3. DANNY

Iheld Nicole's phone to my ear a moment longer, though Bruno had ended the call. His voice was like a whisper of the past. I didn't know why I felt that; we hardly knew each other at school. Maybe he barely remembered me at all. Maybe that was why his voice had sounded rather cool. He was thinking, "Who the hell was Danny West?" Or maybe: I am some hipster writer who lives in New York. "I don't need to be nice to that jock anymore."

Looking at Nicole, I smiled and then handed her phone back to her.

"He seems like a good guy," I offered. "Thanks."

She gave me a strange look.

"You two have a lot to catch up on." Then, she paused. "You do remember each other, right?"

I nodded.

"Of course. Or at least I remember him."

She said she would give me his phone number, and staring at her screen, she recited it out as I picked up my phone. I pressed NEW CONTACT and typed in the number. brUNO BURGESS appeared instantly. My phone knew who he was, at least.

But the truth was I knew no one else in New York. I had no other friends in the city. If nothing else, there was someone I could meet for a beer now and then, fill the empty nights when I had to be there. Especially if this job turned out to be a permanent move, as was vaguely suggested, I'd need to have a bud or two to hang out with.

Nicole rose from her seat, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Well, Danny, looks like you and Bruno are going to hook up in New York!" Her choice of words struck me as odd, and I gave her a funny look, to which she didn't react. Nicole was a cool customer. You never knew what she really meant, and she knew that, and liked it.

"Yeah, we'll see how it goes," I replied, unsure of what to make of the comment.

As Nicole bid farewell, two male colleagues, Jake and Mike, came over to my table. Jake, with his sandy-blond hair and easy grin, exuded an air of laid-back confidence. Mike, on the other hand, was more reserved, dark, and thoughtful.

"So, Danny, heard you're headed to the Big Apple," Jake said.

"Yeah, seems like it," I replied. "Guess I'll have to start practicing my New York accent." I said it like a minor character in The Godfather.

The three of us shared a laugh before our conversation was interrupted by Whitney's return.

"Hey, Danny," Whitney purred, her voice dripping with playful charm. "Mind if I join you for a moment?"

Before I could respond, Jake and Mike exchanged knowing glances. Jake clapped me on the shoulder.

"We'll leave you two lovebirds to it," he quipped, prompting laughter from Mike.

As my colleagues drew away, I found myself trapped in Whitney's flirtatious stare. She started to talk, but suddenly, I realized I didn't want to talk to her. What I wanted was to go home. I had had enough of the evening, I wanted to be on my own.

With a forced smile, I made my excuses to leave, saying I had an early start. People from the office looked at me weirdly – Whitney, yes, but Scotty, Jake, Mike. Only Nicole just shrugged and waved goodbye to me without any edge.

The night air hung heavy as I made my way home, a strange feeling. Despite the beers I had drunk, a peculiar sense of horniness was in me, a sensation I couldn't quite place.

Once I got home, I fumbled with the keys to my apartment. Stepping inside, I was greeted by the comforting glow of the lamps I had left on, a soft, golden glow on the white walls, casting shadows around the open loft space, along the wooden floors.

The silence of the apartment enveloped me, a stark contrast to the noise and clamor of the bar. I thought of Bruno again and wondered how it would go being in his company again. With his quiet intensity and his boyish air, he had always been a mystery to me; he was something I was not. I always found that attractive, but that wasn't the deal between us, of course. Maybe the better word is compelling or intriguing. I always admired people who went their own way, because, no doubt, I have followed the path that has been carved out for me.

Despite the woozy haze of alcohol, that same strange sense of longing tugged at me. I slouched on my couch, my phone's glow on my face. I opened Tinder, my thumb hovering over the screen as I scrolled through my messages.

The first profile, Samantha, had a warm smile, her golden locks framing her face. I tapped on her profile. She said she was looking for a serious relationship with a tall, hardworking man. Her message appeared: "Hey! Your height and your handsome smile in your photos caught my eye. How are you?"

