One Ramin #2
“Good.” With practiced hands—David was a master sommelier, after all—he opened the bottle, pulled down four of Ramin’s glasses, and poured four perfectly equal servings.
Farzan pressed a glass into Ramin’s hand, but Ramin didn’t drink.
“We have to wait for Arya. I don’t want to tell this twice.”
As if on cue, Ramin’s doorbell rang again—only for Arya to jiggle the handle and let himself in.
“Sorry. There was traffic on the Broadway bridge. I thought the new one was supposed to make it better.”
Arya was still dressed in a black power suit, his nails painted gold, his head freshly shaved (not that there was much to shave, since he’d gone bald at twenty-five), though he’d loosened his tie.
When Ramin texted, Arya had thanked Ramin for giving him an excuse to duck out of the charity gala he was working.
And then immediately apologized and promised to be there in thirty minutes.
Arya kicked his shoes off and pulled Ramin into a hug with one arm, while the other stretched toward David for a glass of Barolo. Ramin choked out half a laugh.
“Okay. Tell us everything.”
They settled around the navy-blue sectional in the living room. Todd had spotted it at Nebraska Furniture Mart to replace Ramin’s old, cushy—and probably boring—couches. The sectional looked stylish, but the cushions were hard as rocks. Ramin’s ass was numb by the time he reached the story’s end.
“And then,” Ramin said with a final sniffle. “He said I was too boring .”
“Fuck Todd,” Arya interjected for the fifth time that night.
Ramin let out a shuddering sigh and sipped his Barolo.
A long-ass sip. It was good wine—David always brought good wine—but wasted on him when he’d been crying so hard he could barely taste the notes of chocolate and leather and blackberry.
All he wanted to do was get drunk. Get drunk and forget tonight ever happened.
Ramin wasn’t a heavy drinker, but fuck it. Fuck his liver, too. Fuck his life.
And fuck this sectional. His ass had gone from numb to full of prickling stabs. He slid down onto the plush Persian carpet, the one he’d inherited from his parents. He ran a hand across the soft fibers and stared into his nearly empty Barolo.
“Am I really that boring?” he asked, because he couldn’t say what was really spinning through his mind. Too fat. Too ugly. A thousand awful things men had said to him over the years, things he’d said to himself, things he’d spent lots of time and money on therapy to unlearn.
Hm. When you thought about it, wine was really just after-hours therapy. Ramin drained his glass.
“What? No,” Farzan said. He copied Ramin, sliding to the floor, only to bang his elbow on the angular coffee table Todd had picked to go with the sectional. “Fuck.”
“Sorry,” Ramin hiccupped. He’d been so happy when Todd had agreed to move in with him.
He thought it was a step toward their happily-ever-after.
And it had been, for a while, even if Todd had questionable taste in furniture.
Ramin had wanted it to be their house, not just his .
He’d lived alone ever since he bought the place at twenty-five, paid for with his inheritance from his parents.
And then Todd had come along. And Ramin had thought they were going to be forever.
But he was too boring .
Ramin sniffed and wiped at his eyes, but not before he caught the glance Farzan shot David’s way, the sad little smile David shot back.
David had a beautiful smile, bright white teeth against midnight brown skin, his dark eyes full of light. He was so smitten with Farzan that if Ramin didn’t love his best friend so much, he would’ve been jealous.
He still was a tiny bit jealous.
David turned that smile on him, gesturing for Ramin’s empty glass.
“You’re absolutely not boring, dude,” Arya said. And then he muttered again, “Fuck Todd.”
Farzan nodded. “Can I be honest?”
Ramin shrugged. His heart was already in a million pieces. What did one more piece of bad news matter?
“I think Todd’s going through some sort of…” Farzan pressed his lips together, ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. It was mostly black—though there were a few grays—wavy, and longer than Ramin’s. Ramin always kept his short and neat and “professional” for work. Boring.
No one would ever call Farzan boring. In addition to being Ramin’s best friend, he was a killer chef. He’d taken over his parents’ Iranian restaurant, the only one in Kansas City, when they’d decided to retire. He’d even expanded its success, with Ramin and Arya as his silent partners.
Farzan had made Shiraz Bistro the beating heart of Kansas City’s Iranian community.
Ramin just did marketing.
David returned with Ramin’s glass and another opened bottle. Ramin took a sip (okay, a gulp) and barely tasted anything, though he nodded at David as if he had.
“It’s good, thanks.” He turned back to Farzan. “Some sort of what?”
“Midlife crisis?” Arya scoffed before Farzan could answer. He slid onto the carpet on Ramin’s other side, bumping Ramin’s shoulder and threatening a spill.
“Shit, sorry.”
Ramin shook his head. He had plenty of experience getting wine stains out of the carpet. Plenty of sex stains, too. Last winter, when he and Todd had gotten snowed in, they’d pushed the horrible coffee table out of the way and fucked on the carpet. And missed the towels.
Ramin flushed at the memory. His skin was much lighter than Farzan’s or Arya’s—his family probably had some Russian several generations back, which would also explain the green eyes he’d shared with his dad—and he could never hide a blush.
But he pushed the thought away. Like Arya said: Fuck Todd.
“What do you mean, midlife crisis?” he asked.
“The highlights? Going to the gym all the time? The Lasik?” Arya gestured around his eyes. “He can’t handle the creeping footsteps of his impending forties.”
Ramin bit his lip. There may have been a bit of truth there. Todd’s skincare routine had gotten intense the last few months.
“Maybe,” Ramin admitted, going for another sip and finding his glass empty. Wait, was this his second or third? He’d lost count. But the bottle still seemed full. He held his glass out and David, good friend that he was, poured out another.
“Drink this first,” Farzan said, pressing a glass of water into Ramin’s other hand.
