How to Be a Normal Person (24 page)

Casey was watching him. When he saw he had Gus’s attention, he said, “Good, that was real good, Gustavo.”

Gus said, “Yeah, yeah it was,” and neither of them chose to acknowledge the roughness in their voices.

LATER, THEY
lay on their backs on the floor side by side holding hands, shoulders touching. Every time Casey turned to look over at Gus, his hair would tickle Gus’s ear.

Gus brought Casey’s hand and arm over his face, getting a close-up look at the sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. The centerpiece was a peacock on his forearm, the tail feathers lowered and stretched down along toward his wrist. The detail was remarkable, and Gus traced the feathers with a finger.

There were flowers curled into the feathers attached to vines that twisted along his skin. The flowers were blue and purple and red, blooming across his skin.

Gus turned his arm over and on the underside of his wrist, curled into the vines, lay a violet triangle, the bottom of the interior shaded black, until it faded up, leaving natural skin.

“What’s that?” he murmured.

“Ace pride,” Casey said, eyes on Gus. “I got it when I figured out who I was. It was my first. All the others came after.”

“Why, though?” Gus asked as he dropped their arms between them.

“Because I’m proud of who I am,” Casey said, a quirk to his lips. “Even if others might not understand. I had finally found a way to be comfortable in my own skin and I could breathe again.”

“I like it when you breathe,” Gus said seriously. “I like it when you do a lot of things.”

Casey grinned at him. “Ditto, Gustavo.”

Gus didn’t know if he had the right to ask, but couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “Who didn’t understand?” He winced. “I mean, not that it’s any of my—”

“My parents.”

“Oh.” That was something Gus didn’t understand. Not completely. Sure, he never knew his mom, but he’d had Pastor Tommy. “Do you talk to them?”

Casey shrugged. “Sometimes. Just to check in every once in a while. But it’s not something I like to do. And I don’t think they care all that much.”

“But… they’re your
parents
.”

Casey laughed quietly. “That doesn’t mean they do it right.” He pointed at another tattoo, this time on the soft skin of his right forearm near his elbow. It was of a small bird flying out of a broken cage. “I got this when I realized it would probably be better for me if I didn’t go home again. A little on the nose, but it felt right. And once I made that decision, that weight was gone, you know? It helped that I had Lottie to talk to when I needed it. She was the black sheep of her family growing up, so she understood. She didn’t have a lot to do with my parents anyway. They don’t think much of her. That’s okay, though. Because I think she’s awesome. She’s my family.”

Gus tried to find the words to say he understood. That he was sorry. That he was glad Casey had found a new home on his own. That he hoped maybe he could be a part of Casey’s home too. But that didn’t seem like what a normal person would say on a first date. So instead, he repeated “I like it when you breathe.”

And then there was a knock on the door.

“Huh,” Gus said. “People seem to do that a lot now.”

“Knock on your door? You got people coming over all the time now, Grumpy Gus?”

“Yes,” Gus said. “There’s you. And now there’s whoever is knocking on my door. It’s like it never stops.”

“You should probably get it.”

“Nah,” Gus said. “They’ll go away. And plus, I’m stoned, so I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see whoever it is.”

Casey’s eyes went wide. “What if it’s pizza?”

And holy shit, that sounded amazing. “Did you order pizza?”

“No,” Casey said. “But
what if
?”

“So… it’s hypothetical pizza?”

“Dude. That’s my favorite kind. Hypothetically, it could also be pepperoni.”

“We should get the door,” Gus said, because now all he could think about was pizza.

“Okay,” Casey said. “You get the door. I’ll get my wallet. We’re on a date and I’m going to pay for it because you deserve it.”

“You can’t Instagram this,” Gus said. “You are banned from Instagram right now.”

“Why not?” Casey said. “That’s what food is for. To be Instagrammed and then consumed.”

Gus pushed himself up off the floor, reluctantly letting go of Casey’s hand. “You’re such a hipster,” Gus said. It was supposed to be insulting, but it came out sounding so disgustingly fond that Gus was sure he was about to start shooting rainbows out his ass. “And I wasn’t talking about the food. I was talking about taking pictures of me while stoned and then posting them on the Internet. You could ruin my political aspirations.”

