Sawyer put his arm around me, and I leaned into him as I always did. Our friends’ faces still softened every time they saw the affection between the two of us. For a very long time, I’d assumed I was the outsider, the guy they felt sorry for. The one they accepted because I was funny or famous or willing to come in and sponsor this community project or that. But no. Seeinghow happy they were for me, I understood how loved I really was.
Just as gratifying was witnessing how much they loved Sawyer. He had once admitted to me that he also felt like an outsider. He was always the quietest one in the group, and when he spoke up, it was usually to voice a concern. My calling him Agnes had made him even more self-conscious about that. I apologized to him—repeatedly—with my ass, but more importantly, I made sure that he understood how much I appreciated him every day.
Even now, it felt weird to say those words. I was used to thinking of myself as the good-time guy. The wild friend. Loyal, but from a distance. Not built for settling down.
Now I understood the pull of a true home. It was a soft sort of magic, one you had to shut up and listen for, but it was real. I’d always love being in front of a crowd. It was in my bones. But I no longer had to be a fake version of myself in front of the crowd. And that crowd no longer had to fill a stadium. I had a regular spot on the calendar at Gruene Hall, along with a few other places in the Austin and San Antonio areas, and that kept me grounded.
I had another world tour set for next year, but it was going to be so different. It would, of course, include my punk hits, but I’d no longer be meeting up with random strangers in every port. No, my boyfriend would be taking a leave of absence to travel with me. It wouldn’t be the same as being fucked by a guy while going down on a girl, but I wouldn’t trade it if you paid me.
Sawyer kissed the top of my head, waking me from my reverie. “Ren has a gift for you,” he said softly.
No one person had filled the space that Mr. Paige left behind. All of us, it seemed, had stepped in to take over different pieces of the support that he had provided. Ren continued to heal, and as he did, he became more and more involved in the Syrup project. Even better, he’d become the guy we could all go to for questions and advice.
Sawyer kept his mouth shut about certain things, but I’d picked up on the fact that something had gone on between Ren and Major. It was over now, and I thought Major was still a little sensitive about it, but Ren was forever part of our group.
“You didn’t need to bring me anything, Ren. I’m just glad you’re here.”
He shrugged his trim shoulders. “Well, if you put together all of the time you spent in the cabin, we’ve reached a year. And my husband made a promise to you.”
I frowned, puzzled, as Ren pulled out a large rectangle covered in butcher paper. And then I figured it out. “This is my mom’s picture,” I breathed, and he nodded.
I’d somehow forgotten that Mr. Paige had promised me the portrait I’d tried to render of my mom in wood if I took the time I needed for myself.
I remembered being self-conscious when I made it, back in high school. It hadn’t even been an original idea—I was copying a local artist in town who did that kind of work every day. I’d originally created it as a Christmas gift, but after what my mom had done for me, I’d wanted to give her something nicer than the comparatively crude artwork. I went with a gold necklace instead.
Which meant tonight would be the first time she saw it.
I turned and sat the awkward package in front of her. “I made this a long time ago for Christmas, but I decided it wasn’t good enough. Still, if you like it, you’re welcome to it.”
She kissed my cheek, then carefully peeled back the paper. I was surprised by her immediate tears.
“Son,” my father said, his voice cracking, “you made this back in high school?”
Ren nodded. “Robert was so proud of his work, but Hendrix was not in the right place to accept the praise.”
My mother snorted. “It wasn’t good enough? Look at the artistry. Where did you get all these different types of wood?”
“Mr. Paige helped me find them. But it doesn’t really look like you.”
“It’s not meant to look exactly like me. You were copying Mr. Rainier’s style, right?”
I nodded. “Not very well.”
“You’re wrong. His portraits never look exactly like their subjects. They capture their essence. That’s what makes them so beautiful.”
“You definitely captured your mother’s spirit in this,” Dad said, reaching out to touch the wood. “I love all of your songs. But this? Is my favorite piece of your art,” he said pulling me in for a hug. The three of us shed tears that were probably long overdue.
I looked up, and all of my friends were blubbering, too. “We are a mess,” I said as my parents released me.
“Yeah, but only you aremymess,” Sawyer said, pulling me into his arms.
We held each other a little longer than was appropriate for a dinner party, but our friends and families didn’t seem to mind.
Sawyer took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Honestly, if we’re all going to be weepy, I might as well do this now.”
A gasp went around the room as he knelt before me.
“Are you serious?” I asked, bringing my hands to my cheeks.
