How to Be a Normal Person (38 page)

“Why is this even a
thing
?”

“Mr. Tiberius?”

“
Mitzi
. Oh thank god. Listen. Please. Dear god. Please Just. Cancel. Cancel it all.”

“It’s done, Mr. Tiberius. I canceled it for you. Your Internet has been disabled.”

“Wait. What? I thought you were going to ask a billion more personal questions and then tighten the noose to try and retain me as a customer?”

“Mr. Tiberius, you got the Internet to figure out how to woo an asexual stoner hipster. You were successful. There is literally nothing I could say that would get you to keep the Internet.”

“Oh. Well. This is true. Huh. This went a lot quicker than I thought it would. Mitzi. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure. But I can’t. So I won’t.”

“Of course, Mr. Tiberius. I even waived the fee to break the contract.”

“You did? Why would you do that? Is this some form of emotional blackmail? I swear I’ll—”

“No blackmail. No contracts. No fees. Go with the grace of God.”

“That was awfully religious-y. Don’t force your god on me, Mitzi. I don’t want your pamphlets left on my door!”

“I wouldn’t even attempt to try. Is there anything else I can do to help you today?”

“No. No, no there isn’t. Well.”

“Mr. Tiberius?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Maybe you should—”

“
Hypothetically
. Let’s say that you were dating an asexual stoner hipster. And let’s say he’s back in LA packing up his life to move to Abby, Oregon, probably for good. You with me?”

“As much as I’m forced to be given that I cannot disconnect customer phone calls without getting reprimanded.”

“Good. Now. Let’s say you might be in love with said asexual stoner hipster. Now, this is all hypothetical, mind you.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Right. So. How might one go about informing said asexual stoner hipster that you are in fact in love with them?”

“You could just… tell him.”

“What? I’m not talking about me!”

“Right. Sorry.
Hypothetically
, a person could just tell the asexual stoner hipster about their feelings.”

“It wouldn’t be too soon?”

“Maybe. But not if that is what is truly felt.”

“Huh. Okay. So how do I—I mean, how does
one
go about admitting this?”

“You mean, like, a love confession?”

“What? Don’t ever say that to me again. Love confession, oh my god. We’re not thirteen-year-old girls reading
Tiger Beat
or
Reader’s Digest
or whatever the hell they read these days. Love confession. What the hell.”

“Uh-huh. So, hypothetically, it’s not a love confession, it’s just confessing to someone that there is love.”

“Exactly! You got—oh. I see what you did there. Goddammit.”

“But this is all hypothetical, so.”

“Right. Hypothetical.”

“Mr. Tiberius?”

“What?”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

“….”

“It’s okay if you do.”

“I’m not sending him a goddamn winkie face, Mitzi, so get that out of your head
right
now.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Oh gross.”

“Just tell him that, then.”

“What. Like. I love you?”

“Mr. Tiberius, please. I have a husband.”

“Oh my fucking—”

*Customer disconnected phone call*

“SO WHEN
does he get back?” Bernice asked as she leaned against the counter at the Emporium.

“Why?” Gus asked, rubbing Harry S. Truman’s belly as the ferret tried to gnaw on his fingers.

“No reason,” Bernice said. “He’s been gone three weeks and I just want to make sure everything is going smoothly.”

“She’s already decorated the room at the house she’s going to use when she kidnaps him,” Betty said. “I caught her researching where to purchase chloroform and what is the safe amount to use on a person without causing any long-lasting damage.”

“Hmrph,” Bernice said. “I have wide and varied interests such as decorating and knocking people unconscious so I may keep them subdued more easily. That has absolutely nothing to do with Casey.”

“Should I be concerned here?” Gus asked.

“Absolutely not,” Bernice said. “Casey probably just will need to go on a six-month business trip in the near future where he won’t be allowed to have any contact with you. Because of business.”

“Oh good lord,” Bertha said, standing in front of the
C
section. “I had to sit through a remake of
Charlie’s Angels
which was essentially a cinematic abortion, only to find out there’s a
second
one?”

“I don’t know,” Betty said. “I’d Drew her Barrymore any day of the week.”

“Yuck,” Gus said. “That was potent.”

