21. DANNY

The hum of the plane engines filled the cabin as I settled into my seat. We flew across Long Island from JFK, with New York far below me, Manhattan off in the distance.

As the city disappeared from view, a sense of happiness was in me, mingling with the bittersweet farewell. Leaving New York meant leaving my boys, if only for a while. But I saw there in my plane seat, wanting to go back. Whatever my reservations, I knew I wanted to go back to them.

I gazed out the window as the plane continued its ascent, white clouds drifted lazily by. I fell into my maze of thoughts, of Bruno's smile, Evan's laughter, the happiness in their home.

The events of the past few days played out in my mind like scenes from a movie – the laughter shared over breakfast, the quiet intimacy of late-night conversations, the trips we shared, the closeness.

But once I was up in the air, reality felt closer. Leaving New York meant returning to my old life, my real life – all those expectations and norms, a straight life, a heterosexual life, where dates with women on Tinder and beers with the guys were the norm, the corporate life, where it was not exactly bad or wrong to be gay, but outside big cities, where it might come at a cost. Would I be Danny, one of the guys, the bro-est of the bros, anymore if people knew I had a boyfriend in New York? Boyfriend: I was using that word…

I glanced down at my phone, the screen ablaze with notifications from colleagues and friends. Ever since they introduced Wi-Fi on planes, you couldn't get any break at all anymore. People were adding meetings to my diaries, sending me emails with red exclamation points, reminders of the world waiting for me when I got home. I was going straight to the office, straight into the storm of work.

But as I sifted through the messages, a sense of who Danny was evaded me. Which person was I, bro Danny, corporate Danny, Danny in the bars and restaurants and the gym, or the guy who had had more fun staying in night after night in a Lower East Side apartment than he had for years? Was that who I really was? Was that the life I wanted to lead? But if so, what about the life I had worked so hard for, I had invested so much in? The answer eluded me. As miles stretched out before me, I knew one thing for certain: the journey was far from over.

I scrolled through some pictures on my phone. The first picture was in a cozy diner on the Bowery, where we ordered burgers because we were hungry, even though Bruno said we would spoil dinner. He and Evan beamed at the camera, their faces illuminated by their smiles, Bruno's arm draped casually over Evan's shoulder, pulling him into the frame. I remembered the moment perfectly: the clatter of plates and the hum of conversation in the restaurant. Seeing the picture, I was taken back to the moment.

The second picture was taken in Battery Park, after our trip to the construction. Bruno and Evan had raced ahead toward the swings, their laughter echoing across the expanse of greenery that stretched out before us. The Statue of Liberty stood tall in the distance. In that moment, I had snapped them so carefree and happy, the worries of the world far away, Bruno and I sinking into Evan's childlike sense of wonder.

The third picture was of the building site itself – a massive sculpture of steel and concrete. Evan was perched on my shoulders, his eyes wide with excitement. Bruno had taken the photo. I had asked him to. In that moment, we were two architects together, doing our thing.

The last picture captured a moment of quiet intimacy – a snapshot of Bruno and me against the backdrop of the city skyline. I couldn't remember where we had taken it. He was nestling against me, and I was in the foreground; I must have taken it as a selfie. Bruno's laughter was obvious. He was grinning, and his eyes looked so happy, turned not to the camera but to me, absolutely drinking me in. I could see it then: the new love in his eyes.

As I lingered over each picture, happiness washed over me. Then, I tucked my phone away and closed my eyes. But I didn't stop thinking of them.

At the airport, I took a taxi straight to work. As I stepped into the familiar confines of the office, ringing phones and clicking keyboards greeted me. It was as if I had never left. People waved or called hello. My friend Andy, sitting a few desks away, didn't speak to me but just texted me: "You look so fancy and New York these days," which made me laugh.

No sooner had I settled into my desk than I was due at a meeting about the New York project. My boss, ever the embodiment of efficiency, went through the project management update, the strategic update, the client-relations update. Try as I might, I struggled to pay attention; my mind was still wandering.

As the meeting drew to a close, I went back to my desk and scrolled through what looked like about a thousand unread emails. It was then that I felt a familiar presence at my side – Scotty, my best pal at work.

"Hey, Danny boy! Back from the Big Apple, huh?" Scotty's voice was laced with friendly irony.

