8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Mark

T he day of the Halloween gala arrives more quickly than I expected. Even though I watched the calendar like a hawk, somehow, the day of the gala still catches me off-guard. I dress in my single blue suit and stare at myself in the mirror. Normally, I would think I look fine. I always think it brings out the blue in my eyes. At least, I'm wearing something besides a paint-stained shirt and blue jeans, but the thought of attending this gala, surrounded by people who have more money than I will ever see in my life, is intimidating; unless, of course, I happen to be the next Anish Kapoor, but I sincerely doubt that will happen.

I'm not enough of an ass to be Anish Kapoor.

I stride into the living room. Logan pours over his laptop. I hear typing, so he's either working on his thesis or arguing with his racist uncle Patrick on Facebook. Considering the way Logan's brow is furrowed in concentration, it's probably the thesis. I pause and consider him in the dim light of the living room lamp.

It takes me a few seconds to really think of anything except for the fact that Logan's Halloween costume this year is apparently sexy, gay Bob Ross. Wow! He totally rocks it, too. But to be fair, Logan would look good wearing a flour sack. Wait a minute, why am I thinking of Logan like this?

Logan loves me. He loves me. Logan…loves…me.

This doesn't make sense. Or maybe I don't make sense. I feel like I'm missing a crucial piece to some puzzle, because when I look at Logan, I think about Brandon. And I feel like there's something more there, something all tangled up and confused. I like Logan, but I like Brandon, too. I like them both in different ways. But am I in love with Brandon?

No. Maybe not. Brandon certainly is fine. That's it. He's incredibly smart supportive…and hot. He's likely spontaneous, considering he just took the plunge to model nude—not to mention wanting to tour the world or live in NYC in December. But modeling nude—that's ballsy, both figuratively and literally. Brandon probably checks off every single one of my boxes, but I'm just…not sure.

Maybe it's because I suck at relationships. Maybe it's too soon to tell.

"Are you sure you're fine with me going out?" I finally ask.

Logan glances up from his computer. There's something in his gaze that I can't quite decipher, but when he looked at me in that moment, my breath caught in my throat. There's something desirous in that look, and my face heats up when our eyes lock. "What do the two of you do when I'm not around?" Logan asks quietly.

"Couple stuff."

"Couple stuff," Logan repeats.

I know what he's implying. Logan and I have stopped being friends with benefits ever since Brandon asked me out. "I don't think Brandon would really want to share," I reply evenly.

"If I had you, I know I wouldn't," Logan says.

"Logan, I told Brandon how you feel about me." I couldn't hold it in anymore. He needed to know the truth. Maybe that would help him move on … maybe I could too.

"Why'd you do that ?" He appears defensive.

He keeps watching me. It's as if there is something strange and fragile between us, and whoever speaks first will destroy that special connection.

"Logan," I say. "I can have a relationship with whomever I want."

"I never said you couldn't."

"You gave me a look."

He shrugs ambivalently. "Of course, you're an adult and can date whoever the fuck you like. I'm fine with it. Do whatever floats your boat. It's not like I can just stop you from going places," he replies, but there's an obvious catch in his voice.

I cross my arms and lean against the doorway. "But does it upset you?" I ask.

It obviously does, and I'm not even sure why I ask. What am I hoping for? A sudden, passionate confession that he can't bear to see me with another man? How painfully cheesy. But now, the image is in my head, and I can't rid myself of it. My pulse races. I might like that. I shouldn't like that.

"That you're going to make your own decisions like an adult? Don't be ridiculous," he replies with a dismissive wave. "I'm just going to stay home and give out candy to armies of children. You should go out and have fun."

But is he staying home and giving out candy because he wants to, or because of me? I sigh as guilt twists in my stomach.

"Are you going to be like this if Brandon and I keep dating?" I ask.

Logan frowns. "What do you think? I'll try to be nice to him."

Logan says that, but I wonder if it's going to be a trade-off. Brandon or Logan. New York City or Bluehaven.

"And I'm not doing anything," Logan says. "Go to your Halloween gala. It's not the end of the world if I spend a holiday alone."

"I just know it's our tradition," I reply.

Logan mentioned that it was our tradition the last time we went through this.

Logan shakes his head. "Quit overthinking it. Just because I…admitted that I love you, doesn't mean you need to feel guilty for going out with another guy."

"I don't know if I feel guilty," I replied. "I just keep thinking of how hard this is for you."

Logan throws a couch pillow at me. It bounces harmlessly off my arm and falls to the ground. I pick it up and fidget with it, as if I can suddenly force myself to be more comfortable by picking at it.

