59. Jeremy

“You need to get moving,” Foster said later that evening, when Jeremy asked him to come over and told him that he had broken up with Davis. He was beginning to regret it. “It’s how I get my mind off breakups. Get your blood pumping and your mind on something that isn’t how much it sucks to be single.” Foster’s history of two- or three-week relationships didn’t seem to have any comparison to watching the man Jeremy thought he would grow old with walk out his front door.

“Is that why you set the record for classes attended last year?” Jeremy shot back, testy. “Because you’ve been bouncing between women like they’re a new fashion to try on?”

Foster’s eyebrows shot up, and he huffed a dry laugh. “I’m going to allow that one because it used to be kind of true and I know you’re hurting right now.” He looked at his phone and then flipped it over, screen down. “I’ll also excuse you for not having our normal Sunday morning catch-ups over the past few weeks.”

“Sorry, I’ve been a shitty friend,” Jeremy said.

“No you haven’t,” Foster said, smiling. “You just fell in love, and it sucks.”

“You would know.”

“You know, Jer Bear, I thought I did know. But it turns out, when you’re actually in love, it blows all that other shit out of the water.”

This was surprisingly insightful for Foster, and Jeremy began to slot a few puzzle pieces of what he’d seen of his friend’s life together. “Foster, are you in love right now?”

Foster took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think I might be. And that’s why I know how shitty you feel.”

“Are you also broken up with?” Jeremy’s mind was spinning. He felt like he had skipped three seasons of a television show and was trying to figure out what characters were doing when he had only seen the premier episode. Talking about his friend’s problems would help get his mind off his own. This was a needed distraction. A lifeline.

“No,” Foster said delicately. “Technically, I was never dating her, so it can’t be considered a breakup. But I’m pretty sure that she doesn’t feel like I do.”

“Want to talk about it?” Jeremy asked.

“Do you mind?” Foster asked, uncommonly serious.

“Never, my darling. Never.”

---

The next morning, Jeremy was dismayed to find that Foster, doing what Foster did, had rallied Declan and Ryan to join them for spin class.

“I’ve been there,” Ryan said, clapping a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy was reminded of how he and Foster had found Ryan halfway through a bottle of bourbon, moping on his couch, after he had pissed Emmy off enough for them to break up.

“He doesn’t want advice,” Dec said. “Dammit, Andersson. Just let him process.”

“What’s got your goat?” Ryan said, moving his attention to Foster, who was playing with a gym towel. Jeremy, now privy to an absolutely stunning revelation from Foster, watched their interactions closely.

“I slept like shit,” Foster said, deflecting. Ryan shrugged, and the four men went inside the studio.

Foster was right, Jeremy figured. He needed to get back to his usual routine. No more trips to the mountains. More trips to Denver. Spin class four days a week, and maybe he would actually flirt with one of the new instructors—

Who was he kidding? Jeremy was nowhere near ready to get back “out there.” He wasn’t even sure if he ever wanted to get back out there again. But he could get back on his usual spin bike.

It was a standard class, with a decent playlist and an instructor who didn’t try to make the spin class about their life coaching business. But something felt off the entire time for Jeremy. He figured he would need a nap later (he’d slept like shit), and he was probably dehydrated from crying. But all of a sudden, the room became too loud, and his heart— his heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Shit.

It was just like what happened to his dad after his mom had died, and now Jeremy was going to— well, he didn’t know, but he knew he needed to leave the studio. Unclipping from the pedals, trying to catch his breath, Jeremy headed out of the studio, growing dizzier with every second.

If he could just get to the locker room, he’d be fine, but the reception area was too bright, and he was just so damn dizzy, and his chest hurt. His heart wouldn’t slow down. His sight tunneled, black spots at the edges of his vision growing larger and blending together. Leaning against the wall, he slid down to a seat, head between his legs, hoping that this would eventually be over. Either he would die or he would pass out, but something would end the way he felt.

“Jeremy?” Ryan’s big body was silhouetted in the door to the studio. “Jeremy,” Ryan said, kneeling down next to him and speaking in a soft yet firm voice. “You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” Jeremy whispered, shaking. “I’m dying?”

“You’re having a panic attack,” Ryan said slowly.

