Steve's Shirt

“Wait, were you wearing that on Saturday?”

Thomas directed an awkward glance to his right shirtsleeve, just a little too short for his taste, then back to Debbie.

“No, I just got it. Why?”

“Looks awfully familiar,” Debbie said. She cocked her jaw and chewed on the corner of her lip, squinting at his chest. Thirty seconds passed in silence. Behind her, people milled and mingled, drinks in hand. One or two threw a confused glance in the direction of the open door where Debbie, leaning on the door frame and bodily blocking the entrance, was staring at Thomas.

“Steve!” she said. “That looks just like Steve’s shirt!”

Relieved at the reanimation of the interaction despite the shouting, Thomas drew in a sharp breath. “Right. I don’t know a Steve.”

“Sure you do,” Debbie said. Thomas shook his head. “Yeah, you met him at our Christmas party last year. He came with Lauren.”

“I wasn’t at your Christmas party last year, I was in the States with Jen,” Thomas said. Debbie still had not moved to let him enter.

“Huh. I thought for sure you were there,” Debbie said. She squinted again.

“Nope.” Thomas tugged at the bottom of his shirt and shifted on his feet. Oblivious, Debbie persisted.

“No, you were there. You remember, that was the night Willard got arrested for indecent exposure ‘cause a group of carollers walked past right when he was taking a piss off the stoop outside.”

As if on cue, Willard’s head popped around the corner of the open door.

“Hey Thomas,” Willard said. He moved to stand behind Debbie. His eyes darted from Thomas to Debbie and back again. “What, did you forget the cover charge or something?”

Thomas cracked a smile. “Debbie thinks I stole this shirt from a guy called Steve.”

“I see,” Willard said, nodding knowingly. He looked again at Debbie. “Babe, do you think we should let Thomas inside?”

“Sorry,” she said, laughing. “Please do come in.” She pulled the door open wide and stepped aside with a dramatised curtsy.

“Why thank you,” Thomas said, making a show of walking across the threshold. Once inside, Thomas drifted away from Debbie and Willard under the pretence of grabbing a drink. In truth, he was simply sick of talking about the shirt.

—

“Wait, who’s Steve?” Willard asked.

“You remember, he’s the guy Lauren brought to the Christmas party last year,” Debbie said. Willard’s face remained blank. Exasperated at the loneliness of her memory, Debbie sighed and swallowed hard. “You know, the guy who tried to top himself?”

Willard cringed at her bluntness but his face lit up with recognition.

“Oh yeah,” he said, his own eyes squinting with the memory of it. In synchronicity that belied a decade of living together, Debbie and Willard both turned to look again at Thomas, who had acquired a beer and was chatting with Debbie’s cousin in the corner by the record player.

“Right?” Debbie asked, nodding proudly.

“What?”
Debbie rolled her eyes. “The shirt. Doesn’t that look exactly like the shirt Steve was wearing?”

Willard snorted. “Well I don’t remember what Steve was wearing to our Christmas party last year, sweetheart,” Willard said. “But okay, sure. I trust you do.”

“I thought Thomas was acting a little weird,” Debbie said.

“Maybe that’s because you were guarding the door like the Black Knight facing off with King Arthur,” Willard said.

“He was being really cagey about the shirt,” Debbie said, ignoring the scold. “Don’t you think he was acting weird?”

“I only caught the tail end of it,” Willard said. “Besides, he’s probably not acting any weirder than he usually does when he knows Carina is around.”

Debbie nodded slowly. “Right. I totally forgot those two dated.”

“Well they didn’t, not really. They just kind of —“ Willard swirled his index fingers around in the air, looping them around one another without touching. “Orbited each other. They hooked up a couple of times. Thomas was head over heels but she was still hung up on Owen.”

Debbie squinted again. “Oh yeah! I totally forgot she and Owen were a thing.”

“They were together for four years,” Willard said, shaking his head. “Anyway, Jen was asking for you.”

“Oh man, does Thomas know that Jen is here?” Debbie asked.

Willard paused, looking left and right conspiratorially. “Yeah probably, since they live together,” he whispered.

“I thought they broke up,” Debbie said.

