EPILOGUE
Jeremy closed his laptop. It was not only dark outside the cafe, but it was late.
His entire ability to understand time had vanished ever since he started freelancing.
In some ways, it was fun to be independent – the articles he was writing were more interesting, more exciting, and he loved having no responsibility for a team of gen-Z weirdos, as much as he missed them.
It was also inconsistent and low-paying, and Jeremy knew he’d have to get a more stable job eventually.
But not right now – he was just enjoying a break from the stress of a fast-paced newsroom (even if the news largely concerned minor Kardashians being chased by animals).
He did often find himself accidentally working into the night, torn from the routine of a nine-to-five workplace.
After the reunion, Jeremy had taken another couple of days off with Sam, heading back to the mountains to be alone and in love again and to try to sort through the fact he’d made a spectacle of himself.
The whole thing felt like a dream or a strange town disappearing in the rear-view mirror as they left it behind forever.
Sometimes he wondered if he’d done something stupid, if he’d tanked his career, if he’d embarrassed himself.
But mostly he just felt free and light, like he was ready to start a new chapter of his life.
When he returned to work, seething with ideas and enthusiasm, he’d been informed that PopBuzz had been sold to an outdoor billboard company to be turned into an advertising studio, and that he and his team had been made redundant.
If there was one thing less reliable than youth digital media, it was the Sydney rental market.
Jeremy had also received the message every share house of thirty-somethings dreaded – the house had been sold and they all had to leave.
His coven of gays and theys was out on the street, dispersed forever, which made Jeremy sad.
While he no longer saw any of his former housemates or work friends that much anymore, he’d picked up a couple of new friends who weren’t proximity-based relationships, and revolved around strange ideals like ‘shared interests’ and ‘finding each other pleasant to be around’.
Foremost amongst them was, weirdly, Giraffrey – he was still a strange man, who spent his life walking into traffic both figuratively and literally – but without the pressure of dating, all his quirks were actually very enjoyable.
And it was queer culture to become friends with people you’d dated.
Jeremy discovered Geoffrey loved musicals, which formed the basis of their friendship.
He walked down the street from the cafe, laptop in his tote, enjoying the hints of spring, thinking about the slew of changes that had been sprung on him.
It showed him you could aspire to any life you wanted, you could plan and scheme, but in the end you just had to roll with the punches and find joy in change.
After the pub tonight – it was trivia, a staple of the week – he and Sam would walk the dark, lit by warm streetlights, arm in arm, laughing and debating the answers, gossiping about their mutual friends, discussing the commissions Jeremy had got, the projects Sam was undertaking in his new job as campaign leader, and they’d retire to the apartment they lived in together.
It wasn’t much – small, white walls gone slightly yellow, a kitchen window that wouldn’t open, a leaking bathroom roof – but it had their bed and housed all the Sams Jeremy loved most of all: Sam, sleepy and excited to start a new day; Sam, hot and passionate at night; Sam, asleep and gorgeous.
A thousand perfect versions of Sam, and just as many imperfect ones, which he also loved, even when they squeezed the toothpaste incorrectly.
Jeremy walked into the Builder’s Legs and saw Liz and Anna and Sam already gathered around their favourite table, drinking beer and laughing about something.
He paused for a second. He was trying to acknowledge moments when he was happy or content, and seeing this perfect situation – the people he loved waiting for him – well, that made him really happy.
Sam spotted him and gave him a big, exuberant wave. Jeremy loved that he still got excited to see Sam, even after cohabitating for over a month. He made his way over, noticing with warmth that Sam already had set a drink aside for him.
‘We need your help,’ Liz said, skipping past the greetings. ‘Anna is desperate.’
Anna nodded seriously. ‘You know my colleague who I hate? And you know that promotion I was going for? Well, guess who got it? And guess who has to go to a conference with her in November?’
Jeremy looked down at a document on the table. It was a familiar sheaf of paper branded with Sam’s work logos, and it brought back memories of Sam handing him something similar almost a year ago. Jeremy picked it up and read out the title: ‘ Anna’s Spite-Pie Campaign .’
He raised his eyes and looked at everyone, taking a moment to drink a delicious draught of beer. ‘All right then. Let’s take her down.’