Parsons

Even for someone as disorganized as me, the piles of Old Navy shirts that had been on the floor for two days started getting on my nerves. If they stayed in Landon's room, that'd be one thing, but guests didn't exactly love almost tripping when they were just trying to get to the bathroom.

Landon and I were in the second half of our senior year, sharing a two-bedroom dorm after three years of rooming together. What started as a challenge to see who convinced who to drop out first began to blossom into a friendship, little by little. It started with listening to Landon vent about his parents, then turned into him looking over my shoulder and giving me tips on my homework, and eventually became an inseparable bond. He wasn't always kind, and I wasn't always responsible, but he was there. That was good enough for me.

Coming home after my last class of the day, I stuck a butter knife into Landon's doorknob, twisting the poorly built security measure open after a couple of wiggles. The smell of dirty clothes tortured my nose the second I stepped in. Landon, who had been receiving the cold shoulder from Tara for a few days now, had been glued to his bed whenever he wasn't in class. I was jealous of his ability to sink into sadness while still getting straight A's, but I also didn't try enough to be vocal about it.

"You need to take a fucking shower," I gagged, plucking my nose. If it wasn't for his turning underneath his comforter, I would've assumed it was actually a corpse causing the stench. I spotted a rolled-up sock nearby, picked it up, and threw a fastball against the lump that was my best friend.

"Stop," Landon grumbled, shuffling under the cover once again to face his fall.

Impatient, I walked over to the feet of his bed and pulled the comforter off before he could grab onto it. He was curled up on his untucked sheets, dressed in a tank top and his underwear. His hair resembled a bird's nest, and his glasses were nowhere to be found.

He still didn't turn to me, instead wrapping his arms around himself. "Go away!"

"You're really gonna let all this affect you like this?" I asked, tossing the blanket on the floor and crossing my arms. "It's not like you broke up, man."

"But she will. She's going to dump me, and my whole family will ask where she is at graduation, and it'll be miserable."

So dramatic. I stood over him. "Okay, and say she doesn't. Besides, how are you gonna patch things up if you don't shower? You think Tara's gonna think it's hot to see you like this?"

That seemed to do the trick, at least for eye contact. He rolled over to face me, his eyes sticky and a couple of uneven patches of facial hair surrounding his jaw. "She's the one I'm going to marry, Heath."

"Then get your shit together!" I urged. "Or at least enough so you stop scaring the girls I bring over. Brittany Mitchell came to visit her little sister last week, and we were about to hook up 'til she saw your closet in the living room."

"Has Tara stopped by?" he asked.

Did he want her to stop by the place like that? "No, but she sure as hell won't when I tell her you're like this. No one wants to see you like this. C'mon, let's go get a drink."

He fixed his eyes on me. "You know I don't drink."

"Okay, then let's go get me a drink, and you can get a water or something. I don't care; you just need to get out of the dorm.

I expected more diversions, but Landon sat up. He reached into his bedside drawer and began to pull out some clean clothes.

"No, absolutely not," I snapped, rushing to pry the clothes out of his hands. "Shower first."

-

"Heath, that doesn't make me feel better," Pagliari's oldest daughter, Margaret, moped from her velvet seat. She had been holding the same pose for a few hours now, as I worked to keep painting her image before we lost light.

I touched up some shadows of her teal gown, not letting my words break my focus. My multitasking had gotten way better since New York. "Mags, I don't think anything can make you feel better. What I do know is that a little reset can make your head a little less foggy, at least. "

"Maybe a spa day would help," the woman sighed.

After half a year of working on Pagliari's family portraits, the phone had not stopped ringing. Turns out having the praise and approval of one of the biggest names in art opened nearly every revolving door in New York. He had gushed about the pieces to anyone who laid eyes on them... as much as a serious man like himself could. An apparent trendsetter with relations to both the business and artistic world, he didn't hesitate to give people a card with my information in case they wanted work of their own. He hadn't even told me that he printed them.

His family's portraits currently hung at the entrance of the museum he had inaugurated. Although he was still quite square with me, he and Aaron had really hit it off. Aaron insisted that they just clicked, but I was certain that it came from them both having the same breed of cat. The few times Aaron would accompany me to the Pagliari's massive home in Westchester, he'd bring Elote along. He and Clouet would run around the house while Pagliari and Aaron talked about the economy or something.