"Mark, you're my best friend. We've been friends for years now. I just want you to be happy. I've said it once, and I'll say it again. It's not your problem that I've got a crush on you. Go on and live your life. Enjoy your date with Brad."

"Brandon."

Logan smirks. "That's what I said," he teases. "Bradley."

I roll my eyes and throw the pillow back at him, nearly taking out a foam pumpkin. After tomorrow, the apartment won't look so much like a Spirit of Halloween exploded inside. It will probably be normal for a few weeks, and then Logan will jump straight into Christmas. He's not one to do Thanksgiving.

"Okay," I reply. "I don't believe you, but I'll take your word for it."

"You don't believe me?"

No, because I know him. Even though he's teasing and smirking, I can tell he's putting on the appearance of being okay with it. He is not. Although I want to go out, part of me thinks about staying. I can tell Brandon I've got the flu or something, a stomach bug. And then I can just spend the evening here with Logan. Or spur him to go out on the town. We'd have fun. We always do.

"I really am fine," Logan says. " You 're obsessing more over this than I was, weirdo."

"Your cold indifference has driven me away," I reply, grabbing my coat by the door.

"Just like every other man in my life," Logan insists, sighing dramatically. "Alas."

I roll my eyes and head out. Brandon had offered to pick me up, but the gallery is only a few blocks away and I did not want to make it even more awkward with Logan here. There's no need for him to make the drive and face the traffic for such a short distance.

The second I open the door to the apartment building, the last lingering breath of autumn drifts in. The air is cool and tainted with the first edge of winter. It's a good night for walking. An even better night for stargazing; just not here. There are no stars here, only the radiant lights of buildings and cars. Those lights are beautiful, too, but they can never replace the stars on a cold, clear night.

I shove my hands into my coat pockets and start walking.

Once I arrive at the gallery and climb to the top of the outside stairs, I pause by one of the large pillars. It's a magnificent building, tall and white, with fluted columns, decorated with elegantly carved flowers and leaves. The ceiling is high and vaulted; inside, it's painted in the likeness of Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night . Sure, that's the most popular postmodernist painting there is, and it's beautiful up there.

I lean back against the massive column and watch the cars pass on the street below. In hindsight, I probably should have gotten together with Brandon and figured out where we were meeting. I just sort of assumed he'd meet me outside. He could be inside already, though. I pull out my phone and shoot him a text; then I return to watching the cars drive by.

I can't believe Logan is staying home. Is he really fine with that? Sure, he says he is, but he never stays home on Halloween. It's his favorite day of the year.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Logically, I should be able to accept that he's fine with it. I know Logan is right and has the mature response to all this. I'm an adult who can make my own decisions, and whether Logan wants to admit it or not, that's the way things are. I shake my head, as if that will clear my thoughts. I probably shouldn't be thinking about Logan when I'm on a date with another man.

Or about to be on a date with another man; or anyway, waiting on another man.

I take in a deep breath and let it out, watching the air mist white before me. Why is this all so confusing? Wasn't I super happy that Brandon wanted to go on a date with me? I'm quite sure I was; ecstatic even, flattered. And now, it feels like everything has changed suddenly and dramatically. Why? Because Logan said he loved me.

But what he said shouldn't matter, because I don't love him that way. Yet I can't deny that I feel a softness and warmth and sparks inside when I think of him.

"Mark!" Brandon calls out.

I jerk my head up, a bit embarrassed. I hope Brandon hasn't been calling me for ages, and I just didn't notice. That doesn't seem to be the case, though, because he says nothing about me not hearing him. He smiles easily and waves. Brandon looks predictably handsome. For a moment, I wryly wish this affair had been a costume party. Then, maybe I wouldn't feel so out of place…or guilty.

Even my untrained and fashion ignorant eye can tell Brandon's suit is much more expensive than mine, that I vaguely recall having bought on clearance at J.C. Penny. The suit was a good deal, which seemed like a great idea at the time. Sure, I dealt with Logan's looks of mock-horror and snide comments, but overall, I just rolled my eyes and went on sporting my cheap suit. No one ever said anything. Anyway, everyone knows that most college students are broke.

"You look fantastic!" Brandon says as he walks towards me, "I love how your suit brings out your eyes."

Riiight.

I wonder just how poor I actually look to him. Clearly, I don't embarrass him, or he wouldn't have invited me in the first place. But I still wonder how much he can tell just by looking at me. You know, me the peasant. I swallow around the lump in my throat.

"Thanks! You look amazing, too." I reply lamely. " I have to get a book on conversation." We embrace and I kiss him, maybe to give me some additional courage for the evening ahead, or to help ease my guilt of leaving Logan at home, more likely both.

