Chapter 4 - The Man of Wind and Moss

“Pansy is pregnant,” Dean said. “She’s about a month along.”

Goddammit.

They were at Union Hall. Marco had just come from Paula’s place. The cabin plan wasn’t even a few hours old, and it was already falling apart.

“Holy shit,” Keith said. On reflex, he shot a glance at Marco to see his reaction, but Marco was too stunned. Unavoidably, Marco pictured Dean and her fucking. His palms grew sweaty.

“We’re keeping it,” Dean said. And that was the next question. Unspoken was how Pansy had an abortion earlier in their relationship, right before graduation. That was years ago though. Marco let the thought slip away. Unspoken was key with Dean. Unspoken was gold.

“Are you guys going to get married?” Marco asked.

Keith scoffed and laughed into his beer. Marco blushed at how naive his question must’ve sounded. Like some prim Mennonite. He scrambled to reiterate. “I mean, what are you going to do?”

“We’re not gonna get married yet,” Dean said. “But we’re obviously staying together. I’m going to help raise the kid and all that, but that actually brings me to my other piece of news.”

“Two for one special,” Keith said. He had rolled up the sleeves of his only button-down. He picked at the leather band on his watch. Keith was big-bellied and smelled like Old Spice, and the watch was too tight on his fat, freckled wrist.

“I don’t need you guys having a fit about it, though, okay?” Dean said. “It’s already in motion, so I don’t need any flack. Especially from you,” he finished, pointing at Marco.

“I don’t give flack,” Marco said.

“Yeah right, man, you’re the most judgmental guy I know,” Dean corrected.

“You are pretty judgy,” Keith confirmed. “If we’re being honest.”

“Can you just spit it out?” Marco asked. “What is it?”

“When she gets, you know, more pregnant, she’s going to move home with her folks because I’m gonna go into the military.”

“What?” Marco asked.

“You see, that’s flack. I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“That’s not flack,” Marco emphasized. “I’m just surprised.”

“Look,” Dean said. He readjusted himself in the booth. “There’s nothing happening. There’s nothing going on.”

“What do you mean?” Keith asked.

“Look around us, man,” Dean said. “We’re headed into our thirties, and the country is falling apart. People aren’t hiring us. There’s a new virus every summer. We were given a bum deal. Pansy wants a family.”

“But do you?” Marco asked.

“I mean. Sure. I’m easy.”

“You’re easy?”

“Marco, look at me,” Dean said. He gripped his beer but kept it firm on the table.

“I’m looking at you,” Marco replied. Dean’s eyes were brown, and his nose was big and straight. His face was clean-shaven, and his mouth was wide and crowded with teeth, eager to insult and bite into meat. In short, he had the phenotype of a hot bully. “I said I’m looking.”

“I know that you’re obsessed with her, but you need to pump the brakes. You’re not her protector. Believe it or not, but her and I communicate. Her and I love each other. Her family is going to help raise the kid while I go out and make money, get benefits, get support, I don’t fucking know. Everyone is okay with the plan. Doll, Sasha, everyone. You two are the last to know.”

“Okay,” Keith chimed in. “Thanks for keeping us out of the loop.”

“Yeah. Well.”

When Dean went to the bar to get another round, Keith put his hand on Marco’s back.

“I should talk to her,” Marco said.

“Don’t,” Keith said back. He put his hands into the basket of fries and ate them up, chewing loudly. “Don’t do anything,” he said again with his mouth full.

“It just doesn’t make sense. It’s a stupid plan.”

“Yup,” he confirmed. “Very stupid.” More fries in. Chased it with beer. “But what are you gonna do? It’s Pansy. She does what she wants. And if you fuck around, Dean will come down on you. I don’t want to see you get clobbered.”

“He’s not gonna clobber me,” Marco said, although he wasn’t quite sure. In the same way Marco was tired of Dean, he knew for certain Dean was tired of him.

“Friends support friends,” Keith said. “So be supportive.”

“Right,” Marco confirmed. “Supportive.”

Dean came back with three Modelos and three shots of tequila. They toasted Dean’s future, and every time Dean looked at Marco, Marco looked away. Suddenly, in that bar, the sadness came back. No Monchito, no Puerto Rico, and now no Pansy? Wait a damn minute.

* * *

Laying in bed, Marco mulled over what Dean had said. They were given a bum deal. The lot of them. Other than a few scarce exceptions, people his age, with his upbringing and his education, were all toiling around, bumping into each other and mumbling about job opportunities and property chances. The word “lucky” was often said. If you landed a job, you lucked out. Your rent is what? And where? You lucky bastard. Your rich aunt died and left her things? Must be nice.

Marco needed direction. That wasn’t a secret. The regular phone calls he’d been getting from his mom only reminded him (and her) what the scenario was. Getting desperate, she suggested going back to school a few times, an option Marco shot down like a fighter ace. “I saw the best minds of my generation ruined by grad school,” he once joked. She only sighed in return. “Things are just different nowadays,” Marco went on. She groaned.

Nothing was a lie, though. Things were different. Things were harder than his folks had it. All of his friends could sit around and swap stories of how young their parents were when they got married, pregnant, promoted, or, hell, all three at once in some unicorn windfall.

Marco didn’t want to be one of those thirty-year-old guys crying about how things were so hard, how they never lined up, but he could feel it growing on his skin like a mold. He had to make a change.

Marco turned over in his bed and grabbed his phone. He had to rethink what opportunity meant. Pansy was having a baby. Dean was joining the military. Sooner than later, the six of them would be divided, each of them making a big life decision out of fear that no decision was death. Marco realized he had to push forward with the plan. Before he lost Pansy forever, he had to shoot his shot. But what was the end goal? Raising Dean’s child? The thought of it made him cringe. Still though. It was better than nothing.

In the group chat, he proposed the cabin. He held the phone in the darkness, the bright screen making him squint. He said his friend was offering up a place. Good hiking. Good views. One last hurrah before life grabbed them up and scattered them across the world. Keith was the first to confirm. Then Doll. Then Sasha. And Marco held his breath until, after minutes, Pansy said she would do it. He fell asleep before Dean said anything.

* * *

That night, he sat up. Restless. A deep and sorry memory had crawled to the surface of his brain like the newly undead. They were back in college. It was just him and Pansy, and she was drunk. It was the night she found out she was pregnant the first time, and Dean was across the country at a concert. Through a tangle of slurred words, she told Marco the news. Undeterred, as if he thought the timing was perfect, the moron, the clown, he wanted to play her a song on a guitar he bought from a classmate. It was an acoustic rendition of “Head Over Heels.” He had practiced this one song ad nauseam and planned it for the next break between her and Dean. He wasn’t sure this news counted as a break, but he went for it anyway.

As he played and sang, she sat on a leather couch and tried to keep her head up and her eyes focused. She had the hiccups. Afterwards, he carried her to his bed, and he slept on the couch. The next day she didn’t remember it, and she pointed to the guitar and asked, hungover, “Do you play?” Now he sat in his dark room and looked at the guitar, a dark, oddly shaped shadow in the corner.

Fuck it, he decided.

He’d bring it along and try again.