29. Davis

Davis, a bit stunned by Jeremy’s abrupt departure, had sat down in the closest unoccupied space, a couch tucked near a coffee table that contained a chess set and a stack of books on Shakespeare and self-empowerment. Davis wished he could pick up the chess pieces and make sense of it, but he only knew that the horse moved in an L shape. Checkers was more his speed, but this clearly was a crowd who understood chess. He was here to meet people, to meet Jeremy’s friends, but this was an entirely different environment from what he was used to. Everyone here was so, well, cool and urban, and Davis felt like an ogre who needed to go back to his swamp. He would not take his phone out and distract himself by scrolling.

“Do you know how to play chess?” A small woman wearing a finely tailored suit and a top hat had sat down next to him and begun talking.

“Not at all,” Davis replied.

“Me neither. It’s way too confusing. I prefer checkers, though there was a moment when I watched that show about, like, a chess prodigy and considered learning chess if it meant I could meet gorgeous women like that.” She set her glass of wine down and looked at Davis. “You’re new here.”

“I guess?”

“I saw you come in. Who do you know?” She took a sip of her wine, her cheeks a bit red.

“Uh, do you know Jeremy? Jeremy Rinci?”

Her eyes widened in understanding. “I know Jeremy, of course! We work together. He’s one of my best friends.” She was bubbly and energetic, like a sprite from a fairy tale.

The pieces began to slot together in Davis’s brain. “You work at the museum? Then you’re either Emmy or Phoebe, and considering the fact that you’re talking to me with a smile on your face, I’m assuming that you’re Phoebe.”

The smile on the woman’s face grew wider, and she nodded. “Jeremy notices everything. He’s talked about us?”

“He mentions his friends a lot. Foster certainly lives up to his reputation. Which one is Emmy?” Phoebe pointed to a woman in an elaborate turn-of-the-century gown who was laughing with a woman dressed as Lucille Ball.

“I’m Davis. I work out at the national forest, and Jeremy—”

“Is working on an exhibit out there. I know! It sounds amazing. My brother lives out in Klarluft.” Davis’s shoulders relaxed a few inches as he chatted to Phoebe about a summer camp that her brother ran. “He’s over there”— she pointed to someone wearing an extra-long beard— “and Lucille Ball is his fiancée, and the man who is some sort of old-timey paleontologist is an actual paleontologist.”

“Ryan?” Another name from all the times that Jeremy had talked about his friends. The way Jeremy talked about Ryan reminded Davis of the way his uncle talked about the dog that he swore he was never going to get but bought a matching recliner for. Phoebe chattered away, filling in Davis’s silences with stories about her friends and family.

“And he’s married to Emmy?”

Phoebe laughed. “Not married. Never married. But together.”

“And you’re dating someone too?”

“Declan,” she said, and Davis could practically see her eyes turning into cartoon hearts. “He’s the sweetest. You’ll recognize him. He’s dressed up as a historic animator named Ub Iwerks, and he’s got these sexy tattoos, and he can draw.” She sighed. “He sometimes seems grumpy, but I promise he’s nice!”

I sometimes seem straight, but I promise, I’m queer!Davis thought.

“Do you want me to get you a drink?”

“No thanks, I—” Davis prepared himself to say something again, when Jeremy appeared, holding two cans, accompanied by the aforementioned Declan. And while Davis knew he had a type, he wasn’t expecting for Jeremy’s friend to be nearly as gorgeous as Davis found Jeremy. Phoebe had really won the hot boyfriend lottery, it seemed.

“Davis,” Jeremy said, looking a tad bit uncomfortable, like he was wearing shoes that were too small. “This is Declan. Declan, this is Davis.”

He wanted to make Jeremy comfortable, to show him that he liked his friends and, even though he wasn’t completely comfortable, he was having a good time. So Davis stood up, brushing an imaginary crumb off his shirt, and presented his hand. “Ah, the famous Declan. Phoebe— I mean Ms. Dietrich— saw me sitting alone and started chatting. She’s been raving about her phenomenal partner, and here you are.”

“Uh, here,” Jeremy said, holding two cans out toward Davis with stiff arms. “Dec said this is a beer without booze, and this is seltzer.” Something warm and delightful bubbled in Davis’s chest at the fact that he had remembered, not as an afterthought when everyone else was ordering. It explained Jeremy’s quick departure and the length of time he was gone. He was looking for something for Davis to drink.

“You sober too?” Davis asked Declan as he took the cans from Jeremy. He set the beer down and opened the seltzer. Something about the taste of beer didn’t work for him anymore.

“Ironically, I’m a bartender.”

“And bar owner,” Phoebe added, grinning with pride.

“I make a mean mocktail if you’re ever near campus,” Declan said. He addressed Davis, but watched for Phoebe’s reaction. Davis scanned the gathered group, and that warm feeling returned when he saw Jeremy watching him.

“I’d like that. I tend not to venture down from the mountains, but—”

And at that moment, Davis had the type of energy surging through his veins that made him think that he should buy a lottery ticket, knowing that the numbers he chose would be said on television before the evening news. That these people, in this hot, loud apartment that smelled like bodies, beer, and a hint of weed, were somehow his people. An unmistakable undercurrent that there could be someone in this room that could be his person.

How funny.

“—there might be a reason to soon.”

Jeremy opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Phoebe, who barreled her way into the conversation like a delightful little freight train. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve been trying to guess your costume all night. I know it’s an actor—” She prattled on, and Davis vaguely caught that she was talking about how her partner liked old films. But Davis was looking at Jeremy, wondering if he should push his luck and go all in. Declan cleared his throat and met Davis’s eye, and at that moment, Davis knew that, somehow, Dec knew. Knew who he was dressed as and knew what he was.

“Rock Hudson,” Davis said, taking the words from Dec’s mouth.

“Who’s that?” Jeremy asked, his sky-blue eyes seeking out Davis’s own.

Davis took a moment and glanced over at Declan, who almost imperceptibly raised an eyebrow to ask a question. Davis nodded once, not sure if his voice could be trusted to explain it and say everything that needed to be said.

“A very famous actor who,” Dec cleared his throat, “was definitely not straight.”

Jeremy, who had apparently decided to sip on the NA beer Davis didn’t want, choked.

“Emmy!” Phoebe was calling across the room, cutting through the silence. The tall woman with severe bangs who had shoulders that could fill up a doorway came over to the group. “Tell us what you know about Rock Hudson!”

“Did someone ask about rocks?” Ryan had joined the group, and all of a sudden, Davis was swept up into a whirlwind conversation that somehow jumped from film history to paleontology history and ended up with Declan, the quiet, tattooed one, grinning as he talked about how one of the first animated films was about a cute dinosaur.

“Foster!” Ryan called. “Get off your fucking phone and join us in the present.”

“I’m about to throw this phone into a volcano in Iceland,” Foster grumbled, coming to join the group.

“You know my sister has been working in Rejavik,” Ryan said to Emmy.