The only rich person I know how to talk to is Logan, and that's because he's Logan. And here, I'm going to throw myself into a room full of rich people that I don't know, unless I've read about them somewhere. I've never felt so inadequate in my life. Thank God, we're going to this gala inside a gallery. At least, I'll hopefully be able to hold my own conversing about art. That's better than nothing.

"Are you ready to go in?" Brandon asks.

No. But the alternative is standing at the top of the steps to the art museum for an awkward amount of time, while I—hopefully—manage to get ready.

"Why, of course!," I say.

We walk inside, and the gallery is absolutely beautiful; not that I had expected anything less. There isn't much in the way of Halloween decorations, though. I suppose that makes sense. The gala is a charity event for the gallery, but somehow, I had expected there to be something ; some pumpkins or orange and black spotlights; maybe a big spider dropping on your head from the doorway? Perhaps Logan could have decorated.

This looks like it could be any other night at the gallery. Sheesh. Why bother having a Halloween gala if you aren't going to really showcase the holiday, though? I wrinkle my nose.

"Oh! I should help you network," Brandon says while taking my hand and guiding me further into the space. "Come on. I'll introduce you to some people."

Right. That was one of the perks of coming to the gala, but now that I'm here, networking sounds dreadful.

" Why hello! Oh, this suit? Oh, Jacque Pennevous , (or something French)."

Maybe I'm just bad at deciding what I want in general. I sigh and look up at van Gogh's Starry Night . That job must have cost a fortune. I wonder if it was a single artist or an entire team that worked on it. Probably the latter.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out and roll my eyes at the stream of texts.

"How is it?"...

"I've never been a fan of galas, but"…

"To each their own"…

"How does Brandon look?"...

"Is he wearing a tie?"...

"I bet it's a clip-on."

Dear GAWD . I shake my head even though I'm not all that irritated as much as I let on. It's not strange for Logan to send streams and streams of texts. I let go of Brandon's hand when we get to a spot where he's looking around the large room.

"Fine"…

"I know"…

"Nice"…

"No, it's not a clip-on.," I type a quick reply.

Without complaint, I follow Brandon as he weaves his way between women in expensive gowns and bedecked in jewelry that I have no doubt features real, quarter-sized diamonds and men in well-tailored tuxedos. Oh, I'm not out of place at all in my sorry ass blue suit. The only missing accessory is a polka-dot tie! What the hell was I thinking?

He leads me to a tall, well-built man with brown hair and dark eyes. Amidst this sea of black tuxedos, he has chosen to wear a black leather jacket over a red button down. Should I applaud him for not dressing like everyone else? I hold out my hand to shake even though my palms are starting to sweat. I am just not made for this sort of environment.

"Drake!" Brandon greets. "Drake Elwood, this is Mark Delacroix."

Elwood; I recognize that name. There's a building on campus with that name. Which is it? Business, maybe?

"Hello," I say.

"Hey," Drake replies.

His handshake is firm and polite; I get the feeling he shakes hands a lot and wonder if he notices my awkwardness in returning the gesture.

"Mark, Drake and I go way back. His family owns the island next to my family's."

Gawd! These people own islands . Why is it terrifying to find out that they do? Logan's family has an island, somehow that isn't terrifying. Maybe it's because Logan doesn't go around bragging so flippantly about his wealth and his island. Obviously, Logan always has nice things, but he doesn't just…bring up his money.

"The bigger one," Drake says. "No offense. Yours is…quaint, Brandon."

Brandon rolls his eyes. "Hilarious. Mark, here, is an artist. He's finishing up his M.F.A. at Bluehaven."

"Oh," Drake says, absolutely deadpan. "Interesting." Meaning it wasn't.

This isn't the first time I've bored someone, but it's probably my fastest time to touchdown. Ouch.

"My parents invested a lot of money in Bluehaven," Drake says.

That explains it. So, it is the same family.

"Right. There's a building named after you," I say.

Because really, how do you respond to, "My family puts lots of money into your college?"

"There is," Drake replies, looking like he doesn't care about that either, "And there should be, considering how much money my family donated. Millions to get our name on that building."

God, he says it like it's such a travesty. How dare Bluehaven College have the audacity to make his family pay that much to have their name on a building? And maybe he doesn't mean it, but he makes it sound like it's the building's name that's important. Not the school of business or arts or whatever his family's name is plastered on.

"That's nice," I say, forcing a smile.

Because what on Earth do I say to that?

Drake smirks. " Nice , you say. Well."

And now what? Here's Brandon, introducing me to connections to further my career, and I have no idea what to do or say.