My lips curled into a faint smile. I hated that question from a stranger on an app: "How are you?" What is the right answer to that? "Great!" "Terrible, and I am making myself better by looking up strangers on Tinder!" Or even worse, there is: "What are you looking for?" Why don't you tell me what you are looking for? That question always felt like a trap, in which if you got the wrong answer – a one-night stand, lifelong love – they would smirk and block you. I swiped left, returning to the messages.

Next up was Emily, who had piercing blue eyes so intense it must have been some kind of filter. I clicked on her profile, studying her photos. Definitely filtered. But I liked girls who showed themselves for who they were. Her message popped up: "Hi there! How about we get to know each other better over coffee?" That seemed to come from the other extreme like they were halfway through a conversation already. ‘Better?' We didn't know each other at all.

My gaze lingered on Emily's photos because she did seem cute underneath the FaceTune blur. She added a second comment: "Love a joke, love a laugh!" I imagined the banter, the shared laughter at our hilarious jokes over those steaming cups of coffee. Or maybe it would be terrible silence after I cracked a gag and she replied, "I find that offensive!" and it turned out she had no sense of humor at all. God, it was hard meeting people on apps.

I scrolled through profiles. Rachel's picture leaped from the screen, her brunette locks framing a face which seemed to show an intelligent mischief. I tapped on her profile. Her message appeared: "Hey Danny!" She knew my name. "We spoke a long time ago. I moved to Chicago for a while. Do you remember me?"

I realized I did remember her. It had been a while ago, and we had never met. Now, I gazed at her photos, sometimes very Instagram-posed, sometimes genuinely goofy and off the cuff. She had a good energy. I started to type.

"Hey Rachel, nice to hear from you," I began, my thumbs tapping out the words. "How have you been?"

She came online. Over the next few minutes, a conversation developed. She said that she was great, had lived in Chicago for eighteen months and come back. She didn't ask what I was looking for. She told me straight out that she was looking to start dating, not for hookups.

"Do you want to meet?" she typed. I looked at the words, but before I could respond, she added, "How about we meet up tomorrow night? There's this hip bar downtown I've been dying to try. What do you say?"

"Great," I typed. "Do you want my number or keep it on here?"

We agreed to keep it on the app until we agreed we wanted to date, and she gave me the details of the place and the time. I closed the app and then looked at my contacts. There, I saw his name: brUNO BURGESS. I hit it and then chose WhatsApp.

HEY brUNO

DANNY HERE

NICOLE GAVE ME YOUR NUMBER. SORRY IF IT'S WEIRD TO RECONNECT AFTER ALL THIS TIME.

Almost immediately, Bruno was typing…

NO, IT'S COOL. WHAT'S UP?

WOULD YOU BE UP FOR A ZOOM CHAT QUICKLY TONIGHT JUST TO SAY HELLO PROPERLY?

AREN'T YOU STILL AT THE BAR WITH NICOLE?

NO I HEADED OFF AND CAME HOME. IT'S NOT TOO LATE NOW?

A pause, then typing…

NOPE, A ZOOM CHAT SOUNDS COOL. TONIGHT WORKS FOR ME.

ABOUT 20 MINUTES?

GREAT!

SEE YOU THEN!

I looked at what he had written, then typed:

AWESOME, SEE YOU SOON

Then, I added:

:)

But I immediately thought better of it, and I deleted it. He was online the whole time, so he must have seen that I was typing but changed my mind. I didn't want to seem too much of a dork.

I had twenty minutes to wait for the Zoom call with Bruno. Excitement tinged with a hint of nervousness coursed through me as I lay on my couch in my living room, the beer buzz fading slightly. I sent him a Zoom link from my phone, just my regular room.

I sat there waiting with the window open, telling me there were three minutes left, two minutes, one, and then suddenly in the virtual window, his face materialized. I couldn't help but feel a jolt of surprise at how Bruno looked. He was clearly older, but also, he looked the same. His features were sharp on my iPhone; his apartment must have been brightly lit. I looked at him for half a second, his blond hair, his big blue eyes, his wide, sincere smile. I mean, really, all these years, and the guy looked the same.

