The Miles (28 page)

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Authors: Robert Lennon

BOOK: The Miles
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“We can't leave anything out here on the course, Zane! Just imagine two laps on the track. It's less than that!”
They made the sharp right turn at Columbus Circle and entered Central Park once again. As they approached the park's interior running loop, a final sign said 400 M
ETERS
TO
F
INISH
, and they muscled through the last set of rolling hills toward the balloons outside Tavern on the Green. Liam felt splintering pain down his side and through his back. His body had stiffened so that it seemed as if his legs could not eke out one more stride. Cruelly, the last feet of the race were uphill. The clock ticked off as they approached, side by side. Liam yelled to Zane not to slow down but to hurl himself through the finish. Every second would count.
Liam finally stopped his watch after they had crossed the series of timing mats at the finish line. 2:59:15! Amazingly, they had managed a 6-minute pace for the final half mile. As his body relaxed for the first time in hours, Liam felt a stabbing throb in the small of his back and could tell that a series of blood blisters had formed between his toes. He offered his neck to a beaming volunteer who adorned him with a medal for finishing the race. Once they had cleared the crowded finish line area, Liam turned his tired body toward his teammate and hugged Zane furiously. They walked gingerly toward the baggage claim area, supporting each other, arm-in-arm, like injured soldiers.
THE FINISH LINE
A
s he finished dressing for the party, Liam splashed some water on his face and raced his fingers through his hair in the small bathroom of his Grove Street apartment. He maneuvered around the little marble sink and took a piss in the toilet before checking out his appearance one last time.
“You could not look any hotter if we chiseled your jaw out of some fine Italian marble.” Didier stood at the bathroom door and presented Liam with a tall glass of Belgian beer. There was almost nothing more fulfilling or pleasurable than the pre-cocktail cocktail—also known informally as “apartment tailgating.” Liam thought that he picked up this predilection from watching the movie
Swingers
too many times as a teenager.
“Don't give me a hard time, Mr. Man,” Liam said, twisting Didier's nipple playfully. “And put on a nice shirt. We have to get to Gary's in the next hour or else we'll be well beyond fashionably late. He can be a little idiosyncratic when it comes to punctuality.”
“I think I am going to stay in, Liam. I have been a little worn out from the spate of Fast Tracker events recently. Between the runs, the races, the social events ... I just need a little downtime tonight.”
“You can take a Fast Tracker sabbatical after tonight, dearest. Promise. I need you with me tonight, and this will be fabulous anyway. Gary throws amazing fêtes, and I am sure there will be a theme and some unbelievable food and holiday fare. I can't go without you. Plus, it will mean a lot for Gary and for Monroe to see you there. This is the first official event that they have thrown as a ‘couple,' and they will need all the reinforcements and support that they can get.”
“I am really happy for both of them, Liam. I really am. And I will do a double date with them any time that you choose, but these types of large parties where fifty people are crammed into a room meant for twenty are not my cup of tea—and they are awful for socializing or catching up.”
“Look, I am not trying to win an argument with you here based on logic, Didier.” Liam placed his two open hands around Didier's waist and could not fathom the tone or perfection of his boyfriend's body. No matter how many times he touched this specimen of beauty, Liam still managed to be surprised by each sinew and vein. “Would you please do this for me? It would mean a lot.”
Liam heard himself say the words and realized how true they were. It
did
matter to him—and that fact alone sent a frightening chill down his spine. He thought about the fact that they were well past his ninety-day expiration date. The relationship had had its twists and turns, but Liam was proud of himself for giving it his all. Now he needed to know that Didier was in this too.
“It's just a party, Liam. You will know every single person there. You do not need me—not in the slightest. Those guys are your family. I am still like a hanger-on, an awkward guest at the dinner table.”
“I can't believe that you are doing this to me now, Didier. You knew about this party for weeks. We should have left fifteen minutes ago and now you are pulling the rug from under my feet and expecting me to smile and enjoy the party on my own. Well, no! It is not that simple. People in relationships do these types of things for one another.”
Didier's eyes widened and he took a step back, looking uncomfortable in the incandescent light of the hallway.
Liam realized that he had said too much. Neither of them had placed a definitive label or elaborated on their personal expectations of their time together. Liam felt raw and exposed and alone in the strange silence that ensued. Turning and walking toward the bedroom, Liam took three successive gulps of his beer. The Chimay tasted cold and bitter in his mouth.
“Liam, don't walk away ... It really is
just
a party. And I will be here waiting for you when you get back.”
“It just might be that I need more than that, Didier.”
“More than someone who wants to be with you? More than someone who will be here when you come home late at night? Is there anything more than that?”
“I saw the way your whole body contorted at the word
relationship
. I may be a little younger than you are, but I am no dilettante. I am not a novice at these games. And I know what I need, Didier.”
“Liam, it has been a ridiculous and tumultuous year for me. My marriage has fallen apart; I switched running teams; I upended my entire life; and I know that I want you. Isn't that enough?”
“I don't know. I want it to be, but I know myself too well. I deserve something more here. Oddly, Didier, I think you deserve more too. When it is right, it is right. I may be a hopeless romantic or just hopeless, but I happen to believe all that.”
