Page 30 of Garbage

Quincy considered a little longer. “I think I’d rather cook for you. Could I do that? Every day?”

Evan reminded himself that Quincy was not in the running for the boyfriend-of-the-year award. He was just getting to explore new experiences. This was about cooking, not Evan.

“Go wild. I’ll give you my credit chip until you can get one of your own, and you can do the grocery shopping too.”

“Really?” Quincy’s hand jiggled on the table, nearly knocking over his untouched lemon water.

“Really. We’ll go together the first few times while you get the hang of it, or you can just choose what you want online and have it delivered.” Evan usually did delivery, but he could already imagine Quincy flitting around the fresh produce and colorful aisles like he was in an amusement park.

And, of course, it was only the responsible thing to make sure Quincy had a range of experiences to prepare him for independent living.

“Yes, please. I would like that.”

“Good. We can go tomorrow after work. Oh, and we should get you some new clothes, too.”

Quincy was jiggling so hard the whole table shook, his face split in a grin. He didn’t even seem to be able to speak, he was so excited.

“You like that idea, Q?” Evan asked, unnecessarily. He wished he’d thought of it before. Thinking about Quincy with that towel, it should have been obvious.

“I do!” Quincy finally crowed. “You mean clothes for me, Evan? I’ll… I promise I’ll pay you back. When I have a job. But… maybe just a few things?”

“You don’t have to pay me back.” Like he wouldn’t buy him anything with those puppy eyes? “Think of it as a gift. Do you want to start looking while we eat?”

Quincy hadn’t so much as leaned forward to smell his food, so Evan figured that would be a yes.

“Oh, could we?”

“Sure. I’d say for now, don’t worry about sizes or prices. Just look for things that inspire you, and we’ll worry about ordering it or going somewhere to try things on later.”

Quincy’s face grew serious as the screen on the wall burst to life. He’d quickly caught on to how to manipulate the technology in the apartment and share his internal thoughts with Evan through the screen.

Evan was prepared by now for the dizzying array of options that slowly narrowed down to a few. It was like watching someone use a search engine at quadruple speed with dozens of times as many options all veering off in different directions.

It was fascinating watching how Quincy’s mind worked, and this gave Evan just a tiny peek into it.

Windows popped in and out of existence, some expanding while others were shuffled away. Variations on a theme would flash by before the pixelation even cleared. It took Evan a while to realize that there was a consistent row of images getting clustered near the top.

“Are those the ones you like?” he pointed. “The ones at the top?”

Quincy looked up—he hadn’t even been using the external screen—and then he nodded. “Yeah. I mean, if they’re okay?”

Evan scanned the eclectic spread, unable to describe it in any other way but uniquely Quincy. First was a cowboy hat. Then a silk scarf in watery blues and greens. A tuxedo. A baseball cap. A stop-sign red evening gown. A leather jacket. A… hat, maybe, with peacock feathers—if it wasn’t some kind of abstract art. A sundress with a lemon print. A tie with little garbage trucks on it. A soft swoop-necked sweater in pink. A lacy black confection of lingerie.

Quincy didn’t want a wardrobe. He wanted a costume party.

He also didn’t seem to have any sense of what constituted masculine attire. Though, Evan figured, why should he? Plenty of humans with sex-specific hormones pumping through them often didn’t match their assigned genders, so why would a spark owe any allegiance to the gendered characteristics of the body it had been tossed into?

Was Quincy even male? Did the concept mean anything to him?

“Evan?” Quincy asked again, concern slipping into his voice. “Is this okay? Am I doing it right? They’re just ideas…”

“They’re great,” Evan assured him. “Some of them might be a little fancy for every day. You might not have anywhere to wear them.”

“Oh.” Quincy’s face went blank in concentration, then the evening gown and the tux disappeared, the other images sliding back to fill their places. The peacock thing slipped away. Then the cowboy hat.

“Hey,” Evan reached for his hand. “That doesn’t mean you can’t get them. They’ll just be for special occasions. Like a once-a-year type of thing. Maybe save them in a second list?”

Quincy nodded. That was it.