“Sorry, my bad. I won’t do it again. But it’s true... you see where I’m going?”
“I think you’re saying that we probably would have gotten together sooner had the circumstances been different.”
“I am. While lying in your arms last night, I thought even more about it and concluded that had I been here alone and you didn’t call... I would have called you.”
Ralph’s eyes glazed over and, for a moment, Bo thought he was going to cry. Instead, he reached out, took Bo’s face in his hands again, and kissed him.
“I love you too, Bo.”
“You don’t have to say that, Ralph. Just because I—”
“That’s not why I’m saying it. You’re a sweet man. I don’t deserve you.”
“I think that might be the other way around. I will admit though, after last night, I willneverlook at one of your billboards the same again.”
“Good. That way you’ll always know what you’re coming home to.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I will.”
“But, Bo, did—” Ralph began, then rephrased. “Shirley knows nothing about this, right? Because you’re not the only one re-examining things here. I keep thinking, had it not been for her, I would never have called you.”
Bo shook his head. “No. She is intuitive, though... and genuine. I like Shirley. A lot.”
“Me too. That’s why I have a picture of her on my desk.”
Bo smiled.
“And you,” said Ralph. “Yes, you’re in that picture too, Bo—popping in last minute. My two favorite people.”
“Inevitable,” Bo whispered. “Does it feel that way to you too?”
Ralph nodded. “Yeah, it does—like things were shifted somehow, and now they’ve aligned.”
“Why do you think that happens?”
“Who knows?” Ralph said, speculating. “I guess it’s kinda like the weather, unpredictable. One day sunny, the next day snow. Nature’s way of freezing things for a reset. Eventually, the sun returns. Life goes on.”
“That’s a pretty poetic metaphor for a poli-sci major.”
“I thought an English major might appreciate it.”
“I do. First, you stimulate me physically, now this? What’s next?”
“Well,” Ralph said, standing to take their plate to the sink. “We should probably go borrow a shovel, dig ourselves out, and maybe head down to my place in Virginia, land of furniture.”
Bo scoffed. “Furniture is overrated. Besides, we have the perfect excuse not to go anywhere.”
He gestured to the bay window behind Ralph. It was snowing again, large, fluffy flakes falling so thick you could hardly see beyond the street. Not a soul had ventured out. The microcosm of the neighborhood was virginal, untouched—just a rolling suburban tundra of white.
“It is the weekend,” said Ralph.
“We still have Chinese.”
“And beer...”
“And a bed...”
“And a fireplace...”
