I nodded in agreement. "I wish I'd been able to retake exams when I was a kid. It would've preserved some shred of my sanity. All I did was worry about one test or another." I shook my head and moved another paper to the top of my stack. "I tried to walk the sixth graders through some in-the-moment coping strategies last week because they were a hot, messy mess during my review session."

  "The first round of term-end assessments always freaks them out," Max said. "They go from the calm, loving embrace of Audrey's fifth grade to this middle school hellscape where they have different teachers, different classrooms, a different bell schedule, and summative exams." He straightened his stack and tucked them into the Brattle Book Shop canvas tote I used for graded papers. The NPR tote held the ungraded ones. The NPR tote was rarely empty. "But they have you to help them through those growing pains even if Avila goes and scares the shit out of them in the math block."

  "Isn't that the truth."

  My colleagues were incredible. The best of the best. Juliana Avila, the math instructor, was as tough as nails. What I offered our students in grounding techniques, she met with stone-faced, no-nonsense, and high expectations. She loved the kids, and she loved the work, but it looked different on her than it did on me. Neither of us was right or wrong. Teaching styles and demeanors varied, and that was a good thing. Kids needed all different kinds of role models and connection points. A fine example of that came in my colleagues in the English and history departments.

  Clark Kerrin and Noa Elbaz argued about everything but they did it in a painfully polite way that cut and sliced until they were nothing more than finely shredded echoes of people. And somehow, they did this while making the students think it was a funny little game, a rivalry of sorts, like cross-town high school football teams. I had to believe they had styles independent of this ongoing rivalry, but I couldn't imagine them without each other.

  "Are you almost ready to pack this up?" Max asked. "We can finish the rest tomorrow."

  "I have to grade lab reports tomorrow," I replied as I counted up the incorrect responses and scribbled that number at the bottom of the page. "Give me five minutes. I'll get these done."

  Max reached across the table. "Give me a few more. We'll do this together."

  Max's friends Tom and Wes hosted tonight's gathering in their South End brownstone. We'd been here once before for game night and the place was decorated like a chic magazine spread, all one-of-a-kind pieces mixed with modern glam and earthy neutrals.

  It was the perfect fit for them, though, to be fair, I didn't know Wes at all. I'd met him at the game night event but we'd sat with different groups on opposite sides of the apartment and shared little more than polite greetings and goodbyes. Tom, however, I'd grown friendly with in recent weeks. We had a bit in common and picked up each other's vibe right away. Our tendencies ran toward nerdy, high strung, and bespectacled with funky ties. Others saw us as remote or closed off, we worked a lot more than was healthy, and we were attached to large, gregarious men.

  Tom and Wes got engaged over the summer and were still in the date-setting phase. Last I'd heard from Tom, Wes's business travel schedule had kept him on the go in recent months, but they were hoping to make some decisions over the holidays.

  Tom worked on the finance and holdings side of an architecture firm. I didn't have a full accounting of the facts, and Tom was particularly tight-lipped on the matter, but as best I could gather, Wes trained private military and spy forces for a living. I couldn't say I'd ever met someone in that profession before.

  Max's friends were as important to him as his family and our colleagues. There was no future for us if I couldn't get one of these guys on my side, and I was thankful he counted a quiet, bookish boy like Tom among his favorite people.

  A bright, true grin split my face when the door swept open and I saw Tom on the other side. "You made it," he shouted over the noise behind him. "Come here, come here." He held his arms wide and closed us into a crushing group hug. "So happy you're here."

  "You make it sound like you haven't seen us in a decade. Pretty sure it hasn't been more than two weeks." Max pressed a bottle of champagne into Tom's hand. "Happy holidays, young man."

  Tom held the bottle out to study the label. "You shouldn't have," he yelped. "What are you doing, bringing the good bubbles into my house. Are you trying to get me naked, Murphy?"

  From literal thin air, Wes appeared, his blond brows arching down as he asked, "What was that?"

  Tom angled the champagne toward his fiancé. "Max and Jory brought the good stuff."

