4. Jeremy

It had been a long time since Jeremy had willingly gone on a hike, though he didn’t think most of his friends would agree that’s what he had done. It was a gentle stroll through some trees at best, but it had been…not terrible.

It was the end of summer. The first breaths of fall were a bit more apparent in the mountains, it seemed. One yellow leaf, solitary among a field of green and the whites of the bark, created a lovely contrast that was already giving Jeremy ideas about the color scheme he could use for the opening exhibition. A way to bring the outside into the visitor center, to allow the visitor to extend the experience beyond the boundaries of the house. In Davis’s plans, he had said he wanted the first exhibit to be about the concept of noticing, of emphasizing the ability that anyone had to experience the forest, then to go deeper with each subsequent panel— animals (though he had said “charismatic megafauna”), then smaller, plants and microorganisms that created small worlds underneath even a log. As they walked, Davis had pointed out things that Jeremy wouldn’t have looked twice at. The way that one brown tree indicated the presence of an invasive beetle. A pressed down area of grass that indicated it was where a family of deer would sleep at night. A pile of rocks, which Davis angrily kicked over, mumbling that it wasn’t appropriate to make trail markers that were unauthorized.

“People can get lost,” he had said. “It’s our job to manage this forest, but it’s also our job to keep the forest and the people who use it safe.”

Jeremy couldn’t have imagined someone better to embody safe. Davis had a quiet presence that filled a room, though it was clear the man was more comfortable outside. The minute they had stepped foot on the trail, he had become infinitely more verbose, the words flowing as they picked up their pace. Davis had shared a bit about the history of the area and this specific forest, then his plans for the exhibit, using his hands to talk. His hands that, Jeremy had imagined, looked perfectly comfortable wrapped around an axe or using a chainsaw.

Sitting on his couch later that evening, a cup of tea freshly brewed, Jeremy examined his own hands. He kept his fingernails trimmed short for purposes, but, even in graduate school, where he was writing papers and making art constantly, he had been good about washing his hands of ink, paint, or charcoal. An image of what his delicate hands would look like next to— or tangled with— Davis’s rough hands flashed in his mind. He took an annoyed sip of tea. The last thing he needed was to develop a crush on a straight man.

He looked around his house, the Craftsman with gorgeous curved doorways and original doors and windows, which he had impulsively purchased when he moved from Philadelphia to Colorado. It had needed work— still needed work— but even though he had never been to Vanberg before, something about the house called to him. He knew that his parents had met at the university in town, had raised him with stories of their parties and friends and, of course, the moment they saw each other across a lecture hall and knew. An engineering student and a fine arts major who somehow spoke the same language of their souls.

It wasn’t like Jeremy didn’t believe in true love. He had seen it with his parents, had seen it with his friends and their families. But it was harder and harder to see that path opening up for him when hookup culture was still in his blood. Though his propensity for nine to ten hours of sleep kept that from happening as often anymore. Dating was annoying, and the pool in Vanberg was small. It was one of those places full of straight people who loved to post Pride flags on their windows and go to drag brunches. Which was wonderful, and Jeremy knew he was lucky to live in a place like that, but it would be nice if there were more men to date. So he enjoyed himself with occasional swipes and glasses of red wine, nights laughing at bars and sweating out the booze the next morning with his best friends. He went to exhibits, went to art openings, begged the woman who ran the Tea House in town to special order flavors from around the world. He worked on his house, designed exhibits. It was more than enough.

But still, Jeremy thought, turning on soft lo-fi music, sometimes the house felt empty. He didn’t want a roommate— living with Foster during lockdown had proved that— but building a life with someone seemed special.

For now, he sighed, opening up his iPad and, subsequently, the mood board Davis had emailed. Designing this visitor center exhibition was something to keep his mind occupied. A consolation, perhaps.

—

Morning brought a six o’clock spin class, one of his favorites, taught by a twink with a British accent who never failed to make Jeremy laugh or make Foster complain about the number of sprints. Following class and a shower, the two men headed to the Jumping Goat, the local coffee shop, for their Monday morning catch-up. Usually, Jeremy would pass along gossip from the museum he worked at, while Foster would bemoan his love life or, alternatively, gush to Jeremy about the most recent woman who had stolen his heart.

Foster ordered a triple white mocha with a caramel drizzle, while Jeremy contented himself with a London Fog. Their tea selection was crap, but Foster liked this place, and Jeremy loved his friend.

“Weekend report?” Foster asked as they sat down, licking a dollop of whipped cream off the side of his mug.

“I, uh, went hiking? For a job?” Jeremy said, blowing a stream of cool air across his drink.

“Have you been body swapped? What has Emmy been up to since she’s been getting dicked down? Concocting some sort of magic potion?”

“Don’t say dicked down. That’s disgusting, and I have to work with both of them,” Jeremy said, pulling a face.

“I mean, a witch’s spell is the only reason that you’d willingly set foot in the mountains. We’ve tried to get you to go skiing a million times!” Foster whined slightly.

“It’s different. It was for a job.”

“I didn’t know that the museum had a site out there.” Foster dipped a finger in his whipped cream, and Jeremy watched the barista eye him hungrily. What most annoyed him about his best friend, other than his cockeyed optimism about the world and need for mundane gossip, was that he knew exactly how attractive he was and utilized it all the time. Foster was never not dating someone, though they never met the impossible standard that he had set.

“Nah, a private consulting thing. Something I tried once when I first moved here. Recently I wanted to, I dunno, stretch my wings or something.” Jeremy made a flapping hand gesture that he hoped encompassed my life is great, but I’m still feeling like there’s something missing, which feels greedy but also necessary. And also, I feel like I need to live up to a legacy my parents never expressed.

“Dope.” A real poet, his best friend.

“What about you? Brewery news? Dating news?” Foster ran the business side of Mountain Friend, Vanberg’s most popular craft brewery, while his older sister, Flo, was the brewer. Foster was surprisingly savvy, though he hid behind good looks and a goofy demeanor.

“Business is good. Flo is still talking about bringing on an assistant brewer. She needs one if she wants to open another location, honestly. But she’s hesitant to trust people with recipes after her ex. Trivia is consistent. I’m considering a few movie nights in the spring. Hoping to replicate the hype around the Hallmark series we run in December.” He took another sip of his drink and tossed a grin to the barista. Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Had a few dates this weekend. Nothing panned out.” He drained his coffee and stood up, clearly intent on getting a number.

Jeremy wanted to ask Foster if he ever felt stuck, if he ever felt like he had wedged himself into one corner of a career that he loved and a personality that had fit perfectly at twenty-four but had grown a bit threadbare at thirty-four. But instead, he gave a false huff of frustration. “Go get ’em, tiger.”