At the moment, however, I was working on a new piece from the large balcony of Margaret's penthouse - a renovated beauty from the 1940s that made me nervous to even get a drop of paint on the floor. She had just split from her husband of five years and wanted a new portrait to symbolize her newfound freedom. The Margaret on the canvas held a reserved grin, but the Margaret before me was deflated.

I agreed with her idea. "Exactly. Remember when you told me forever ago that running that marathon made you feel like a new person?"

She pressed her lips together in contemplation. "There is a heart disease run coming up that I was thinking about signing up for..”

"Why don't you train for that?" I suggested. "Training will keep you distracted, you'll feel healthier, and you can beat everyone else for an extra endorphin rush."

Margaret raised her shoulder.. "At my age, I don't know if I can still win."

"Are you crazy? I'm sure you can qualify for the Olympics from how much you work out. I'm not here because you're paying me, Mags--I'm here because I'm scared you'll knock me out if I say no."

I finally drew a proper chuckle from her as the balcony door opened. Pagliari emerged, Aaron following behind him. For someone with as many coats as Aaron, New York was a blessing. Every morning he asked for my input on his sweater and jacket pairings. Every morning I hoped he couldn't tell that at this point they all looked similar to me; he just looked good in all of them.

It was peculiar to see both of them here, though. "Hey, what’s going?" I asked sweetly as he greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.

Margaret left her seat. "Oh, Heath, I forgot I had invited my father for dinner. Is it okay if we continue when you get back?"

Considering how much they paid me? Without a doubt. "Yeah, no problem. I might have to find a day to squeeze you in, though. Is that okay?"

"You just let me know, and I'll be there," she assured, addressing her father.

I began to pick up my supplies, taking a moment to turn to Aaron. "Not that I'm complaining, but I thought you two would be at the office."

Aaron had kept his remote job but reduced his hours once asked to collaborate on some of Pagliari's campaigns. I warmed up to the city, but Aaron was enchanted by it. Our first few weeks were spent with him closing his Apple watch rings from how much he explored. He befriended our neighbors, had a novel's worth of restaurants he was determined to try, and volunteered at Fawn and Savannah's fundraisers.

I had been nervous that my friendship with Fawn wouldn't work as well once we saw each other in person again, but it felt incredibly natural. Aaron's and my weekly lunches were often shared with the two women. Now, with Fawn in her third trimester, our lunches were a little picky but still enjoyable.

"My focus group got rescheduled after a pipe burst from the ceiling. Dalton mentioned he was coming to see Mags, so I caught a ride," he explained. "Doubt they'll want us to interrupt, so do you want to go eat out?"

I gave him a look. "You know we have to finish packing."

Aaron embraced me from behind, watching me gather my brushes. "No, you have to finish packing. I've been ready for days."

Two years in a new town can do something to a person--getting engaged, for example. With our wedding only a few weeks away, we ultimately decided to have a shared bachelor party back in our hometown. While the ceremony and reception would be here (we found a beautiful gay-friendly cathedral outside the city, but I had to go to classes since my fiance was raised a Catholic), we felt it was too much to ask our friends and family to make a double trip or a longer stay. Aaron and Fawn had a blast doing the planning; I was totally cool with just giving my input into color schemes - the main one was apricot, in case you’re wondering. Aaron thought it was perfect for our summer wedding.

It was still hard to believe, though. A serious, healthy relationship that made it this far and a proposal--mind you, a proposal I had beaten Aaron to. I got to go to bed knowing I trusted the person next to me with every fiber of my being and woke up in his arms. I kept in touch with all my friends back home and enriched my relationship with my new ones. Despite all odds, I had a job that I not only enjoyed, but that helped me pay off my college. In the seconds before I fell asleep, I was nervous that I would open my eyes and it would all disappear. The smell of his cologne (Viktor & Rolf Spicebomb, as I eventually learned when unpacking) and the rhythmic breathing from the man beside me were my anchors.

At that moment, said man placed his head on my shoulder. "I told you to pack in advance."

"I don't think anyone's gonna expect me to wear anything but jeans and a black t-shirt. I'm not panicking," I said.

