Percy

The man in the mirror looked different from the man I saw not too long ago. Staring at my reflection, I shook my head at my messy hair. It stuck up everywhere. My eyes wandered around the unusually tidy bathroom. Given that Jude was a neat freak, I shouldn't have been so surprised. Everything about this bathroom was familiar, yet a little unfamiliar, too.

I pulled back the shower curtain as if I'd never seen this bathtub before. It was just like any other bathtub. I had faint memories of painting the bathroom this teal blue. I reached over and grabbed the bottle of body wash. This was Jude's. It smelled like him. I had a lot of memories, yet I couldn't describe them or put any of them into words.

Naked, Jude wandered into the bathroom, his eyes half closed, yawning big and wide. He stopped in front of me and kissed my mouth. "'Morning," he said. As he broke away from me, I pulled him to me, bringing my lips back to his as if I hadn't kissed him in a long time.

It was a glorious morning.

He responded to my kisses, moaning and laughing as I squeezed his ass. "I really have to pee," he said. I didn't want to let him go, not even for thirty seconds.

But he pushed me away.

"Stop looking at me or I won't go, and I've been holding it for an hour. Did you sleep okay?" he asked, relieving himself.

"Yeah. Great. You?"

"Yeah. Great."

I couldn't remember the last time I felt so rested.

Massaging the back of my neck, I returned to the bedroom. Was my bedroom always this big? My memory was shit. The queen-sized bed and mint green bedding were familiar, along with the multiple pillows. I picked up one and held it to my nose, breathing in its scent. It was Jude's scent.

At the window, I opened the blinds, discovering a serene pond out back. I noticed one duck and her baby ducklings trailing behind her. I recognized this pond. I'd just cut back the rhododendron bushes. Jude was supposed to collect all the sticks and broken branches and burn them in the fire pit, but he hadn't gotten around to it yet. Yard work was his least favorite thing to do.

A warm breeze blew through the window as I enjoyed the bright morning sun against my face. I craved a lumberjack breakfast with orange juice and multiple cups of coffee. A mimosa or bloody Mary would be nice, too. I was sure I had lots of things to do today, but my priorities seemed to surround eating.

"We're in Lancaster, right?" I asked as Jude entered the bedroom.

"Yes."

"What day is it?"

"It's Sunday," he said, hugging me from behind.

"I want pancakes and French toast."

"Can we pick just one? We're going to your parents' today, which means we'll be eating all day. You asked your mom to make turkey and stuffing, remember? And she's doing it because you're a spoiled brat and she does whatever you want. Your sisters and grandfather will be there, too. It's like a Thanksgiving in May. I tried making apple pie, but I fucked it up, so we're only having pumpkin."

"I like pumpkin pie," I said.

Jude planted kisses along the back of my neck and down the middle of my back. Just as he reached my coccyx, I spun around, kissing him hard on his mouth. Pancakes would just have to wait.

As Jude showered, I offered to make breakfast. On my way to the kitchen, I passed a small room. I realized this room was Jude's office, judging by the desk and art designs scattered everywhere. This was Jude's office, the one area that wasn't neat and tidy. He was a neat freak everywhere else unless it came to his work. The living room faced the open kitchen.

I must have been the one to leave the dirty dishes in the sink. Jude would never had allowed it. As I entered the kitchen, a rush of nostalgia washed over me, reminding me of how much I loved this kitchen. My mother always wanted a kitchen island in our house and never got one, so maybe that's why I got a house with one. From the kitchen, I got a good view of the pond.

The aroma of coffee was almost as good as the orgasm I had minutes earlier. I sipped my cup as I impatiently waited for the pancakes to cook. I hovered over the griddle, making sure not to burn them again.

Everything was different, but similar.

The old wooden stairs out front needed repair. We bought the house that way. It was a fixer-upper if I remembered correctly, but I wasn't sure about anything anymore. Jude almost tripped on my way down again. He was always tripping over his feet.

The instant I entered my childhood home, memories—all good and positive—came flooding back to me. It was the aroma of roasted turkey and stuffing that did it. I hugged my mother longer than usual. She liked it because she always said I never hugged her long enough, if I hugged her at all. I was never a hugger. Interestingly, Jude was someone who liked giving hugs even though he rarely received them as a child.

My sister, Ella, poured both me and Jude glasses of red wine. It tasted like the best glass of wine I'd ever tasted, yet I was sure it was nothing but a twenty-dollar bottle of wine.

Last year, my ninety-five year old grandfather reluctantly started using a walker after he fell and broke his hip. He miraculously recovered. Not only that, he was only on one pill for his thyroid or something. My dad described him as a minimalist. I described him as incredible.

Just as Jude and I were about to sit on the couch, Opa rose from his recliner, eyeing Jude suspiciously. He smiled brightly as if he'd just found a long lost relative. Jude had Cambodian and Irish blood, not German blood.

"It's you," he said, approaching Jude, forgetting his walker by the chair. "My boy, it's you."

I swore he'd met him before, so his reaction confused me. Maybe he had a touch of dementia. After all, he was ninety-five.

"You've met him before, Opa," I said.

"Yes... many, many years ago. Don't you remember?" he directed his question to Jude.

Jude shrugged, as disturbed and uncomfortable as I was.

"It's so good to see you both here," he continued. He squeezed Jude's hand, yearning for a reaction.

"Dad, does he remind you of someone?" my dad asked him.

"Oh, we met back in the day."

Back in the day? "Opa, Jude's only twenty-four."

"Geesh, your memory's worse than mine. You do remember me, don't you?" he squeezed Jude's shoulder, looking hard into his eyes. Their eyes remained fixed, waiting for some kind of realization. Slowly, Jude nodded. Jude wasn't simply appeasing him. He truly believed they'd met. "Oh, boy, you bring back memories. Some I wish to forget."

Jude gulped down his entire glass of wine, quickly requesting another one. My grandfather returned to his recliner as Jude and I sat down. Jude was tense, still focused on my grandfather.

"Did you know your grandfather is Jewish?" Jude whispered to me.

There was nothing wrong with my grandfather's hearing, who heard Jude from across the way. "Half-Jewish," he said. All eyes in the room suddenly turned to him. He was finally ready to tell his story.

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Total words: 39340