Never Easy

Part 4: Absolution

N.B. Spanish translations are found in the appendix.

The counter was clean. The floor was swept and the table was set. The window was also clean, and through the open curtains the afternoon light streamed from the kitchen into the dining area, casting a warm, diffuse square of light on the back wall and shining brightly where it intersected with the white lacquer of the table. A large pot of pasta was simmering on the stove, its lid clattering excitedly around the steam escaping from inside; next to it a smaller saucepan of tomato-mushroom sauce bubbled contentedly, rising to an occasional "plop!" of joy. The rest of the house was clean enough. There was white wine, and red wine, and cold beer if the occasion required. Everything was picture-perfect by any objective standard, but Ryan was still nervous. He knew it was stupid; he and Jason had been good friends for years now, and had seen each other in far less flattering circumstances than a modest but carefully prepared dinner—but Ryan always got a little nervous when he and Jason got together. He could play it cool, usually, because he knew that Jason thought of Ryan exactly as a friend and, frankly, Ryan thought of Jason as a friend. Jason had never judged Ryan since that awkward day in the copy room, had never acted remotely concerned that Ryan was gay or a scarry; on the contrary, he had only been supportive and kind, in person or at a distance, when Ryan had had a difficult enough time to need to talk about it; and it seemed disrespectful to pretend that any of that friendship were based on physical attraction, especially since it was unrequited. But the fact remained that Ryan got a little weak-kneed every time Jason first showed up because he always seemed to forget how distractingly good-looking Jason was. Ryan knew this was about to happen, so he nervously dusted his kitchen even though it was already microscopically clean.

Of course Ryan had been there for Jason before, too. Jason's cool, competent façade had only broken a few times in a decade, but when it had, Ryan had been there to listen and buoy him up. Three—was it four?—breakups—Jason always seemed to have rather spectacular breakups—and starting his own company had brought on their share of long, late-night talks, and Jason had admitted more than once that Ryan was one of his favorite people to talk to; who else could he simultaneously ask for business advice and a listening ear on relationship troubles?

Jason had done well for himself. About two years after Ryan's surgery he had left to found his own startup, initially in competition with his former company, then bought by them. Somewhat wealthier, he decided to try again. He worked with software companies and medical supply companies, insurance companies and complex rehab custom manufacturers. He invested, sold, sat on boards, consulted, downsized; he traveled all over the world, his unflappable demeanor and slightly crooked smile closing deals and convincing skeptical investors, improving worker morale and earning him millions. And here he was, visiting little old Ryan, who still worked in the same building as he always had, so Ryan was a bit nervous.

Ryan tensed as car noises approached, but each time they quickly receded beyond the house. Then he heard the crunch of his gravel driveway and his heart leapt in his chest. Deep breaths, he told himself. Why are you so nervous? They had met up like this dozens of times before, but Ryan had always been a little flightier than he once was . There was still a certain mystery about Jason, an impression that Ryan didn't know exactly what Jason was thinking, and Ryan still worried somewhere deep down that someday Jason would be offended and leave for good.

But enough reminiscing and worrying this time around. The car noises had stopped. Ryan didn't have to look to see that it was a nice car, but he looked out the window anyway. It was a nice car! A metallic-baby-blue convertible with leather seats. It would definitely turn heads in this neighborhood. Jason was no longer in it, which meant he must be at the front door by now.