3. EDDIE

Chapter three

EDDIE

A s the late-afternoon sun began to cast long shadows across the living room of Megan's little house, I found myself saying goodbye to the last of the visitors who had come by. Each farewell was accompanied by the same hug or kiss that had greeted me.

"Thank you so much for coming, Sarah," I said to my cousin as she planted her lips, thick with lipstick, on my cheek. She was one of the last to leave.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Eddie. If there's anything I can do…"

I smiled at her reassuringly. In fact, Sarah and I were not at all close. "No offense, Sarah, but I am never going to ask you for anything," I didn't say.

"Just having you here is enough. Thank you again."

With a final nod, Sarah made her way toward the door, with a couple of others joining her. I closed the door behind the last guest. Taking a deep breath, I went out to see Jared, who had been in the kitchen.

I found him sitting at the table in the exact same position as earlier, but now his gaze was fixed on some distant point, lost in thought. His phone flashed messages and a video game, facing up on the table, but he didn't look at its screen once.

I approached him and laid my hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Jared. How are you holding up?"

He looked up at me, his expression a little guarded. He shrugged his shoulders as if a cue for me to withdraw my hand, which I did.

"I'm okay, I guess."

I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him, studying his face. His eyes were wide and empty. I felt a pang of sadness for him.

"It's okay not to be okay, you know. Losing your mom, it's… a lot to handle."

Jared nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the table as if unable to meet my eyes. He started looking at his phone screen again. Maybe that was easier; it helped him avoid feeling any real emotion.

"I know we haven't spent much time together, but I want you to know that I'm here for you," I said. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

Jared glanced up at me then, very briefly, then back at his phone. He said nothing for a moment.

"Okay," he said in a neutral voice.

Silence resumed, and we sat together in the kitchen. I realized how much Jared needed someone now, and it seemed that that someone was me. As his guardian and his uncle, I knew that it was my responsibility to be there for him, but the enormousness of the change in my life felt overwhelming. I was going to be looking after a child – a teenager – it was entirely overwhelming.

"You know, Jared, when your mom and I were growing up, things weren't always easy. We didn't have much, but we had each other. And our mom, she was… she was incredible. She worked so hard to provide for us when we had so little."

This seemed to confuse him.

"You were still poor, though, right?"

"I guess. I mean, we didn't have a lot of money. But we had love, Jared. And that's what mattered most."

He was staring at his phone, but his mouth twisted up, almost sarcastically.

"But then you moved to New York, right, and made a ton of money and never came back?"

I didn't understand the change of tone. Was it just a teenage boy acting up?

"I have my own reasons for staying away."

"But Mom died with nothing like your mom died with nothing, but you were doing okay."

It was obvious that a fifteen-year-old wouldn't know that it was Megan who had never really wanted much of relationship, either. Nor could he know that she had on several occasions asked me for money, which I had given, then not contacted me again for a while. I would have been happy for them to visit in New York, and they could have stayed in my apartment.

"Sometimes families grow apart."

He shot to his feet. His voice was agitated.

"Don't give me that crap!"

Again, I was taken aback.

"Jared, what is wrong?"

"You don't get it, Eddie! My mom died, and you're sitting here talking about your perfect little childhood with her! But you didn't give a damn about us all these years, so don't sit here and pretend now that you did."

Before I could respond, he stormed off. I watched him go and heard him running up the stairs, slamming his door.

As I sat alone in the kitchen, the room still reverberating with his voice. The weight of my words hung heavy on me. Maybe there was some truth to what he said, and even if there was not, he certainly felt that was true. And now he and I were bound together by the terms of my sister's will.

My mind raced with questions and doubts, each one more daunting than the last. How was I supposed to navigate the role of guardian when I barely knew Jared, when our relationship was nothing more than a few vague memories and whatever Megan had told him about me?

And what about my life in New York, my career, my friends? How was I supposed to juggle the demands of what was effectively parenthood – of a teenage boy? – with what I had built in my own life?

Lost in my thoughts, the sound of a gentle tap on the screen door woke me up. I glanced toward the entrance. I wasn't expecting any other visitors, but the whole point of an open house is that anyone can drop by.

I made my way through the house. Approaching the front door, through its hazy screen, I caught sight of a man standing on the other side. His silhouette was framed against the honeyed light of the very late afternoon, a rugged figure, masculine, powerfully built.

He was just a shadow, in fact, but the shadow had a voice.

"Hey, Eddie."

I knew it was him at once. Even there, obscured by the screen door, I knew. He had always had some effect on me, and I felt it then.