Is that what this was? How could his brain make it feel like he was having a heart attack? It couldn’t be a panic attack. It was the fact that he had lost the man he was in love with. He was dying from a broken heart, the same way his father had. This is why he knew that love wasn’t for him. It would be the thing that killed him—

“Jeremy.” Ryan’s voice again, followed by a solid palm between his shoulder blades. “Take a deep breath in.” Jeremy could do that. “Now let it out slowly. Imagine that you’re blowing out a thousand birthday candles.” He could follow that instruction, too. “Good, great. Now do it again.” Jeremy breathed, felt his pulse drop a tiny bit. “Okay, now I’m going to count inhales and exhales to make sure that they stay nice and long, is that okay?” Jeremy nodded, and his vision began to get a bit clearer, enough that he could see Dec and Foster had joined them, forming a wall to shield Jeremy from anyone who would see. Ryan counted in that same soft and firm voice, only stopping to see if Dec could get a water bottle. “All right, there. Take a sip of water when you’re ready. Hey, Foster?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you grab Jeremy’s stuff so he doesn’t have to worry about it?”

Foster held up the bag Jeremy had brought. “Already got it all.”

Ryan smiled at Foster. “Look at you. I guess you’re responsible.” And it was a testament to the fact that Jeremy must have been feeling better, because he was able to notice the way that Foster breathed out a tiny sigh of relief at Ryan’s approval.

“I can get up now,” Jeremy said.

“You sure? Sometimes during panic attacks, Emmy’s hands and feet go numb, so just be careful,” Ryan said, and Jeremy found that he was seeing this man in another light. He had always written Ryan off as being a bit of a goof, but he tolerated him for their working relationship and the fact that Emmy loved him. But it was clear that he had done his homework when it came to living with someone with anxiety, and Jeremy was able to get the firsthand benefit from that.

“Thanks,” Jeremy said. “I’m kind of embarrassed.” He was incredibly embarrassed, actually.

“Dude, fuck that,” Ryan said. “It happens to a lot of people.”

“Was that your first one?” Dec asked, handing over a cold bottle of water.

“I think so? Fuck, man. I really thought I was dying there for a bit,” Jeremy said.

“Emmy says she feels hungover afterward,” Ryan said.

“They fucking suck,” Foster said. “I had one in high school, right after my parents got divorced.” He shivered. “No thank you.”

Later, Jeremy, who had been chauffeured home by Foster, with Dec and Ryan in tow and had to promise that he was fine and would call if he needed anything, turned to his phone. Opening to his favorite contacts, he hovered a thumb over Davis’s name for just a second before he clicked on Emmy’s name. He wasn’t quite ready to have this conversation with her over the phone so, in a classic millennial move, he sent a text.

Jeremy: Hey, are you busy?

Emmy: No

Ryan is video chatting with his sisters

That family stresses me out

Too much love

Too many siblings

Its unnatural

Why

Jeremy: Can we get a drink tonight?

Emmy: Sure

Why?

It took him a few minutes to get the courage to put the words on paper, because if he put it in writing, sent it across the airwaves or however texting worked to Emmy, she would never forget, and it would mean it was real. That Jeremy was hurting in a way he had tried to prevent for years, and it was affecting him more than he cared to admit. Finally, he typed.

Jeremy: I had a panic attack today.

Emmy: Welcome to the club

You okay?

Jeremy: I think. It might be easier in person.

Emmy: Tea?

Jeremy: Wine

And that’s how Jeremy found himself heading to Next Door. Emmy was already there, and Jeremy joined her at the bar. He waved to Lina, Dec’s bartender, who had recently taken over more management responsibilities, and ordered a glass of pinot noir, knowing that Dec tended to stock his favorite varietal.

“I thought you weren’t drinking,” Emmy said by way of greeting, taking a sip of her own clear drink, which Jeremy knew to be a gin and tonic.

“Well, until yesterday, I was also dating someone, so things can change at the drop of a hat.” He sniffed the wine. “Sorry, that was unnecessarily harsh.”

“Hello?” Emmy waved a hand in front of Jeremy’s face. “You’re talking to me. Emmeline Bonaire, Ice Queen of Unnecessarily Harsh? Do you not remember my initial few months with Ryan?” Jeremy laughed and took a sip of wine. “The way I was a complete dick to Davis?”

