Everything is Not as it Seems A collection of Short Stories Bryan Teague This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and in‐ cidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2019 by Bryan Teague All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]. First ebook edition April 2019 Book design by Bryan Teague bryanteague.com 2 CONTENTS What Is in Front of You 4 Sleeping Sickness 13 On the Rooftop 18 Not Even a Mouse 20 The Dark Baker 22 Chapter 2 28 Chapter 3 39 Viviana's Tale 53 Chapter 2 58 Chapter 3 61 Chapter 4 70 Chapter 5 74 Chapter 6 79 Author Biography 83 WHAT IS IN FRONT OF YOU Please, God, let him telephone me now. Three days ago I went out clubbing in the new smaller clothes my friends insisted looked good on me. I saw this guy, and figured what the hell; I gave him my number. I think the big reason I want him to call though, is to get people off my back. That’s probably the wrong reason, isn’t it? “He still hasn’t called, huh?” That's my roommate, Captain Obvious. He’s never dealt with waiting for a call. Not only is my roommate gorgeous, he’s talented. Everything he tries, he does perfectly, the first time. And when we go out, I might as well be invisible standing next to his six foot four inch, broad shouldered, brown haired, blued eyed hairy chested bundle of hotness. Though he never makes me feel invisible, he is really great that way. I put on my brave face. I really didn’t think I could handle Mike’s pity tonight. Judging by the way he’s dressed in his skin- tight Levi’s and t-shirt that’s about two sizes to small, he’s off to have sex with his latest conquest. I don’t want him cancelling out of pity. Even if the idea of spending the evening wrapped up in his consoling arms holds a certain appeal. So I lie. “Oh no. He called a couple of hours ago.” 4 Bryan Teague Mike looks at me, cocking his head. “Sure, if you say so,” he says, giving me a suspicious look. I smile back at him with all the innocence I can muster. Changing the subject, I ask, “I’m gonna fix something to eat. Do you want me to make you some? I can either leave it in the oven, or toss it in the fridge. That way, when you get home, you have something to eat that’s actually healthy.” I envy Mike’s me‐ tabolism. He can eat all the junk he wants, and somehow it’s me who puts on the weight. Mike’s eyes lit up. “Yea! Thanks, that’d be great! Er, what are you going to make?” I think about telling him green bean casserole. His reaction to that always cheer me up. But I can’t harsh his happiness. “How about Chicken Kiev, Rice Pilaf and a salad.” Mike nods enthusiastically. “Yes please! Maybe I should mar‐ ry you. I mean we already live together. And you are a great cook. And everyone says we would have beautiful babies.” I snort. “Yea. I think you must have misheard that. You’re the one that would make beautiful babies.” Mike has the strangest look on his face so fleetingly, I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. “Why can’t you accept a compliment? I mean, seriously Joey, you’re a hot man.” Mike frowns, shaking his head slowly. I really did not want to have this conversation with him. Not while I was pretending to wait for some guy to call, while Mr. Perfect was getting ready to go out on his fourth date this week while I sit at home. Alone. Again. Glancing at the clock, I say, “And what time is your date? I wouldn’t want you to miss your entrance, it’s almost seven now.” Mike gasps, and frantically looks for his keys. I casually reach over and pull them off the hook where both our keys hang. “Looking for these?” I shake them to get his attention. Mike spins around, grabs the keys and heads for the door. “Thanks man! We’ll continue this conversation. But you’re right. I don’t want to be late. It’s Latin night tonight!” “Tell Enrique I say hi. And remember, don’t break him!” I call as Mike walks out the door. 5 Everything is Not as It Seems A Collection of Short Stories Once I’m sure that Mike isn’t going to return for something he forgot, I set to work on dinner, trying to distract myself from thinking about Mike and what Latin night might mean. I serve myself a delicious dinner, carefully measuring my por‐ tions. I refuse to ever eat my feelings again. I plunk down in front of the TV. I flip through the channels, settling on an old black and white Alfred Hitchcock movie. * * * “Joey?” I could feel his hand resting on my thigh. I crack open one eye to see Mike staring at me, a concerned look etched into his face. “What?” “He didn’t call, did he?” “Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about it.” I try to roll over, and fall off the couch. “Ouch.” I pick myself up off the floor. “Just because I’m out here doesn’t mean he didn’t call.” I walk in to my bedroom with what little dignity I hope I still have. I step into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I sigh, seeing everything that’s wrong with me. I’m the complete antithesis of Mike. Short, hairless, I still hate tight fit‐ ting clothes. Just about the only thing going for me is my blond hair and my eyes, at least that is what people tell me. “Oh you have beautiful eyes.” Yea. That’s code for “You ugly, so I have to find something I can look at.” Fighting back tears, I flip off the light so I won’t have to look at myself again. I curl up on my bed, waiting for sleep to claim me. But for far too long, all I can think about is that spot on my thigh where Mike’s hand had been. I swear, it still tingles. * * * I wake up to the smell of coffee, and ... breakfast cooking? I didn’t think Mike brought someone home last night. Meh, he 6 Bryan Teague must have hooked up with someone and they stayed over. I won‐ der which one of his many tricks it will be this time. Sniffing the air again, I decide the most likely candidate is Peter. His specialty is French Toast, and I think I smell cinnamon. I take care of my morning routine, avoiding the mirror, and head down in a t-shirt and boxers. As I turn the corner to enter the kitchen, I say, ”I hope you made -” Mike is standing there in an apron, cooking. Unsupervised and successfully. “Oh. My. God. When did you learn to cook?” I ask, holding on to the counter with my mouth hanging open in shock. Mike smiles sheepishly at me. “Since I started watching you. I don’t know, you make it look fun.” He comes over, takes my hand, and leads me to the stove. He reminds me of an anxious child showing a parent his first cooking attempt. “Everything looks and smells delicious! When do we eat?” I ask, salivating. “Right now. You get the silverware, and I’ll serve it up.” He brings the plates in as I finish pouring the orange juice. He sets a plate in front of me and removes the cover with a flour‐ ish, making me feel like I’m in a fine restaurant. “I’m beginning to think that there isn’t anything you can’t do. This presentation is perfect.” The French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon were artfully placed on the plate, and garnished with strawberries cut in to the shape of roses resting in a banana trough. After my first bite, I say, “I’m serious, I know restaurants that don’t serve food this good.” I take a second bite, and sigh contentedly. I look up from my plate to an astonishing sight. Mike is bright red, including his ears. I can’t help myself, I laugh. “You’re blushing! I don’t think I have ever seen you do that. Not even when I walked in on you and Todd.” Mike’s blush slowly fades as he relaxes. “I’m glad you like it. And that’s high praise coming from you. You are the best cook I know.” “You only say that because I feed you,” I chide him between bites. “So, what’s the special occasion?” 7 Everything is Not as It Seems A Collection of Short Stories “I just wanted to give you a treat this morning. If you hadn’t come down, I would have served you breakfast in bed.” “You know I sleep in the nude. Right?” “Yup. I do. Then I could have had dessert,” Mike says, wig‐ gling his eyebrows at me.