It was like something of him was so imprinted on me that I would have known him anywhere: that shape, that voice.

"Max?" I said.

The shadow nodded, his features still obscured by the screen and the light.

"Hey," he said. "Long time."

***

So the official version was this. Max was my high-school best friend, and we were just two regular boys in a regular school in a regular city. Actually, no, that's not true. Max was fearless and damaged, and I was clever and unhappy, and neither of us were much understood or liked by those around us. Then we found each other.

The true version is this, though. When I was seventeen, turning eighteen, I was so in love with Max. I would go as far as saying he was my first love and perhaps even the person I have loved most truly, most intensely, in my life.

But he didn't know this. No one knew it. It was pretty obscure even to me. But now, looking back, I thought he was the sexiest, edgiest, yet plain kindest, most devoted and loyal person I had ever met. To this day, in the right mood, lying in my bed, I could jerk myself off with some faint image of him in my mind.

Maybe that's too much information, but now, he stood on the other side of the screen, another faint image.

I knew even back then that I was attracted to men. I always had been, but I had never done much about it. I would guess you would think that I would have been one of those kids who moved to New York and, two weeks later, was in drag and on Grindr. But that was never me. I had had a few girlfriends in New York, and I had hooked up with both men and women, but nothing ever really came of it.

Mostly in my adult life, I had been single. Part of me had been waiting for someone to have an effect on me like Max had. Only that someone never came along.

***

I pulled the door open, and there he was, fully visible, his deep-set dark eyes on me for the first time in years.

"Come on in," I said, all of a fluster, gesturing for him to enter the house. Max stepped across the threshold, and he was grinning at me in that way of his that suggested his being a dude, being one of the guys, but I knew hid his nerves about a situation.

My gaze instinctively drifted toward him, drawn by his natural, physical, charismatic pull. At six foot four, he stood tall and imposing, broad and manly, towering over me.

He was dressed casually, a bit sexily, but not too much. His white shirt had its collar open a little so you could see how his neck met the top of his big chest and the dark hair that ran down his tanned body. The arms of the shirt were rolled up to reveal thick forearms that looked like he worked hard, either at his job or at the gym.

A mop of thick, dark, curly hair framed his rugged features, kept neat with a bit of product, I could tell, applied fresh from the shower. His hair framed his chiseled, stubble-dark jawline and high cheekbones.

He held a motorbike helmet in his hand, hanging loosely from his fingers.

"You have a motorbike?" I asked.

He laughed. "Yeah."

We stood there a moment. His eyes bored into mine with a penetrating gaze but then he laughed a little.

"Man, it's good to see you," he said.

I found myself unable to look away, mesmerized by his physical allure. I drank in every detail of his handsome face, his powerful physique, and how he stood, clearly six inches above me.

A man. He was a man .

I knew I had to say something.

"Wow, you look good," I said.

He broke into a wide, sexy grin, his lips curving upward in a broad smile.

"Nah," he said. "I just had a shower, is all."

I turned and indicated that he should enter.

"Come in, come in."

He walked past me into the living room, evidently familiar with the house's layout.

"I have been here before. Megan had a party, like, four years ago."

I nodded.

"Oh, cool." I laughed. "You know it better than me."

He nodded but didn't say – maybe he didn't need to say – yeah.

As we walked through into the kitchen, I offered Max a drink, my voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

"Do you have a beer?" he asked casually.

"Sure," I replied. I reached for a bottle from the stash Uncle Frank had brought over for the guests. They were still just about cold enough.

I popped the cap off the beer for him and grabbed another one for myself. We stood there in the kitchen, facing each other in an awkward silence.

"How long has it been, man?" I asked.

"Fourteen years," he said immediately.

"Since I went to college."

"Yeah." He took a sip of the beer, gazing at me the whole time. "You've done well for yourself, Eddie. Lawyer. New York. Wow."

"What about you?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"You know. Same old, same old."

I don't know why, almost as if on cue, we both burst into laughter, the sound filling the air. It seemed to break the ice between us.

"We're talking like strangers," I said.

"When we used to be like brothers."

"Yeah…"

Now the vagueness was mine. He raised his beer bottle toward me in a kind of toast. And as we clinked our beer bottles, we were staring and grinning at each other. Then he looked at me with those dark eyes.

"I'm really sorry about Megan."

I nodded.

"Yeah, it's devastating," I said, taking a sip of my beer and then sighing heavily. "And poor Jared is left behind… It's not fair."

