me in the same room without a coffee excuse? Even with coffee as a topic of conversation, we’ve barely said more than three sentences to each other in one sitting. At least it’ll be loud. We won’t be able to talk much, right? Means I’ll make less of an ass of myself. It’s been a while, since Elliot. Three years since I’ve had any kind of relationship outside two no-show Tinder dates and some chats on a couple of porn websites that made me feel awkward when they were over. I’m out of practice. And I’m usually the pursued, not the pursuer anyway. Ugh.

I see your mind working, Garrett. Den uses surnames as a term of endearment. We slip into using them when…well, when it’s just us, being real or something. You were just way too enthusiastic about the show to back out now. You can thank me later.

My jaw is still working up and down, scrambling for any saving grace. Wait a second.

Are you being my wingman, Masters? I ask him, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He shakes his head. Nah, that’s a foul concept fuck boys use as a cutesy way of justifying manipulation. I mean, great if you get laid and all, but I just think you deserve to be happy. And Con seems like a guy who needs someone with a lot of love to give.

I smile at him, a dopey grin on my face. Denny’s more kind than any wingman I’ve ever heard of. He is a king among men.

Mind if I bring some folks? I finally ask. Maybe I can recruit a support staff. I may need a pep talk or five.

More the merrier, he smiles, putting his earbuds in. It is a gig after all. Now go drink your iced tea. I’ve got code bugs to hunt down and an awesome mix to listen to.

Shit. Well, so that’s happening. Me and Con in the same room, socially. I’m getting less freaked out and more excited as I think about it. Who can I bring? Instead of sitting there, I head to the back. I can practically feel Denny still smiling with glee at his evil plan coming to fruition. Casey is back there, mixing scone dough for the afternoon rush.

Hey, I smile, trying to be cool because this is what cool people do when they’re recruiting support people for a not-date, right? So, Denny’s band is playing Saturday night. Did you want to go? I’m trying to get a couple of people together.

She nods. Was planning on it already.

Cool. I say and I catch her smiling.

Yeah, and you need your support crew, right? She’s out and out giggling now.

Uh, yeah. Denny told you?

She nods enthusiastically. Already planned out. I’m your field unit girl. Denny’s your behind-the-scenes operative.

You’re joking. Is this really my life now? I have people conspiring to help my love life?

I shake my head and she reaches up, dusting flour on my nose with a laugh.

Not a bit. You deserve a shot at this Connor guy. If Denny likes him you know he’s a good person. And I’ve watched you watching him, you know. This place can’t handle that kind of heat much longer.

I feel my ears flush red, but I have a bit of my own ammunition. And you and Denny? No chance you’re just using your field unit status to get closer to him?

It’s Casey’s turn to blush. It’s subtle, but we’ve been friends long enough for me to catch it.

Don’t you worry about me and Denny. You just focus on what you’re going to wear.

She gives me a critical look up and down and I self-consciously run my fingers through my hair.

Yeah, I reply and turn toward the desk at the back where Sara is hunched over a laptop. I’m choosing not to panic over my clothes yet.

Sara’s hunting down recipes, which is good. I never like bugging her with anything when she’s dealing with bills. She’s always less receptive and stressed then. Ducard does okay, but let’s just say it’s a good thing Sara was able to buy the place outright.

I heard, she says without even turning around. I wouldn’t mind getting Kirk out of the house. He’s been maudlin and live rock always lifts him up.

Good. Cool, I say, turning to head out front.

Just…Will? She turns on her stool and faces me.

Yeah?

There’s a concerned look on her face. She stands and comes closer, picking a piece of lint off my shoulder. This is so Sara, casually touching, straightening. They’re signs of love from her.

Be careful, yeah? The Elliot thing…I don’t want to see you go through that again.

I shrug. Well, as long as he isn’t a charismatic manipulative asshole, I won’t have to.

I try to keep my tone light, but I hear the tiniest waver in my own voice and the concerned look on Sara’s face doesn’t fade.

