Chapter 8 Andrew #2
A rock settles in Andrew’s stomach. Shit. He kind of wishes he’d eaten already since there’s no way he’s going to be able to stomach his food now. On the other hand, maybe it’s better they’re going to do this on an empty stomach. Andrew is such a horrible liar.
“I know.”
“Did Eden tell you?”
“Did Eden tell me what?” Andrew asks.
“About New York.”
“Wait.” Andrew’s brain tries to puzzle the pieces together, but there are too many missing. “What are you talking about?”
“The gallery showing a few weeks ago, the one you missed with the big deal art curator. They liked my stuff. A lot. Particularly the piece I did of Eden. They want me to come to New York for a show, Annie.”
“Holy shit, that’s amazing,” Andrew says. “Are you finally going to show all those pieces of Eden you’ve got stashed away in your art shed like a dragon?”
“I mean, I didn’t officially accept, they gave me until tonight to answer them. It’s going to be a lot of stress transporting so many pieces, and the gallery is some swanky place that I’ll have to wear a suit for, and they wanna put me up in some expensive boutique hotel.”
“Only you would see those as negatives.”
“I’m not fancy, Annie. You know that, but—”
“You wanna do it,” Andrew finishes.
“I do. Does that make me a sell out?”
“You’re not a sell out,” Andrew assures him. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to show off your work. When do they want you?”
“I’m not sure, they’re going to reach out to Amanda probably in the next month or two. They said I probably won’t have much notice to prepare now.”
Andrew whistles, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to manage that on short notice. “I have some PTO accumulated. I’m not sure if I can use it on such short notice but—why are you making that face?”
“So uh, that’s what we need to talk about.”
“Charlie?”
“I want to take Eden,” Charlie whispers.
Andrew tries and fails to ignore the sudden racing of his heart along with the gut punch of panic at the prospect of being replaced.
For years, Andrew has been telling Charlie he’d make it to New York one day with his art, and for years Charlie has been denying it.
Despite his denials, Charlie always said if it did happen that he’d need Andrew with him. Apparently, that’s not true anymore.
“Of course you do.” Andrew tries to smile but judging by the look on Charlie’s face, his expression must be betraying him.
“I don’t have to take him, Annie.”
“You should take him.”
Truthfully, Andrew doesn’t even want to go to New York and never has. The crowds and change seem like a hellscape to him, but it was a hellscape he’d always been willing to endure for his twin. He would do anything for Charlie, including stepping aside so Charlie and Eden can be happy.
“I know I always said if I made it then it’d be me and you, and I’m not…
it’s not not you and me anymore, but they want the pieces of Eden for someone’s private gallery.
If I go, it’ll be a showcase of my favorite pieces of him.
That, and he’s never been anywhere. Can you imagine him in New York City?
There’s so much queer history I could show him and—”
“You love him,” Andrew finishes.
“I love him so much.”
Andrew smiles, ignoring the unease and confusion swirling in him. How stupid was he to imagine they’d spend this meal talking about Andrew. Turns out he doesn’t need to lie at all.
“I’m happy for you, Charlie. You should take Eden.”
“You sure you’re not upset? Because if you are, I won’t ask Eden.”
“Ask Eden what?” Eden interrupts, arriving at their table with their food. Rather than drop it off and leave, he settles himself in the empty half of the booth beside Charlie.
“I thought you were working for another hour,” Charlie pipes up.
“Juanita let me off early to eat with you guys,” Eden explains, grabbing a chip from the basket in the center of the table and popping it in his mouth while his gaze moves between Charlie and Andrew. When he’s done chewing he asks, “what are you gonna ask me?”
“Uh, well—”
“Charlie wants you to go to New York with him.”
Eden’s hand is stretched across the table, another chip covered in salsa that drips on the table as he gapes at Charlie. “Why?”
“Because the showcase is of you. I’ve been holding off showing the pieces publicly until it felt right and this—it feels right. Bringing you with me feels right.”
“I can’t go to New York,” Eden hisses.
“Why not?”
“I have to work and…and—” but he stops, the longing clear as day.
“The gallery is in the East Village,” Charlie says. “I was planning on making a trip of it—stay a few extra nights to hit up the queer scene. You’re twenty-one now so we could go clubbing, take a walking tour of some of the important queer history spots, and—”
“Yes,” Eden blurts, shoving his chip into his mouth before slumping in the booth as if admitting he wants to go cost him dearly. Knowing Eden, it probably did. He’s allergic to having wants or needs.