“You want to be a politician?” Casey asked, sounding horrified.

“Maybe,” Gus said as he stumbled toward the door. “You don’t know. I could be mayor of Abby. Or something. I’d legalize marijuana. And I’d let asexuals get married to whoever they want. And I’d start a pizza delivery service that specifically serves people that are stoned. Guess what I’d call it?”

“This is going to be so awesome,” Casey breathed.

“Right?” Gus said. “It would be called Stone Fire Stoner Pizza Place for People Who Are Stoned.” He frowned as he reached for the doorknob. “Okay. I’m still working on the name, but you can’t Instagram me because then I won’t be able to make pizza.”

And with that, he opened the door to find—

“Oh shit!” he squeaked, slamming the door and leaning against it.

“Dude,” Casey said. “Is it pizza?”

Gus shook his head. “No. Worse.”

Casey frowned. “Worse than pizza? So. Like. Tacos? Do they even deliver tacos? God, I want some tacos.”

“
Worse
,” Gus hissed.

“Worse than tacos?” Casey asked. Then, the blood drained from his face. “Is it cauliflower? Gus.
Gus
. I have cauliflower PTSD! What if I start having flashbacks to when my parents tried to make me eat it? I’ll need to get stoned to calm me down. Oh. Wait. I’m already stoned. Okay. Never mind. I got this. Bring it on.”

“It’s not cauliflower!” Gus snapped. “It’s polyamorous lesbians and/or sisters and your aunt!”

“Oh,” Casey said, looking immensely relieved. Then, “Do they have pizza?”

“No, they don’t have pizza!”

“Why are you freaking out?”

“Because I’m stoned!”

“They’ve never seen you stoned?”

“No!”

“Why does it matter?”

Gus couldn’t really explain why he was freaking out, so he said the only thing he could think of. “Because I’m the
landlord
.”

Casey got up and walked toward Gus. He stopped in front of him and reached up to touch his cheek. “S’cool, man,” he said. “No worries. Just act normal and they won’t even be able to tell.”

Gus could do that. Gus could do that very well. After all, he was on his way to being the most normal person on the planet.

“Normal,” Gus said. “Got it. I don’t have my fanny pack, but I don’t have an erection, so it’s all good in the hood.”

“What,” Casey said.

And since Gus hadn’t meant to say
that
out loud, he pushed Casey away slightly before opening the door.

“Heeeey,” he said normally. “Ladies. Welcome to Casa de Gustavo.”

The four women on his porch stared at him.

“They really don’t have any pizza,” Casey whispered behind him. “The disappointment I feel is the same I felt while watching the series finale of
Lost
.”

“Monumental?” Gus asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Exactly.”

“So,” Gus said, looking back at the women gathered before him. He crossed his arms over his chest and adopted what he assumed was an awesomely relaxed pose. “S’up. Pop a squat. If you wish.”

“Did you just use slang?” Bertha asked.

“What is even happening right now?” Bernice whispered. “I don’t understand the world anymore.”

“I don’t know that you normally do,” Betty said, patting Bernice on the shoulder.

“Someone overheard you saying you were allergic to strawberries,” Lottie said to her nephew. “We came to check that you were okay. What are the chances of them having an entire festival dedicated to the one food you’re allergic to? And why didn’t I know this about you?”

“Aw,” Casey said, coming to stand next to Gus in the doorway. “Auntie Lottie. You’re the best. I live to fight another day.”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “He’s so alive, that he gives life… to other things. Or whatever.”

There was some more staring, but Gus was so normal, it didn’t even bother him.

Bertha said, “How is everything else going?”

Bernice said, “Yes. How
is
it going?”

Betty said, “Is it going good?”

Lottie said, “Gus, you look like you have beard burn on your chin.”

Casey said, “Well, this just got slightly awkward.”