Then, I remembered to say something!

"Hey, Bruno! Long time, man," I said.

His grin broke wider, and he blinked, and his eyes had a shyness to them.

"Yeah, seriously, it's been ages."

"So, how's life in the Big Apple treating you?" I asked.

He paused a moment, but his answer was bright.

"I love it here, man, but it's expensive, you know? Work's been sparse lately, and I've been worrying about money."

"I hear you, buddy," I replied, but of course, money wasn't a problem for me. I was getting richer; going to New York was going to be part of what made me richer.

"Your sister said you were a writer, a journalist."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"That's amazing, man."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is it? Tell my bank that."

I could see that he really was worried about money.

"Whereabouts do you live?"

"The Lower East Side in Manhattan," he said.

I knew of its reputation, of course.

"Yikes," I joked, "is that safe?"

He laughed a little.

"You're more likely to die of artisanal muffin overload these days, man, rather than shooting or anything like that."

That made me smile.

"I guess so." The next question, I offered cautiously. "Are you living with someone, or married, or what?"

His eyes gazed into the screen, holding a thought just for a moment.

"I broke up with my ex quite a few years ago." He shrugged. "We have a son, who is here about half the time."

I hadn't realized he had a son. I was careful in asking my question because I didn't know if he would say he was gay. I mean, in high school, people – sometimes without good intentions – implied that he was. I couldn't have cared less, but it did surprise me that he was a father now. I mean, I wasn't.

"So he lives with his…mom half the time?"

"Yeah," he said.

"I see."

He was talking about his situation.

"Kelly…that's my ex…she's moving to London, so he is going to be full-time here for a while, which is amazing, but also…" He shrugged. "Do you know where you're going to stay when you're here, like, what neighborhood?"

I only knew New York a little bit and had been there for meetings through work, but I hardly knew which area would suit me.

"I just have to find a hotel."

"Expensive," he said.

"I'm being given $1,000 a week for all expenses in New York. Can you believe it?"

"You'll spend that on a hotel a week easily."

"But I am only there a few days every two weeks. Every two weeks, they are giving me a thousand…"

He looked so shocked, my voice trailed off.

"Wow, that's…that's something," he replied, amazed. "They're just giving you a thousand dollars a week?"

"Yeah, it's crazy, right? They're literally just throwing it at me and telling me to sort myself out, just claim the money."

"Amazing. Man, if they offered me that, I would pocket the cash and just sleep in a dumpster somewhere."

He laughed, and I did, too. There was a joyful light in his eyes and a mischief to his tone. I liked it. I had forgotten that he could be quite mischievous. "You know I have a spare bedroom, if you want to throw some cash my way."

He meant it entirely as a joke. He wasn't even vaguely hinting seriously. We both kept laughing, but then suddenly, the thought hit me. It seemed like an amazing idea. I was certain of it from the start.

"Hey, why don't I crash at your place?"

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Yeah! We could split the money, make it work," I said. "I would have somewhere regular to crash; we could hang out together a bit, and maybe I could even leave some stuff there. I could give you five hundred dollars a week, and I would be out of your hair five nights ‘cause I'm only there two days. Some weeks, I might come more, but even so…" The more I thought about it, the better the idea became. "What do you say, man?"

He seemed totally caught off guard.

"I don't know." His response was measured. "Um, Danny. That's…a big decision."

I mean, sure, but I wasn't suggesting I move in permanently.

"Is it that big of a decision?" I asked. "If it doesn't work, kick me out after two weeks. No offense either way. I really don't take offense at much, and if we're open about it from the start, that you're not sure, then there's no problem." We gazed at each other over the screens. "What do you say?"

His reservations were lingering in the air, a faint whisper fading to nothing.

"I guess it could work," he conceded cautiously.

Staring at the phone screen, I knew I was grinning.

"We'll have a blast," I said, and I laughed again. "Shit, man, we're going to be roommates."

"Part-time roommates," he corrected with more than a hint of amusement.

I grinned, but my excitement was undiminished.

"Sure," I said. "Part-time roommates."