  "I never did get you an engagement gift," Max said with a shrug.

  It was curious how he made it seem as though his gestures weren't deliberate. Almost like it was better—simpler, perhaps—to be the lovable goofball instead of the thoughtful, intentional man.

  Wes hooked a beefy arm around Max's neck and pulled him in for a hug that looked more like wrestling than an embrace. Tom eyed them for a moment before reaching out and squeezing my forearm.

  "So good to see you. And I can't get over that tie." He tapped the knot at my throat, grinning at the dark green fabric embroidered with blazing red poinsettias. "Where do you find these things? I need to know so I can steal your style."

  "I wish I could tell you," I said as Max and Wes shifted out into the exterior hallway and fell deep into conversation. "They were my grandfather's. All of my ties were his."

  Tom studied the knot again. "He's a selfless man to part with such a sharp collection."

  I shook my head. "When he passed away a few years ago, my mom asked me to go through his things and take anything I wanted before she donated it all. He was a bigger guy, so I doubt she expected me to touch the clothes. She thought I'd want books, old news clippings, random stuff. Mementos, you know?"

  He nodded and edged closer to hear me over the music and conversation. Parties were the worst places to talk but people were always hell-bent on doing it anyway. "Of course," he said. "I'm so sorry for your loss. Were you close?"

  "Not when I was a kid but more toward the end." I ran a hand down my chest, feeling the outline of the tie under my sweater. "I visited him on the weekends. His home health aides only came for an hour on Saturdays and Sundays, so he was mostly on his own. My mom needed help because she couldn't afford the extra coverage and it wasn't like he'd let a babysitter come in to make his lunch or fix the television when it blitzed out. So, I'd drive up from college and watch football games with him. I'm not a huge football fan but that wasn't the point. I got to know him. The person, not the grandfather. I hadn't realized until then he had an existence completely separate from my experiences with him. That everyone has experiences completely separate from the role they play in your life." I traced the outline of the tie again. "He didn't really need me to stay the whole day. He fell asleep before the first half of every game."

  "And now you have all his swanky ties as a reminder of that man and his existence," Tom said. "I love that story."

  I bobbed my head in agreement. It wasn't like me to reveal so many truths at once, though there was something gentle and accepting about Tom, like he knew how to draw out and care for even the most broken and battered among us.

  "I'm happy you're here," he said with a quick glance at Max and Wes in the hall. "You're good for him. I like the look of you two together."

  I had an effusive response at the ready, some "that's so kind of you to say" and "thank you for having me" and a bit of "your home is lovely" and a final dash of "merry everything" but another of Max's friends swooped in, effectively bursting that gentle, accepting bubble Tom had built around us.

  "Hello, hello," Pawl sang, looping his elbow with mine. His long, dark hair hung loose around his shoulders tonight and he wore a headband embellished with a small, glittering Santa hat. It was gorgeous against his porcelain skin. Pawl was a corporate attorney by day but that didn't interfere with his headband collection or the skirts he paired with his suit coats and ties. "It's a delight to see your gorgeous face again, Jory. Come along, let's get you a drink. It's the holidays after all. Must be jolly."

  I gave Tom save me eyes, but Pawl caught his elbow too. "Oh—but—we were just—"

  "Let's leave the daddies to talk," Pawl interrupted with a wink in Wes and Max's direction. "It's important business, being beastly and all. They're probably comparing their body-hair grooming routines and comparing beard oil products. Very important business. They'll know where to find you when they've exhausted those topics or they realize they haven't pawed at you in five minutes. Whichever comes first."

  Pawl led us into the white marble kitchen and started mixing several cocktails while Tom restocked the charcuterie board. In the time it took Pawl to rub a lime wedge around the rims of five highball glasses, the group swelled to include Joseph, Flinn, and Bryce.

  I'd only met Bryce once before this evening and it'd been shortly after his mother's death. At the time, he'd barely managed a weary smile, a handshake, and a promise that he was usually much more fun. He was dark skinned, slim, and very tall, the version of tall that required him to duck when walking through most doorways. He practiced law at the same firm as Pawl.

