Roko dropped the contents of his phone onto the bar and flung himself onto his sofa. The coyote had just finished his first day working lunch shift at the Mediterranean bistro that his Turkish friend had recently opened. The new restaurant easily had the busiest dinners in downtown Dothan and, as Roko learned today, the lunch crowd was just as frenzied.
There was good money to be made in tips, though. Night shifts could go at the server’s pace. Keep the guests in their seats, offer them some wine and baklava, and give them a genuine good time; they’ll show their appreciation with cash or with a nice dollar amount scribbled in above their signature.
Day shift, however, is balls-to-the-wall; and never a beat slower. Men in slick suits just want to be in and out of there and back to the office as fast as possible. Women with their laptops will skip the antipasto and lava cake. Offer them a Greek salad or some İskender kebab and have them on their way to their jobs. Be nice, but be fast. You may get a five percent less tip compared to dinner, but if you turn your tables fast enough; you’ll do just fine.
Roko could still smell the slow-roasted gyro, as if the aromatic meat had somehow followed him home. He stood up, untied his small black apron, and tossed it into the hamper in the laundry room. His bedroom was at the end of the hallway, and by the time he made it there, he had stripped off his dark pressed pants and starched white button-up shirt. Finally, he slid off his undershirt and boxers, and tiredly stepped into the shower.
Warm water flowed over the brown coyote. He squirted some coat shampoo into his paw and ran it through his copper-colored hair. The suds trickled like a stream around his body, over his shoulders and tail where his fur was darker; and down his chest where his color lightened to a that of the interior of a cremé caramel. He applied another gob of fur soap and massaged it in with his fingertips until he was satisfied with his cleanliness.
He reached out from behind the shower curtain and grabbed a fresh towel. After he dried himself, the canine put on his white boxer-briefs -- the tight ones. Roko skipped back into the living room and picked his phone up from the counter. He tapped it a few times, put it to his ear, and waited.
“Hey!” an excited voice greeted him after the first ring.
“Hi, Kirron,” a grin spread across the coyote’s muzzle.
“You know what today is, don’t you?” Kirron asked sweetly.
“Well,” Roko paused, pretending to think about it, “I seem to remember that there was something important about today. Some sort of anniversary, if I recall correctly.”
“Very funny,” the kangaroo on the phone laughed. “It’s the six-month anniversary of the first time...”
“That we said ‘I love you’ to each other,” Roko and Kirron both finished the sentence together.
“I just wish that I could say it to you in person,” the kangaroo sighed.
“Well, come on up,” the coyote offered in a chipper tone. “What’s stopping ya?”
“You haven’t been paying attention to the weather, have you?” the marsupial questioned.
“Why? What’s...” Roko trotted over to the window next to his bookshelf and pulled the curtains open. “Oh!”
“Yeah, it’s just north of you now,” Kirron stated. “They’re saying that there could be flooding, and heavy winds, and thunderstorms. You know, because there could be a light drizzle and Alabama news will report it as a hurricane.”
“It is getting pretty dark outside,” Roko noticed. “And you know that I’m deathly afraid of thunderstorms,” he joked.
“Poor coyote,” the kangaroo chuckled.
Roko returned to his bedroom and picked out a pair of blue jeans and a yellow long-sleeved shirt. “It really is a shame that you can’t come visit,” he tried to slip his clothes on as without making a sound. He snatched his car keys off of the bar and slowly opened his door, stepped outside, and closed it behind him as silently as possible.
“Yeah, but there’s always the weekend,” Kirron optimistically reassured. “So how was work? Did you enjoy your first day serving lunch?”
Roko hesitated to respond as he pressed the phone’s microphone into his lap so he could close his car door and start the engine.
“I did enjoy it!” the canine exclaimed. “It was much more fast-paced than I expected, but I made some pretty good money. I think I did well.”
“Well, I’m proud of you,” the kangaroo congratulated.
Roko turned toward the highway. He knew that it took around fifty minutes to get to Kirron’s house, and judging from how dreary the sky was starting to look, the storm was probably half an hour away.
“Thanks, my fuzzy kangaroo,” Roko pursed his lips and appreciated in that tone you always hear when people use pet names.
“You’re welcome schnookums,” Kirron responded to the lovey-dubby talk with some of his own.
“Honey-roo,” Roko continued, smiling.
“Sugar-yote,” Kirron laughed.
“I think that we may be the dorkiest couple ever,” the canine breathed out after a brief chuckle. He flicked on his windshield wipers as the first few drops of rain splattered across it.
“That, and the cutest,” the kangaroo agreed.
