Red Running Shoes - 2. Breakfast and French Onion Soup

Dear Zach.

The next morning I woke up and didn’t feel all that well. After the initial toast to Eric and Chris, I may have chased the champagne with something stronger, several times obviously. At least the queasy feeling in my stomach strongly suggested that plus the fact that I was fumbling around in the dark for a shirt because the mere thought of turning the light on made my head hurt.

People often drink champagne when they have something special to celebrate. Why? I just don’t get all the fuss everyone makes about it.

***

Do you have these conversations with your inner self, Zach? You’re thinking something along the lines of 'I have nothing special to celebrate, so why should I drink that bottle of champagne?' *sniffle* and immediately a sarcastic inner voice answers 'Aww, you poor little thing. Nobody loves you, nobody plays with you. Who’s fault is that do you think?' and with that you manage to put yourself on the spot.

Discussing things with myself might be an annoying habit and sometimes even embarrassing, but it keeps matters in perspective and nobody but me hears my private little pity-party, so I think it's perfectly okay.

***

I checked on my overnight guests when I passed the living room door on the way to the bathroom. What I saw made me stop mid-stride. On the couch Eric was sleeping on his back with Chris sprawled over him, his head nuzzled into Eric's shoulder, one leg thrown between his thighs.

Eric was Chris's. It was as simple as that.

I had lost Eric a long time ago. Whatever hopes I might have still nursed deep inside me where nobody can see, vanished exactly at that moment. This time it wasn’t some random fling or hook-up at a bar, Eric was in a real relationship with my best friend Chris.

It had finally hit home. Eric wasn’t mine anymore and would never be again.

I didn’t look in the bathroom mirror. I knew what I would see: pale, bed-headed despair.

I do love my morning shower, so leaning against the tiles and letting the spray hit my body calmed me down enough to think about getting through the morning without freaking out. Hopefully.

I wanted to prove to Eric, Chris, and I that everything was fine, that I had no problems seeing them together and could in fact be happy for them.

But why was it so damn hard to accept that I couldn’t have this with Eric anymore? Didn’t want it anymore.

I decided to cook breakfast. There wasn't much in the fridge, so I went to the grocery store and to a bakery to get fresh bread, rolls, and croissants. I cracked eggs into the hot pan, made pancakes, coffee, put everything on a tray and went into the living room.

"Morning lover boys, breakfast is ready." I hoped they didn't hear the strain in my voice.

Both jumped up and the blanket fell to the floor. Chris giggled, Eric grinned sheepishly, and I thought: Fuck, I totally forgot to give them sheets!

Thinking of the cleanliness of my new couch was a clear sign I was getting better. Right?

"Take a shower, put some clothes on, do whatever you need to do guys but do it fast; breakfast is getting cold." I placed the tray on the coffee table and pretended I forgot something in the kitchen.

It took them a while to come back from the bathroom. They showered together.

In the end, my friends weren’t bothered in the slightest by the fact that the eggs and the coffee were cold. Every time Eric stole a kiss, Chris nuzzled against Eric’s neck, or Eric started to feed Chris with bits of bread and got a kiss in return. I felt the strong urge to choke Ren. I had to get used to this. Well, not the choking Ren part.

Well…maybe…nah!

After they had gone home, I started to put the plates and mugs into the dishwasher and cleaned the table, all the while telling myself that I could be happy for my friends. I was over Eric.

And you really believe this? Fuck off, Zach!

***

That evening I felt like cooking. It calms me, I can think about issues while moving around with a purpose, and I have something delicious afterwards; it's better than any therapy could ever be.

I made soup. I love soup; it's warm, and I can fill a bowl and eat it almost anywhere: in front of my laptop or the TV, on the floor, even in bed. Soup is my comfort food of choice, besides chocolate of course. I inspected my cupboards and seeing I had onions, garlic, a bottle of dry white wine, leftover baguettes from breakfast, and Gruyere cheese, I decided on French Onion Soup.

While peeling the onions my eyes wandered to a picture on the fridge. It was of Eric and me at our friend Ruth's birthday party, his arms wrapped around my waist in almost exactly the same way I’d seen last night with Chris. The picture had been taken only minutes after we finally got together the first time.

And the tears in my eyes were from cutting onions, mind you.

***

Eric. We’ve been best friends since we were nine. When we started dating, it wasn’t with each other. Hell no. That would’ve been awkward. None of our relationships lasted more than a few weeks though, and in-between were long periods where we didn't date at all. We always had the other one to go to the movies or hang out with. We kissed sometimes, but that just happened. When we were around sixteen, maybe seventeen, Eric started to find ridiculous faults in my boyfriends and made fun of them, none was good enough. He really pissed me off.

Then it was Ruth's birthday party. Eric and I arrived together like we always did, got our drinks, settled on a sofa to watch the crowd, like we always did, and then Tyler Kozak hit on me. He was friends with Ruth, totally hot, and I thought ‘why not’, when Eric suddenly put his arm around my shoulders and barked, "Piss off, Kozak!"

At first I thought Eric was joking, but when he looked at me I knew he was not. Then he kissed me and it felt different than before, more serious, more right.

Ruth gave Tyler the ‘thumbs up’ and slapped me on the shoulder. “It took you long enough to figure this one out, guys."

