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Can we still be friends please
He reads the DM again in the morning, but the words haven’t changed. His eyes are gritty, his neck sore from tossing and turning.
He should answer. It was a dick move, the one he pulled yesterday. That Evan would even consider talking to him at this point is more than he deserves.
Of course, he answers. Just give me some time
He gets a thumbs-up emoji back. Evan’s still typing. Is it ok if I still DM you sometimes
He worries his lip. He should say no. But the way he dropped it on Evan, dropped it on both of them, maybe it’s not the worst thing.
Evan will move on. This won’t stop him.
Sure.
—
Tommy met Abby at a joint-department Christmas party. She was standing in the corner by herself, cradling a gin and tonic, a far-away smile on her face. He didn’t go over there to hit on her; he didn’t usually instigate it. He just didn’t admit disinterest when women came on to him. It had proven itself a wildly successful strategy so far.
He went over there so they could be alone together. She was easy to talk to, saw things in a delightfully cynical light like him, and they parted with promises to see each other again.
He wasn’t going to call. But she did.
It caught him at a vulnerable time. The guy he’d been fooling around with dumped him, then dropped off his stuff at the firehouse like the schmuck he was and almost outed him. He swore he’d draw the line at a beard, but with the crew hyperaware of his heretofore lack of female conquests and Gerrard’s horse face breathing down his neck, he latched onto the opportunity like people in fires do to first-responders.
He took Abby out on a date and took pictures. Lots of them. For two weeks after that, he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror.
—
Days pass. He goes to work, the gym, hangs out with his own crew. Evan settles in as a weight, a solid lump of grief, right at the base of his throat. He feels it with every breath, every swallow, and it’s okay. He likes it. It’s something of Evan’s, after all.
Better than getting his heart broken. Better than what he did to Abby, to the girls before her.
It’s three weeks before Evan DMs him on Instagram. A picture, of him with his arm around a blonde woman his age. She looks almost exactly like the one who asked him to take their picture on that last date, but it’s not her.
I went out with her a few times. She has a cute laugh, but she has no idea about basketball.
Evan doesn’t even like basketball, didn’t, until they met. Tommy can’t claim he’s that huge a fan either. He likes to play it, because lots of people do and it’s an easy social outlet. After, Evan got into it, sucked Tommy in right alongside, unashamed to admit his interest existed simply because basketball reminded him of Tommy. Wasn’t that what it meant to have a thing? Basketball was their thing.
Evan sends: I don’t think it’s going to last.
His heart lurches. He ought to take that as what it is, a sign he shouldn’t answer, but he does anyway: Give her a chance.
I am! Everything ok with you?
Not an open-ended question. He put thought into it, pared it down to what he absolutely needs to know and threw away what he suspected would make Tommy uncomfortable. God, Evan. Yes. Thx
Glad to hear. Good night.
—
He and Abby dated for six months before he could no longer avoid having sex with her. Tommy kept lavishing her with attention, flowers, gifts, the promise to wait for her for as long as it took. She was vivacious and bright, became the best friend he ever had in the space of months.
He didn’t sleep with anyone else while they dated. He couldn’t give her desire, but he could give her that.
—
He’s in the gym when the next picture comes through. It’s been four months since he walked out on Evan. He keeps up with the 118 through Johnson, who’s Instagram friends with Howie. So far they’ve had smooth sailing, or so Tommy’s been told.
Evan with a guy his age, a little shorter than him. It’s a brunette, this time, with kind eyes and a mellow smile.
He bites through his lower lip with the sudden stab of jealousy in his gut.
Met him on Grindr two months ago. He’s really smart, an investment banker. He didn’t really get what I do for a living. He asked me to quit and be a personal trainer or something.
He did what? I hope you dumped his ass.
So fast you can’t believe.
Tommy smiles. God, he misses Evan, so fucking much.
Evan sends: Everything ok with you?
Yes. You?