“About that— Davis wouldn’t commit. We broke up.”

“You proposed?” Emmy asked, her eyebrows disappearing into her bangs with surprise.

“No. God, no. That’s— no. It’s stupid, but he’s headed out to do work with that fire and, shit, I got scared, Emmy. I mean, you know about my parents. You know why I never wanted the entire drama of falling in love. I just wanted to know that he was safe.” He rubbed his eyes to try to stave off the sting that heralded tears. “He wouldn’t even put me as an emergency contact. He’s out in a forest fire, and he could die, and I wouldn’t know.”

“Jer,” Emmy said, placing a hand on his arm. “That fucking sucks.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “I’m calling Phoebe. She’s more comforting.”

“No, but that’s life. And I know it’s rich, coming from me, because I literally check Colorado Fire’s website four times a day during the summer if I haven’t taken my meds and gone to therapy, but Davis is smart.”

“He’s so smart,” Jeremy agreed, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.

“That man is the most competent person I know.” Emmy took a pointed drink. “And I know myself.” There was a moment of silence as Emmy rattled the ice in her glass and Jeremy traced a finger around the rim of a glass. Emmy, as she usually did, broke the silence.

“Did you ask him why he didn’t put you down as an emergency contact?”

“He said it’s none of the Forest Service’s business. But there has to be more to it than that,” Jeremy said. “It’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to be associated with me, doesn’t want to be out at work.”

“Have you asked why?”

Jeremy responded with silence.

“Jer, when you introduced us to Davis, I did some digging.” Jeremy fixed her with a pointed stare, and she rolled her eyes. “Okay. Well, yes, first it started with wanting to know the history of where he worked, but then I stumbled upon stories. Short documentaries. The Forest Service was— and is— in a lot of places, a good ole boys club.”

“I mean, what isn’t?” Jeremy said. “I’m in academia and openly queer. I have been my entire career.”

“No, Jeremy.” Emmy’s voice took on a harder tone. “Not in a these men promote their friends who go golfing with them type of way, but in a way that normalizes sexual assault, racism, and homophobia. Davis being out could—”

“Be riskier than the fires,” Jeremy finished, feeling foolish.

“Yeah, and like, small towns are still sometimes small towns,” Emmy said. “I’m not saying that everyone in a mountain town is carrying pitchforks or tiki torches, but, well, is it self-preservation? Phoebe didn’t tell me she was bi until, like, three years after I knew her. She didn’t want our friendship to change.”

Jeremy felt oddly guilty, a strange sensation where he knew he was right to be upset with Davis and trusted his emotions but also knew that what Emmy was saying made perfect sense. That disconnect made him feel like a petulant teenager, confused about new emotions and the reality of being able to understand the wider world.

“But he knows about my parents, and he knows how afraid I am of losing him.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Of course! And then, when he wouldn’t respond right then, I realized that it meant he didn’t love me like I loved him. So I pushed him out, made him leave.” He shrugged. “And here I am. Oh, and every single man I’m friends with saw me have a panic attack this morning, so that was great for my reputation.”

“You can’t do that, Jer,” Emmy said, rolling the glass between her hands. “It’s not fair.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked, setting his wineglass to the side.

“You and I, well, we’re only children. We don’t like to rely on people, especially because we’ve been hurt in different ways by our parents.”

“How have my parents hurt me?” Jeremy asked, feeling a rage beginning to grow in his gut. “They did everything for me. They were the best.”

“But they died,” she said in the blunt-but-kind way that only Emmy could pull off. “And that hurts.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not their fault.”

“Never said it was,” Emmy said simply, giving a sad smile. “Did you go to therapy afterward?”

He had meant to. It’s what people did. It wasn’t like he grew up in a family that avoided therapy. His mom taught art therapy for a bit and his father had often spoken about sessions with his therapist. It was normalized. Therapists came to holiday parties and summer cookouts. He had talked to a therapist during college when he was figuring out what to do with his career. But after his parents died, he moved to Colorado and never contacted them again.

