Not anymore, though. What hurt the most was, he’d never know exactly when he’d lost Todd’s love. What the tipping point had been. Which new wrinkle or new pound or new ache or new nose hair had soured things between them.
Fuck, he didn’t want to think about this anymore. He was sotiredof thinking. So tired in general.
“I’m going to bed,” Ramin announced, trying to stand but falling back against the couch. “Oops.”
“I got him.” Arya tucked an arm under his shoulder.
“You do,” Ramin said. “I’m glad you’re my friend. I’m glad all of you are my friends.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Arya led Ramin upstairs—had the staircase always been this wobbly?—and maneuvered him toward the bathroom.
“At least brush your teeth,” he said. “I’ll—Shit, is that all Todd’s?”
Arya pointed toward the eighteen bottles of skincare on the right side of the sink.
Ramin nodded.
“Please tell me we can get rid of his shit. And that awful sectional. I think I broke my coccyx.”
Ramin swallowed back a sob. “We still have to work all that out.”
“Fuck Todd,” Arya said for the bajillionth time, though this time he just sounded resigned. “I’ll get you some more water. Brush your teeth.”
Ramin did, laughing when he spat and the water turned purple. He looked in the mirror. His eyes were puffy, nose red, tongue wine-stained no matter how much he scrubbed.
He was a mess. A boring mess.
Arya returned with the water. Ramin downed it, only spilling a little on himself. He handed the glass back and flopped onto his bed.
Arya sat next to him.
“You gonna sleep like that?”
Ramin tugged down his shirt where he felt a draft on his stomach.
“I’m fine.”
Arya didn’t move, though.
“Really. I’m okay. I don’t feel sick. Just sleepy.”
“Okay. Love you, dude.”
“Love you, too.”
Arya left the door cracked behind him. The ceiling spun a bit as Ramin stared up at it. Now that he was actually lying down, he didn’tfeel tired anymore; he felt hollow. Empty. Like his whole future had crumbled. And it had, hadn’t it?
He squeezed his eyes shut, but he was cried out. When he opened them again, the room took a moment to settle.
Ramin didn’t get drunk very often. He was thirty-eight now. Two glasses of wine was usually his limit. But the Barolo had been so good. Ramin loved Barolo. And Barbaresco. And Nebbiolo. And Chianti. And Brunello. And Amarone. And Pinot Nero. In fact, Italy was probably Ramin’s favorite wine country.
He’d always wanted to visit, but the time had never been right. He kept hoping work would send him there—SNK had an office in Milan, in fact. But he’d never gotten sent there, not even for short trips.
Ramin had planned to suggest it for their honeymoon. But that was never going to happen. Not anymore. Boring people didn’t get honeymoons.
Fuck Todd, Arya whispered in his ear. Not real Arya. The little Arya in a devil costume that lived over his shoulder sometimes.