“You are just tired and worked up over this party and what people will think, Liam. Who gives a fuck about what other people think, Liam?”
“I know. I know ... But this is not about what other people think at all, unfortunately. It is about what I think. Good-bye, Didier.”
Someone had left the door to the apartment building ajar, and Liam walked through the main hall without ringing the buzzer. The party had started over an hour and a half ago, so he knew he would not be surprising anyone. A little wreath of red berries decorated the flaking paint on Gary's apartment door. Liam waited outside for a minute, certain he was not at all up for the jolliness of the occasion. He had just begun to turn to leave when Gary opened the door and saw him standing there. With a hearty laugh, Gary threw his arms around Liam and dragged him inside the apartment.
“This one was trying to leave before he even arrived! I know this is no longer Central Park chic, but I still know how to throw a party!”
Gary immediately handed Liam a beer. In his nervousness, Liam swallowed the beer in two greedy swigs. Fast Trackers—mostly the young, cute, fast ones whom Gary notoriously adored—had congregated in trios and quartets across the 400-square-foot apartment. People sat on the futon bed, leaned up against the trash can in the kitchen, and perched on the little ledges of Gary's nightstand and bookcase. True, the place was jam-packed, but the crowded studio had proven itself a more graceful and festive party space than the cold, labyrinthine splendor of his old Fifth Avenue digs. Liam gave Gary a big kiss and then noticed Monroe dishing eggnog into a big serving bowl in the teeny kitchen.
Liam had not spoken to Monroe in a couple of weeks due to the crazy double issue that he had been tackling at the magazine—twice as much content as usual and three different editors taking vacations because of the holiday season. As Liam went over to lend Monroe a hand, his best friend shook his head testily and sashayed with the big glass bowl above his head across the studio to where Gary stood.
The two men danced around each other like awkward teenagers. This party clearly did serve as the stage for their coming-out publicly as a couple. Liam looked on and hoped that their romance would last. They had both so clearly earned this small chance at true happiness.
“Let's toast!” Gary said, grabbing some mugs of eggnog from Monroe and whisking Mitch and Zane and Liam off into a far corner for a group moment. The intensity of Gary's happiness startled Liam.
“To what?” asked Liam. “To
almost
winning, to
almost
finding love, to
almost
figuring out how to make life work?”
Liam did not know why he had blurted out anything. That was not the plan; he had promised himself on the walk over to the party that he would not get emotional. He tried to leave all his conflicted feelings about Didier on the cold December streets of New York City. Liam did not want to spoil Gary's big holiday party, but his emotions kept seesawing up and down. He hated that so little in life ever seemed to turn out right. The smashing defeat to the Urban Bobcats at the marathon. Tonight's fight with Didier in the wake of his spur-of-the-moment decision to skip the party, in what Liam had innately sensed was Didier's decision not to get into anything too deep too quickly. And if Liam really examined the situation in Didier's life—all the change that had gone on in the last few months alone—he could not really blame him. Didier deserved the free time to sow his wild oats and live an exuberant gay life in New York before settling down to the responsibilities of a boyfriend. But in a moment of agonizing self-flagellation, Liam could not help but wonder why it was that people so seldom got what they wanted.
“Toast to what? To the future? To something different down the line? To the possibility of greatness? To happiness?” Liam had started to well up, and people were looking at him stealthily, with a sad combination of judgment and pity.
“No, silly,” said Gary. “I don't toast to what might be; I toast to what is. I want to toast to us. To this party. To surviving. You guys are my life, kid. We are what each of us will always have. And let me tell you
that
is worth more than you know. That is worth this whole fucking mug of eggnog—and all the booze in my liquor cabinet!”
They drank and talked and lit the Charlie Brown Christmas tree that rested on Gary's radiator. Someone had turned on the Yule Log and bars of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” wrapped their way through the room.
Noticing some wet snow floating through the black, bare trees in Gary's makeshift backyard, Liam slipped outside into the garden. He stood on the little square slab of cement that acted as a patio and quietly watched the first sign of the new season. The snow was weak but growing, struggling to become a truer version of itself, and Liam was so happy to bear witness. This was why he knew he would always live in New York. Seeing things change had become a part of his identity. He walked out across the dead garden grass and felt the newborn snowflakes turn to water on his skin. Liam lifted his head to the sky and spun in circles as a galaxy of white filled the night air. Gary shouted something indiscernible from inside, and Liam looked back in to see Monroe grabbing Gary and positioning him under a little sprig of mistletoe amid the crowded party. The night had begun to unfold, and people grasped desperately at whatever possibilities and prospects were within their reach. Liam wanted to watch the scene in quiet from the courtyard for a just a little while longer—to savor the moment. As he stuck out his tongue to taste the falling snow, a crop of Fast Trackers appeared at the window, pressing their noses intently against the glass and hollering at him to come back in and join the party.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
 
 
THE MILES
 
 
Robert Lennon
 
 
 
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
 
The suggested questions are included
to enhance your group's reading
of Robert Lennon's
The Miles
.

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