“No,” Willard said. “What, have you just been drunk the last ten years?”

Debbie shrugged. “That’s definitely part of it.”

“How can you remember the shirt a dude you’ve only met once was wearing to your Christmas party a year ago but you can’t remember that your dear friend Jen is still living with Thomas?” Willard asked, incredulous.

Debbie pursed her lips. “I remember Steve because he and Lauren came with me to the Garda station to bail you out after you accidentally showed your dong to a bunch of churchgoers singing Christmas carols,” she said. Willard had the good sense to look sheepish. “And I remember Steve’s shirt because he took it off in the cab when Lauren puked all over hers and needed something else to wear so she wouldn’t get arrested.”

“Fair enough. I suppose that would’ve made an impression,” Willard said.

“I especially remember it because when he first took it off I thought there was dirt on the collar, but it turned out he’d written his name on it,” Debbie said. “I mean, what kind of dweeb writes his name on his clothes?”

Willard balked at her insensitivity. “He probably had to label all his stuff when he was in the ward,” he said gently.

Debbie flushed pink and shut her eyes for a long breath in. “Right.” She opened her eyes again. “But how did Thomas end up with that shirt?”

—

Thomas tugged again at the bottom of his shirt, wishing he’d worn something else. He could feel Debbie and Willard looking his direction, Debbie’s eyes still narrowed in remembrance. Beside him, Jen was asking Debbie’s cousin about school. Or work. Or maybe her family? Thomas wasn’t sure and he wasn’t paying attention. He ran his fingers along the hem of the shirt, pretending to look at the phone he held in his other hand. He pulled his left thumb back and forth across the fabric and watched a small stain appear and disappear. He hadn’t noticed it at the charity shop earlier.

“You okay?” Jen asked from his left.

Thomas started and flicked his right thumb down so that the phone screen scrolled. “Yeah, just reading the news,” he said.

“You know we’re at a party, right?” Jen asked, bemused.

“Yeah, sorry.” He stuck his phone in his back pocket and tucked the stained hem in. His eyes flicked around the room and then back to Jen.

Jen followed Thomas’s darting gaze over her shoulder and drew an involuntarily deep breath in through her nose when she saw who he must’ve seen. Carina. Jen looked back at Thomas, trying to hide her hurt feelings with a chastising glare.

“I, I’m not… I wasn’t looking at her,” Thomas said. For once, he hadn’t been.

Jen drew her lips together tightly. “I’m gonna get another drink. Want one?”

“Sure,” Thomas said. She moved away. He turned back to Debbie’s cousin and, after an awkward beat, asked “How’s school?”

—

Carina sat half-perched on the edge of the couch, having smoothed her short skirt underneath her bum just so. She had scoped out this spot so that anyone who walked through the door would see her. Her feet, stacked atop one another, seemed ever-so-casual but were expertly placed to keep anyone from getting too close. She needed a line of sight to the door. She wasn’t following the conversation but she wasn’t required to; she laughed at the right times and made the right amount of eye contact and lightly played her fingers over the strap of her tank top in just the right spot where it stretched over her collarbone, and no one noticed that she wasn’t paying any attention. No one noticed that in between her carefully carefree glances her gaze was glued to the door, willing it to open.

“Why are you pretending to listen to these knobs?” someone whispered from behind her. She started and craned her neck around in their direction. Owen smirked at her and settled on the couch.

“When did you get here?” Carina asked, some of her crafted coolness slipping.

“A while ago,” Owen said. “Must have missed me arriving. Pity I didn’t see you either, I’m sure you look fantastic from that angle.”

Owen delighted in calling out her tricks. He had the same innate ability to enrapture, the same subtle ways of manipulating people’s attention. He treated people like playthings the same as she. He was her favourite toy.

“You want to be careful with those,” Carina said, nodding to a handful of mixed nuts Owen was popping in his mouth. “They’re full of fat.”

“Wanted some protein,” he said with a grin. “I have a feeling I’ll need some stamina tonight.”

“Going for a run later?” she said, pivoting on the arm of the couch and draping her legs over his.