“So, how was your day?” Roko asked, finally reaching the city limits.
“Good,” Kirron answered. “I registered for next semester’s classes.”
“You’ll be at the community college,” Roko recalled. “You’ll have to find a place to stay that’s close to school. I wonder where...”
The kangaroo laughed, “Yeah, I wonder where. I guess I’ll have to move in with my coyote.”
“Who is he?” Roko pretended. “I’ll find him and kick his butt!”
“It’s you, dummy,” Kirron joked back. “How are you liking the new apartment?”
“I’ll admit, it’s a little lonely there,” the coyote started, “but you’ll be there soon to take care of that.”
“Yes I will,” the marsupial responded warmly.
“It’s hard to believe,” Roko began, “that every day we’d rush home and hop onto messenger just to talk to each other. For years, we would wonder what it’d be like to meet in person; and to finally be together.”
“And then it happened,” Kirron finished the coyote’s thought.
“Yeah,” Roko’s teeth showed as he smiled widely. “I never would have thought that I’d ever live here, but the more I talked to you, the more I knew that I wanted to be closer to you.” He was only a few minutes away from the kangaroo’s house by now, Roko noticed. He stopped at a “stop” sign long enough to watch ripples appear in a pond just past the intersection as the wind’s speed picked up.
“I want to be close to you right now,” Kirron spoke softly.
“I know,” the coyote acknowledged, approaching his boyfriend’s driveway.
“How is the weather where you are?” the kangaroo asked.
“It’s the same as where you are,” Roko revealed. “Come outside.” He hung up the phone and parked his car next to Kirron’s.
The kangaroo hopped out of his front door, a wide grin appearing across his face.
“What about the storm?” Kirron ran to his coyote and embraced him tightly.
“I’m deathly afraid of thunderstorms,” Roko said again. “I’ll have to hide under your bed until it’s over.”
“Well,” Kirron nuzzled against the coyote’s chest, “until the storm gets really bad; how about we hide out in the shed behind the house and listen to the rain on the tin roof?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Roko agreed. They gripped each others’ paws and jogged away from the sheets of cold precipitation that had just begun.
Kirron led the way into the door and up the stairs to the crawlspace next to the roof. The couple collapsed into each others’ arms.
“Happy six-month anniversary,” the kangaroo whispered and kissed Roko. He laid atop his lover and rested his head on the coyote’s tummy, listening to him breathe in and out.
“Happy anniversary to you, too,” Roko echoed, inhaling deeply. “Your scent gets me every time. It’s like you were made for me. You fit perfectly right here,” he squeezed his kangaroo, “and I could lay here with you and that amazing scent forever.”
“What’s it smell like?” Kirron pondered, burying his face in Roko’s fur.
“It’s just a clean smell,” Roko answered. “Like fresh rain, actually.”
“You have a scent too,” the kangaroo took in a deep breath, his nose now at the canine’s chest.
“Oh?” the coyote prodded, rubbing Kirron’s headfur and gracing the kangaroo’s face with his finger.
“It’s...” the marsupial paused, trying to find the right word, “it’s a natural scent. Kind of earthy.”
“Earthy?” Roko repeated, grinning. “What do you mean?”
“Like,” the kangaroo chuckled, “I dunno, like dirt maybe.”
“I smell dirty?” the coyote joked. “I knew it!”
“That’s not what I meant, goof-ball,” Kirron laughed. “It’s a good scent. Like the mud out by the creek.”
“Ooh,” Roko kisses his partner on the top of his head, “I do like that smell.”
The coyote and the kangaroo laid there, listening to the tapping of the rain on the tin roof, and taking in the smells of everything around them. After a few minutes, the sounds of the storm faded and only the chirping crickets remained.
“Typical,” Roko broke the silence. “Unpredictable Alabama weather. Now I don’t have a reason to hide under your bed anymore.”
“Then we can build a fort in my bedroom with sheets and couch cushions,” Kirron suggested, grinning.
“I love you, my fuzzy-roo,” Roko kissed his boyfriend. “Since we first said that six months ago, I’m sure we’ve said it a hundred times by now.”
“And I’ll say it a million more times, sugar-yote” the kangaroo leaned up and pressed his lips to his coyote’s. “I love you, too.”
Roko followed Kirron inside. They changed into some dry clothes and built the most epic room fortress. They fell asleep watching a movie on the floor, on a pile of blankets and pillows.
They held each other throughout the night, and by morning there was no trace of the last night’s storm. Only bright, warm sunshine. The scent of fresh rain and mud, however, still lingered in the air.
