Preston Tucci sat tucked into the corner of the couch, legs drawn delicately up, facing his housemate, Antoine. He ran his fingers over the edge of his wineglass.
Antoine had stretched himself out, slouched comfortably, legs resting on the footstool. He, likewise had a glass of wine which he leisurely twirled by the stem between sips.
Preston watched Antoine discretely over the rim of his glass. When Preston had started to learn more about his companion, he was surprised to discover that not only did Antoine drink wine, Antoine knew wine. Preston had always assumed Antoine would be a beer drinker. Not so, apparently. The man had unexpectedly good taste in wines, and enjoyed imbibing on occasion. It turned into a little indulgence they would share on quiet evenings.
Antoine finished his glass, and reached for the bottle on the coffee table. "So tell me, Preppy," he began, using the nickname he'd so gleefully bestowed on Preston, "when you were young, where did you see yourself in your thirties?"
Preston cradled his glass in his hands and stared at his reflection. "Oh, I don't know," he replied softly.
Of course he knew. Who doesn't dream of their adult life when they're older, but Preston wasn't sure he wanted to share.
"Come on," Antoine pressed from the other end of the couch. "Talk to me."
Preston smiled, almost wistfully, watching his curved reflection in the bowl of his glass. "You really want to know?"
"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't," Antoine replied.
"Well," Preston began, his mind drifting back to his college years. Not that they had been so long ago, Preston himself was two years shy of thirty, younger than Antoine by nearly six years. "Well, okay," Preston began shyly.
"I always pictured myself finishing my MBA, and getting a job as an executive in some investment firm like my father; pulling easily five or six figures a year. When I wasn't working, I'd travel to the exotic locals of the globe. Eventually, I always hoped to meet some gorgeous guy: muscled, sun-bronzed skin, tight crew-cut. We'd fall in love, and I'd propose to him. We'd be married, some elaborate outdoor wedding, a white wedding, then he'd move in with me at my mansion, or maybe it would be a condo. Either way, living in a cultured neighborhood. I'd go to work, come home. Maybe some year we'd travel to Europe together." Preston took a sip of his wine. "That's what I always pictured anyhow. But now, I don't see that anymore. I found something far better."
He raised his eyes lovingly to Antoine.
"What about you?"
Antoine tapped his chest. "Me?"
Preston nodded. "I shared mine, didn't I?"
Antoine shrugged. "Fair enough." He closed his eyes. "I was going to move some place tropical, a bungalow right on the beach. I'd get a job as a copter pilot giving tours and flying people to the best surfing spots. I'd spend my days between the sun, surf and sand. In the evenings, I'd go home and cook dinner on a pit barbeque right on the beach. I'd count the stars to fall asleep. In the morning, I'd get up and do it all again." He closed his eyes dreamily.
Preston felt a slight twinge in his guts.
"That's it?"
Antoine opened an eye. "Yeah, why?"
"You can't see sharing that dream with someone else?"
"No, not really. I like being by myself. It's peaceful like that. What more could I want, you know?"
Preston set his glass down on the coffee table. "Eh… just forget it Antoine." He pushed himself up, an uncomfortable knot-like sensation in his chest. "I'm going to get myself something to eat." Preston made his way into the kitchen.
Antoine sat on the couch, confused, looking after his roommate in utter befuddlement. "What?" he asked. "What did I say?"
He heard Preston grabbing a plate, opening the refrigerator…
… Then it hit him.
Oh. Preston had been referring to them when he said he'd found something better. Antoine muttered a profanity under his breath. Preston had been referring to Antoine himself when he'd said he'd found something better. Why did Preston always have to be so complicated? Antoine wondered in frustration.
Antoine raised his head. "But this is nice too!" he called out, hopefully.
Preston heard, he was sure of it, but his thin housemate didn't reply.
"Come back, and we can watch your favorite movie!" Antoine offered.
"It's too late for that," Preston replied.
Antoine ran a hand over his face, frustrated. "Is this something flowers or chocolates would fix?"
Preston's head appeared around the corner, expression stormy. "You know what, Antoine? Screw you! I'm not someone you can just throw gifts at when you screw up, it doesn't work like that!" He disappeared again.
Antoine sighed. Preston and his emotions, Antoine mused. Why did he have to be so complex like that? He finished his wine, debated for a moment, then relented and poured himself yet another glass. Why didn't Preston come with an instruction manual? Were all guys this complicated, or had he, Antoine, just gotten lucky?
Ah well, Antoine decided. He'd figure it out later, give Preston some time to cool down. As long as Preston didn't decide to leave, Antoine knew they'd sort things out. After living with Preston, Antoine was not at all willing to go back to the single lifestyle again. Antoine regarded the couch. "Am I sleeping out here tonight?" he asked.
"I haven't decided yet," Preston replied.
Antoine rolled his eyes, not without a hint of affection. Preston Tucci: the only person in the world Antoine would allow to kick him out of his own room. And, Antoine thought, he was oddly okay with that.