Max nodded solemnly.

"I can't imagine what Jared must be going through," he said, but then he grunted to himself. "Actually, you know what, I can. It happened to me."

"Of course."

"Losing your mom at such a young age… It's beyond rough."

An idea struck me.

"Not today, but maybe at some point, you could talk to him. You know, to let him know other people understand. You could come over, and we could get some pizza or something."

His face brightened.

"Oh, yeah, for sure."

We fell into a rhythm of conversation. At first, we spoke about Megan and her death but moved on to memories of our shared childhood with each other and of her, although she was already grown up when we were young.

As we reminisced about the past, I couldn't help but feel happy about Max's presence. Despite the years that had passed and the distance between us, I immediately felt our bond.

"We kinda lost touch after high school, huh?" I said.

Max flashed me a rueful smile.

"I always wondered how you were doing, man. I have to admit, I googled you quite a lot to see how things had turned out for you and how you had done so well in your career. You really have done well for yourself."

I shrugged modestly. In fact, I had learned that people back home weren't always really happy that you had gone away and become a success. In fact, Julianne's words earlier that afternoon had shown that.

But there was something strange in Max admitting this. Why did he care? Oh, I mean, I knew that people googled old friends; of course I did. But he didn't seem to be the sort.

There was a moment of silence between us until Max spoke again.

"You know, Eddie, I'd really like to be in touch again," he said quite earnestly. "I missed you, man."

I met his gaze.

"Yeah, I'd like that too," I said, although I didn't know if that was true or what it would even mean. I lived thousands of miles away, and I was not even on Facebook. "I am gonna be here a while. There is a lot to sort out." I paused. "Megan made me Jared's guardian."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I literally only found out today. It kind of turns my life upside down. I don't have a clue how I am gonna do it."

He had just taken a swig of his beer, but now he set the bottle down on the kitchen table.

"I know it's a lot to take on," he said. "But you gotta do it, Eddie. Jared needs you."

I nodded.

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he's taken care of. It's just…a lot."

Max studied me for a moment, his gaze penetrating.

"Are you moving back here from New York?"

The question filled me with a sudden wave of fear.

"No," I said sharply. In fact, I hadn't even thought that I might not have a choice. The fear was replaced with a quiet panic. Could I even move back here?

Max then asked me another question, his voice tentative, careful even.

"Do you have a girlfriend or wife?" He paused. "Or anyone?"

I felt a slight alarm that he had asked me.

"No," I replied softly and said nothing more than that. "What about you?" I asked to deflect.

"Divorced."

I didn't know why I was surprised.

"Really?"

He laughed a little and picked up his beer bottle again.

"Yeah. Long time now, though."

We talked a bit more, and then he said that he should probably be getting on.

"How long you back for, man?"

I shrugged.

"A while yet, I'd say."

"Then I'll hold you to that pizza, and maybe I can talk to Jared." He paused. "If you want me to."

"Yeah, sure, that sounds good," I replied.

Max's grin widened, a genuine warmth radiating from his eyes.

"Awesome," he said. "I'll give you my number."

I handed him my phone and let him punch it in. He handed the phone back to me, and I added it to Contacts. His details appeared automatically, with a beautiful photo of him, laughing, in the sea, in bright sunshine.

"Were you surfing in this?" I asked.

He laughed.

"Yeah, but I'm terrible at it."

Before I could even respond, Max pulled me into a massive bear hug, wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me against his body. He sighed happily as he held me, and I would confess this: he smelled so good, it felt so good.

I felt at once the hardness of his arms and chest, his flat stomach, even his bulge pressing against me, though he meant nothing sexual by it. Then he let me go and held me, his two hands on my two shoulders, looking down at me and smiling.

"It's so good to see you, man," he said as he held me in his arms. "I've missed you so much."

Then, he released me and let me go. He raised his hands, his fingers splayed, to say goodbye.

"Bye," he said.

And I returned it. "Bye."

As I watched Max walk away, the sight of him, the man I had secretly harbored feelings for years, retreating into the sunlight, moved me deeply.

His tall, muscular frame moved with a confident swagger; every step he took was sure and steady. The memory of his touch lingered on my skin; his musky scent was still inside me.

He got on his motorbike – he had always liked things like that – and put his helmet on his head. He waved once more, started the engine, and roared away. And as I watched him vanish into the distance, I remembered that feeling: that no one had had the effect on me that Max had had.

That some part of me had been waiting for a version of him who had never come along. And now there I was, back home, facing the original.