Ramin chugged it, annoyed that he had to double-fist. Water was boring. Like him.
He sniffed a few times, sipped his new wine.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Farzan and Arya making eyebrows at each other, like they were telepathically arguing.
When Arya finally shrugged, Ramin wasn’t sure if it was because he’d won or lost. But Farzan gentled his voice. “I’ve got to say something.”
Ramin’s stomach flipped. He didn’t like the sound of that.
Farzan took a drink of his own wine, swallowed, and set the glass on the coffee table. He ran a hand through his hair, blew out a breath, then straightened his spine and met Ramin’s eyes.
“Look,” he said. “You know I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Ramin said. Ramin was an only child, but Farzan and Arya might as well have been his brothers. They were ride or die.
“But I was never that crazy about Todd.”
Ramin sputtered. That didn’t make any sense. He’d been with Todd for two years. They had dinner with Farzan and Arya every week. David too, now.
He blinked and found his voice. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you were happy! And that mattered more than anything. It still does. But, Ramin…” Farzan squeezed Ramin’s shoulder and gently shook him. “I don’t know how anyone can look at you and call you boring. He was an asshole. And you deserve better than that.”
Ramin squeezed his eyes shut.
“What if he’s right, though? What if I am boring?”
“Dude.” Arya grabbed his other shoulder. “You’re Ramin Fucking Yazdani. You’re awesome.”
Ramin shook his head and drained his glass again.
On Farzan’s other side, David cleared his throat. When had he slid down to the floor? He was snuggled up against Farzan, their fingers twined together on the carpet. Ramin thought of Todd’s fingers. Of the ring he’d so carefully picked out and sized. It was… somewhere.
Who the fuck cared.
“Huh?” Ramin asked. David had said something.
“Not to be the bad guy, but I think we’d better cut you off.”
“I’m fine,” Ramin said, shaking his head, but the room took a while to catch up. “Oh. You’re probably right.”
“Just looking out for you,” he said softly. Ramin liked David a lot, liked how perfect he was for Farzan, but he was still new to the group, and sometimes he acted a little intimidated by how close Ramin and Farzan and Arya were. Which maked sense. Made sense.
Ramin was definitely drunk.
“Thanks,” Ramin said. “I like you, David. I’m glad you and Farzan love each other.”
Farzan and David looked at each other then. Ramin could feel the love radiating off them like a furnace.
He used to have that with Todd. Didn’t he?
He did. He knew he did. He’d loved Todd with his whole heart. And Todd had loved him, too. Once.
Not anymore, though. What hurt the most was, he’d never know exactly when he’d lost Todd’s love. What the tipping point had been. Which new wrinkle or new pound or new ache or new nose hair had soured things between them.
Fuck, he didn’t want to think about this anymore. He was so tired of thinking. So tired in general.
“I’m going to bed,” Ramin announced, trying to stand but falling back against the couch. “Oops.”
“I got him.” Arya tucked an arm under his shoulder.
“You do,” Ramin said. “I’m glad you’re my friend. I’m glad all of you are my friends.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Arya led Ramin upstairs—had the staircase always been this wobbly?—and maneuvered him toward the bathroom.
“At least brush your teeth,” he said. “I’ll—Shit, is that all Todd’s?”
Arya pointed toward the eighteen bottles of skincare on the right side of the sink.
Ramin nodded.
“Please tell me we can get rid of his shit. And that awful sectional. I think I broke my coccyx.”
Ramin swallowed back a sob. “We still have to work all that out.”
“Fuck Todd,” Arya said for the bajillionth time, though this time he just sounded resigned. “I’ll get you some more water. Brush your teeth.”
Ramin did, laughing when he spat and the water turned purple. He looked in the mirror. His eyes were puffy, nose red, tongue wine-stained no matter how much he scrubbed.
He was a mess. A boring mess.
Arya returned with the water. Ramin downed it, only spilling a little on himself. He handed the glass back and flopped onto his bed.
Arya sat next to him.
“You gonna sleep like that?”
Ramin tugged down his shirt where he felt a draft on his stomach.
“I’m fine.”
Arya didn’t move, though.
“Really. I’m okay. I don’t feel sick. Just sleepy.”
“Okay. Love you, dude.”
“Love you, too.”
Arya left the door cracked behind him. The ceiling spun a bit as Ramin stared up at it. Now that he was actually lying down, he didn’t feel tired anymore; he felt hollow. Empty. Like his whole future had crumbled. And it had, hadn’t it?
He squeezed his eyes shut, but he was cried out. When he opened them again, the room took a moment to settle.
Ramin didn’t get drunk very often. He was thirty-eight now.
Two glasses of wine was usually his limit.
But the Barolo had been so good. Ramin loved Barolo.
And Barbaresco. And Nebbiolo. And Chianti.
And Brunello. And Amarone. And Pinot Nero.
In fact, Italy was probably Ramin’s favorite wine country.
He’d always wanted to visit, but the time had never been right. He kept hoping work would send him there—SNK had an office in Milan, in fact. But he’d never gotten sent there, not even for short trips.
Ramin had planned to suggest it for their honeymoon. But that was never going to happen. Not anymore. Boring people didn’t get honeymoons.
Fuck Todd , Arya whispered in his ear. Not real Arya. The little Arya in a devil costume that lived over his shoulder sometimes.
Fuck Todd , the little Farzan in an angel costume agreed.
“Yeah. Fuck Todd,” Ramin muttered to himself. He wasn’t boring. He’d prove it to Todd. Prove it to everyone.
Prove it to himself.
He reached for his phone, but it was… well, probably downstairs somewhere. He couldn’t remember. His iPad was on the nightstand, though. He punched the wrong passcode in twice, giggling at his clumsy fingers, before he finally unlocked it.
How much did flights to Italy cost, anyway?