Yeah.
Evan’s typing dots flash, but nothing else makes it through.
—
Her mother started showing the signs right around their anniversary. Abby was distant that night, distractible. Tommy was just glad it meant they didn’t have to be intimate.
When she apologized the next morning, he’d never felt so much like a worm. Worse than when his father went off at him after walking in on him in high school, worse after those guys beat him up, stuffed him in a locker and spray-painted faggot half on the door, half on his stomach. Those were others’ choices; this was his.
Her mother got sick, but ironically enough, his mother ended up dying first. That’s when he took stock, that’s when he felt truly alone in this world. She’d left his father, a few years back. Lori, his sister, looked in on her from time to time. She’s the one who found her, on the kitchen floor, dead two days, of a massive stroke.
His dad was drunk and vile, just like Tommy had left him. Tommy stayed for the funeral, watched them bury his mother from the back, then caught a cab to the airport without setting foot in his childhood home or even a hotel.
From LAX, he took an Uber to Abby’s place and proposed on the spot.
—
Weeks pass. He tries to reconnect with Eddie, but beyond the platitudes, Eddie doesn’t show any signs of real interest. Evan keeps sending him pictures of his conquests, but always after they break up.
He goes to work, the gym. Lori calls him out of the blue and he knows the news before he picks up.
His father is dead.
—
Minnesota is cold and dreary, unchanged from his adolescent recollections. He has absolutely no feelings; he’s grieved more for random strangers than this man who, as soon as he knew his son didn’t fit the mold he had in his mind, wanted nothing to do with him. And it was fine; Tommy was fine. He is fine.
“Look at you now,” his Aunt Margaret says, patting him on the chest. “So handsome. So smart. We brag about you at every opportunity.”
They gather in her kitchen, his sister and his cousins, and tell each other what they’ve been up to. Lori and her husband are fine, their kids thriving. Aunt Margaret’s youngest is graduating college summa cum laude, and her oldest just sold his business for a nice profit.
She touches him a lot, his aunt, a hand on his shoulder there, an arm around his waist here. She’s warm and smells of lilies and Tommy’s heart aches for his mother. Whenever it aches, it always aches for Evan too. The lump in his throat grows heavy. It’s okay; he likes it. It’s a part of Evan, after all.
“Here, eat,” Aunt Margaret says, and places a plate full of grilled chicken and salad in front of him. “I picked out the olives. I know you don’t like them.”
His eyes prickle. She’s always been kind to him, even when she was going through her own trials.
“You know, you could’ve brought your boyfriend,” she says, as an aside, when they’re seeing him off to the airport. “Would’ve been a nice send-off for Tom, the miserable asshole. Fuck his soul very much.”
“Yeah,” Lori says, with an unrepentant grin. “Besides, I would’ve loved to meet him.”
Evan would’ve come too, if Tommy had asked. For some reason, he’s sure beyond the slightest doubt, that even now, almost a year since the last time they’ve seen each other, Evan would’ve dropped everything and come along if Tommy had only asked. “We broke up. A while ago now, actually.”
The women’s faces fall in genuine sympathy. “Oh, no. You sounded like you really liked him. I’m so sorry, kid.” Aunt Margaret pulls him into a hug, and Tommy goes, too bewildered to resist. Lori’s staring at him, and she says nothing until they’re in the car.
“You looked so surprised,” she says, halfway to the airport.
“About what?” asks Tommy.
“That Aunt Margaret could be truthfully sorry that you broke up with—Evan, was it?”
The lump in his throat flares up. He’d mentioned Evan to them during a brief video call, during his aunt’s birthday party, the one his dad wasn’t invited to. A passing comment, elevated out of him by that impossible giddiness having Evan in his life filled him up with, the one that obliterated every cold and empty place inside him.
So afraid he’d been, of getting his heart broken. Would it have felt worse than this lack, this void?
Also—they remember that?
