Chapter 14
Bennett
“Doug! Long time!” said Bennett, opening his arms wide to his old friend.
“Hey,” said Doug, holding up a stopping hand, “gotta use the facilities. Be right back.”
“Okay, man, okay,” said Bennett.
Jenn had just come in the door too and was side-hugging Hellie, who looked miniature and faded next to solid healthy-as-a-horse
Jenn. Olivia, now in a breathtaking yellow slip dress with her dark hair twisted up, was hovering with a half smile, waiting
her turn for hugs. Bennett wondered what she and Phelps might have said to one another when he stepped out for the bags. Wondered
if his wife had told Phelps their secret was exposed. If so, Phelps had taken it in stride; he seemed utterly unfazed as he
wrapped Hellie in a hug and showered compliments on her and Jenn.
Doug came blustering back out of the bathroom, red in the face, and made a beeline for Bennett.
“Okay, bring it in, B. What’s up, man,” said Doug, grabbing one of Bennett’s hands in his and beating Bennett’s back with
the other. “What. Is. Up. My. Man.”
Phew—Doug didn’t smell good. His breath stank, sweat was ringing his armpits, and his hand in Bennett’s was clammy.
Still, Bennett felt warm seeing him. It was easy to reduce people to the updates you heard about their lives.
Easy to scoff at their drama from a distance.
Then you saw the real person, standing in front of you like Doug was now.
You felt the scratch of his nails as you clasped hands for the bro-style back-pounding, and you remembered that the big highlight reel of failures was made up of a million little decisions you could actually understand, if you took care, if you stopped to look.
“Hey, I’m sorry about the miscarriage this year,” Bennett said quietly as Doug finally released him. Bennett had texted, and
Olivia had sent flowers, just like they had for the first, but he never heard back.
“Yeah . . .” Doug’s eyes shot around the room. Bennett wasn’t sure if he didn’t want to talk about it, or was afraid who might
overhear. “Hey, we should get some music going, right?” He pulled out his phone. “It’s too fucking quiet in here! It’s a party!”
“How’s it been, moving back to The Region? How’s your grandma?” said Bennett, trying to recapture Doug’s attention and move
to safer conversational ground. “Oh, and I hear you have a fancy new job . . .”
Doug refocused on Bennett, lowered his phone, and did a little shoulder-roll dance, quick-stepping in place with his feet,
like he couldn’t contain all his energy.
“Good, good, everything’s good, man, can’t complain.” He smiled and shook his head, like he was in awe of his own good luck.
For a minute, Bennett was reminded of the old Doug who had first brought them all together for that very first New Year’s.
Who had designed the most awesome reimagining of Clue of all time. Who, at two in the morning in his mom’s kitchen, had made
them all link arms to do tequila shots. Who had made them all swear they’d always ring in the New Year together.
An oath that only lasted nine years, followed by a five-year gap. But even tonight, at their tenth party, Bennett had to acknowledge they were here because of Doug. The original stable center.
“Hey, I have news,” said Doug, stepping back a little from Bennett and repeating, “Some news, guys, some news,” as silence
fell and the group’s attention turned to him. Bennett snuck a glance at Hellie. She was pale, her hands clasped under her
chin, her eyes on Doug. Were they . . . pregnant?
“So, as you all know,” said Doug, “I’ve been working my ass off at EdgeTech Gutters . . . hah! Let me back up, let me tell
you—fear sells gutters.” He laughed. Allie, Phelps’s surprisingly young date, released an uncertain titter. “Like . . . no
one wants gutters, okay? They’re one of those annoying expenses. Like, your gutter gets an infestation, or breaks, and . . . fuck! Right?”
Bennett glanced down at his feet. So much for the stable center.
“Yeah, man,” said Phelps dryly, stepping toward Doug like he was going to break up the moment. But Doug held up a hand—the
one still holding his cell phone—and continued.
“They—they—” Doug spun his hands together, like he was trying to help himself cycle the words out “—they don’t sell themselves,
okay? I’m—I’m proud of what I do, alright? Gutters—people need them.” He licked his lips, his eyes flitting between them all.
Jenn laughed, a little too loud, and gripped Will’s shoulder.
Doug’s eyes shot up to her, then down, then he cleared his throat. “Anyway, uh . . . like I said, I’ve been working my ass
off . . . and I’m finally getting a little recognition. Today, my manager called me in, and . . . because of all these fucking
gutters I’ve sold, I got promoted!”
“Wow, congratulations!” Allie burst out, and it felt like the whole group of them exhaled in tandem—yes, at the good news,
but mostly at the fact that Doug was done talking.
“What’s the promotion?” said Jenn.
“Junior sales associate to sales associate,” said Doug.
There was one more awkward second of silence, during which Bennett realized two things. One, Doug was high. And two, Hellie
knew it.
Then Phelps shouted, “Well, this is cause to celebrate, people! All hail the Gutter Man!”
Everyone clapped. Phelps whistled, Will whooped, Olivia said, “That’s great, Doug! Congratulations!” and honestly, it felt
good for Bennett to let out a big woo-hoo of his own, because this was a party, and whether Doug’s good news was true or a
lie, whether he was high or sober, they were going to spend the next few hours together, and Bennett wanted it to go well
this year. For all of them to strengthen the bonds that had worn down recently. The older he got, the more he realized how
precious, how rare this kind of long-term friendship was.
Phelps cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “Next promotion, Emperor of the Wo-orld!” At this exact moment,
Doug’s phone exploded to life with House of Pain’s “Jump Around.” Phelps arched his back and howled at the ceiling. Doug did
too.
Bennett laughed at their antics, and suddenly all four of them, the OG Four, were moving as if drawn together by a magnetic
force, to the center of the foyer—Will and Phelps and Bennett closing in around Doug, now hollering the lyrics they’d made
their own dirty version of together over the years, Get it up, get it in, now for the win! I came to screw, and you know where I’ve been—now jumping to the rhythm of their chanting, their arms looping around each other’s shoulders, Doug like a wind-up toy in
the center, hair flying, jumping straight up and down like it was a mosh pit. Stylin’, flyin’, you get the gist, I got room on my list for your mom and your sis—
“Jump around!” shouted Bennett at the top of his lungs. There were no more thoughts in his head, there was no embarrassment,
nothing but the raw, pulsing immediacy of their old bond, strong and alive as ever. “Jump around! Roll up, get high, and go
down!”