Vegas Boys

"So guess what tomorrow is?" said Brendon, swinging my hand in his cheerfully as walked around a local duckpond on Sunday, watching some little kids just released from church feeding bread crumbs to the ducks.

"...Monday?"

"...And?"

"Uh..." I bit my lip and tried to visualize the date I'd written on my Chemistry test on Friday, calculating. "November 31st?"

"Yeah, and...?" he prompted.

I shrugged. "I give up. What's tomorrow?"

"Our one-month anniversary!" he exclaimed, looking exasperated.

"Oh! Right!" I felt my face heat up, partly because I'd forgotten and partly because he'd remembered. "Duh."

"'Duh' is right," he agreed, but he was smiling at me so widely that I couldn't look at him without smiling, too. "You know," he mused a moment later, "I think we have our gender roles reversed."

I laughed. "I'm the butch in this relationship."

"Seriously!" he insisted, but he was laughing too. "I mean, think about it. I'm the sentimental one--you just want me for my body."

He winked suggestively, and I rolled my eyes at him. "Yeah, I'm a real animal, alright."

Brendon laughed again and asked, "So what do you want for our anniversary, you oversexed dungeonmaster?"

I simultaneously blushed and snorted at the term, but I attempted to ignore his self-satisfied smirk nonetheless. "I want you to not get me anything," I told him seriously, "because I didn't get you anything."

Brendon was horrified. "Nothing?!"

We had stopped walking. I turned to face him dead-on, taking both of his hands in mine and swinging them between us sweetly. "Does my undying love and devotion count?"

He sighed. "Okay," he conceded, grinning as he dropped my hands and pulled me in close to hug me.

I buried my face in his shoulder, and immediately noticed something new. "You smell different," I realized.

"Oh--yeah," he stammered nervously, and I could feel him shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he always did when he was uncomfortable. "I just--it's this cologne I borrowed from Ryan--"

I pulled away from him just enough to smile up at him. "You're wearing cologne?"

He turned slightly pink, which was amusing, just because embarrassment was so foreign to the always-unabashed Brendon. "Yeah," he admitted sheepishly. When I said nothing else, he blundered on, with the air of the guilty making a confession, "I thought you might like it..."

I just laughed, and buried my face in his neck, pulling him even closer to me. "You're so adorable when you're a dork," I whispered laughingly, and kissed him just below his ear, where the distinct scent of the cologne was strongest.

-----

Brendon and I were back at the Pink Flamingo Monday night, because we both decided that it would be the most sentimentally-appropriate place to celebrate our one-month anniversary. It hadn't changed at all in a month--unless you counted the distinct lack of a live performance on the make-shift stage at the far end of the room.

"Monday nights aren't exactly a big party scene here," said Brendon sheepishly when he noticed me cast a saddened glance at the empty stage. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Oh well," I said. "I guess I should have expected as much. We're lucky my dad even let me go out on a school night anyway."

Indeed, it had taken a lot of begging and pleading on my part, and I was only allowed out until nine-thirty; and I had a feeling that Dad had only agreed to that much because he was taking a liking to Brendon, for whatever reason. Maybe he mistook Brendon's intimidation for respect.

My mother, on the other hand, was not Brendon's biggest fan, by any means. This was extremely unfair, seeing as how she had never met him and knew nothing about him, other than the only three facts she needed to make her biased judgement: he was a year older than me, he had lived in Vegas all his life, and, most importantly, he was of the male gender.

Every time I spoke to her on the phone, she tried to lure me into conversation by showering me with various undeserved compliments. Then, when she felt that she had buttered me up sufficiently, she would bring up the subject of my boyfriend and launch into her usual "Vegas boys" speech. It was my general rule that I asked her to stop twice, and then if she kept going (and she did every time), it was perfectly reasonable of me to hang up on her.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of our food (luckily--just thinking about Mom and her anti-boyfriend rants was making me angry), and it was as good as last time--though the whole night was considerably less enjoyable without the blonde hippie musician. Still, I was glad for any chance to spend time with Brendon.

"So," I began as we waited for the check. "How's the band going?"

Brendon got nervous, of course; he always did when I mentioned Panic! at the Disco, these days. I guess he still hadn't gotten past all the arguments he'd had with his parents and with me over his decision against college, in favor of pursuing his musical career.

"Uh, you know...it's okay," he said uneasily. He was staring at his empty plate with purpose, pushing the end of his fork--which he hadn't used--around in circles against the chipped dish.

"Have you written any new songs?" I don't know why, but his determined avoidance of all things Panic!-related just made me more anxious to press him for more. We were both stubborn, I guess: he had made up his mind that he wasn't going to talk to me about it, and that was the only reason I wanted him to.

"Yeah, a couple." He paused and reluctantly threw me a bone: "Ryan put up a Purevolume account."

"Really?" I tried to sound more interested than irritated, but it didn't work out too well.

"Yeah."

"Have you gotten a lot of plays?"

"I don't know, Kelsey." Brendon let his fork fall back down on his plate with a cold clink of metal-on-china, and straightened up, looking aggravated. "He just put it up a few days ago."

I was about to start in on him about being so evasive all the time, but that waitress had impeccable timing: again, she interrupted me just before I said something that probably would have caused a lot of unneccessary conflict.

"Oh--thanks," said Brendon distractedly, and took the check from the waitress, looking as relieved as I was for an interruption. He waved away my protests and paid for dinner himself--with the money he'd loaned from my own father, probably.

-----

What was left of the tension between me and Brendon melted away during the drive home. I was starting to regret all the conflicts we'd narrowly avoided (or not) tonight; it was our one-month anniversary, and he was going through a hard time, and I should have cut him some slack. After all, boys will be boys.

"Oh, hey," said Brendon suddenly, breaking off one of many goodbye kisses to reach into the backseat. "I almost forgot--I got you something."

"Brendon," I said irritably, "I told you--"

Before I could even finish my protest, he handed me a full bouquet of what must have been a dozen white roses.

"Aww, Brendon." I bit my lip and just looked at him, lost for words. "Thank you. You're so sweet. You really didn't have to."

"I wanted to." He smiled softly at me, and it was so far from his usual obnoxious grin that I felt something inside me give a little.

I leaned over and kissed him gently, and then I had hardly pulled away when he cupped the side of my face with one hand and leaned in and kissed me again. I was just beginning to feel light-headed when he finally released me.

I got out of the car and made my way up the front walk to my house, clutching my bouquet of roses all the way. Brendon waited until I had reached the front door and blown him another kiss. Then he drove away towards his new apartment, leaving my house, and the one next door to it that he used to call home, behind.