“Maybe you could send me photos,” Andrew offers, bumping Eden’s foot beneath the table. “I’m too busy with work to manage coming anyway, but I’d love to see it all.”
“I could text you,” Eden says, already brightening.
Sure it’s a lie, Andrew isn’t too busy, but he knows Eden will have an easier time soaking it in and taking photos if he pretends it's for someone else.
“You’ll have to keep an eye on Charlie too, make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble.”
“I am sitting right here, you know,” Charlie says around a massive mouthful of arroz con mole.
Eden and Charlie devolve into bickering about whether Charlie needs a babysitter in New York that leaves Eden looking annoyed and Charlie delighted.
As they continue to argue, Andrew tries to smile, even as he feels slightly out of place.
Staring down at his food, he takes a tortilla, rolling it up and dipping it into his steaming bowl of albondigas.
Chewing slowly, he tries to force away thoughts of Nicki and their agreement.
Tries not to think about all his unread texts and how he’d stupidly let himself open up to Nicki.
He tries not to think about being replaced.
He tries not to think at all. Tries and fails.
Maybe Andrew’s destined to be what other people need forever.
* * *
Doing his best to keep his expression neutral, Andrew takes several deep breaths in and out as his boss wraps up his speech, finally.
This meeting lasted far too long. It was also, for reasons that make no sense to Andrew, scheduled ten minutes before their lunch break.
To the surprise of no one, it’d gone so far over that it’s now an hour past Andrew’s normal lunch time, something his brain and body are equally unhappy about considering how unimportant and pointless the entire meeting was.
Everything his boss rambled about from end of the month statements to upcoming quarterly projections are things that could have been succinctly and timely explained in an email.
Nothing upsets Andrew more than things that don’t make any sense.
In general, Andrew doesn’t dislike meetings, especially when the information is pertinent to doing his job efficiently.
What he does hate are things that waste time or being given info that is unclear, and today’s meeting was a massive waste of time.
The amount of information he was given in an hour could’ve been condensed into a succinct three line e-mail.
“Well, that was fun,” Mark utters in a stage whisper, falling into step beside Andrew as he makes his way out of the meeting room.
The rest of their coworkers are already five steps ahead of them, scurrying back to their cubicles, a prospect Andrew is not looking forward to.
“Fun is not the word I would use,” Andrew tactfully replies.
Andrew likes Mark well enough. Usually. As one of the other financial analysts in Andrew’s department, they spend a fair bit of time together.
He’s competent, never microwaves smelly food in the break room, and he doesn’t pester Andrew with inane small talk like some of his other coworkers who try to talk more than they work.
“Judging by the face you’re making, you’d like to use a much more colorful word,” Mark laughs, resting a hand on Andrew’s shoulder.
“I would never at work,” Andrew replies, resisting the urge to shrug Mark’s hand away.
It’s not Mark’s fault that Andrew doesn’t really enjoy being touched by him.
He’s nice enough, but Andrew’s brain has never managed to slot him into the people allowed to touch category even though they are, by all intents and purposes, work friends.
Recently, Mark has gotten touchier which Andrew attributes to their increased working hours and occasional shared lunches in the break room.
Thinking about the break room makes Andrew think about food.
He was so anxious about the meeting today, he could barely eat his breakfast. He’s absolutely starving and suddenly wishing he’d brought something besides a sandwich for lunch.
He doesn’t want a sandwich. He wants some of that sushi he had when he went out to eat with Nicki.
Nicki who hasn’t returned any of Andrew’s phone calls or texts. Nicki who—
“Earth to Andrew,” Mark interrupts, once again squeezing his shoulder.
“Hmmm?”
“I asked if you wanted to go get dinner after work tonight.”
“Is the team getting together tonight?” Andrew asks, certain he would’ve remembered if there’d been some sort of team bonding thing planned. He doesn’t really enjoy socializing outside of work hours with his coworkers, but he tries to participate when invited to avoid being rude.
“Uh, no.” Mark’s expression falters. “I was thinking you and I could go together.”
“Did we need to go over something for work?” Andrew questions.
“No,” Mark laughs. “Just two friends getting burgers.”
“I don’t like burgers,” Andrew reminds him. He’s definitely told Mark this, but a lot of times during lunch Mark talks more than he listens.