“Yeah,” Bernice said. “I’d Cameron her Diaz.”

“It’s like I can taste it,” Gus said, grimacing.

Bertha sighed. “I suppose I must Lucy her Liu then.”

“This can’t possibly be sanitary,” Gus said. However, it was enlightening, and maybe one day, he’d finally have the coverage to ask if they were ménage dykes or sisters. He couldn’t quite say one way or another yet. He hoped he’d never walk in on them Drewing their Barrymore if it turned out to be a polyamorous situation. He didn’t think his heart could take it.

Casey had been gone twenty-two days, not that Gus was keeping track. At all. Granted, it’d been a quiet couple of weeks without him, a flashback to life before. Gus was not a fan of the life before. Luckily (well, depending upon how you look at it), Casey felt the need to text Gus constantly about anything and everything. Gus had received such gems as
meat sammich 4 dnnr and U r kewl <3
and
Saw Cgull fghtng chkn burrito WTF
*\o/*. He was getting better at understanding texting, but there were times it was like Casey was speaking using hieroglyphics and Gus most definitely was not ancient Egyptian.

Casey was supposed to be back in a week, and Gus was ready for it. He’d told himself it was fine that Casey was gone, that he’d survived almost thirty years without him. Truth be told, he wasn’t fine. Not that he’d admit it to anyone, but Gus missed Casey more than he thought he would. It was absolutely ridiculous, though. Obviously Gustavo Tiberius did not pine and therefore did not sit around moping and waiting for his boyfriend to return so they could skip off into the sunset—

“You’re moping,” Bernice said.

Gus glared. “That’s not even remotely true. And stop reading my mind.”

She shrugged. “It’s a thing I do. I can’t help it.”

“Liar. Prove it.”

“Fine. I’ll read your mind right now.”

“Fine. Go ahead. See if I care.”

Gus resolutely did not think about Casey.

“You’re thinking about Casey.”

“Goddammit.”

“It’s okay to miss him,” Bertha said. “He’s a big part of your life. It’s hard when that goes away for a while.”

“I’m fine,” Gus said. “It’s only one more week.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Betty said. “Who knew you could be so smitten with someone.”

Gus scowled at the We Three Queens. “Never use the word smitten to describe me ever again. What the hell.”

Lottie came in a moment later, her drag queen hair trailing behind her. “Ladies,” she said. “And Gus. I have your egg salad.” She set the sandwich on the counter.

Gus looked at it suspiciously. “Are there pickles in it? God help you if there are pickles in it.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “No pickles, Gus. There have never been pickles. There will never be pickles.”

“I have to check,” Gus said. “For all I know, one day you’ll decide to take revenge against me for some perceived slight and put pickles in it.”

“Ah,” Lottie said. “But then I wouldn’t even tell you, though, would I? I would just want to see your face when you bit into a pickle. The satisfaction that it would bring me would be immense.”

“I don’t want it,” Gus said, sliding the sandwich back toward her. “Take your revenge food and leave my store forever.”

“Cadet!” Betty said. “Inspirational message for the day!”

“Ooh,” Lottie said. “Right. I forgot to ask you this morning.”

“That’s because you made me list all costume design nominees in the 1950s,” Gus grumbled. “I’m not your circus elephant. You can’t make me do tricks on command.”

Lottie patted the back of his hand. “You sort of
are
our circus elephant.”

“I’ve seen you eat peanuts,” Bernice said helpfully.

Gus rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you—”

“Cadet!”

“Ugh. Fine. The message said that today was the first day of the rest of my life and that I should make the most of it. Honestly, I’ve always hated that expression. If today is the first day, then what the hell was yesterday? Or tomorrow? What if today was the
only
day? I could walk home tonight and be hit by a bus or a meteor or whatever. Stupid.”

They stared at him.

It was cool. He was used to it.

However, he was not used to them… lingering.

Lottie had brought him his food. She should have gone back to her shop.

The We Three Queens had gotten their movie and harassed him. They should go back to their den of lesbian triads (or sisterly affections).

But they were
lingering
. Even after letting him vent about stupid inspirational messages that he most certainly did
not
adore at all, they were still here. He finished his complaining for the day and fell silent.