“You know, Tommy,” Lori says. “I get why you left. I just don’t get why you cut us off too.”
Tommy doesn’t either.
—
Two weeks later, a text from Evan: Hey, I heard about your dad. Are you ok?
He gets it in the middle of his shift and it makes the lump swell and choke him off, drives tears to his eyes. Why isn’t it getting better? All the others did, in this time frame. Why is this hurting more with each day?
Yeah. You know we weren’t close.
I get that, believe me. But he was still your dad.
Tommy doesn’t answer.
Evan adds: Please let me know if you need anything.
He needs Evan, he needs him at home, his chest to rest his head on, his mouth to kiss. Evan’s eyes to track Tommy’s every movement, riveted by what he’s saying, making the stupid stories he tells feel like the most important things in the whole world. He needs to make Evan happy, make him feel loved and admired like he did Tommy. He needs to feel like he finally did something right in this useless, selfish life of his.
He can’t say that, so he doesn’t.
Evan still sends him a care package, full of appetizers best eaten cold, Greek grape leaves filled with aromatic rice and spanakopita and some kind of eggplant spread that’s so garlicky and good he eats it out of the jar with a spoon.
—
Months pass. After fourteen of them, he tries going on a date, but it doesn’t feel right. Nothing does; everything reminds him of Evan, even though they were together only a few months, even though it makes no sense. More time has passed since the last time they texted than they were together, and yet, that lump in his throat aches with almost every beat of his heart.
Evan sends him a message on his birthday. Then again, in April, several in a row.
Pictures of Evan with guys; tall guys, short guys, hot guys, sweet-looking guys, in clubs, at parks, one apparently right after finishing a marathon.
Dated them for a few weeks at a time. None stuck.
Anger flares sharp. Good for him he’s getting around, when some days all Tommy can do is get out of bed. Good for him, no, really, that’s great. Exactly what Tommy told him to do.
He doesn’t get to do that, though, simmer in self-pity. Not when he’s the one who bailed, the one who ran. What he gets to do is be normal, pretend at it, if nothing else.
Good for you. Sorry it didn’t work out.
Eh, what can you do. Everything ok with you?
No.
Yes.
—
Two years, to the day. Tommy hates that he still remembers the date, the way it’s etched into his memory. The lump in his throat aches dully while he stares at his phone.
Lori pulls him in by his arm, pushes him down at the kitchen counter and plunks a coffee in front of him. They come every three months now, sometimes the whole family, sometimes just her. She never berates him for the past; just tells him endless stories of herself and her kids and listens to his few ones of his crew. He doesn’t remember when he started telling her of Evan, but he did, and she listened with sad eyes.
“Why did you do that, do you think?” she asked when he got to the end.
“I don’t know.” He swallowed against the lump that flared white-hot. “I think when Dad told me I’d never amount to anything, a part of me believed him.” Still does. He didn’t say that.
She worried the inside of her lip, studying him. “I wish I could take that part away. He was wrong, babe. He was so wrong.” She gave him a hug and stroked his hair and told him everything was going to be all right.
He almost believed her.
It’s just another day. Work is quiet, the hours dragging. He should be grateful it is; it means no one is dying, no one is getting hurt.
An hour before his shift ends, he gets another message.
Can I see you?
It’s the first time Evan’s asked. Two years it’s been; what’s Tommy going to say? No? Why not? I can’t move on from you? Who does that?
Evan adds: Please?
With that one word, a whole host of memories unbind. Evan’s eyes, that pouty lower lip, his genuine plea. Tommy’s never met someone as earnest, never will. He can’t say no.
Ok. When?
Tonight?
—
He broke up with Abby when he could no longer deny what his selfishness was doing to her. He saw the way she used to look at her own friends, in normal relationships with men who desired them. She wasn’t happy; she knew something was wrong, but she stood by him because he stood with her while her mother deteriorated, because he took the love his own parents didn’t want and poured it into hers, took care of her like his own, better than his own. Abby deserved more than a relationship based on mutual indebtedness, and she was too kind to ever give herself that grace, that permission.