If you think the transition from best friends to boyfriends was easy, it was not. We didn’t need to get to know each other’s quirks and faults; we didn’t need to pretend we were perfect. We knew each other far too well for that. But that also meant nothing was distracting us from the new thing between us. What had felt good at the party felt sometimes too big. Maybe because of that we started slow, almost tentative. We went to the movies holding hands, kissed, and nothing more for almost two months. And sometimes I thought that maybe we had made a mistake.

Then one evening we made sandwiches at Eric’s place. We were alone in the house; his parents had gone out on their bi-monthly refresh-your-marriage date. I noticed some sauce on Eric’s face and without thinking, I reached out to swipe his lip with my finger, put it in my mouth and licked it clean. Eric looked at me, his eyes darkened, he stepped in front of me, and it was like a floodgate had finally broken.

His mother was obsessed with her kitchen counter. She polished and wiped the thing the very minute she spotted a crumb, a smudge, or even a fingerprint. Now, imagine me sitting on said kitchen counter with my bare ass, being sucked off by her son. I've always wondered what would have upset her more if she had suddenly come in. That we were staining her formerly spotless kitchen counter, or that my dick was in her son’s mouth.

We lost the rest of our clothes on the way to Eric’s room, I think. The next thing that clearly registered was us naked on his bed, and Eric on his knees between my legs. When I looked at him he stared at me and murmured, "You’ve no idea how often I pictured you here, with me, like this." He kissed me deeply, placed open-mouth kisses along my neck and collarbone, down to my shoulder where he sucked hard.

"That’s for Tyler-fucking-Kozak," he whispered.

I rolled my eyes. “Ruth told him to hit on me, moron.”

“I know. I just think he did it a little too well.” Watching me, he took my right leg in his hand and kissed my knee, nipped at my inner thigh, slowly moving up until he reached my hipbone.

When he bit down, I hissed. “You think?”

“Uh-huh.” Then he did the same with my left leg, avoiding the one place I so desperately wanted to feel his mouth, slowly driving me crazy until I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Eric, right fucking now!”

And finally Eric stuck his tongue out and licked over the head of my straining dick. It felt so damned good, but it wasn’t nearly enough. “Eric, dammit!”

He chuckled. “What?”

I slapped him upside his head. That seemed to help him remember.

It took him only a couple of minutes and I was shouting his name again, this time coming hard down his open throat. Eric groaned, nuzzled his head against my thigh, while stroking his cock fast, until he came against my leg.

There was no time for kissing and cuddling, or maybe even taking a short nap, Eric’s parents wouldn’t be gone all night. So we showered collected our clothes on the way down to the kitchen, ate our sandwiches and then Eric meticulously cleaned and polished his mother’s kitchen counter.

I still grinned years later when I saw her doing the same in that spot.

***

It was a good thing that I could make French Onion Soup off the top of my head. The next time I consciously paid attention to what I was doing, I was standing in front of the stove stirring the almost-ready soup. It only needed seasoning with white wine.

I filled a bowl with the soup, placed the bread I had gratinated with the Gruyere on top, and grabbed my warm coat and a blanket. I went out on the deck and sat down on one of my lounge chairs. Sipping on a glass of white wine, I slowly ate the hot soup and burnt my tongue on the melted cheese.

***

Now you want to know how everything ended, right, Zach?

Eric and I stayed together for the rest of high school, went to the same college, graduated and finally planned to move in together so we could live happily ever after for a very long time, but that never happened.

Eric started spending less and less time with me. He said he had to work late and afterwards was too tired to come over. Another time his parents wanted him to visit them over the weekend.

Honestly? How could I be such an idiot? It had been so obvious.

Then a friend told me about a new club everyone was raving about and asked me to come. Eric had to work late again and I said yes. That was when I first saw Eric kissing another guy. I confronted him but he shrugged it off. "I’m drunk baby, it doesn’t mean anything, don't be angry."

It happened again. So-called well-meaning friends told me that they'd seen him with different guys all the time. Today I realize he didn't even try to hide it from me; it was his not-so-subtle way of telling me it was over without saying the actual words.

Back then however, I thought it was me. I had quite the long list why it had to be me.

One night, when he had promised to come over and talk, but never showed, I couldn't take it any longer. I went to my computer and finally did what I had been thinking about as a crazy idea, and booked a flight to visit my cousin in Vancouver. My stuff was already packed in boxes since I had thought I was moving. All I had to do was rent a van and put all the boxes in my parents’ attic.

I was hurt, I had no solution for the problem, and I felt cornered. My flight instinct kicked in and that was the first time I ran.

***

The first week in Canada I mourned and my cousin Meg left me alone. I visited museums, parks, went to Chinatown. The second week she made me babysit my nieces and I visited play parks, swimming pools and kiddie birthday parties. After that she declared my vacation officially over and ordered me to help her out at the office.

I got several emails from Eric. I never opened them. Little by little they started to dwindle until they stopped entirely.

Six months later, I felt ready to go home and start my new job.

When Meg dropped me off at the airport, she gave me a box. "Next time you need to run, use these to do it at home and clear your head. Face your problems head-on." Inside the box I found a pair of red running shoes.

It took me a while until I was ready to meet Eric. We finally discussed our situation. Blood, sweat, and tears were shed, literally.

Blood? Did you hit him? No I didn’t hit him Zach, but tugged at a small piece of skin with my teeth, until my lip started to bleed, I was so nervous.

In the end, we decided to try and stay friends. It was the classic error.

I still had to learn to erase that tiny bit of hope because there was none and Ren was pushing me to see that. How I hated that guy.

Hey, that’s our flight! Come on, Zach.

French Onion Soup