Pagliari put his conversation with Margaret on hold and walked up to us. At this point in time, he was used to the PDA. He wasn't foreign to it himself--the man showered his wife in kisses whenever he had the time. "Diaz! How's the painting?"

"Take a look, Boss," I moved the easel carefully so he could get a full view. Aaron and I stood in silence while Pagliari tentatively observed his daughter's replica.

He nodded and turned to me. "Great work, Diaz. Why didn't you include the roses in the bushes?"

"Margaret said they clashed with her dress, so she asked me not to include them," I clarified.

"Well, you filled the bush in nicely. I like this outdoor lighting. Let me know when you can schedule a session for Yahvi and me. Have you had a chance to look at our new gazebo?"

"I have! She showed us personally when Aaron and I went to drop off some papers. When was it... two weeks ago?"

Aaron mumbled in agreement. His wife had excitedly shown me the original sketch that inspired the new addition to their vast backyard. Yahvi, an architect herself, brought this design to life based on a quick drawing she had doodled on a sticky note. Inspiration had randomly struck her during her grandson's karate showcase. She and Pagliari were two eccentric sides of the same coin.

"Marvelous, isn't it?" Pagliari said with pride. "Every fragment of it was designed by her, down to the joists and the lightbulbs she wanted installed. She's an artisan."

I couldn't disagree; it was gorgeous. "She really is."

Pagliari reached into his slacks' pocket. Aaron and I came apart as he began. "Speaking of two weeks, Leiva mentioned you two will be out for your bachelor parties this weekend." He handed me a small purple envelope. "Here's a pre-wedding present on behalf of the missus and me. Don't fret--we also got you something from your registry."

Aaron and I shared a perplexed look as I opened the envelope. We both drew in a sharp breath at the various bills with blue. We didn't have to shuffle through the money to know it was a sizable amount.

"Dalton... this is too much," Aaron said, vocalizing my thoughts. "We can't accept that."

The man flicked his hand as if giving two people an obscene amount of money in a Dollar Tree envelope was an everyday thing. "Nonsense, you both earned it. You've been an excellent addition to not only the company but also the family. Now, accept the gift and get some bottle service this weekend."

Pagliari's tone was just as drab as always, but I had familiarized myself with him enough to detect the slight hints of him being affectionate. I looked at my fiancé, who was still processing the token of appreciation. We read each other's minds and thanked Pagliari profusely for the gift.

On our walk back home, we started brainstorming ideas on what items to buy for Fawn and Savannah.

-

I stuffed Landon’s cocktail napkin into my jacket pocket only a few seconds before he left the bathroom at Alessandro’s. I never actually kept them—what the fuck was I supposed to do with a bunch of random napkins? I already got toiletries from the studio, but I had a gift for bothering people. Bradley had gone home, a busy Saturday ahead of him. The three of us were tight in college, but as our priorities grew over the years, our friendship with him started straining. Landon and I knew he was going through a rough patch, hating every position his biology degree offered and not yet qualifying for things like medicine. He was job hopping, trying to find something that both paid well and didn’t make getting dressed in the morning such a challenge.

Landon came back, not noticing the missing napkin just yet. “This place’s bathroom is impeccable,” he raved. “I mean, for a bar to have them that neat? Especially with stalls and urinals? Whoever is in charge of that needs a raise.”

It was 2018, two years after our graduations. I sought a nice place to gather with my friends and make it our usual, convincing everyone that I wanted to feel like I was in a TV show when I was deeply terrified of my friends moving on without me. I had taken my friends from high school becoming strangers poorly—I didn’t need a sequel. I was convinced Alessandro’s, the bar I had encountered a couple of weeks ago, was my answer. Mundane enough for Landon, cheap enough for Bradley and me, and offering some entertainment for our other buddies. Man, Dhiego would’ve loved the jukebox. If this fell through, at least I could visit him in Curitiba someday.

On the bright side, Landon gave his stamp of approval to the bar’s facilities. “Glad it was to your liking. You were saying something about your group.”

Landon, a year away from finishing law school, was terrible at any scholarly teamwork. He either excelled in his solo assignments or ended up doing the whole group’s work on his own. It wasn’t that they were unable to do it, but he was so demanding with anything attached to his name that one by one his group members would secede their portions to him.

