It Had to Be Him

One Ramin

one

Ramin

Ramin was sweating.

He’d picked the Brazilian steakhouse for their two-year anniversary dinner because it was Todd’s favorite place on the Plaza. Todd had been trying to increase his protein intake the last few months. And hitting the gym harder. It showed in the way Todd’s dress shirt hugged his shoulders.

Granted, Ramin loved Todd’s shoulders—since Todd had moved in eight months ago, Ramin drifted off to sleep with his head against their solid warmth every night (not to mention he enjoyed holding on to them as Todd fucked him)—but he’d loved them before, too, back when Todd wasn’t so worried about their definition or the occasional stretch mark.

Honestly, Ramin had enough body dysmorphia for the both of them.

That was for Ramin to work out with his therapist, though.

Tonight had to be special. So he’d picked Todd’s favorite place for dinner.

Even though every time he came here, he got the meat sweats.

The sticky feeling on his forehead made him feel like a teenager again, fighting off acne; the dampness under his armpits was worse. Was it showing through his shirt?

Bad enough he was sweating with anxiety about asking Todd such a life-changing question, but meat sweats, too? He really should’ve planned this better.

“What’re you thinking?” Todd asked, a smile lighting his features.

Ramin must’ve been staring. But he couldn’t help it!

Todd was handsome, his well-kept beard sharpening his jawline, his brown eyes perpetually cheery.

He’d gotten golden highlights in his coiffed brown hair about a month ago, which gave Ramin flashbacks to high school, but like Ramin, Todd hadn’t been out as a teenager, and everyone deserved a second adolescence.

The highlights made Todd happy, so they made Ramin happy.

Todd even had the kind of cute button nose that only white guys ever seemed to get. Ramin’s own nose was large, like most Iranians. He had horrid visions of a bead of sweat dripping down the length of it but stuffed them down as he gave Todd a smile of his own.

“Just thinking about how handsome you are.”

“Aw, babe.” Todd’s smile deepened, but then he shifted in his seat. “Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

He set his napkin next to his plate and stood. Todd’s wineglass was mostly untouched—he’d cut back as part of his diet, so much that he rarely even had a glass with dinner anymore—but he’d downed four glasses of ice water and put away a lot of steak.

“I’ll be here,” Ramin said, reaching for his own wine, a nice if uninspired Malbec.

He assumed. His taste buds weren’t working tonight because of the nerves.

He wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between a bottle of Screaming Eagle—a California cab that went for $2,500 a bottle—and some Boone’s Farm at this point.

(Not that he’d ever had Boone’s Farm. He had been solidly Team Franzia in college, a secret shame even his best friends didn’t know about.)

Nevertheless, Ramin finished his glass. They called it liquid courage for a reason, right?

He flagged down their server.

“Could I get the champagne now, please?”

Their server—a young, russet-skinned woman with her hair tied back in a ponytail—nodded and disappeared toward the bar.

Ramin checked his pocket for the eight hundredth time.

When he’d started planning this night months ago, he’d envisioned sticking the ring in the top of Todd’s favorite dessert, a crème br?lée, but Todd wasn’t eating dessert these days.

And the thought of dropping the ring into the bottom of a champagne glass alarmed him, because what if Todd didn’t notice and choked on it?

So he’d just have to hold the ring out and ask.

He could do this. He wasn’t really worried that Todd would say no, after all. They were in love. They’d been together for two years. They’d moved in together and everything was going well.

They were happy and perfect.

So why did his heart keep fluttering?

(Well, he did know—those same old insecurities, creeping up again. But also: therapy.)

Todd returned, scooting in so their knees brushed. Ramin grazed his foot along Todd’s ankles and smiled, and he tried not to be annoyed when Todd shifted in his seat and moved his foot away.

Todd could be weird about PDA sometimes, but what gay man didn’t have the occasional worry on that front?

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” Todd cocked his head to the side. “What’re you smiling about?”

Here we go.

“I wanted to ask you something, actually…” Ramin swallowed and looked into Todd’s eyes.

They were crinkled up a bit, giving him that little divot between his eyebrows that he kept wanting to Botox away.

But Ramin loved that little divot. He loved those crinkles.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately, and our future, and… well…”

His hand shook as he pulled out the box and opened it. The noise of the restaurant seemed to die away around him, until they were in a perfect little bubble.

“I was wondering if… you’d want to get married?”

Okay, that came out super weird. Todd’s divot turned into a full-on furrow.