Gus said, “Nah, man. It’s cool. I just tripped and fell on my face. Okay, that was a lie. He kissed me. And it was nice. But before that, we got stoned. I’m stoned right now. I’m so stoned. And then we played Scrabble and I couldn’t make up good words because of the
fucking
vowels
, and then he spelled out words that were probably the most romantic thing ever and he kissed me and it was nice and I
really
forgot how much more I talk when I’m stoned and have the inability to lie about anything whatsoever. So. Let’s all pretend that I haven’t said a single word and now I can’t stop thinking about pizza, for fuck’s sake. Would it have killed you to bring a pizza when you came over and knocked on my door, oh my god.”

Casey coughed.

Gus said, “So that happened. What do I need to do to make sure that any of you never bring this up again?”

APPARENTLY ABSOLUTELY
nothing, because they brought it up almost daily.

IT WAS
only a couple of weeks later when Casey came to Gus and said seven words that struck fear into the very heart of him. And things had been going so well, too. They’d kissed a couple of more times, hugged a whole hell of a lot more, skirted around the need to call each other boyfriends (and god, didn’t
that
sound juvenile), had gotten stoned again (well, Casey had; Gus was still trying to escape the knowing looks from the women in his life). It was a shame, that this was all coming crashing down and that Gus was going to have to sell his house and move away, never to be seen again.

“So, my friends want to meet you.”

Now, it shouldn’t have to be said that Gustavo Tiberius had never found himself to be in this position before. If any of his past dalliances had been any indication, he was the love ’em and leave ’em type (and by
love ’em and leave ’em
, he meant that he awkwardly sexed ’em and then ran home to overanalyze every single part of the interaction only to decide to never do it again).

But
now
, he found himself in a
relationship
of sorts, the kind where you went out to dinner, texted, shared pot cookies, and apparently met friends. Gus thought maybe this is what normal people did, but he couldn’t quite figure out how normal could be so goddamn terrifying. When he had been abnormal, weird, and strange, he had never had to worry about anything like this. He had his routine down to a science. Sure, maybe he had been a little bit lonely, but who wasn’t these days? Loneliness seemed a small price to pay to avoid situations like this. After all, he—

“Gus.”

Gus looked at Casey, who was standing in front of the counter at the Emporium, looking amused. “What?”

“You okay?”

Absolutely not.
“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Why?”

“Because I told you my friends wanted to meet you, and you got this look of horror on your face, and for the last four minutes, you’ve been staring at the wall making these tiny little noises at the back of your throat.”

Gus scowled. “I did not.”

“You sounded like a frightened kitten,” Casey said. “I almost recorded it. I bet I could have sold it and made at least forty dollars.”

“I was not making frightened kitten noises,” Gus said. “That was Harry S. Truman.”

“The ferret with merit has been asleep since I got here,” Casey pointed out.

Sure enough, Harry S. Truman was sleeping in his cage. “Traitor,” Gus muttered.

Casey reached out and took Gus’s hand in his own, tugging on his fingers in a way that had become a habit of his. Gus couldn’t say that he minded it one bit, but he did have to keep up appearances, after all. He sighed the sigh of the heavily put upon, but Casey grinned right through it, no longer falling for Gus’s bullshit.

It was one of the worst things that had ever happened to Gus.

Seriously.

That bastard.

“How am I supposed to meet them?” Gus asked with a frown. “Aren’t they all in LA? Because I’ll tell you right now, I’m not going to LA. That’s where the Kardashians live, and ever since you made me watch them on TV, I am convinced they are the worst people in the world and are scary and will eat my soul if they find me.”

“Well,” Casey said. “We can’t have that happen. And I didn’t make you watch shit, man. All I did was turn on the TV and it was already on that channel. You watch it all the time, don’t front.”

“I don’t,” Gus insisted. “Harry S. Truman must have sat on the channel changer. He does stuff like that. Ferrets are notorious for wanting to watch trashy reality shows. I read encyclopedias. I should know.”

“Someone’s a little defensive.”

“
You’re
defensive.”

Casey waited, a smirk on his face.

“Okay,” Gus allowed. “That wasn’t one of my better comebacks.”

“I still like you,” Casey said, patting his hand. “So much so that I won’t make you go to LA. In fact, you won’t even need to leave Abby. Because they’re coming here.”

Gus held in the gasp he felt bubbling in his throat because he was not a gasper, even if the situation was dramatic enough to be one. Instead, he said, “Are they all… you know. Like you?”