Oh shit. I’ve gone mushy. I’m mushier than cooked butternut squash seasoned with thyme.
Fuck. And I’m thinking in fall metaphors.
Patrick had taken over his brain.
He didn’t want to lose Patrick as a friend, as a presence in his life. So he had to reel it in.
* * *
“A toastto Spencer and his fully functioning foot.” Ryan raised his beer in the air.
“To feet!” Another partygoer yelled out.
The other guys and gals in Spencer’s apartment yelled out cheers and air clinked their drinks with Spencer.
He snorted a laugh from the couch. For extra effect, he wore flip-flops and shorts to show off how pale his right ankle was after three months away from daylight. It was like some creepy before-and-after.
Spencer relished having a packed apartment full of friends he had barely seen these past few months. It proved hard to go out to bars with crutches. They caught each other up on work and groused about the status of the Cubs and Bears. It all felt strangely adult and reminded him of conversations his parents had with their friends.
But there was one person missing from the fray. Spencer had texted Patrick an invite, and Patrick said he would be there. An hour into the party, and no sign of him. Spencer was tempted to go across the hall and knock on his door, but he was afraid he’d find Patrick hanging out with no intention of coming over. He might’ve been surrounded by friends, but without Patrick here, he felt a sting of loneliness.
Ryan squeezed through the partygoers to join Spencer on the couch just as he was getting up.
“I’m going to get another beer,” Spencer said, holding up his empty bottle.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“Nah, man. I’ve waited three months to do stuff on my own.” He clapped Ryan on the shoulder and ventured into the kitchen.
Spencer weaved through people, appreciating the dexterity he now had with both feet working. He pulled open the fridge, which was overflowing with craft beer and La Croix. In the back of the fridge was a carton of apple cider he’d gotten from the farm in Wisconsin. He thought about Patrick’s face turning when he tasted it. He loved fall, he loved apples, he loved warm beverages, but he hated apple cider. It was an anti-venn diagram.
“Are you hot?” Ryan asked behind him. “We can open a window.”
Spencer took a beer and shut the fridge. “I’m good. Just deciding on what to drink.”
“It’s not too late to sign up for flag football,” Ryan said. “The season only started last week.”
In addition to volleyball, Chicago also had a gay flag football league. They had a gay league for nearly any sport, including badminton. Spencer had considered joining it for a hot second since he liked tennis, but he couldn’t play a game where he’d have to say shuttlecock with a straight face.
“I’ll think about it. I’m in physical therapy this month, so I don’t know if I should be risking playing football.”
“It’s flag football.”
“I know some of the guys in that league. They don’t play like it’s flag football.” Spencer walked back to the living room in hopes of getting others to follow. Like most gatherings, people seemed to find themselves squished in the kitchen closest to the alcohol. He needed cooler air by the living room, which benefited most from the apartment’s cross breeze.
He looked to the front door. No sign of Patrick.
Spencer supposed he didn’t have to show up. He lived across the hall and could celebrate the cast removal whenever he wanted. But the more Spencer thought about it, the more he wanted Patrick here to celebrate with him. It was odd celebrating without Patrick, a big gaping hole in the festivities.
“What’s this?” Marnie, one of Spencer’s friends who didn’t know he had hooked up with her gay best friend once upon a time, picked up a deep burnt orange unlit candle on the window sill. “Spencer, I didn’t know you were into candles.”
Falling Leaves.
The candle Patrick gave him. He held it up to his nose; vivid memories of their time at Yankee Candle flooded his mind. Where was Patrick? Spencer felt a thrasher plow over his heart.
“It smelled nice.” He shrugged, remembering Patrick doing an analytical deep dive on the floor of Yankee Candle.
“Did your neighbor give this to you?” Ryan came over and plopped on the couch.