"We'll catch up later," Brandon says mercifully. "It's good to see you, Drake."

"Always," Drake replies, "And nice to meet you, Mark," he lied.

There is something strange in the way he looks at me. Maybe he's thinking about how poor I am. Maybe I pissed him off. Thus far, this man seems to have the emotional range of a gnat.

I nod. "You, too," I say.

I came incredibly unprepared for this.

Brandon and I drift through the crowd. He stops and speaks to everyone in his path, and I know I shouldn't complain, because he's introducing me to important people. It isn't like he's just letting me stand here, being ignored. He pulls me into all his conversations. Brandon is so perfect. I feel like if I saw his dating profile, I'd be completely enchanted. I should be all over this and really appreciating this nice thing he's doing for me, so why am I not?

Maybe I can fake it until I make it.

"You're not enjoying this at all, are you?" Brandon asks after a while.

I wince. "It's that obvious?"

"A bit," he replies. "I mean, I'll grant you; it's not the most exciting process in the world, networking."

"Maybe not," I say, "But still, you were gracious enough to invite me. I should enjoy it. My thoughts are just elsewhere."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Logan?" I blurt out, staring just past Brandon. "Logan?!!"

Brandon almost had the opportunity to confirm that Logan was the person to whom he was referring, but stopped short when he saw I was looking past him, at an apparition I never could have imagined in my wildest dream.

Logan is near the side terrace, looking over the mass of people in his "gay Bob Ross" costume. How the hell did he get in looking like that ? I quickly rush past Brandon toward Logan.

The gala slowly becomes silent as, one-by-one, attendees marvel at the strange spectacle.

One ignoramus is heard over the silence, "Hey, I saw that guy on PBS! Has he got stuff here, too?"

The ignoramus' girlfriend smacks him up the side of his head in embarrassment.

"What are you doing here?!! And what are you doing here looking like that ?!!" I spit out as I grab Logan's arm and lead him out onto the terrace. The moonlight is peeking through some clouds.

"I'm looking for you! I know this is super cheesy, but I need you to know I'll do anything for you. I care about you. I love you. I don't want you to be with him!" Logan points over to Brandon who is staying back to perhaps give us space.

Almost forgetting Brandon was there, I give him a give-me-a-minute gesture and turn back to Logan saying, "What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do? You practically pushed me out the door tonight to go on this date."

"I know and I'm so sorry," Logan grabs my hands and with those endearing eyes of his pouring into my soul, "I wasn't being honest with you…or with me. I want you to give us a chance. I want you to give me a chance."

"Logan, listen," I state, matter-of-factly, "I need you to go home… right now. We'll talk more about this later. Can you do that for me… please?"

A worried look flushes over his eyes. I feel some guilt for chastising him. Even as silly as his gesture was, it was quite impressive and grandiose. I'm feeling the eyes of people watching us from the main room.

"Don't worry. We can talk about this later. Please… go home now," I say.

With his head down, Logan moves to the curved staircase leading from the terrace to the ground floor garden area. Ignoramus can be heard, "I know that guy! I know that guy!"

Brandon comes over once he sees Logan leave. "So, what was that all about?" Brandon asks. I look into his eyes and can tell he already knows what that was all about . "It's obvious he still loves you."

" Obvious ?" I turn to look out over the moonlit garden, "Boy, you're telling me. I am so sorry Logan did that. I feel awful he ruined your father's event."

Was I literally the last person to pick up on this? Oh, God, I didn't even pick up on it. Logan had to tell me… multiple times!

"Don't worry about it. My father can handle it." Brandon reassures me, and after a long pause, "Do you love him back?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I never considered that he might still be harboring romantic feelings for me, so I guess I just sort of put him in some sort of ‘off the table' box. Now, I don't know."

"Well, I like you a lot," Brandon said, "And I'll admit that you're someone I really would like to date and maybe have a long-term relationship with. But… if you think you might like Logan, maybe you should see where that goes. There's a lot to like. He is not an unattractive man."

"Now, that I do know," I reply. "Anyone can see that."

"Well," Brandon says, "Stay in touch, okay?"

"Did I ruin your evening?"

Brandon winks. "Not at all," he says. "I'm just going to go back into that room. What about you?"

"Back home," I reply. "I have some things I need to talk through with Logan."

"I can imagine. Good luck!"

I nod. As Brandon leaves, I watch him close the French doors and give me a bright smile and a wink, then turns, disappearing into the sea of black tuxedos. This feels right. With his warm smile through the door window, all my confusion and muddled thoughts seem to shift into a sharp, crystalline clarity.