17. Jeremy

Jeremy was blessed (if he believed in that kind of thing) with friends who would truly do anything for him. Phoebe had once driven down from skiing in the middle of a blizzard to help him move a particular couch he wanted from a vintage store in Denver. Foster had taken to keeping a tool bag in the back of his car, just in case Jeremy needed help with one little thing. That little sense of community was one of the many reasons that Jeremy couldn’t imagine leaving Vanberg after all this time, little ways that this strange mountain town had started to feel more like home than bustling east coast cities ever did.

He had been chatting to Davis after their last collaborative session at the national forest, one in which they had decided on a main narrative for the visitor center, working to break down the binary of inside versus outside and create a space in which the two could flow back and forth in a spectrum. Jeremy had developed the idea when Davis sent him a YouTube video on the ways that people interacted with public land and how the boundaries were constantly shifting over what was protected versus what was used. The exhibit, as they had planned, involved a lot of natural light, sound baths, and stories of people who had used the forest for a variety of different uses, from sacred to commercial, throughout the known history. Jeremy had been giving Davis a list of contractors and production agencies who could print the various panels he needed, as well as a list of places where the Forest Service could buy new vitrines and display cases for some of the small exhibits they had planned.

“People pay that much for that cabinet?” Davis had said, a look of disgust taking residence on his face.

“Well, yeah. I know it seems absurd, but it’s solid construction, and the back panel is removable.” Jeremy had ordered these exact display cases for Emmy and Ryan’s exhibit on science salons and had been especially happy with the way that they made changing out artifacts easier.

“I could build that for one eighth of that cost,” Davis had scoffed. He had sounded so confident, so sure. Davis grabbed a scrap of paper from the side of his desk and began to scribble numbers and sketch a tiny diagram of how he could construct it. It was rudimentary, of course, but Jeremy was able to see that it would more than get the job done.

“Impressive,” Jeremy had said. “I wish I had someone like you to help me out around my house, building things.” It had been something that Jeremy mentioned without thinking about it, talking to Davis the way that he would have talked to any of his friends. He had meant it as a joke, as an aside, but Davis had fixed him with a look and a tiny grin and asked, “What do you need help with?” Like it was something so easy, so simple.

And so Jeremy had opened his big, stupid mouth and rattled off a list of the current projects that were on his mind. Fix his garbage disposal. Replace wiring in the hallway closet. Ideally, make the sink a bit higher so he didn’t have to hunch over while he did dishes. One day, build a huge dining table that he could host dinners around. He left out the part where he imagined hosting dinner parties like his parents did, all of their New York friends and family squeezed around one table, talking and laughing so hard that you could probably hear them from the street.

“I can come down on Sunday, if you’re free,” Davis said. Which was why Jeremy was up earlier than he ever was on a Sunday, looking at his living room in a slight panic. Did the Eames chair need to be at that angle? Did he have a nice selection of magazines and design books on the coffee table? Was it a type of wood that Davis would respect? Jeremy was proud of the eclectic decoration he’d accumulated, everything designed or built before 1960, but now he was worried that it looked like a shitty design museum, rather than a cohesive home. He adjusted a poster from MoMA, pursing his lips and wondering if he should exchange it for a print he had of Mondrian’s Composition. He looked at his throw pillows and was all of a sudden second-guessing the color palette he had chosen for the living room. Mauve pillows with a leather couch?

A knock at his door, and Jeremy tossed the pillow down, figuring that the best type of design was one that he didn’t overthink (as if he hadn’t overthought everything in his life since he had gotten the email from NDavis). And there was Davis, dressed in his usual uniform of sweatshirt and work-ready pants, holding a tool bag in his left hand and a coffee in his right.

“Good morning!” Davis said, waiting at the entrance to be invited in.

“Morning,” Jeremy replied, awkwardly formal. He stepped to the side and nodded for Davis to come in, then asked another ridiculous question. “How was traffic?” Like Davis lived in Los Angeles and not in a cabin that was only accessed by one road.

Davis, as usual, took it in stride. “Surprisingly, there was no traffic jam. I think most people head out to the mountains on the weekend, rather than us weird mountain folk heading down to the city.”

“Do you come down often?” Jeremy called over his shoulder, having crossed toward to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. Something with ginger that would settle his stomach. He wondered if he’d eaten something weird last night.

“Nah,” Davis said, setting his tool bag on the ground. He took out a small towel and placed it on the coffee table before moving his bag on top of it. A thoughtful little gesture that made Jeremy’s heart stutter. He should avoid any tea with caffeine in it this morning. “I tend to stay away from busy events and cities. I lived in one for a bit, when I finished my undergraduate degree, and it was fine, but I like the quiet more. When I do come down for, like, supplies and groceries, it tends to be on a Monday or a Tuesday. Less traffic, and everyone is at work, so there are fewer people at the store.”

“Smart,” Jeremy said, not knowing what more to add to the conversation. Luckily, Davis was a man on a mission.

“Okay, so what projects do you have in mind for the day?”