So he did. It took him a whole other year to admit why exactly. By then, she’d left town, and he didn’t try very hard to find her or make amends. He wishes he had.
He doesn’t, now, because it feels like it happened to someone else. Evan said she was fine, in a good relationship, as happy as anyone can be. What’s the point in dragging it all up again for her, just so he gets to feel incrementally better? He’ll just tuck her in with the lump of grief that’s his last piece of Evan, because he loved her too, just not the way she needed.
—
They meet at a restaurant Evan picks but Tommy knows of, one that has comfortable chairs and tables spaced tastefully apart, one that won’t be overly crowded on a Thursday night.
Evan’s early, because Tommy’s right on time. He looks exactly the same as the day Tommy walked out on him. He’s nervous, eyes flicking away, then forward, then away again, his long limbs straining with the effort it takes to hold still. He's wearing a blue button-down and jeans, effortlessly gorgeous. They bungle saying hi and laugh about it, settle on a hand shake.
Once they’re seated, Evan says, “I’m sorry I’m such a spaz.” The lump in Tommy’s throat pulses with longing. “It’s just—you look good. Really good.”
“The gym is my only consistent relationship.” Evan’s eyes widen subtly; he probably thinks Tommy’s coming on to him. Pathetic. Tommy hides behind his glass of wine. “I mean, I go. A lot.”
“I can tell.”
Tommy gestures at him with one hand. “You look good too. Great.”
Evan blushes again. Tommy bites down on the inside of his lip. “Thanks. I, uh, I’ve been working out too. You know, keep strong.”
And occupied. Tommy knows.
They exchange token stories about their families, their crews. Maddie is pregnant again, their third, due in four months, handling it massively better this time. Eddie took a long leave of absence, went to Texas and made up with his son. They came back last month.
When Tommy tells him of Lori’s kid’s graduation, Evan looks adorably confused. “Who’s Lori?”
Has it really never come up? “My sister. I never mentioned her?”
“No. No, you didn’t. I would’ve remembered.”
He would’ve. “Well, I guess—I guess we weren’t really talking until I went back for the funeral.” He pauses, rifling through words to find the right ones. “I guess when I cut my father out of my life, I didn’t really cut around the parts that I should’ve kept.”
“I get that,” Evan says. His blush darkens. “So, uh, you, uh, seeing anyone?”
He can bite off the acerbic laugh but not the smirk. “No. Not really. You, ah.” He flicks a glance up, finds Evan apparently enthralled. “Kind of set a high bar. It’ll be a while longer, for me, but that’s okay.” He sips his wine, looking away, at anything else. Eventually he glances at Evan again.
Evan’s looking expectant, impatient—why? Oh. He must want to be asked the same question.
So that’s what this is. He’s probably getting married or something. Johnson said there was a woman, had been for a while. Power to him that he has the balls to do it face to face. Tommy would’ve slunk off and eloped. Probably. It’s hard to fathom a life where he isn’t deeply in love with Evan.
Evan, who looks like he’s about to crack in half. Tommy can help him with that. “And you?”
Evan exhales like he’d been holding his breath, and pulls out his phone. He turns it on, and without scrolling at all, hands it to Tommy.
“Her name is Jenny. She’s a nurse, at Memorial. We met after a call. Dated nine months. She’s amazing.”
She’s cute, another blonde, with an engaging smile and intelligent eyes. She looks like she fits perfectly against Evan’s side. The lump aches and aches. “Beautiful,” Tommy says, and hands the phone back.
“Yeah. She is.” He tucks the phone away, and says nothing.
Tommy looks up. Evan looks shell-shocked, stalled. He can help with that too. “Congratulations?”
Evan pulls a face. “I guess. She dumped me. Three months ago.”
