“Clay!” a voice calls out, nearly bellowing across the street. I turn and see Harry, the director of the local theater, dressed in a very similar bodysuit situation, although his petals are purple and glittery. “Twins!” he calls as he hurries across the street to join me.
I look down at myself with a sigh. “Yup.”
Harry joins me and plucks at the front of my work shirt. “But with your special butch touch. Very nice!”
I swallow, continuing to die inside while we walk side by side in our body suits. “How are you doing, Harry?” I ask.
“I’m lovely, thank you for asking! And very happy to celebrate our Nicholas.” He hums under his breath. “Young romance! You do seem to be keeping him happy, if you don’t mind me saying.” Before I can add anything, he continues talking. “I remember when I was thirty. Nearly twenty years ago! Of course, fifty now is like thirty was in the early 2000s. Or at least that’s what my esthetician says!” He gestures to the side. “And here we are at the Menagerie! Have you been yet?” Before I can answer, Harry laughs and pulls the door open for me. “Of course not! Nicholas isn’t the type for public sex, now is he?”
What in the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Uh, no,” I manage and walk through the door. The club is dark and there’s some kind of techno music playing, but Harry hurries us straight to the back, where light shines through the rear door.
When we emerge out back, it takes a second for my eyes to adjust. As they do, my stomach sinks.
There must be nearly a hundred people in the spacious back garden, dressed in fashionable floral dresses, sharp and colorful suits with flowers pinned to their lapels, and floral rompers. I even see some Hawaiian shirts, some people who have made hats and laurels from fresh flowers, and a number of people with flowers painted on their faces.
But no one in a full-on flower costume but me and Harry.
“Everyone,” Harry calls out dramatically, “we have arrived!”
All eyes turn toward us, and it takes all my will to not spin on my heel and walk away.
“Harry! Clay!” Nicholas says, emerging from the crowd. He’s in a floral suit, and he’s got flowers in his hair, pinned to his jacket, and painted with makeup across his eyes.
Fucking gorgeous. And not one little bit ridiculous, like my getup.
After greeting Harry, Nicholas turns to me with a surprised smile and pulls me into a hug. “Oh my gosh, you found a flower costume! Thank you, Clay!”
“I thought that was the instruction,” I grumble, hugging him back lightly but not sure how to do this in public.
Nicholas reads my face and quickly gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. I should have been clearer on what I meant by conceptual.I’m sure you hate this.” He squeezes my arms as he looks at me. “I think you look amazing, but—” I start to groan, but he continues, “—would you be more comfortable if I found you something else to wear? Or at least a beer?”
My face feels hot. I feel like I’m screwing everything up. I feel like I’ve tried so hard to do this right and treat Nicholas right, and now I’m here in a humiliating costume as one final reminder that this isn’t real. I don’t belong.
“I won’t stay long,” I answer. “But a beer might help.” I swallow and do my best to force a smile. “And, uh, happy birthday, Nicky.”
But inside, I understand that it’s time.
I’ve given him everything I can, and now I need to leave.