The top of his class, he could’ve gone to any of the ivies without an issue, but yet again he was persuaded into sticking near the family. He said he didn’t mind, but I suspected that he felt like the law school in town was more of a curse than a blessing.

“They’re just terrible; I can’t understand how they even got accepted,” he ranted, taking a sip of his seltzer and clearing his throat. “It’s easier for me to crank out a three-week collective essay in a weekend than it is to get any of those airheads to write something comprehensible.”

“Cut them some slack, Landon. The fact that you use ‘comprehensible’ when talking at a bar is kind of a giveaway on how you have a better grab on all this.”

“Grasp,” Landon corrected me.

I glared at him with irritation and drank from my glass. I was a few short years from developing a proper palate for liquor, so for now, I thought Long Island iced teas were the epitome of alcohol.

“I’m just saying, you thought I was stupid, and now we’re here. Don’t be lame enough to be rude to people that could be great if you give them a chance—or worse, that you end up working with.”

Landon scoffed. “There’s no way on God’s green Earth that I’ll end up in a firm with them. I also didn’t think you were stupid.”

“Ha!” I yelped, slapping my hand against the booth’s table. “I walked into that dorm a sunshine, and you introduced yourself, ignored me for weeks, and decided I was your enemy when I forgot to close the fridge door ‘cause I was late to class!”

“Okay, maybe I overreacted, but it was one of the many offenses you’d do as a roommate.”

I looked at him with disbelief. “Landon, you used to get mad over shit like squeezing toothpaste the wrong way—my toothpaste!”

He was doubling down. “Heath, you would brush your teeth on your bed, gargle with Listerine, and swallow it!”

“But I stopped when my stomach started hurting!” I laughed. Besides bordering on the destruction of my digestive system, I didn’t regret the time I saved by not going all the way down the hall to the shared bathrooms.

He extended his hands to call a stop. “Okay, okay, regardless. I’m sorry I made you feel like that, like I assume you are sorry you made me feel bad.”

“I am; I’ve apologized before,” I noted, “but I never insulted your intelligence the way you’d insult mine.”

Every time anyone made a little jab at me on the topic of how smart I was, it did make me feel some kind of way. I knew I wasn’t dumb, nor a genius, but over the years of being told I couldn’t amount to anything began to catch up to me. Whether it came from the way I spoke, looked, dressed, or behaved, or my youth, it didn’t matter—one thing was me not caring about extra credit; another was being an idiot.

Until this conversation, I had neglected to feel bad. The little part of my brain that holds my feelings, which I had done so well to ignore unless it provided joy, had finally decided to burst.

My somber expression gave my seriousness away. Landon noticed. “I’m sorry, Heath, sincerely. You’re a fantastic guy, and I don’t want you to feel bad from things I said when I was angry. I swear I’ll never say something like that again.”

I didn’t usually get apologies, so to hear that my best friend was willing to accept his mistakes was refreshing. As sad as it was in retrospect, I felt valued. I hummed, taking the napkin from my pocket and dabbing the dry corner of my mouth. “I guess I believe you.”

-

"I'm not going to lie," Aaron admitted as he lay on my lap, bored from the movie we had decided to put on to kill time, "the sofa in the apartment is more comfortable than this one."

After a long flight, we finally arrived at Aaron's—and soon, my—house. It was still in excellent shape, as we did some upkeep whenever we were in town. Now and then, Aaron would let his family stay. When a long period of time went by without visitors, his neighbors and the cameras he had installed also gave us some peace of mind. The apartment in New York was phenomenal enough that Aaron and I had agreed to keep it once I finished the project with Pagliari. With our new career movements, we could comfortably afford it. I especially enjoyed the large windows and quick access to the subway, but nothing compared to the house's coziness.

With hours to go until we grabbed dinner with his family and the upcoming bachelor party the following night, Aaron and I were lounging in the living room, relaxing on the same couch that had kickstarted our relationship. Sitting up, I played with Aaron's hair, his head comfortable on my thighs.

"I don't really feel the difference," I answered, repeatedly twisting his curls around my fingers. He started getting some noticeable white hair, but I didn't mind. Not only had both his parents grayed out early, but my fiancé was aging like the rich wine Jolene had shipped out to celebrate our engagement. "You sure it isn't my lap throwing you off or the angle?"