“Nah, just home with the fiancé,” he said, winking at her. She was his favourite toy, too, and the easiest way to wind her up was to remind her he’d chosen someone else.

Carina balked momentarily but then bent forward so that her cleavage was on full display. “She’s a lot of work, huh?”

He shrugged. “Worth the effort.”

“Did you want something?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

“Thought you might need some company,” he said. “You seemed awful lonely over here, staring at the door.”

“Ah, well, thanks anyway but I was hoping somebody interesting would turn up.” If her biggest weakness was not being worth his effort, his was being uninteresting to her. “Where is Boring, anyway?”

“You mean Lauren? She’s over talking to Debbie and Willard. Debbie’s convinced Thomas is wearing the same shirt that guy Steve wore to their Christmas party last year.”

“Steve?” Carina asked, her eyes alighting on Thomas. Another who had decided she wasn’t worth the effort. One who had been too earnest to play with for very long.

“Nope, that’s Thomas,” Owen said, irritated that her attention had wandered. “You don’t recognise him? He’s been inside you, for feck sake.”

“Don’t be crass,” Carina said, startled at Owen’s hostility. “Who is Steve?”

“Some guy Lauren knew,” Owen said. They were both sulking now.

“Knew?”

“Well she spends most of her time with me now,” he said, a smug grin spreading on his lips.

“She must be bored out of her mind,” Carina said, biting back with a smirk of her own.

—

“Does it bother you?” Willard asked, nodding in the direction of the very crowded couch.

Lauren followed his gaze just in time to see Carina playfully slap Owen’s hand away from her skirt. “It probably should, I guess,” she said. “But look at her. Can you blame him for flirting with her? They’re both so good at it.”

Willard laughed. “He does not deserve you.”

“Nah, but he doesn’t really want me, either, so that works out,” Lauren said with a grin.

“Okayokayokay, he’s over in the corner by the record player,” Debbie said, grabbing Willard by the sleeve and positioning him in front of Lauren. “Sneak a peek.”

“Why am I sneaking a peek?” Lauren asked. “Why can’t I just go over and ask him?”

“I already asked and he doesn’t remember Steve. Also he seemed a little tetchy about the shirt,” Debbie said. Willard snorted.

“Again, the attitude might have been more to do with you making him stand in the doorway for fifteen minutes,” he said.

“Either way, he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore,” Debbie said.

“Gotcha.” Lauren glanced over at Thomas and studied the back of his neck for a while. “Yeah, that could be Steve’s.”

“Right?” Debbie said a little too loudly. Lowering her voice, she half-whispered, “I mean, it looks just like it, right? How did Thomas get ahold of it?”

“They could’ve made more than one,” Willard said sarcastically.

Debbie looked crestfallen. “Right. Right.”

Lauren looked at Willard, both amused at Debbie’s obsession with this mini mystery she’d spun up.
“There’s one way to know for sure,” Lauren said, relighting the fire in Debbie’s eyes. “We gotta get a look at the collar of that shirt.”

—

“What’s up with Debbie, Lauren and Willard?” Jen asked. “They’re being kind of creepy.”

Thomas absentmindedly checked that the hem of his shirt was still hidden, tucked away behind the band of his jeans. “Debbie’s got a weird thing about my shirt,” he said.

“Your shirt?” Jen asked, looking him up and down. “Huh. Have I seen you in that before?”

“No, I just got it today,” Thomas said. “I spilled hot chocolate on myself this afternoon and I didn’t have time to go home for another before this.”

“What does that have to do with Debbie?” Jen asked.

“Very little,” Thomas said. “But that’s never stopped her before.”

“They’re coming over here,” Jen said. “Cheese it, act natural.”

Thomas smiled and grabbed her hand. “You’re my favourite.”

—

“Debbie, Lauren, Willard,” Jen said. “What brings you to this corner of the room?”

Lauren and Willard smiled broadly. Debbie barely noticed.

“Where did you come across that shirt?” Debbie asked, her voice pitching up with forced casualness.

Willard shook his head, embarrassed at the attempt.

“I got it at Monroe’s,” Thomas said. “I ruined the one I wore to work and I needed something to wear to your house other than my bare chest.”