Okay then. She nods, forcing a smile. Kirk and I will be there with bells on.

I force a smile back. I’m sure Con’s nothing like Elliot. He’s already proven that by not actively hitting on every guy in the room when I’m not looking and then pretending to be mine-all-mine when I am. That kind of guy will never be my type, not any more anyway. I’ve learned that lesson too well.

But I need to focus on the present, right? Ok, then. Cafe Ducard family outing on Saturday it is. The Unlovables’s I Want a Boy starts running through my head as I think about what I can wear that doesn’t completely make me look like the complete hipster lumberjack I really am. My closet. You don’t even know. So much plaid.

September 26th

The rest of week goes by without a hitch. I get a new freelance project off the ground (it’s a book cover, never easy) and help out with music setup at the cafe on Friday for open mic night. I’m much too big of a music snob for it to be fun usually, but then this week a girl did an amazing old Soul version of All of Me (the John Legend one, not the standard) and it blew me away.

Saturday rolls around, currently my off day, and I run some errands. By mid-afternoon I start thinking about what I’m going to wear so I can rock out, and look good doing it. It’s not like I’m a clothes horse, I don’t have tons to choose from. Why is this so hard?

But Con has only seen me in coffee-stained shirts and an apron. I get to wear good clothes that don’t reek of espresso, and they need to make me not look like I have no fashion sense at all. I’m a graphic designer, you would think I could put together something decent. Most of my wardrobe, however, consists of nice clothes for client meetings and stuff that’s a couple years old and a bit…tweedy. I don’t like shopping.

We’re going to a rock club. I need to think cool, both literally and figuratively. It gets hot at the BS (yes, my inner ten-year-old thinks the Basin & Sink’s initials are hilarious) and I don’t want to be a sweaty mess. Though with Denny’s band playing, I’ll end up as one anyway. They rock and I dance, okay?

I finally settle on black, because it’s just dirt simple. Plain black v-neck t-shirt, black jeans, and my Doc Martens. Classic rocking out uniform 101. Quick beard maintenance and I’m ready to go, or as ready as I’ll ever be.

Sara owns the building I call home, with Cafe Ducard on the ground floor, rented offices on the second floor, me above that, and she and Kirk on the top floor. The cafe pays for itself plus some extra and the startup pays for the rest, which means my rent is criminally cheap and I’ve got the world’s best commute. It’s home and I’m grateful. Getting to this point…it wasn’t easy.

Casey is waiting for us in the cafe when I get there and we wait for Sara and Kirk to come down. She looks great, too, not overly made up but a bit more rockstar than I’ve seen her in a while. She’s a smart girl and wore jeans and boots, too. Girls are always getting fucking stomped on at these shows. Open-toed shoes would be asking to get your toes crushed.

Kirk looks a little tired when he and Sara arrive. I raise an eyebrow at Sara and she gives me a subtle head shake. Kirk was a junior medic in the first Gulf War, just a kid. PTSD meant an early retirement from the armed forces. He’s a librarian now, and works a bit with the local VA people, too.

When Kirk looks that tired it means he hasn’t been sleeping again, but the music tonight will do him good. Something in him really comes to life when he’s in the presence of that much joy and raw energy.

He smiles a little when Sara entwines her arm in his and we head down the street together. Their long-lasting happiness is inspiring. I thought I had the real thing not that long ago myself. I’d like to have it again.

Tonight might be a chance to start on that. It’s not exactly easy to find the right guy when your dating pool is limited to one tenth of the population and you’re not sure who’s in that one tenth.

So, Will, Kirk smirks at me as we settle onto the train. It’s crowded, but we manage to sit near each other when a load of people get off at the next junction. I hear we’re your wingmen on this little jaunt.

I groan and put my head in my hands. Not you, too.

He chuckles and Casey elbows me with a wicked grin. It’s a group effort because we love you. Be thankful.

I smile at this. I am, though I’m not sure for what yet.

We chit-chat the rest of the ride, thankfully about things not related to the night’s potential.

The BS is pretty full when we