25. DANNY

As the weeks slipped by, some kind of normality took over. Work consumed my days, bookended by gym sessions and occasional outings with friends. The bustling streets of the Lower East Side, once a second home to me, became less familiar. Why had I grown so attached to this gritty, chaotic corner of Manhattan? I had always felt so ambivalent about New York, not wanting to go there. I had never been one for relationships, not particularly bothered about having kids. This was what I told myself.

And the truth? Oh, I thought about Bruno about 70 percent of my waking life and 100 percent of my sleeping life. A dull ache pervaded my body; a constant emptiness and endless questions plagued my mind.

I had spent my entire life striving for what I had, clawing my way out of my difficult childhood, working hard, super focused, until I didn't need athletic scholarships, even if I qualified. I had universities competing to have me on their programs. I had been so determined to carve out a future defined by success and prosperity. And here I was: an already dazzling career before I was thirty. So why did it feel like a prison? The weight of my expectations of myself bore down on me. I had so worked tirelessly that I had never stopped to ask if it was what I really wanted.

During one of our routine whole-team meetings at work, I found myself seated across from my boss, Mr. Reynolds, and Scotty. As the discussion wound down and the meeting drew to a close, I asked my boss, "Mr. Reynolds, do you mind if I have a quick word?" I asked.

He nodded, gesturing for me to follow him. "Of course."

"Thanks."

We walked along the corridor and then into his office, and he gestured again for me to shut the door. He took a seat, facing me across his desk.

"Danny. What's on your mind?"

I hesitated for a moment but then just decided to say it.

"I wanted to ask how you feel about how the New York project is progressing, especially with me being off-site for the majority of the time."

Mr. Reynolds leaned back in his chair, considering my question carefully before responding.

"Honestly, Danny, I think things are going quite smoothly. We've managed to stay on track. You seem to work better here, to be frank."

I nodded.

"I appreciate that, sir. But I can't help but wonder if my absence has had any impact on the team's dynamics or the client's engagement."

He gave me a hard look, then sighed, his gaze falling to the papers on his desk. "Danny, you're a valued member of this team. Your contributions, even from a distance, have been instrumental to our success. Trust me, I am very happy you work here."

"But?" I asked.

He smiled a rather tense smile, though.

"Nothing, Danny. There is no ‘but.' I like you, and I like you working here, not in New York. And I don't even think New York needs you."

"Oh, New York needs me," I said, much too quickly. I came across like I was being smart.

I could see the frustration on his face. That wasn't good. Mr. Reynolds glanced up from his desk.

"Is there anything else, Danny?" he asked, as if the conversation had already concluded.

"Is it possible…" I began, my voice trailing off as I hesitated.

Mr. Reynolds arched an eyebrow.

"Is it possible for what, Danny?"

I swallowed hard.

"Is it possible for me to relocate to the New York office?" I asked. "Permanently, I mean."

The silence that followed was deafening. Mr. Reynolds regarded me with a cold horror, as if the question itself – that I wanted to leave his office for another – was rejection of him.

"What? Why?"

I struggled to find the right words, and I didn't want to alienate him.

"I just want to transfer there," I said. "Personal reasons. I have personal reasons."

Huh, he went.

"Some girl?"

I shook my head.

"Not a girl."

"Then what?"

"I just want to move to New York," I said, not wanting to be drawn.

The shift in my boss's attitude was swift and decisive.

"Then you'll have to leave, Danny, and find a company in New York that wants to employ you," he stated matter-of-factly. "This company wants to employ you here."

I realized there was no more road to run on the subject.

"Okay," I replied.

Mr. Reynolds nodded.

"No harm in asking, Danny. No offense taken. You have a good rest of the day."

I nodded to him and felt only despair.

"You too, sir. You too."

After that torturous day at work, I returned to the solitude of my apartment. I had always liked its space, its size, but now it felt so huge and lonely compared to that busy, cramped, messy place in Manhattan. And the silence and emptiness of the place had started to feel crushing.

With a heavy heart, I reached for my phone. I had downloaded Tinder a week before, in a mad sense that I had to move on, but I hadn't even logged in. I entered my login details and was greeted by a cascade of messages from various women, all from weeks before, when I was last active.

I scrolled through an array of faces, each one with its own possibility of a future. My friend Andy once said that if you had been on ten dates in your life, you had already met a person you could quite happily spend the rest of your life with. There was a whole host of women here messaging me: which one of these was my future wife? None of them were. I didn't want to go on dates. I didn't want that at all.

I closed the app and sat on my couch, staring out into space. In the silence that followed, I grappled with what I did want, what I had really wanted all along.

In that moment, I couldn't help but wonder if true companionship – if true love – would forever elude me. But I had had someone with whom I felt something real. And he wasn't on Tinder.

I found myself sinking into my couch, my weight falling back against it. In the dim light of the apartment, I reached for my phone. I didn't know why, but almost impulsively, I decided to Google Bruno's name just to see what would come up. My fingers danced across the screen.

brUNO BURGESS WRITER

Then, I corrected myself:

brUNO BURGESS A PLACE TO STAY

To my surprise, a number of results came up. I clicked on a Breaking News article from Publishers Weekly, from sometime a week or so before:

DEBUT AUTHOR brUNO BURGESS STRIKES GOLD WITH "A PLACE TO STAY"

New author Bruno Burgess has made an unforgettable entrance with his forthcoming novel, A Place to Stay, which is touted as one of the biggest upcoming novels in the US book market. Represented by Cheryl Chang Literary Agency in New York, Burgess's debut has garnered attention from publishers worldwide, culminating in a groundbreaking deal with Transworld Publishers believed to be worth about half a million dollars.

A Place to Stay promises to be a literary revelation, offering readers a poignant and resonant exploration of modern love from a queer perspective but with universal appeal. Burgess's narrative is described by Transworld as "a masterful dissection of relationships, offering readers a glimpse into the complexities of human connection and the universal quest for belonging."

The novel follows the journey of a young man whose relationship is unraveling. Against the tumult of his personal life, he discovers the promise of a new beginning in the arms of another. Set against the backdrop of contemporary life, Burgess's prose is both intimate and expansive, weaving a tapestry of emotions that resonates with readers of all backgrounds. Cheryl Chang describes A Place to Stay as "quite brilliant," praising Burgess's ability and heralding the arrival of "an astonishing new voice in the world of fiction."

A Place to Stay is slated for release by Transworld next year.

I stared at the words, reading them twice. I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride and genuine happiness for him, but also a sense of grief. We were the new love that was supposed to follow the end of a relationship. It was my arrival that had given him that idea.

With trembling fingers, I composed a message.

I ONLY JUST SAW ABOUT YOUR BOOK DEAL. IT'S AMAZING

I KNOW YOU MIGHT NOT WANT TO SPEAK TO ME

BUT I HAD TO TELL YOU HOW PLEASED I AM FOR YOU

He came online. His response was short and stark.

THANKS

I let my head fall back against my couch. He obviously didn't want to talk to me. I couldn't help but feel a crushing regret.