"Since it's not humanly possible that you two have agreed upon a wedding date and you're more than likely talking about your next dinner party or some kind of special tasting menu pop-up event at a restaurant you like, why don't you clarify that statement," Riley said.
"Are we done?" Matt asked. "I have things to do."
Sam shook his head. "You're not getting a reaction out of me until my save-the-date arrives."
Andy slid an envelope across the table. "Consider yourself served."
Matt, Riley, Sam, and I leaned toward the hand-lettered address. No one touched it.
"Go ahead," Patrick said, shrugging as he continued banging at his keyboard. "It's legit."
"You set a…weddingdate?" Sam asked. "For yourselves? To get married?"
"After all this time," Matt murmured. "What's it been? A year? Two?"
"I can't see how that matters to you," Patrick replied.
Riley tore into the envelope, held up an engraved wedding invitation. I snatched the card from him, studying the pertinent information. "April.ThisApril," I announced. "You're getting married in two months?"
Andy closed her laptop, laced her fingers together over the lid. "Yes. Everything fell into place."
"When I get engaged, I'm not allowing any of these shenanigans," Riley said. "We're going to set a date and get married and there won't be a year and a half of wandering the world until a date appears to us in our dreams."
Sam glanced at him. "Is that engagement forthcoming?"
Riley buried his face in his hands and let out a muffled sob-laugh. "I don't fucking know."
Matt gestured toward him. "Okay, well, you should—"
Riley held up a hand. "Nope. Nope. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk about it. Just go about your business and let me muddle through my shambles, thank you."
"That won't be a problem for anyone," I replied.
Patrick shut his laptop with a sharp snap. "We're finished here," he said, pushing to his feet. "Remember, Andy and Tom are in charge while I'm out of the city."
"And thank god for that," Sam muttered.
* * *
I thoughtabout Wes all day, and the next day, and every day after.
I forced a blank smile and shrug when Andy asked over lunch whether I was seeing anyone. I met her polite prying with a promise there was nothing to report. A handy in the shower wasn't the genesis of a love match. Regardless, she promised my wedding invitation would be issued with a plus-one.
When I sat down to eat dinner on Thursday night, I laughed out loud imagining the conversation Wes and I'd have about the cherry glaze I drizzled over my brussels sprouts. With every bite, I debated jumping in my car and driving out of the city to see him.
That's all it has to be.
But I couldn't let myself do that. I couldn't be his good-time guy while he recovered. And that was all Wes wanted from me—all he'd want from anyone. If it hadn't been me, it would've been someone else. The FedEx guy, for all I knew. He hadn't chosen me. He hadn't even wanted me. I was there and I'd offered—and offered and offered and offered until he was coming in my hand.
Wes lived in a short-term world. Everything was temporary—and it was that sense of disposability that kept me in my apartment, my weighted blanket tucked up to my chin and the true stories of mass murderers on my screen, night after night.
I was being smart. This was self-care at its finest—knowing when something wasn't meant for me and walking away despite the undeniable draw. Despite stupid muscles. Despite snuggly, cuddly men hiding beneath their scars and chest hair.
This was adulting and it was awful.
10
Wes
