Hand in hand, they passed through the neighborhood as the sun slid lower in the western sky, blasting heat the whole way down as if determined to die hard. All around them, the song of summer: the rattle of overtaxed air conditioners, the drip-drip of condensation, and the sharp barks of talk and laughter. A caracal skated by on rollerblades, fast and fluid. Thomas’s ears swiveled back and forth as if to snatch every sound, making Andy giggle. Their fingers wrapped and loosened, tongues hanging in the last gasp of hot weather.
“Hey, hey, Thomas,” Andy said.
Thomas wasn’t looking at him, but said, “Hmm?”
“What do you call a duck with fangs?” He cackled, thinking of the punchline.
Thomas whuffed a sigh. “You’ve told me this joke before. It’s Count Quackula.”
Andy hooted. Okay, he’d told it before. “Still funny.”
“Maybe a little bit,” said Thomas. His mouth opened slightly wider, showing he did actually think it was pretty funny.
“You smiled! You smiled.”
He sighed again, defeat and amusement. “I’ve got one for you.”
They turned onto Bougainvillea Street, onto the bridge, heading down toward the lake. Cool breeze rumpled the surface of the water and sang through fur to the skin. “Tell me!” Andy said, frisking around front, skipping backward. He did it partly to feel air on his back, but mostly to see his favorite face, Thomas’s face: long ears, white hair that moved when Thomas felt strongly about something. The mane was alive this evening.
“In a minute.”
Andy whined a little in the back of his throat, but not much. He knew it was useless to rush Thomas. They kept walking, side by side, Thomas on the road side, protectively.
“Why do melons have weddings?” he asked, after they stepped off the bridge.
Andy thought, but had to say, “I don’t know, why?”
The breeze gusted off the lake, ruffling Thomas’s hair. “Because,” he said, “they cantaloupe.”
“Bwahahaha!” Andy had to lean against the railing, he laughed so hard. “That’s a good one!”
“Mm-hmm.” Thomas propped his elbows on the rail. “So how about we make like melons?”
“Buh,” said Andy, feeling so freaking smart. He didn’t say anything else, couldn’t say anything else. His brain would ooze out his nostrils any second, he was sure.
Thomas’s ears flattened. “I thought you’d--”
“Of course! I want, I want! Let’s make like melons!” Andy laughed, so happy it fizzed up from his chest to his mouth and wouldn’t be denied. Thomas would never have asked if he wasn’t sure. He flung his arms around Thomas’s waist, bouncing with joy. “Let’s have a wedding! I’m so excited! I want a rainbow tux! I want a gigantic freaking cake! I want to marry you!”
“A rainbow tux, huh?” Thomas said, when Andy had mostly stopped bouncing him around. “Well… whatever you want.” He put his arm around Andy, smiling huge, with soft eyes on Andy’s face, soft and fire-hot. His ears pricked forward, alert, and Andy watched him lean in.
The world collapsed small: only Andy, only Thomas, kissing just off the bridge, painted with the sunset.
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