Mr. Clueless

Chapter 2

Fifteen minutes later, the beautiful ginger, Dawson Andrews, held me by my shoulders and stared directly into my blue eyes. “It’s official. I’m moving out of this apartment. You’re going to have to find someone else to help pay the rent.”

We’d lived together on Caster Street for the last dozen years as friends. Only friends. The arrangement benefited both of us: cheap rent, convenience, preventive maintenance of loneliness. Plus, we were best friends. Ever since grade school, growing up in Erie. Neither of us had found love as adult men and decided to be roommates, at least until now.

The bear with sparkling green eyes and red beard had fallen in love with Alex McFlynn, another ginger. The two planned on marrying. Alex did six terms in Afghanistan and had a chest of medals to prove his valor. Now in his late thirties, he stayed on American soil and professionally spoke for a nonprofit company called Unifying Lives, which helped veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder.

Bottom line, Dawson’s thirty-sixth birthday was coming up, and he needed to get married and start a life without me being at his side seven days a week.

“It’s about time you move out,” I told him.

He stepped away from me and checked me out from toes to head: slim build, no fat, firm jaw, white smile, dimples, English-sloped nose, mystic blue eyes, and blond hair cut super short. Had he any likeness for English blonds, Dawson and I would have been lovers. Instead, he liked Irish men like himself.

He pointed at me and asked, “Where is the Mark Landing who wants to live with me for the rest of my life?”

“I’ve taken over his body and working for his best interest. He wants you to move out and find your happy-ever-after with your military hero.”

Dawson grinned. “Tell him thanks from me.”

“I’ll do that.”

We hugged.

Then he said, “Let’s have a drink. What’s your choice?”

“A beer is fine.” I grabbed two beer bottles from the fridge, opened both, and handed him one. Then I toasted, “To a happy future for you and your man.”

We clicked beer bottle necks together and drank.

Before we realized it, we’d downed a six-pack together.

“I’m going to miss you, Dawson. You and I both know that. This place isn’t going to be the same without you around.”

“New roommates are a dime a dozen. You’ll find someone else to live with.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “But I won’t be best friends with them like I am with you.”

“You always have Angry Linus across the hall to be friends with. He seems to like you.”

I chuckled. Angry Linus hated everyone, including me. Retired for the last seven years from teaching history at Plimpton High School, the seventy-year-old despised the world, damaged from his job. I thought loneliness had a lot to do with his behavior because he didn’t have a spouse, children, or siblings.

Jokingly, I told Dawson, “He and I will be shacking up together in no time.”

He laughed. “Nice. If you can get that man to smile, I’ll marry you instead of McFlynn.”

I opened another six-pack and removed two fresh bottles of beer.

“No more beer,” he said. “I have a date with Alex. He’s taking me to dinner and a movie tonight.”

“What are you seeing?”

“That hero movie, Strange Upstairs.”

I knew the movie. Ben Riding, an actor from Plimpton, starred in the flick. The synopsis sounded good, but not extraordinary: Ben plays a middle-aged, lonely guy (Oliver Treat) and rents a bedroom from newlyweds; he saves the young couple from a gas explosion and other, strange occurrences; the husband learns that Oliver is more than a hero, not from this planet.

“Sounds like a good time,” I told him.

“Every moment with Alex is a good time. We can be sitting around doing absolutely nothing, and it still feels right to me.”

“Proof that you’re in love with him.”

“Guess so.”