Thirty-Seven Arya #2
But Farzan and Ramin were still looking at him, with all the love and weight of their three decades of friendship, and Arya cracked.
“Fine. It’s—”
Naturally, their server chose that very moment to return and ask after their drink orders.
“Can we get the biggest San Pellegrino you have?” Ramin asked. “And three limoncello spritzes, if you can make them?”
“Oh, sorry,” their server, a waifish femme with a blond ponytail and a full sleeve of tattoos on their right arm, said. “We’re out of limoncello right now. I can do Aperol?”
Ramin made a noise (and face) like he was gagging. “What about a Hugo?”
“We can do Hugo spritzes.”
“Perfect, thanks.”
Farzan sighed. “That was close.”
All three of them hated Aperol. Why ruin a good spritz with an apéritif that tasted like mouthwash?
Ramin turned back to Arya. “What were you gonna say?”
Arya rubbed his head and looked at his menu, not seeing any of the beautiful sauces on offer. “It just really sucks,” he finally huffed. “I miss him. And it… it hit me, when we were at the gailor’s. I thought he was gonna be my date to the wedding. And now…”
Arya shrugged and fiddled with his napkin. It was paper, but so thick it felt like cloth.
“I’m sorry,” Farzan said. He reached across the round table and rested his hand on Arya’s arm. “I know how much you liked him.”
Arya bit his lip and nodded.
“It sucks,” Ramin agreed, leaning back as their server returned with their San Pellegrino and poured it into Old-Fashioned glasses garnished with lime wedges. When they were alone again, he leaned forward. “I’m proud of you, though. It looks good on you.”
Arya scoffed. “What does? Heartbreak?”
“A heart,” Ramin said softly. “I mean, I know you have a heart. But seeing you open it up to someone. Be vulnerable. I’m proud of you for giving it a chance. Even if it didn’t end the way you wanted. I saw how happy you were with him.”
Arya had been happy. Happy in a way he didn’t know he could be.
Ramin sipped his spicy water and turned his gaze back on Arya.
“There’s no chance at all you’ll work it out?”
“I don’t think so,” Arya sighed. He wished there were. “I’m just not cut out for relationships. I don’t know how.”
“No one knows how. There is no ‘how.’ You just have to choose, every day, to be together,” Farzan said.
“And we all saw you,” Ramin said. “You did choose him. Over and over.”
Arya shook his head. Until he didn’t.
“You did,” Farzan said. “I’ve never seen you like that with anyone.”
“Like what?” Arya asked.
“Like you were in love,” he said simply.
Ramin gave a small smile and nodded.
Arya rubbed his head. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Ramin cocked his head.
“I mean, I don’t know! My—”
Arya realized their server was hovering, trying not to interrupt, but clearly desperate to take their orders.
“Oh, sorry. Uh… I’ll do the agnolotti del plin?” he said. Ramin got ravioli with a lemon Parmigiano sauce, and Farzan got tagliatelle Bolognese, and they ordered a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino from Ciacci Piccolomini d’Aragona to split.
While they waited, Farzan turned back to Arya. “Your… ?”
Arya pursed his lips. He hadn’t meant to go there. But…
“Ugh. Sometimes I think my parents just fucked me up.” How else could he explain resorting to his parents’ playbook, breaking up with Ben rather than trying to work through their fight?
“Ah,” Ramin said.
Farzan furrowed his brows, though. “Your parents? What about them? They’ve been happily married since forever.”
“Uhhhh…” Arya tried to come up with a good lie, but Ramin’s eyes met his with soft understanding.
When had Ramin figured it out? Arya never talked about his parents, always acted like they were fine, even when they were kids. But damn. Ramin had always been too perceptive.
Arya nodded at him.
“Dude,” Ramin said softly. “Both of them have lovers. I don’t think they were ever happy.”
Farzan blinked at them both. “Wait, seriously?” He dragged a hand through his curly hair. “Your parents were having affairs?”
Arya shrugged. “That makes it sound like it was a secret. They both know. I don’t even know why they’re still married.”
“How did I miss that? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Arya flushed. “I don’t know. Both of you had such perfect families. I felt weird.” He turned to Ramin. “How did you pick that up, anyway?”
“Your mom used to talk to my mom about her adventures,” Ramin muttered. “And none of our parents ever had a quiet phone call in their lives.”
“That’s true. When I was little, I thought you had to shout into the phone.” Farzan chuckled as their server came back and poured the wine.
Ramin tasted, closed his eyes in ecstasy, and nodded. Once they all had pours, they raised their glasses for a quick “Cheers, queers!”
Arya sighed.
“I don’t know if I know what being in love is. I never saw it from my parents. I never… never wanted it before. I didn’t think I was cut out for it.”
Ramin looked right at Arya.
“Arya Nazeri. You are the most lovable person I know. You’re smart, you’re hardworking, you’re kind, you’re selfless, you’re a demon on the kickball field, and you’re the fiercest, most loyal friend I’ve ever had.
I love you. Farzan loves you. Noah and Jake and David love you.
I know it’s not the same, but it’s love.
And I know you have room for more love—for a different kind—in your heart.
You’ve showed us all, every day, every time we saw you with Ben. You were glowing.”
Arya gripped his wineglass and tried not to cry. “That’s just because of my skincare,” he joked, but when he tried to laugh at himself, it came out as a sniffle.
“I don’t know if you can get him back,” Farzan said. “I don’t even know if you want him back. It sounds like you hurt each other. But, Arya, you’re one of my favorite people. Don’t ever think for a fucking moment you don’t deserve love. You deserve all the love in the world.”
Arya was crying now, properly. Damn it.
“Okay, homos,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, but it didn’t work.
Farzan and Ramin just smiled at each other and then back at him.
How did he get so lucky?
He had the best friends in the whole damn world.
“I love you guys,” he said.
Thankfully, he was saved from any more embarrassment by their pasta coming.
“Enough emotions,” he announced, reaching for his fork. “Let’s eat!”