Missing in Action/Orientation – Halloween Bonus Short
Halloween
Jory
“Oh, just leave those,” Tom said as I carried a pair of empty trays into the kitchen. “I don’t believe in cleaning up the night of a party. I put it all in the sink and deal with it in the morning.”
“I don’t mind.” I said this but in reality, I minded quite a bit. I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing there were dirty dishes piled up in my sink and I couldn’t really wrap my head around the idea of Tom sleeping under those conditions. “I’ll pop them into the dishwasher for you. It’s the least I can do after you put on such a fabulous event.”
Tom grinned at the empty liquor and wine bottles lined up on the countertop, the lace-fine cobweb swags draped over his cabinets, and the dozens of pumpkins that must’ve been professionally carved. “You’re right. It was fabulous.” He watched as I opened the dishwasher and filed away the trays. “But the night’s not over and we’re not going to end it washing dishes. Come on. I mixed up a special little cocktail but didn’t have the right garnish so I didn’t put it out. Let’s grab that and the crab dip-situation-thing Mama Halsted dropped off, and sit down with the rest of the boys.”
I stood there, waiting while Tom pulled a tray from the warming drawer and a pitcher from the refrigerator. “What do you want me to take?”
As he plucked some vintage champagne coupe glasses from a shelf, he motioned to the goods he’d set on the countertop with his elbow. “Grab the tray and some of those little napkins over there, the ones that look like cauldrons. They say ‘witch better have my mugwort.’ They’re super cute.”
With all these items in hand, Tom and I exited the kitchen to join the remaining guests in the living room. It made sense to see these stragglers as this was the core of our crew. Pawl and his partner Joseph and Flinn were laughing over something on Pawl’s phone. Flinn’s girlfriend Tatum was traveling for work this weekend so he had a photo of her dressed up as Daphne from Scooby-Doo pinned to the front of his white Fred sweater.
Wes and Max were deep in conversation as always. Bryce was asleep on the floor, his head pillowed on a pouf and his pope’s robes gathered around him like a blanket.
“We came bearing refreshments,” Tom announced as we made room on the coffee table and filled the glasses. “I threw together this drink but didn’t put it out because—”
“Don’t lie to these good people about garnishes,” Wes interrupted, his regal Captain Hook coat long discarded. Only buff breeches and a puffy pirate shirt remained. “You didn’t want to share. That’s why you didn’t put it out.”
Tom tossed a sharp glance in Wes’s direction. “It really needs a sprig of fresh thyme to scent the glass but I couldn’t find any to save my life. I don’t know why there’s been a run on thyme but”—he tossed up his hands and then smoothed the front of his slim green Peter Pan costume—”anyway, it’s tequila, cranberry juice, orange liqueur, lemon juice, and a dash of Mezcal. It’s called the Deathly Hallows.”
Joseph reached for a glass. “I thought we canceled J.K. Rowling.”
“Oh, we did,” Tom replied as he handed out the remaining glasses. “We’re finished with her. The fandom, though, is ours to keep.”
Max peered at Joseph for a moment. “Bro, what are you? What is this costume?”
Joseph glanced down at his oatmeal-colored sweater and khaki pants. “You don’t know? It’s really terrifying. I figured it would be obvious.”
Max eyed him again and shook his head. “Are you a bougie white guy? Is that even a costume if you’re already a bougie white guy?”
Joseph laughed. “I’m bread.”
“Oh, the horror,” Pawl yelped. He straightened his cat-ear headband and sipped his drink as he smiled in my direction. “You are so adorable though. Love it.”
“Oh my god, isn’t he?” Max asked. He looped an arm around my waist and yanked me into his lap. “Did you see all the stuff he painted onto these pants? It’s the whole solar system and he did it all by himself. All the painting and stuff. So good.”
“It’s the best Mr. Frizzle costume ever,” Pawl replied. “The Magic School Bus has never been so chic.”
“Thank you,” I said, my cheeks and neck hot from the attention.
“And the kids went crazy for it on Friday,” Max continued. “Everyone needed a pic with Mr. Hayzer-as-Mr.-Frizzle and his bangin’ trousers. Pretty sure he’s TikTok famous now.”
“What about you, Coach?” Wes asked. “Did the kids dig your costume?”
Max gave a pained groan. “They only know Arnold Schwarzenegger as the old guy on Instagram who keeps tiny horses in his house. They’ve never even heard of Kindergarten Cop.”