  Joseph, Pawl's partner, was a wide-shouldered dental hygienist who routinely asked me which part of Vermont I was from and whether I was vegan. I couldn't tell if the Vermont thing was a passive-aggressive move or I wasn't adequately memorable to make all my previous responses stick. I refused to believe he'd forgotten.

  Flinn worked in pro sports publicity, always seemed genuinely interested in talking about whichever science topic was in the news that week, and was currently in a relationship with a woman. I wasn't sure whether he was pan or bi and didn't know him well enough to open that conversation.

  Save for Max and Wes, who now seemed strategically absent, the core of Max's friend group was all here. Gathered around me.

  My stomach dropped. Oh, hell. Fuck. This was an ambush. An interrogation with liquor and fancy cheeses as implements. Fuck. They'd planned this. Oh my god, they'd planned this. I gulped down a breath of sand and scrap metal.

  Pawl handed me a drink and motioned for everyone to join him in raising their glasses. "To new friends," he drawled. "And old ones too. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

  "I'd like to see you try to get rid of me," Flinn said to the clinking of glasses.

  The group shifted after the toast, and Bryce and Pawl positioned themselves on either side of me while Joseph, Tom, and Flinn brought the circle in close. The six of us were tucked into a narrow space between the kitchen island and the refrigerator. By all accounts, this wasn't a great situation for me since I was the only one who didn't know what was happening.

  I locked both hands around my glass, thankful for the cool dampness of the condensation as the back of my neck flamed.

  "So, Jory, we're hoping you could clue us in on a few things." Pawl sent a meaningful glance to the other members of the ambush squad. Sweat rolled down my spine and soaked my shirt. "If you don't mind."

  I took a sip of my drink, something limey with a confident pour of vodka, to buy myself a minute. I did this whenever I needed a pause from my students—save for the vodka. It gave me time to think and breathe. There were moments when I had to tamp down some frustration or conceal a laugh in my water bottle. Kids often said hilarious and wildly inappropriate things. Even the best of us struggled to keep a straight face sometimes.

  I wasn't sure I could keep a straight face for this. I kept my gaze on a tight circuit between the door—come on, Max, get in here—and my interrogators. Still, I didn't know what I'd do if they'd staged this coup to break up Max and me. Would they do that? Could they? I didn't need their approval but contending with their disapproval was a different story. And why would they disapprove? I had more than my share of issues but that didn't mean I needed to be run out of town.

  Pawl draped his arm over my shoulders, leaning in close to ask, "How is he doing? We're worried about him."

  "I—what?" I blinked at him, thoroughly confused.

  "He looks so much better," Joseph offered. "He looks alive again."

  "Happy too," Bryce added. "You can tell his spirit is in a much better place."

  "How is he doing?" Pawl repeated. "Have you noticed any Eeyore days?"

  I shook my head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Tom nodded, finally understanding my confusion. "After Max left his ex, he went through some difficult periods. Some Eeyore days. You know Eeyore. From Winnie the Pooh. He used to be all Tigger but things went from bad to worse with Teddy. Tigger faded away. Eeyore took over."

  "I don't believe that," I said with a shocked, humorless laugh. I knew he'd struggled after his breakup but this sounded nothing like the Max I knew. "I can't see Max being—being Eeyore."

  Bryce and Flinn exchanged a loaded glance. "Believe me," Flinn said. "It was a rough time for him. It seemed like he was slipping into a depression, but he didn't want to discuss it with any of us."

  "He never wants to bother anyone," Bryce added. "Even when we want to be bothered."

  "Especially then," Joseph said.

  "We didn't know what to expect when he told us he'd met someone." Tom tipped his chin in my direction. I was the someone. "We were worried it wouldn't be healthy for him."

  "Thanks," I muttered.

  "You are adorable and all the precious things," Joseph said. "But we didn't know that at the start. We didn't know if it was a rebound or a repeat of the cycle with Teddy—"

  "I don't cheat on people," I said, louder than I'd anticipated by the sudden snap of quiet.