But they didn’t leave.

Gus narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Nothing at all,” Bertha said immediately.

“I don’t do things,” Bernice said.

“Of course you don’t, dear,” Betty said.

“You’re a Suspicious Sally,” Lottie said.

“That’s not a thing,” Gus said.

“It’s a thing,” Lottie said. “Everyone knows it’s a thing.

“You’re loitering on my premises,” Gus said. “All of you. Why?”

They smiled at him.

“Are you going to sacrifice me?” Gus asked. “Is that what this is?”

“Of course not,” Bernice said. “You’re not a virgin.”

“That’s… not comforting,” Gus said.

“Do we need to have a reason to want to spend time with you?” Bertha asked.

“Yes,” Gus said.

“Maybe we just want to see your face,” Betty said.

“You could take a picture,” Gus said. “And then leave.”

“You heard him, ladies,” Lottie said. “Gus wants a selfie. Everyone smoosh in.”

“
What
? That’s not what I said! No smooshing.
No smoosh
—oh, goddammit.”

They all crowded around the counter, smooshing Gus. Lottie held up her phone in front of them and the flash went off.

“Did you know they make things called selfie sticks?” Bertha asked as they uncrowded Gus. “You put your phone on the end of it and then it has further reach for the photo.”

“That sounds literally like the worst thing ever invented,” Gus said. “If I saw anyone using that, I would punch them in the liver.”

“Of course you would,” Betty said. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead—”

Gus’s phone rang, a monophonic beep.

“Even his phone rings like it’s sad,” Bernice whispered quite loudly. “Do you think it knows it’s outdated?”

Gus wanted to scowl at her, but Casey was calling and he couldn’t stop the smile on his face. It was terrible.

“Aww,” all the ladies said.

“Oh my god,” Gus muttered. He connected the call. “Gustavo Tiberius speaking.”

“It’s so weird you do that, man,” Casey said, sounding amused. “Every time I call.”

“It’s polite,” Gus said. “Just because you kids these days don’t have proper phone etiquette.”

“Oh boy,” Casey said. “There’s the Grumpy Gus I know. You miss me?”

Gus was well aware the others could hear the conversation loud and clear. He was also aware he had a reputation to maintain. “Hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“Gus.”

“Casey.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Gus mumbled into the phone, blushing fiercely as the We Three Queens and Lottie tittered at him like little birds.

“Yeah? How much?”

Gus was in hell. “A lot,” he said truthfully. “There have been allegations made against my person of pining and moping. False allegations, mind you, but allegations nonetheless.”

“I know what you mean,” Casey said. “The guys were saying the same thing about me.”

Gus smiled. “How embarrassing for you.”

“Completely. You have no idea.”

“They’re going to get you packed up this week?”

“Ah, yeah. Sure. Something like that.”

“Casey.”

“Yes, Gustavo.”

“You’re being cagey.”

“I have no idea what you mean. Hey, man. That’s a nice Hawaiian shirt you’ve got on. Pink? I don’t think I’ve seen you in that color before.”

Gus shrugged. “Pastor Tommy had a shitload of them. I think I could wear one every day for the rest of the year and not repeat. I think he may have had a bit of a….” Gus trailed off when his hand started shaking. Then, “How did you know what I was wearing?”

There was a knock on the window to the Emporium. Gus looked up.

Standing on the sidewalk was Casey. His hair was pulled up in a messy bun, strands hanging loosely around his face. His beard had gotten fuller in the last few weeks, and Gus wondered what it would feel like against his cheek. He was wearing bright green skinny jeans and a white and red shirt that proclaimed him to be a member of the 1987 Pasadena Bulldogs Women’s Softball team. His glasses were sitting on top of his head. He looked ridiculous. And like the greatest thing Gus had ever seen.

Casey waggled his eyebrows at Gus. “Hey, man.”

“Hi,” Gus croaked.

“Come over here, but stay on the phone, okay?”

Gus didn’t even argue, unable to take his eyes off Casey. He hadn’t expected him for another week, but here he was on a pretty Saturday afternoon, standing outside the Emporium like it was no big deal.

Gus went to the window, and Casey smiled that lazy smile.