Page 46 of Run, Run, Roommates
It’s a little one that comes up to my chin, but it is stuffed full of ornaments and sparkling lights.
“You did all this?”
Marco rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. This was all going to waste at William’s place and I thought maybe you’d like it.”
“Yeah I like it. But I didn’t think you wanted to decorate. What changed?” Please don’t tell me this is sympathy I’m-sorry-I-defiled-you decorations.
Marco clears his throat and looks down. I immediately go to him and circle my arms around his waist. He tells me about finding the wreath and talking to Drew while I hold him tight. It’s emotional for him, and I can hear how much it meant to him to have someone else honoring his brother in a way he would have wanted.
“I thought Drew was right, you know? My brother loved the holidays and I can reframe it to think about him in remembrance instead of loss.”
I put my chin on his chest so I can look up at him. “I am so glad that you reconnected with Drew.”
“Me too. Actually, he invited me to Christmas Eve dinner tonight. I was hoping you could come with me.”
I mock gasp. “Who me? Attend a Christmas party?”
He rolls his eyes at my antics, but he’s smiling.
“I was going to try to talk you into a Christmas movie tonight. But a party sounds way better.”
“It’s not a party,” he warns. “Just dinner.”
I’m so eager to meet Drew, this friend of Marco and Joe’s from the Before Brin times, that all of my exhaustion from earlier is forgotten.
Drew and his partner, Ioann, live in a charming and warm brownstone in Clinton Hill. Their Christmas tree sits in the window overlooking Lafayette and their dining room, while narrow, is cozy. Along with the hosts, there’s also Megan, a tiny woman Ioann dances with at a ballet company, and Nevaeh, Ioann’s fourteen-year-old from his first marriage. The six of us fit comfortably in the space dominated by dark wood wainscoting and a bricked-in fireplace. An elderly pittie snores in the dog bed close to the stairs, worn out from the excitement of having guests.
With such a small group, maybe Marco was right about this not being a party. But it’s even better, because once we’ve finished eating, we linger around the table over wine and our empty plates.
The whole evening has been awash in laughter and old stories. Drew has so many fond memories of Joe, and I can see Marco drink them in like a parched well.
“Do you remember,” Drew says, holding up his red wine, “our first Pride Parade?”
“Do you mean the Pickle Pride Parade?”
“And by pickles, you mean . . .” Ioann says with his thick Russian accent. Then he makes a rude gesture that has everyone laughing, and Drew tries to cover Nevaeh’s eyes.
The teenager rolls their eyes. “I don’t want to hear about weird sex things. Can I be excused?”
Without waiting for an answer they get up.
Drew shouts, “It’s not a sex thing. We smelled like pickles. Don’t you want to know why?”
Nevaeh takes an oversized Nirvana sweatshirt off one of the kitchen barstools and slinks upstairs.
“Well, I wanna know why you smelled like pickles,” Megan tells Drew.
His eyes crinkle. Drew is in his thirties, dark hair and eyes like Marco but his skin is light brown. “We wanted to tie-dye clothes and read that vinegar would make it brighter. But all it did was make it smell bad.”
“But we weren’t gonna show up to Pride without some kinda rainbow,” Marco adds.
“And Joe wanted to be decked out.” Drew flips his hand for emphasis. “You should have seen his hippie-dippie pickle-smelling crop top.”
“He got invited up onto the stage at one of the shows, I forget which one, and the whole time I could only think about those drag queens wondering what the fuck smelled like pickles.”
Drew leans back, chuckling. “Joe could be a wild child sometimes. But his confidence came from knowing he had you to look out for him.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Marco mutters.