  "Of course not," Tom said.

  "Dude, we're Team Max, and you're the MVP of that team," Flinn said. "We're asking you these questions because we want to believe he's out of the Eeyore days, but since he's spending all his free time with you, we're not sure what's up or down."

  When I didn't respond because I was honestly trying to put all of this information into a logical order while also convincing my brain this wasn't a fight-or-flight situation, Bryce said, "We need to know if he's really doing okay or if we should push him to visit a doctor for some help. I'd been keeping an eye on the situation, but then my mom passed, and my entire life was on hold for three months."

  "And I had to duck out when a few of my athletes got caught up in a gambling scandal," Flinn said. "I've spent the past couple of months on the road more than off and I didn't check in with Max nearly enough."

  "I got engaged," Tom said, holding up his hand to show off his ring. "And we left town for a bunch of weddings and then we spent a month hiking overseas. I know I didn't talk to him nearly enough."

  "We've been shitty friends," Pawl said. "That's what we're trying to tell you. Max would run barefoot through the streets if we needed him, and somehow, we all managed to flake out on him when he needed us too much to ask for it." He shook his head and glanced down at the floor, his lips pressed together in a line as his chin wobbled. "We had the situation with Max and his Eeyore moments in hand until life cocked it up for us this summer. Now that we're not falling apart anymore, we want to thank you for being there for him. He's happy as a fucking clam and we're damn lucky he found you. He can't stop talking about you, by the way, so please don't break his heart." He tapped his glass to mine. "We've probably been shitty friends to you too, but I swear to gumdrops, we're working on it. Now, tell us. How's Coach doing?"

  I parted my lips to respond but Max's blond head and smiling face joined the group. "There you are, babe!" He pushed his way through the wall of my finely dressed captors, cupped my jaw, and kissed me as if we'd been separated for years rather than minutes. When he came up for air, he plucked the cocktail from my hands and swallowed it in two gulps. He held up the empty glass, saying, "Another, please. My boy has worked his ass off this week and he deserves some holiday cheer. Move it, Joey. I know you can mix a cocktail faster than that."

  I caught Tom's eye and grinned. "All Tigger."

  As predicted, we didn't get back to Mallori's house until late. After midnight, before dawn. Somewhere in the middle. The specifics of it were hazed over and gilded around the edges as only vodka could. Vodka and fiercely protective friends.

  Since Tom and Wes sent us home with a holiday-printed Pyrex dish of leftovers—which we gorged in the back of the Uber to some extremely righteous Christian rock—we didn't raid Mallori's kitchen or call up for pizza.

  Instead, we stumbled into the house, laughing and groping and loudly shushing each other as we shrugged out of our coats, kicked off our shoes. The now-empty Pyrex found its way to the sink with a clatter that probably woke the entire street. Max gathered me up in an embrace that was more tackle than hug and flattened a hand over my mouth.

  "You're in my bed tonight," he said, wedging his thigh between my legs. "I want you there every fuckin' night, Jory. You know that?"

  It wasn't a question in search of a response but I nodded anyway. I did know. He told me this almost once a week. On occasion, he shared this along with visual proof. His cock in gym shorts or boxer briefs. Under a thin sheet or in his fist. Dripping wet after a shower. I knew.

  Neither of us was in a situation where we could manage regular sleepovers. My roommate was nuts about keeping everything just so and he hated unscheduled visitors. Max lived here with a family of four and often had unscheduled visitors in the form of his niece or nephew bounding down the basement stairs to tell him some amazing new thing.

  None of these conditions were ripe for the carnality of a hot new relationship.

  We spent a lot of time kissing in cars. We took long walks, went to the movies, ate at cozy restaurants where it was necessary to sit extremely close together rather than a product of our lust. And we capped those outings with at least an hour of car kissing. On the nights we retreated to Max's place, we'd settle a blanket over our laps and ignore the television while maintaining some deniability if the kids—or Mallori—came down for a visit.

 

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