What? “Buck, I’m sorry.”
Evan opens his mouth, reconsiders on a smile. “Yeah. Well. Do you know why?”
“Obviously not.”
“Because she was convinced I’m still in love with my ex.”
Tommy frowns. “What?”
“Yeah, I know, huh.”
“Didn’t you set her straight?”
“How? She was right.”
They stare at each other. Tommy is afraid to breathe, too sure the next molecule of air will fire the synapses that will make the connection and then—
Evan shifts into the chair next to him, clamps a hand around Tommy’s arm. “Look, I’ve been around, okay? Like you said, I was new to this when we met. You were right. I wasn’t ready. But I got around. I dated a bunch of people, men and women, did everything I could think of.” His eyes fill. “Is that enough? Can I stop now?”
The lump has grown so thick, Tommy has to swallow several times to fit a word through it. “What?”
“Would you take me back now, Tommy, please?” His voice has that trembly quality, like it gets when he’s overcome, his eyes big and blue and beautiful. Tears brim in them. “I’m not new anymore. I figured myself out. And, and part of that was figuring out that I’m in love with you, always been. So, do you think it’s enough? Will you—” his voice breaks, and a couple of tears roll down his cheeks. Love glows bright in Tommy’s chest; he reaches out and cups Evan’s face, wipes one away with his thumb, completely on instinct.
Evan tilts into his touch, eyes closed, chases it. “Can you please be my last now?”
He bites off the wounded sound before it leaves his throat and pulls Evan into his arms. He comes willingly, so willingly, his big frame warm and familiar. “Evan, I’m not all that.”
Evan jerks back, eyes flashing. He shoves at Tommy’s chest. “No. You let me be the judge of that. Okay? I’m gonna be the judge of that. And I say you are. To me, you are.” His face twists. “You’re everything.”
Stupid, don’t be stupid, he can hear Lori saying, his aunt, telling him he is, he is all that, and no, his father was wrong. He was wrong, all this time, and Tommy just has to accept that. He has to stop making the same mistake, over and over again.
“Okay, yeah,” he manages. His vision blurs; he blinks it away. Evan catches his breath on a sharp intake. “Yeah, you’re right. You should be the judge of that.”
“Yeah?” Hope’s bloomed on Evan’s face, so bright it’s painful to look at. Tommy stares his fill. The lump broke; something incandescent came out of it. The air he sucks in feels lit with something sweet. “Really? You’ll take me back?”
“God, Evan.” Tommy pulls him back in, gathers him up. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never did anything wrong. It was me, okay? It was me.”
Evan sits up, snags a napkin to wipe his face. That lump, the love, the longing, they pulse bright and sweet. “Okay, yeah, it was you,” Evan says, and laughs. “To a degree, though. It was me too. Instead of asking you to move in, I should’ve said I love you. Instead of letting you go, I should’ve said let’s talk. It was you, but it wasn’t just you. Okay? Can we agree on that?”
Yeah, they can agree on that.
—
“And then—and then Maddie and Howie were getting married in the hospital and Tommy came straight from a fire, covered in soot—”
Tommy leans against the kitchen counter, a hand across his mouth, exactly where the soot had rubbed off in the story Evan’s telling his aunt and his brother-in-law, Maddie and Howie listening with grins on their faces. Lori stands next to him, her shoulder pressed into his.
“You did good,” she declares.
Tommy tries and fails to hide his smile. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re right. He’s adorable.” She turns and waves a hand at the apartment behind her. “This is adorable too. You did real good.”
Their new place, found after two months of searching. Evan swore up and down that they could take it slow, probably should, but Tommy was fine now. Whatever it was that stopped him before, left with the lump in his throat, the weight of grief in his gut.
All he gets now is this fluttering ball of light that warms him up from the inside. And when, on his way to the fridge, Evan steals a kiss, soft and easy and familiar, it flares so bright he can’t ever imagine being cold and empty again.