“It’s fine.” I pull the thin blanket on my lap higher and burrow myself into the corner of my patio furniture. “Is there something you need?”
“I’m going to do my best to make this sound normal, but I got home and was settling in for the night and thought,I wonder what Avery is doing right now, and my brain just automatically inserted this image of you playing your guitar until midnight like you used to, and then I realized I have no idea what you do andI’m just hanging on to what you were like ten years ago.” The words spill out of him until he’s breathless. He gasps then asks, “So, what are you doing right now?”
“I am watching the sunset and will probably sit here for a few hours because my legs feel like Jell-o. I fell asleep out here last week and woke up in the middle of the night shivering.” As I speak, there’s a rustling on his end of the call and the swish of a door. “What are you doing?” I ask, but I think I already know.
“Watching the sunset with you.”
There’s a pause and neither of us hang up as it continues to stretch. The sun sends golden spears through the jagged teeth of the skyline and as streaks of vibrant blues and pinks stretch as far as I can see.
“Shit,” Wes says just when I’ve almost forgotten he’s there. “It’s gorgeous. Though I do miss the stars. That’s the worst bit about cities. The lights are down on earth in all the buildings instead of up in the sky.”
“Yeah, not like back home,” I say without thinking.
“Do you think you’ll ever be ready to see the stars there again?”
A few days ago, I would have said no. But right now, that's all I want. I don’t know what tipped the scale. The dive bar. The fact that Wes and I are just existing in space comfortably without feeling like we’ll cause a natural disaster. Either way, home has a nice ring to it.
“Yeah, at least one more time.”
“Just promise me when you are, you’ll let me be there with you.”
“I’d like that,” I say through a yawn.
“I can let you go to sleep, but would it be okay if I picked you up tomorrow? If you have a favorite place for breakfast, I can bring that by.” When I don’t respond, he says, “Avery, are you still there?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking that I don’t know if I have a favorite place or even favorite breakfast food. I just grab whatever and it works. So, if you have something you like, just bring that.” I’m happy he can’t see the way my face must be red from embarrassment as I answer.
The next morning, I’m waiting on my couch when his car pulls up. When I hop inside and buckle myself into the passenger seat, I’m greeted with a mouth-watering aroma. Resting on the partition between the front seats are two containers. One with a steaming breakfast sandwich and the other with a cinnamon roll.
“Please tell me you don’t eat like this every morning, or we’ll have to have a serious talk about your heart health.”
“First time trying these. But the restaurant came highly rated.”
“So, these aren’t your favorites?” I hedge tentatively.
He shrugs. “I asked for yours and we’re going to find them. We have two weeks left before the first show and every morning we can try something new. I’ve added this search to your list.”
“Ahh, because getting my spark back involves bacon now. I’m so glad you know that because I would have never figured it out on my own.”
“How else am I going to know what to get you after a bad day? It’s hardly economical to buy an entire menu.”
“You’re doing this for your wallet. I see how it is,” I say, instead of acknowledging the heat spreading through my limbs at the knowledge that Wes is making an effort to take care of me, not just now, but in the future too.
“I’m doing this because I want to relearn who you are, so I’m starting with the food that fuels you.” He plucks up thecinnamon roll and breaks it in half, offering me the larger section. “But I’m getting my share too.”
And for the next two weeks, I wake up and he’s there with a strawberry banana smoothie so thick I have to eat it with a spoon, or huevos rancheros that stay at the top of my list of favorites—an actual list Wes starts to make on his phone when he thinks I’m not looking. Once, I check to see where the restaurant for scallion pancakes is located and I find that the family-owned Chinese restaurant is an hour across town.
Each time his CR-V pulls into my driveway, there’s a voice in the back of my head that sayshe’s still showing up. He’s still here.
I never invite him in for breakfast, even though his car is cramped, and I continue to spill sauce on myself whenever I ram my elbow into the window. And he never asks to watch the sunset together after rehearsal. And for that I’m grateful, because as we talk, I don’t have to see his face likely pinches with hurt as we discuss the expanse of years between us, because I know mine does.
The first time I got to know Wesley Gaflin at twelve years old, I pretended I wasn’t scared of getting invested in someone only to have to leave them behind.
Now twenty years later, I’m not pretending. I’m scared because I know what it’s like to lose Wes and I don’t want to experience that ever again.
The weeks spin by, and we reach the night before our first show. During one of our breakfasts, Wes and I started to discuss throwing a party for everyone on the tour and ended up splitting the costs for the open bar on this hotel rooftop. A celebration,but also athank you for sticking around and not quitting when we were more preoccupied with being at each other’s throats than with being productiveparty.
I sit with my feet in the water of an unoccupied heated pool at the far end of the roof.