Ramin cleared his throat, fought the flush rising up his neck, and pulled his foot out of his mouth to do this properly.

“What I meant is: Will you marry me, Todd?”

Todd stared at the ring in the box, a plain gold band, because gold always looked good against Todd’s skin. It wasn’t so favorable against Ramin’s, but he had a matching one tucked away anyway. That way everyone would know they were a pair.

Ramin studied Todd’s face. He wanted to remember this moment forever. Except…

Todd’s eyebrows were still furrowed. Ramin waited for them to rise, for Todd’s face to break into a beaming smile, for him to laugh and lean closer and tell Ramin yes .

Instead, that furrow softened into something more like…

Oh God.

Pity.

“I… I’m sorry, Ramin. But no.”

No?

Ramin’s brain did a hard reset.

“All right, gents, let me just open this for you…” The pop of the cork sounded like a cannonball, shattering all his dreams for the future. Ramin started in his chair. He hadn’t even noticed their server returning.

Todd gave a tight-lipped White People Smile as their server poured the champagne. Ramin couldn’t even muster that. His eyes were burning, and he told himself it was the smoke from the grill and not the urge to cry.

All at once he remembered the part in Legally Blonde where Warner dumped Elle instead of proposing, also in the middle of a restaurant, and for a second he wanted to laugh, because he loved that movie, but he’d never thought of himself as an Elle.

Their server finally retreated. Ramin didn’t touch his champagne; neither did Todd.

“No?” The word felt like sand in Ramin’s throat.

Todd shook his head. “Look. I’ve been feeling this for a while, but…”

He pursed his lips. “Things have become stale between us. Don’t you think this has kind of… run its course?”

“Run its course?” Ramin croaked. Shit, now there were tears, and Ramin’s nose always ran when he cried, so this was about to get ugly. “But I love you.”

Todd sighed. “I love you too, Ramin, but…”

Todd bit his lower lip. Ramin always liked to nibble on it when they kissed. Liked how he could feel it curl into a smile, because that meant Todd liked it, too.

“I want more out of life than just… moving in together and getting married, date nights every Tuesday, dinner with your friends every Thursday. Lately things have just been so…”

Ramin loved date night. He loved dinner with his friends.

He loved his life with Todd. And now Todd was throwing it all away?

“So what?” Ramin asked around a sniffle.

He reached for his napkin—a black fabric one.

It was going to be super gross when he was done emptying his tear ducts and sinuses into it.

He’d have to make sure to leave an extra-large tip.

And what was he supposed to do with all this champagne they weren’t going to drink? Did they have to split the bill now?

Ramin blew his nose, wiped at his eyes.

“So what?” he asked again.

Todd sighed and looked down at his hands for a second before meeting Ramin’s gaze.

“Boring.”

Ramin swiped away his tears with the back of his hand before he opened the door.

“Hey,” Farzan said, squeezing past the storm door.

“We come bearing wine,” his boyfriend David said behind him. “And cheese.”

Farzan held up a plastic Hy-Vee bag. “And peanut butter cookies.”

Farzan Alavi was Ramin’s best friend. They’d known each other nearly all their lives, ever since elementary school, when they’d been the only Persian kids in second grade. And then Arya, their other best friend, had come along in fifth grade, and they’d been inseparable ever since.

Farzan was handsome, with an elegant Persian nose, rich sepia skin, and warm brown eyes. He took in Ramin’s sorry state—red nose, swollen eyes, untucked shirt—and pulled him into a hug.

As soon as Ramin had left the restaurant—alone, since Todd called a Lyft and went to go stay with his brother until they could figure out how to disentangle their lives—he’d texted the group chat.

It had taken his friends all of thirty minutes to rearrange their evenings. He needed them, so they were here.

David Curtis, Farzan’s boyfriend of nine months, was a new addition to the group (and the chat—he’d finally been added). He was a handsome Black man with impeccable fashion, impeccable taste in wine, and—since he loved Farzan—impeccable taste in men.

Much better taste than Ramin’s, it turned out.

Farzan let Ramin out of the hug and steered him toward the kitchen.

“Babe, can you open the wine?” he asked David.

“On it.”

Ramin’s eyes burned. Babe. Ramin didn’t have anyone to call babe anymore. Or honey. Or sweetie. Or love. Or pumpkin.

Not that he’d ever called Todd pumpkin .

“You like Barolo, right?” David asked, quirking a slitted eyebrow.

Ramin cleared his throat. Crying always made him hoarse. “Love it.”