Flying Circles Inside a Jar

To G.B.’s surprise, both Pepper and Monochrome are kind during dinner. Monochrome is quiet and not even sullen. If he disapproves, G.B. can’t tell. Pepper asks questions, but they are the safe kind: how’s the weather; how do you like the city; what do you think of my red sauce.

Not that G.B. thought they would be uncouth enough to unload an interrogation on Marshall Lee. But G.B. can tell they both think it’s strange. He doesn’t blame them. How long’s it been since he brought someone home for dinner?

And, of course, when G.B. ducks into the kitchen to get his cupcakes out of the fridge, Pepper is there, rinsing off dishes with a look on her face. G.B. puts nonpareils on the cupcakes to give her a moment to gather her thoughts.

When she doesn’t speak, G.B. initiates, keeping his voice low. “Thank you for understanding.”

She looks at him slant-eyed. “I know he’s in trouble, Barnabas. I’m not going to make it worse.” Her eyes narrow further. “But I would expect you to realize that he is trouble, too. I thought you were smarter than that.”

She turns her shoulders away. G.B. looks at his nonpareils. He isn’t used to having no answer.

***

G.B. brings the cupcakes into the dining room. Marshall Lee is fidgeting with a tear in the knee of his jeans, but he straightens immediately. He has been polite and solicitous all evening, but that’s an act as much as his smirks and lies. The smile that crosses his face when he sees the cupcakes is real, though. At least, G.B. thinks so.

“I haven’t had cupcakes in forever,” Marshall Lee says, leaning forward as G.B. sets the plate on the table. G.B. adds get him decent food to the list in his head labeled “Marshall Lee.”

“Good. Then you won’t get sick of them.” G.B. sits across from him. “You’re not allergic to strawberries, are you?”

Marshall Lee pauses with his hand poised over a cupcake, and G.B. wonders if he is. Then he grins. “Strawberry is my absolute favorite anything.” He picks the cupcake with the most nonpareils and sits back, waiting for everyone else.

Pepper is still in the kitchen, doing dishes. Monochrome gets to his feet. He picks up a cupcake and ruffles G.B.’s hair with his free hand. “Do you really have to go this instant?” G.B. says, tipping his head back so he can look into Monochrome’s eyes. Monochrome will know what he’s really saying: this is transparent and I will not stand for it.

Monochrome’s face is pleasant as he shrugs, but G.B. can see the real answer in his eyes. If you’re going to be stupid, I’m not going to watch.

G.B. bites back the smart remark, since Marshall Lee will have missed that whole conversation, and shrugs back. “Fine. Text me.” He can’t keep some of the sulk out of his voice, even though it doesn’t really matter. He’s not going to be able to explain this until Marshall Lee isn’t here, and even then, Monochrome won’t care.

Monochrome nods, already on his way out of the room.

“And take some red sauce with you!” G.B. calls after him.

Marshall Lee chuckles, slowly unwrapping his cupcake.

“And what is so funny?” G.B. asks. He picks a cupcake, even though he isn’t sure he wants to eat it. He never tastes the sweetness, only the flaws.

“It’s good to know I’m not the only one who thinks this is weird.” He breaks the cupcake in half and puts the bottom part on top. G.B. stares at him. “What? This way the entire cupcake has frosting.”

G.B.’s mouth twists to the side.

“What, did you make these or something?” G.B. says nothing, and Marshall Lee blinks. “…Oh. Didn’t take you for the baking type.” His voice is almost apologetic. In a sideways manner.

“It’s my hobby,” G.B. says stiffly. He’s sure Marshall Lee can see it’s more than that, but he can’t help it. He can’t keep anything under control or where it belongs.

To his surprise, Marshall Lee doesn’t tease him. Instead, he looks at the cupcake thoughtfully. “I woulda been nicer about it if I’d known. Guess I’ve just never had cupcakes that weren’t made from a box.”

G.B.’s eyebrows raise. “Then you’ve never lived.” He makes it into a joke, hoping again that Marshall Lee doesn’t notice the seriousness underneath it. He’s never told anyone how much he likes to bake. Sure, Pepper and Monochrome know, because they see how much time he spends at it, but he’s never told them. There’s a difference.

“There’s a lot of things I’ve never done,” says Marshall Lee, half-thoughtful and half-flirty. G.B. chooses to ignore the flirting because the thoughtful side is much more interesting. Marshall Lee takes a bite. His eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit. There is a difference.”

A smirk settles onto G.B.’s lips; he doesn’t mind. He leans back in his chair, satisfied, and picks off the nonpareils, letting them melt on his tongue one by one as Marshall Lee finishes his cupcake.

***

Marshall Lee eats three cupcakes and asks if he can take one with him. G.B. agrees. He always does make too much. “You can have some red sauce if you want, too.”

Marshall Lee shrugs. “Nah, I don’t have a fridge.” He gets to his feet. “I should—I should go.”

“Do you need a ride?” G.B. says, staying put. He wants to assert a little power in this conversation.

Marshall Lee shakes his head. “There’s a bus stop on the corner, ain’t there?”

G.B. ignores the ain’t. “Yes. I’ll walk you.” He takes another cupcake for himself. Marshall Lee looks like he’s trying to find a way to protest. G.B. ignores that, too, and they walk outside together.

Silence settles between them as they walk to the corner. It’s not bad, but Marshall Lee can’t stop fidgeting. Maybe G.B.’s just used to it because he has to do so much work while conversing with Monochrome.

The bus isn’t due for fifteen minutes. G.B. sits on the bench to wait, crossing his arms over his chest, but Marshall Lee leans against the opposite edge of the bench, tapping one foot. “So… do you bake a lot?”

G.B. blinks. That was not the question he was expecting.

“I mean. You’re good at it.”

G.B. pushes his glasses up his nose. “You shouldn’t extrapolate from one piece of data,” he says, so he won’t be flattered. Something about Marshall Lee is frustratingly easy to like: the lazy smile; lithe muscles under dark skin; dark eyes hiding anything and everything. But G.B. wants to ignore it. He hasn’t figured out how much of it’s an act. If he likes anything, he wants to like the truth.

“So make me more cupcakes.” The smirk is leering, but there’s a sincerity in his voice G.B. didn’t expect.

G.B. bites his lip, and then he takes pen and paper from the breast pocket of his sweater. He writes his number in easy-to-read, blocky handwriting. “Here.” He holds the paper out to Marshall Lee.

Marshall Lee looks at it and snorts. The sincerity drops from his voice, leaving only the sarcasm. “You can’t just go giving me your number like that, gumdrop.” He shakes his head. “Come on. I want to be treated like a lady.”

“It’s not for that,” G.B. replies. He feels the back of his ears heat up, but it’s dark. Maybe Marshall Lee won’t catch that. “It’s so you can get in touch with me. I’d ask you for your phone number, but I’m going to take a guess and say you don’t have one.”

Marshall Lee’s eyes narrow, as though he is waiting for the judgment. G.B. doesn’t offer any. He doesn’t know how anyone gets by without a smartphone these days, but he also doesn’t know what it’s like to have lungs that function properly or to live in a dive like Marshall Lee’s. Marshall Lee takes the paper, crumples it, and shoves it in his pocket.

G.B. takes that as what it is—an acceptance—and nods.

“What would I call you for, anyway?” Marshall Lee mutters after a while. He brushes his hair self-consciously over his face. G.B. likes to know he has an effect on Marshall Lee now and again.

“If you wanted more spaghetti,” G.B. replies without missing a beat. “Or cupcakes.”

Marshall Lee bites his lip, his eyes tracking a car as it passes them. “…I like cupcakes.”

“I know.”