Page 60 of Dear Mr. Brody
“Gross, go put those in your room. I can smell your feet from here.”
“I doubt you could smell your own shit right now. You sound awful, by the way.” I removed my socks and walked over to the laundry closet between the living room and the kitchen.
“I feel like death.”
I pulled off my shirt and threw it into the washer with my socks. “I’m about to start a load, got anything you need me to throw in?”
He raised his arm and weakly pointed toward his bedroom door. “My basket is in there.”
Marcos’s room was surprisingly spotless for once, except for the old vintage vanity table he had in the corner. It was covered with make-up, jewelry, and some sort of lacy shit I’d never seen him wear. He had pictures and postcards pinned on the wall with silver star-shaped tacks, framed by a white string of Christmas lights. I loved the lived-in quality of his room, it was such a contrast to mine. All I needed were the basic necessities, nothing special. I had a couple of framed pictures on my desk of my mom and my sister’s family, but the rest of it was cast in a monochromatic shade of gray—a blank slate. My most prized possession was my large bookshelf, and the books it held the only real bit of personality I’d added to my room. I liked my space to feel quiet, but I had to admit, even after two years, it didn’t feel like a home.
“What the hell? When was the last time you did laundry?” I asked as I hauled his clothes basket from his room. The thing weighed a ton.
“Two weeks ago.”
“I don’t even have two weeks’ worth of clothes,” I said, shoving everything into the washer and pressing the start button.
“Yes, you do… but you choose to look like a homeless gym rat half the time. You’re hopeless. If it wasn’t for your abs, you’d always be single, hiding in the corner, reading a book with a finger up your ass, trying to remember what real sex used to feel like.”
“Wow…”
“I only speak the truth.”
“You’re speaking man-flu.” I plopped down into the recliner and kicked a few of his snotty tissues toward the coffee table. “This is next-level disgusting, but I’ll give you a pass since you’re being so nice to me today.
“My bones hurt,” he whined. “What about my tea and soup?”
“I don’t know,” I said, fighting my smile. “I have a busy day planned, reading… and pegging my prostate.”
Marcos’s laugh turned into a coughing fit, and for the first time since I’d gotten home, I started to worry.
“Shit, you need to see a doctor, man. What if you have pneumonia or something?” I leaned over and touched his forehead with the back of my hand. “Marcos, you’re burning up.”
“I know… I need tea and soup.”
“No, dumbass, you need meds and a medical professional. Come on.”
I stood but he waved me off. “It’s raining.”
“I’m sure the doctor’s office is open even when it rains.”
“And I’m in the middle of this movie.”
“Hocus Pocus?You’ve seen this a billion times. Up… let’s go. I’ll carry you if I have to.”
He stared at the television and fucking ignored me.
“Marcos, stop being a toddler. What if it’s serious?”
He groaned and burrowed deeper into his blanket. “Go away.”
“Not happening,” I said, and blocked the view of the television. “I’m not messing around. I will put you over my shoulder.”
“Move your wide ass, this is the best part.”
He glared at me, calling my bluff. My best friend and I didn’t have much in common, beside our ability to be stubborn to a fault. I stepped toward him, and he held up his hands.
“Don’t you dare, Par—”