“Next year, babe,” I said. “You’ll get them next year.”
“When we go as Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens,” he added.
“Don’t do that,” Tom argued. “No happy endings with that one.”
“Right, and it all worked out great for Peter Pan and Captain Hook,” Max replied.
“It can work out for anyone,” Pawl said. “When Bryce and I met at the firm, he was dating this beautiful man who was perfect on paper—”
“And such a hot fucking mess in reality,” Bryce mumbled from the floor.
“Such a hot fucking mess,” Pawl echoed. “It should’ve worked out, it looked like it was going to work out, and—”
“He didn’t know how to let it work out,” Bryce mumbled.
Pawl snapped his fingers, nodding. “There it is.”
“Okay, wait a second. You and Bryce met at your law firm,” I said, gesturing between the pope on the floor and the sexy cat perched on the arm of the sofa. “And I know how I met Max and then met everyone else but how did the rest of you meet before that? How did this group come to be?”
Tom, Pawl, Joseph, and Max exchanged thoughtful glances before Flinn piped up, saying, “It’s something of a hodgepodge. A chicken-and-egg story, if you will.”
“Right, because Bryce and I met at the firm but we both knew Flinn—separately—from the gym,” Pawl added.
“And I also knew Max from the gym,” Flinn said. “We started the softball team.”
“Which I joined,” Joseph said. “That’s where I met everyone.”
“I didn’t join the softball team,” Tom said with a laugh. “Max and I met when my boss’s sister-in-law had a big staff party for her school.”
“You know Lauren’s going to be your sister-in-law soon enough, right?” Wes asked Tom.
“It’s super strange to me that both of you guys are connected to my boss,” Max said. He squeezed my backside, adding, “Your boss too, babe.”
“Yeah, I picked up that up,” I said with a laugh.
“But only strange in a fun way. It’s not weird-strange or uncomfortable-strange. It’s like small-world-strange. You know, ‘What are the odds the gods would put us all in one spot. Poppin’ a squat on conventional wisdom, like it or not.'”
“I’m going to have to talk to Kerrin about him explaining Hamilton to you, aren’t I?” I grinned down at Max. “Wait a second. So, Tom, Wes, how did you two meet? It must’ve been ages ago, right?”
“At my sister’s wedding,” Wes replied. “But I blew him off. Nothing happened. Fast forward a handful of years and I’m recovering from some injuries at my brother and sister-in-law’s house. Well, my sister-in-law Shannon is Tom’s boss and Tom just couldn’t keep himself away from the house and—”
“You have lost your mind if you think that’s accurate,” Tom muttered.
“By that point, we’d successfully transitioned away from activities that required running around in dirt to trivia and parties and fancy cocktails that require fresh sprigs of thyme,” Pawl said.
“You like running around in dirt as much as anyone,” Joseph said, ruffling Pawl’s black tutu.
“I do. I really, really do,” he agreed. “But it’s a balance. Can’t be all dirt and sweat, you know. It’s hell on my hair.”
“Can I just ask one more question?” I glanced around the group. “What the hell am I eating?” I held up the wedge of toast topped with crab dip. “What…is this?”
“And why is it so delicious despite looking so bad?” Flinn asked.
“Shannon, the aforementioned boss and future sister-in-law, is to blame for this one,” Tom said. “She had a wacky old recipe of her mother’s that she handed off to Mama Halsted.”
“My mother has sticky fingers when it comes to other people’s heirlooms and traditions,” Wes said. “If you ever mention some old little thing your granny used to do, my mother will snatch the shit out of it.”
“There are worse qualities to have,” Tom said. “According to Mama Halsted, this is a cheesy-crabby-dippy thing. Rather than allowing it to exist in its intended form and dipping crackers or veggies into it, some genius decided to spread it over an English muffin, and that’s how the recipe came to my future mother-in-law. I wish I’d been there to witness the thought process firsthand because I need to understand why someone thought it made sense to corrupt the en croute tradition with an English muffin and then broil the whole deal but—”
“Forget about that,” Joseph said. “Just email us all the recipe because I need this cheesy-crabby-dippy thing in my life.”
“Everyone needs some cheesy-crabby-dippy,” Max said.
“I’m pretty sure we’re cheesy, crabby, and dippy,” Pawl said. “And that’s the only way I’d want it.”
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