"Yeah, just got back," I replied, giving a weary smile.

Scotty leaned in. He had a salacious look in his eye.

"Tell me everything! I wanna hear about all the crazy adventures you got up to in the city that never sleeps."

I chuckled, trying to dodge specific answers.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Lots of meetings, sightseeing, that sort of thing."

Scotty arched an unconvinced eyebrow.

"Come on, Danny, spill the beans! I wanna hear about the hot girls, the hot parties, the hot dates!" He whispered, "Did you bang anyone?"

I hesitated. What was I going to say? Yeah, this cute blond number, amazing body, beautiful eyes. But got a kid, you see?

"Well, there were a few interesting moments," I hinted and regretted doing so.

Scotty's eyes lit up. "Spill it, Danny! I wanna hear every single detail."

I laughed.

"Nothing to know, not really. Just caught up with some old friends and worked."

Scotty looked crestfallen.

"Aw, that's disappointing."

I shrugged goofily.

"Sorry, pal."

I got pulled into another meeting. I found myself drowning in a haze of presentations and projections, and I was just thinking mainly about Bruno and Evan.

But gradually, I realized a couple of times people mentioned changes to the New York project. Andy's troubled expression caught me off guard as he looked at me. After that meeting, I asked him what was going on.

"Haven't they told you?" he asked.

Before I could respond, our boss materialized out of thin air, his presence very heavily upon us.

"Danny, do you have a moment?" His voice was calm, almost disarmingly so, but there was a tension to his tone, too.

"Sure," I said, and he walked off. I followed him into his office. He motioned for me to take a seat.

"This will only take a few minutes," he assured me, but the fact the news was only going to take so long offered little comfort.

"Is everything okay?" I asked as I sat down. He did the same.

Without preamble, he delivered the news – a blow so unexpected, so devastating, that I struggled to comprehend its implications.

"We don't need you in New York anymore," he began.

It took me a second to register what he had said.

"What, sir? Why?"

"We're not sure that it's necessary."

At once, I understood what that meant: I wouldn't be going to that little apartment on the Lower East Side every week or two. I would be here, stuck here, and not in New York.

"Not necessary? I don't understand."

He went on to explain the rationale behind the decision – the project was not as time-intensive as initially anticipated, and my presence in the office here was sorely missed.

"On balance, you can do whatever you need to on Zoom," he said.

I felt sick.

"When is my last trip out there?" I managed to ask.

He shrugged, nonchalant.

"Oh, you won't go back. You'll be here from now on." Smiling curtly, he nodded, which meant the meeting was over. I sat there, stunned, as the implications sank in. "Put in your last claim for any expenses," he added as an afterthought, and then I realized not only was I not going back, but Bruno wouldn't be getting the money I promised, either. Until his publishing deal came through, that meant he was very vulnerable financially, especially with Kelly not coming back and giving him as good as nothing towards Evan's care.

"Is there nothing I can say to alter the decision? I think that me being there—"

My boss sighed.

"Look, Danny, I like you. I value you as an employee; you're a great architect. I totally believed in appointing you, but honestly, the word in New York was that you seemed pretty distracted. You left the office early a few times." He shrugged. "Some people find big cities too distracting or too intimidating. Maybe you're one of them. But either way, you're better off here." He was looking at me very hard, then cleared his throat. "Okay," he said finally. "We're good now." He kept looking at me. "Aren't we?"

"Yeah," I gasped. "Yeah, we're good. Thanks."

Staggering out into the corridor, I pulled up my phone, pulled up the pictures at which I had been looking on the flight. There they were – Bruno and Evan, frozen in time, their smiles so pure, so joyful.

It was all so unfair, so devastating. And as I stood there, I couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness – a helpless despair of the like I hadn't felt since I was that unloved kid who was determined never to be at the whim of anyone else again. Yet here I was, precisely that.

Just then, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket. The notification read:

brUNO

I clicked on the message:

AGENT JUST ASKED ME TO CALL HER

SAYS SHE HAS NEWS

WISH ME LUCK

I stared at the words, willing myself to the right response. But as I typed out my reply, I only felt awful.

"Good luck, Bruno. You've got this," I typed. And as I hit Send, I realized that just at his moment of victory, I was going to break this guy's heart.