Page 88 of The Invisible Roommate

They hadn’t talked about the what-happens-next, which was both intentional and not. On one hand, Gerard was busy rehearsing and laying down a track for the final song he’d release with We the Wells, which they planned to premiere part of at the Nomeys. On the other, he was still attempting to embrace spontaneity, letting the pieces fall where they may instead of forcing them to fit into some neurotypical, heteronormative mold.

But when Emory reached out to touch his arm, he closed his eyes and allowed himself space to fantasize about a long, simple life on Iping with Emory. The Hallowitz & Hart lyrics that started it all lilted softly through his mind.

“What are you humming?” Emory asked.

“I didn’t even realize I was humming.” He laughed at himself. “It’s one of Regina’s songs. The one that brought me to Iping. Have I seriously never played it for you?”

Before Emory even shook his head, Gerard was pulling up a streaming platform on his nearby laptop and searching Hallowitz & Hart. The song was wrong for the style of the room and the party vibe the team was cultivating in advance of the ceremony, but it was entirely right for the moment. For them.

As he’d wanted to do at the Halloween masquerade had threats not been looming, Gerard put his arms around Emory’s waist, his head on Emory’s shoulder, and led them in a private step touch to the plucky song about the place where they’d met.

Too much had happened in five weeks, and much more would happen that night, so Gerard soaked up a single moment of privacy. He removed his head from Emory’s shoulder as the song ended and kissed him in a way that was only meant to be chaste but turned quickly into a make out. God, how they’d missed each other.

In the background, “Island State of Mind” flowed into a new song.

“Halloween songs in November?” came Garret’s voice from the conjoining room a minute later. He entered wearing a variation of Gerard’s look in a complementary turquoise with his sleeves lopped off. “Whoa, get a room, you two.” He let out a brotherly, elbowing laugh. Turned out, when he wasn’t obsessing over their every move as a band, he could be a half-decent brother. At least a less bossy one.

“First of all, this is our room,” Gerard said, gesturing at his and Emory’s unpacked bags, the unmade bed. “Second of all, this isn’t…” He tuned his listening ears around the thudding of his happy heart, all that pumping blood. He recognized the new song that was playing instantly.

Gavin leaned around the doorframe, hair slicked and pulled up into a ponytail. “Damn, this song brings back memories for me.”

“Me, too,” Emory said in a soft voice. That’s when it clicked that “The Monster Ball” was the song that he’d said had been playing the night his mother left him. Gerard moved quickly to stop it. “No, no. Let it play.”

“Are you sure?” Gerard asked, anxious that the night had been prematurely ruined by a faulty algorithm in a streaming service that paid literal pennies to artists.

Emory smiled, and it didn’t appear pinched or forced. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“I don’t understand why this was even a suggested song.” As Gerard clicked, he came upon the songwriting credits. Serendipity pushed aside his confusion. “Hold up—look at this.”

Emory leaned in. He smelled of the expensive soap from the rainfall shower and a dab or two of designer cologne still underpinned by that aromatic banana. Gerard pointed to the names on the screen: R. Hallowitz, Q. Hart.

The universe had a funny way of getting you straight to the right place and the right people.

41Emory

Emory’s photosensitive eyes took a moment to get used to the rapid-fire pop of the flashbulbs. Shouts of “Over here!” disoriented him. Which way am I supposed to be looking?

Fussing over his appearance had been wasteful to him even before he became invisible, but now, a week after going back to being opaque, it was entirely foreign. The attention from the dedicated team that went at him with blotters and brushes had him feeling pampered yet still unprepared.

Most of his instincts roared for him to turn back to the comfort of the limo, which had sat interminably in line to pass the barricade that led to the lit-up Manhattan arena hosting the awards show. But the waiting was made better with Gerard at his side. The conversation volleyed between the Wells family. Aside from Mr. Wells, who wore all black and seemed to be mourning the inevitable death of We the Wells, everyone included Emory in the conversation, asking him questions and folding him into their inside jokes. By the time it was their turn to get out and walk the carpet—which wasn’t red, much to his disappointment—he hadn’t wanted to leave the warm bubble they’d created.

Outside, microphones were thrust in his direction. Publicist Randi directed him onward and out of the way of the true celebrities. Gerard, Garret, and Gavin created a triangle pose and pouted for the photographers. Months ago, Emory would’ve found this all silly and frivolous. In the moment, his inner Wellie bubbled up.

Once the brothers had finished taking group shots, the media asked for solo shots. Gerard, clearly having premeditated this, pulled Emory into the fray.

Above the shouts and the squeals of both excitement and despair came a single question. “Who is this man on your arm?”

At first, he assumed Gerard would ignore the question like their haughty publicist had told him to back at the hotel. When Gerard had introduced him as his boyfriend to Randi, she’d smiled on the outside, but in her eyes, there was practically flashing ticker tape that said, You’re the reason the band is breaking up.

Emory wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t. Gerard had made that very clear.

In a letter to fans posted to their social media accounts the previous night, We the Wells (via their highly editorial representatives) said:

To our Wellies:

What a ride it’s been! Over six years, three albums, countless concerts, a handful of music videos, and three Nomey nominations, we have loved sharing every single second with you.

When we began We the Wells, it was a project to buoy us through a dark time in our lives, and when we signed to Road Rock Records, we agreed to three albums. That’s how long we thought we needed to say everything we wanted to say as a band of brothers. Now, we’re ready to go back to being just brothers and chase new ventures.