He thought that throwing himself into his career and into the house would fix it. If he could make a home that was something like his parents had, wouldn’t a partner slip right into that world? But Davis had taught Jeremy that you could make a habitat physically perfect for an animal, but they had to feel comfortable there. Somewhere, in his rambles about reintroducing endangered species, bred in captivity, to the wild, Jeremy had picked up on that. Jeremy had made a nest for someone, but Davis didn’t fit that nest. And Jeremy didn’t fit in Davis’s nest in the mountains. But somehow, they worked together.

They had worked together.

“Fuck,” Jeremy said to his glass of wine.

“Yes?” Emmy said, raising her eyebrows into her bangs.

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“You and Ryan can form a club.” She smirked.

“How did you manage it?” Jeremy asked, draining his glass of wine.

“Being right? It’s innate, darling,” she said, affecting a dramatic accent.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “No, um, well. I never asked. How did you manage being with Ryan? With, well, everything?”

“With my asshole brain and mouth that works faster than my good sense?” she asked, wincing. “Listen, I’m my own worst enemy. I know.” She sighed and took a sip of her drink. “I want to say that it’s the work I did in therapy and my ability to communicate, but the honest truth is, I got lucky.”

“By living here?”

“By meeting Ryan. By meeting someone who would be patient with me. Who’d wait while I figured things out. Who wouldn’t run at the first sign of trouble. Ugh, I hate to sound like your wise old aunt—”

“You’re my age,” Jeremy interjected.

“Hush. But relationships take work. You have to fight for love.” Emmy gagged and made a face. “Can you believe I’m sitting here waxing poetic about love?”

“What about marriage?” Jeremy asked.

“I’m happy for Phoebe and Dec. The photos looked perfect, and she’s been waggling that ring in my face all week. I’m happy for Colin and June, whenever they decide to ever go through with it.” Emmy sighed. “I think that the best part about our shit show of a generation is that we’ve realized that we’re only doing things that feel right to us.”

Jeremy felt a flicker of hope. “Can you say more?”

“Yes, but I’m going to need another drink.” Jeremy hadn’t had two glasses of wine in the same night since he’d started dating Davis. Having ended it, it felt pertinent to drown his sorrows in his favorite pinot. Emmy waved at Dec, and he quickly brought over a gin and tonic for her and a second glass of wine for Jeremy. Jeremy’s eyes shot to the silver band on his left fourth finger, an Irish ring that he and Phoebe had returned from Ireland wearing together, along with a hyphenated last name. Phoebe and Declan Whitford-McFadden, like a couple that transported from the Gilded Era, sparkling and joyous, like the best kind of champagne.

He wanted that, but on his own terms.

“What were you saying?” Jeremy said, swirling his wine.

Emmy thought for a moment and took a sip. “So, like, I don’t want kids. Ryan doesn’t want kids. I think a generation ago, we would have had them because it’s what you were supposed to do. Dec and Phoebe wanted to get married, which works for them. Ryan asked why I didn’t want to.”

If Jeremy wasn’t mistaken, Emmy— the ice queen with a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit— was tearing up.

“And he understands. And we’re committed, in our own way.” She coughed and brushed her cheek, surreptitiously removing the one tear that dared to fall.

A few days later, Jeremy clicked on a link that had been emailed to him.

A new website opened on his computer. He confirmed that his connection was strong and connected to the video portal. Looking at his own face, Jeremy took stock of the man staring back at him. For a long time, his mental image of himself was lodged somewhere in his midtwenties. But he was older now. Late thirties. An age that he had known his parents at. He looked a bit closer, at the lines that spiderwebbed out from the corners of his eyes, the way that the skin below his eyes had gotten just a bit thinner. Maybe his lips had gotten thinner and there were frown lines around them.

Smile lines, he remembered his mom saying. I want my face to show that I have lived. She had said that to a friend once, with Jeremy overhearing it from the other room while his mom gossiped with a group of friends that she had known in art school.

Jeremy smiled at the camera. He liked himself. This was the face of someone who had been in love. Who loved.

The video blinked to life.

“Jeremy Rinci?” a soft-spoken gray-haired Black man asked.

“Uh, hi.” It seemed his headphones were working.

“Nervous about therapy?”

Jeremy smiled. “Who isn’t?”