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“Well, I have to take the train up there and I don’t have a car, so I’m stuck at my parents’ house all weekend.”

Donnie’s looking at me like I have to be joking. It’s a weak excuse and I know it.

“Where do they live?”

“Springfield, Massachusetts, not Illinois.”

Donnie furrows his brow. “Is that a small town?”

I’m not surprised that he doesn’t know it. New Yorkers, am I right? “No, it’s a city, but it’s mostly suburbs.”

He nods. “So it’s mainly a transportation issue.” He’s too smart for my own good.

“No, it’s more than that.”

He takes a bite and looks at me while he chews, waiting for me to continue.

I huff dramatically, throwing all my acting chops into it. “We argue about nothing and I don’t even know why.”

“You don’t get along?”

I scrunch up my face. “We don’t not get along.”

“You’re adorable, darling, but you’re not making any sense.”

I flush. I know I’m not making any sense, but Donnie called me adorable and now I want to giggle. “What about you? Do you get along with your family?”

Donnie’s smile freezes on his face and oh god, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? He drops his gaze to his plate.

“We don’t have to talk about it. Sorry, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head and tries to grin. It looks painful more than anything else. “My family’s all back in London. We’re not close. In fact, I haven’t spoken to them in years.”

I want to know why. I don’t dare ask. I stuff more quinoa and chicken in my mouth.

Donnie wipes his lips with his napkin and sets it aside. “They didn’t take my coming out very well. This was in the nineties, in the middle of the AIDS epidemic. They basically told me that if I insisted on being gay, then I could find myself somewhere else to live.” He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat.

“So I came to America, met Roger, and…” He holds his hand out, palms up, then drops them back into his lap.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” I feel awful, like a spoiled, ungrateful brat who doesn’t appreciate what he has.

Donnie’s gone through so much, survived so much. Losing the love of his life. Having his own family kick him out. I don’t have a fraction of a clue what any of that is like. I can’t even imagine it. I don’t have anything I can say, nothing to share that can make him feel better.

And Roger. He sounds like a really cool guy. Smart and funny and successful. I would never measure up to that. I’m a kid compared to him—compared to Donnie. So what exactly do I think I’m doing here? Trying to fill Roger’s shoes? Good god, I am delusional. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to do that.

“It’s life,” Donnie says, softly, gazing at some spot on the other side of the room. “There are highs and lows. You don’t get the happy moments without the sad ones.”

“But you’ve had so many sad ones.”

Donnie's eyes dart to mine and he grins indulgently. “I’ve had a lot more time to accumulate them than you have. I have a lot more happy ones too.”

That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Donnie’s older, mature, sophisticated. I’m young and inexperienced and naïve. What could I possibly have to offer him? What could he possibly see in me?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CONNOR

We kind of fall into a routine, but instead of being mundane, it almost feels like I’m on the verge of something big. I’ve never felt more energized in my life—though, maybe that has something to do with all the healthy eating Donnie’s foisted on me and all the extra spin classes I’ve been going to. Donnie’s taken to saving a bike for me, which means I have to show up, and I’m not mad about it.

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