“A likely story,” Lauren said, pointing her finger at him dramatically. “We know you took it from Steve.”

“Who’s Steve?” Jen asked.

“He’s that friend Lauren brought to our Christmas party last year,” Willard said.

“The guy you puked on?” Jen asked.

“No, I puked on myself,” Lauren said. “He just gave me his shirt after.”

“Right. And we think this is that shirt?” Jen said, pointing to Thomas.

“There’s a way to know for sure,” Debbie said, still lost in the investigation of it all.

Jen looked over Debbie’s head at Willard and mouthed, ‘Is she drunk?’

Willard nodded and rolled his eyes. ‘Oh yeah,’ he mouthed back.

“So how can we get to the bottom of this?” Jen asked, playing along. She dropped Thomas’s hand theatrically. Thomas sighed.

“His name’s on the collar,” Debbie said.

“Thomas’s?” Jen asked.

“Steve’s,” Lauren said.

Thomas looked from the amused faces of Jen, Lauren and Willard to the overzealous expression on Debbie’s. “What do you want me to do, Debbie? Take it off right here so you can see if someone else’s name is written on it?”

Debbie blinked, then said, “Yes please.”

Thomas laughed. “No.”

“Scared we’ll all see your third nipple?” Owen asked, louder than necessary. He had wandered up behind Lauren. Carina had followed.

“No, just the right temperature,” Thomas said. “You know, summer breezes and all. Don’t want to catch a cold.”

Debbie narrowed her eyes.

“Come on, Thomas,” Carina said, an overtly sexy grin curling her lips. “You know you look great shirtless.”

“Yup, you’ve seen him naked, we get it,” Jen said, gritting her teeth. Thomas picked up her hand again and squeezed.

“Take it off,” Debbie nearly shouted, irritated that attentions were waning from the shirt.

“Debbie, come on,” Willard said. Her preoccupation had grown unwieldy.

“Do it for the craic!” Lauren said jovially.

“Craic means fun,” Carina said to Jen with a condescending smile.

Jen cracked a wide, overly sweet grimace but didn’t respond.

“Take it off, take it off, take it off,” Owen started chanting. Carina followed suit. Slowly, others around the room started joining in, most completely unaware of who they were chanting at. Debbie’s voice was among them, and Lauren’s. Willard looked at Thomas apologetically.

“You guys are cracked,” Thomas said, chortling uncomfortably.

“Cracked means crazy,” Jen said to Carina with a smug grin.

“Take it off, take it off, take it off…”

Thomas looked sidelong at Jen. “Shall we go home?”

“Let’s.”

“You can’t hide behind that shirt forever!” Debbie shouted after them as they headed for the door. Lauren and Willard snorted with laughter. The chant tapered off. Owen excused himself to the bathroom, and Lauren pretended not to notice when Carina drifted after him a discreet thirty seconds later. Debbie turned to Lauren.

“Whatever happened to Steve?” she asked.

“He killed himself on Stephen’s Day,” Lauren said matter-of-factly.

Debbie blanched. “Do you think he was wearing that shirt?”

Willard smacked Debbie on the arm. “Jesus, Deb.”

Lauren shrugged. “Probably not.”

—

Thomas tossed his phone on his bedside table. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. I think I still have some hot chocolate in my chest hair.”

“Gross,” Jen said, throwing herself on their bed.

In the bathroom, Thomas grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his neck. He dropped it on top of the pile of clothes in the hamper and pulled the string to turn on the electric shower. His finger hovered over the button to start the water running, but he stopped himself. He turned around and grabbed the shirt off the pile, running the collar through his hands. There, on the back just under the seam, the name ‘Steve’ was written in permanent marker.

Thomas shuddered. He looked at the name for a long time, long enough that Jen called, “You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” he called back. He dug in his jeans pocket for the Sharpie he always had on him. Pulling the collar taut and pressing it against the wall, he put a large ‘x’ through Steve’s name and wrote ‘Thomas’ alongside it. He threw it back in the hamper, laughing at himself.

“What’s funny?” Jen asked from the bedroom.

“I have Steve’s shirt.”