You sit, night after night at the same table, watching him sing. You aren’t sure of the compulsion that leads you. Friendship is one thing; this is another.

But you ignore that.

He’s strangely excited this night, where he’d usually be morose. He has news, you can tell, but you’re almost afraid to ask.

He sits across from you now, the black polish you find so absurd chipping on his forefinger. His eyes are bright.

“He likes my sound, Kev,” you hear him say. “Wants me to go with him to New York.”

Go. New York. New York is not Chicago.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes; it’s always today.

“Send me postcards.”

You held his hand when he came out to his parents. Not as a lover, but as his best friend. He did the same for you. But though you both maintained that boys were your gender of choice, you both still continued to pursue relationships with women when the chance arose.

Sometimes it feels like another thing you couldn’t decide on.

You don’t expect the phone call at three am, but it doesn’t wake you either. You hadn’t been sleeping much since he left.

“Kev!” His voice in your ear is so distant. “New York is awesome!”

“That’s great, man.”

“The clubs! The women! The men!”

You smile at his enthusiasm, an automatic response to the excitement in his voice. You’d been told that smiling people sound happy, even when they aren’t.

“I recorded some stuff Tuesday. The Mick says I can have an album out in about two months.”

“That’s great!” you say, hoping the smiling trick works. “Send me an advance copy.”

“Of course.”

“How’s working with the Mick?” You wince as soon as the words leave your mouth, anticipating the flood of words concerning the rock star.

“It’s fine.”

You wait, expecting more. And when it doesn’t come you know. Rod would talk for hours about his women, but say nothing of his men.

You feel a yearning void deep in your stomach, because you know.

“That’s good,” you manage to choke out.

“How’s Abby?”

Who? “She’s fine.”

“Yeah, hey, listen. I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I need some sleep.”

“Call you later.”

You bury the phone back in its bowl of peanuts and ignore the fact that the void you feel is jealousy.

She asks you to meet her after work at ‘your stop.’ You wish people would stop referring to it as your stop. It isn’t. It’s hers. You’re just along for the ride.

She’s folding a paper airplane as you walk up the stairs.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” she says as you approach.

“Who am I?”

“I’m not even sure that you know,” she answers.

And you know it’s over.

You find him on your doorstep a week later. He knocks instead of using the key you know he still has.

“Can I stay here?”

You’re confused and hopeful and a little scared but you nod and step aside, inviting him in.

“Thanks.” He steps in, shaking off rain and the smells of the streets when he drops his overcoat on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” Fuck. “I mean, why are you back?”

“Because the Mick is a complete fuck. Only wanted me in New York so he could sleep with me. I can record from here.”

You don’t understand. “But why?”

“Because it didn’t feel right. It was weird. Especially after I called you.”

You hate yourself for the twinge of hope. “Why then?”

“Because I missed… I was missing… you, Kevin… FUCK!”

“What?”

“Kevin. You’re….” he trails off and turns away. “How’s Abby?”

You flinch. “We broke up.”

Your heart leaps. And you hate putting it that way, but it’s the only way to describe your feeling at the look on his face, surprise mixing with hope. “Kevin. You were missing. I mean. I couldn’t… I wasn’t happy… You know. You weren’t there.”

He whispers the last bit in your ear. And you know because suddenly he is incoherent about you. And that void that ached inside you for the past three weeks fills, fills to overflowing and you can’t stop yourself from saying “I love you” because you’re used to letting your chances pass you by. And you know that if you let this one pass no amount of personals ads and billboards will bring it back.

And the smile on his face is worth your uncertainty, and the kiss he gives you is worth your fear. And you think, as he pulls you to the sofa, that you’ve been working toward this end for your entire life.