10. Jeremy

Jeremy knew that most of his friends saw him as confident, aloof, even. He worked hard to cultivate that image, a bit of a playboy, a bit of a metropolitan man-about-town. The truth was, he had tried on a few versions of himself in undergrad— the slutty twink who was covered in glitter, the academic man who was serious about art history and scholarship, the friend who was down to try anything once— and had settled on the current version of himself after his life was thrown off-kilter. What his friends didn’t see was that he worked hard to stay calm and spent every Sunday evening organizing his outfits for the week and planning out his schedule that somehow still fell apart at the last minute. Regardless, it was about preparation so he couldn’t be caught entirely off guard.

There were certain things he liked to keep to himself. Like the figure drawing class he took, or how he spent a lot of time working on Davis’s exhibit designs and researching the cheapest fabricators so the grant money could go as far as possible.

And so, after a few days of documentaries and archival research, Jeremy had pulled together a new mood board for Davis’s planning. One that echoed the great architects that had been commissioned for national park visitor centers and drew a common thread of the development of the visitor experience. Bringing the past into the present through the experience. There, he had some help from Emmy, who had been overjoyed to come over one night and split a bottle of wine and chat about accessibility of natural spaces for various audiences.

Equipped with a new playlist he had downloaded from a favorite music blog he had started following in college (during his pretentious vinyl-purchasing phase, where he attempted to drink coffee), Jeremy drove back out to the national forest. He had remembered, this time, to download music instead of streaming it, because cell reception was spotty once he turned off the highway. He had also remembered to download everything he needed to his iPad, as the wi-fi needed a government username to connect with. That was something that Emmy had brought up in her recommendations after two glasses of wine: that people needed to be able to post about their visit to the forest.

“Wi-fi, or whatever fucking stupid technology they’ll come up with next,” she had said, laughing at her own joke into the glass of wine. “These things are important to experience, but they’re important to share. And—” She took a breath, and Jeremy knew that he was in for one of her patented rambles (or lectures, depending on your perspective). “And while everyone can shit on social media— as well they should— it’s been a way to open up the world to a lot of people who wouldn’t be able to experience that exhibit or even know that it exists.”

Davis would like Emmy, Jeremy thought, laughing to himself. It was rare that he thought that about his prickly friend. Emmy had softened since moving in with Ryan and achieving a bit of success with her recent research and exhibit contents, but she was still an acquired taste. But Emmy and Jeremy had always seen each other in a way that was special to their friendship, an understanding of what growing up talking mostly to adults did to a child. And she had seemed to really enjoy helping out on Davis’s exhibit.

The exhibit for the forest, Jeremy corrected. Davis wasn’t his client. He was just a representative. Jeremy, once again, dutifully followed the blue dot and pulled into the visitor center, laughing to himself as it still read Visitor Cunter. When all this was over, he wanted that sign in his house. At least a photograph of it. Expecting to walk into the office, he was surprised to see Davis standing outside the building. He was bent over, pulling up a weed, but straightened quickly when he took notice of Jeremy’s car.

Davis looked much as Jeremy remembered him. Which, he reminded himself, just meant he was being an especially thorough consultant. Even if he didn’t usually remember the exact blending of green and gold that comprised a client’s eyes. Even if he did take note of the fact that Davis wore a hoodie this time, instead of a flannel. Jeremy studied the logo on the chest— the incredibly broad, barrel chest— and could make out a few music notes around a name that had faded with time. Jeremy didn’t think he owned anything in his closet that dated to pre-COVID, let alone anything old enough to have a peeling logo. Other than his house and a few close friends, nothing in Jeremy’s life was that permanent.

“Hey,” Jeremy said, getting out of his car and pushing his sunglasses into his hair. He had thought about what to wear today, opting for a practical pair of jeans and a light shirt, just in case he went hiking again. And because he liked the way the jeans hugged his ass and the shirt showed off his arms.

“Hi, Jeremy,” Davis said, brushing dirt off his hands onto his thighs. He took off his baseball cap, ran a hand through his hair, and put the hat back on. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, and he smiled as Jeremy approached, slight lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “You have some new ideas for me?”

“I did some research over the past few days and talked to a few friends at the museum down in Vanberg so they could explain some ecology things to me.” Jeremy held out his iPad. “I put together some additions to your mood board. Hope that’s okay.”

Davis shrugged, a neutral reaction. “Sure. I mean, you’re the expert.” And Jeremy had a knee-jerk reaction to comfort this man, to tell him that no, actually, Davis was the expert, and Jeremy’s job was to translate his ideas into a setting that was more accessible for people.

What Jeremy said instead was “nah.” And then he followed Davis into the administrative building.