25. Emerson
TWENTY-FIVE
EMERSON
There’s something on the tip of Bryce’s tongue as we walk home, but he refuses to say it. Though we haven’t been together long, I can already spot his tells. The corners of the lips lift, but they’re hiding something.
“Isn’t it a beautiful night out?” he ponders. “The city feels so alive.”
Bryce would never say something that generic. I stop walking, nerves building in my stomach.
“Okay, what is going on with you?”
“Me? I’m fine. I’m strolling with my boo in the greatest city in the world.” The words sound pleasant, but the panic in his eyes and added sweat beading at his forehead say otherwise.
“You sound like a tourist. A straight tourist. From a square state. What happened? Are you all right?” Concern floods my brain. I’m wired to immediately scroll through the top five hundred worst-case scenarios.
“I’m fine.”
I plant myself on a neighbor’s stoop in protest. “I’m not going anywhere until my actual boyfriend shows up. ”
“Excuse me. Did you just call me your …”
“Boyfriend,” I repeat. “Is that okay?”
Bryce’s eyes are all puffy, but I can’t tell if he’s happy, sad, or both.
He’s staring at me. Silent. And now I’m truly starting to worry.
But then he nods, lets out an exasperated sigh, and collapses next to me, fainting onto the steps.
“I’m fine, Emerson—my boyfriend.” He takes in a huge gulp of air.
“I’m actually fantastic. Ecstatic. On cloud freaking nine.
The guy I’m in love with called me his boyfriend.
” He bats his eyelashes at me, and my fingers twitch, wanting to touch his face, but I don’t.
“And I just received the biggest professional break of my life. My dreams are coming true. Isn’t it wonderful?
” He throws his head into his hands and sobs.
I rub his shoulder, concerned yet confused. I realize I need to acclimate to dating someone prone to drama. As someone who grew up in the Midwest, my only experience with men showing emotion was while watching football games.
“Bryce, talk to me. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. Or celebrate. I’m not sure which.”
I pull his hands away, revealing watery eyes. Oh, he was actually crying.
“That call at the restaurant? It was Preeti offering me a job to choreograph Queers in the Headlights in Los Angeles.”
“Oh my goodness, well that’s amazing news …”
“I have to leave tomorrow morning.” He shakes his head gently. “And I’ll be gone for three months.”
Suddenly, Bryce’s histrionics make sense. This is huge for him. All of his hard work is paying off, and I’m so proud of him. This could take his career in an exciting new direction.
West. Three thousand miles west.
That’s the direction he’ll be going. For three months.
My elation evaporates.
“That’s fantastic.” I stretch my lips into a big grin, and I don’t care how painful it is. Bryce isn’t the only one who can act here. “Bryce, this is wonderful!”
“God, you’re upset.”
“No. No, I’m not. This is huge. We need to celebrate!”
I pull him into a hug, which allows my strained smile to take five. “You’re doing it. You’re making your dreams come true. I knew you were destined for big things.”
“But what about us?” Bryce scooches back from the hug. Instead of joy, his gorgeous features are drooping with worry, fear, and sadness.
I know what it’s like to strive for a professional goal that seemed forever out of reach, until one day, it’s yours. Bryce deserves to be radiating happiness in this moment. I’m hit with a wrecking ball of guilt for giving him a forced smile.
“Nothing’s going to happen to us,” I assure him, confidence growing in me. “You should be crying tears of joy.”
“We just got together, and now I’m leaving. It’s like I’m transporting my art project before the Elmer’s Glue dries, and it all falls apart. I’ll be covered in glue, popsicle sticks, and glitter.” Bryce wipes away a tear. “True story.”
Even in the bowels of sadness, Bryce still finds a way to make me laugh.
“We are stronger than Elmer’s Glue. We’re Gorilla Glue at the very least.”
“Three months is a long time.”
“It’ll go by like that.” I snap my fingers.
“Because of the time change, we won’t get to talk much.”
“I’ll stay up later.”
“So you’re not worried?”
I let out a sigh. Bryce also doesn’t deserve someone who paints a happy face over everything. “Worried isn’t the right word. Am I thrilled about being apart? I am not. But I know we can make it.”
“You think? ”
“Look, relationships get tested all the time. For some people, those tests happen months or years in. Our test is happening sooner. It doesn’t mean we’ll fail it.
” I pull Bryce close, and he melts into my arms. “Bryce, you have this amazing opportunity. If you stay behind because of me, all that will do is foster resentment. You need to see this through.” I pull his hand up for a kiss and give it a squeeze.
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone. And a three-month work trip isn’t going to change that. ”
“You say that …” Bryce scrambles back down to the sidewalk and paces in front of the stoop. I want to comfort him, but neurotic Bryce is too adorable not to watch. “But New York is filled with oodles of gay men. And they all go to the gym.”
“Gym bodies are notoriously weak. I doubt any of those guys could last five seconds performing one of your dance routines. You have real muscle.” I check out his chest stretching his T-shirt, and yep—under the cuddly exterior is solid gold.
“What about all the guys jogging shirtless in the park?” he asks.
“Oh, they’re just showing off.”
“Half of the gay guys on this island have a farm-boy fetish. They’re going to be throwing themselves at you the minute you mention riding a tractor.”
“I actually rode a thresher, but that’s beside the point.”
“What about your students? Everybody wants to sleep with their professor.”
“I’ll bore them with treatises on Beethoven.”
“You’re not worried at all?” Bryce asks.
“Should I be? What about you and the LA gays, huh? They can’t resist a guy from New York City.” I stand up and take a step down the stoop.
Bryce crosses his arms. “Technically, I’m from Pennsylvania. Plus, they’re all hopped up on Red Bull and erectile dysfunction meds. Pass. ”
“You might love California so much that you decide to stay.” I take another step down.
“And abandon New York? Not a chance.”
“You’ll ditch me for yoga on the beach and kale salads and post-brunch hikes.” Another step. The distance between us closes.
“Those all sound like medieval torture devices.”
“You’re going to become a world-famous choreographer and live in a bungalow in West Hollywood.
” I take the final step onto the sidewalk.
Our lips are barely an inch apart. “And one day, while in a hot tub with a bunch of lithe twenty-two-year-olds, you’ll have a vision of this nerdy professor you used to know.
Eddie? Emilio? What was his name again?”
I sweep Bryce into my arms for an epic kiss that takes both of our breaths away. He moans lightly into my lips as I pull him closer and savor the heat of his body.
“So we’re going to be okay?” he whispers.
“It’s only three months. If we can handle six flights of stairs, we can handle three months apart.”
Bryce kisses me again. He gazes into my eyes and smiles. Try as he might, I can sense the fear and anxiety bubbling under the surface of his sunny exterior. That’s the beauty and the curse of a dramatic, highly expressive boyfriend.
I take a deep breath, and then his hand. “Let’s go home.”