Page 31 of Love Language

But Marco must have seen it in his face. How about next Thursday again? Since I’m new in town, maybe you can show me some more of your favorite restaurants. We could make a weekly thing of it.

Sure, Greg agreed, relieved.

He was still going back to his achingly empty house, but now he had something to look forward to.

And that was how it went. Every Thursday. Dinner at all of Greg’s favorite restaurants.

When they ran out of those, dinner at new places that Marco found for them.

And then, when it started to get warmer, picnics in the park and long walks in new neighborhoods after their meals.

Until Greg’s whole week was built around Thursdays.

Chapter 7 Marco

June

Marco startled as his alarm flashed and buzzed. He’d just landed a contract with TechFlex, a new sportswear manufacturer who wanted him to do their entire marketing campaign, and he’d been fully engrossed in his work.

The company seemed to be fun, and everyone was enthusiastic to get started. He’d gotten emails from several of the entrepreneurs and he liked the artistic style that they wanted. While he expected their business to have some hiccups as they got off the ground, they’d already given him an advance on his work.

He was itching to just finish up the image he was working on—some cool chalk drawings overlaid on a cityscape with a skateboarder—but he was even more excited about his evening plans. He quickly saved everything and closed his laptop.

After a quick shower and shuffle through his closet, he looked over himself one more time in the mirror and smoothed his tie. He’d chosen a pale pink shirt and a brighter pink tie which would be a nice splash of color under his navy blazer. He liked how it looked, and he hoped Greg would, too.

He wanted Greg to notice him.

He felt like a teenager getting dressed up for school because he’d see his crush during sixth period. Marco rolled his eyes at himself and headed out the door.

Marco picked Greg up from work since they had a bit of a drive ahead of them. They were going to a play, which would be a nice treat for both of them. It was in a tiny theater and the show was written by some new playwright they’d never heard of, so he didn’t know what to expect.

But the theater had ASL interpretation tonight, and that was rare enough to meet up on a Friday night instead of a Thursday. It was also rare enough to drive for over an hour, even if the play was only mediocre. At the worst, he’d be fully knowledgeable of what he was tearing apart when he panned it later.

They talked while he was driving, Greg carrying most of the conversation since Marco was at the wheel. He explained a bit about the TechFlex project, and Greg was genuinely excited for him about his new contract. It was nice to have someone be excited for him.

Then, Greg started reading reviews of the play on his phone and telling Marco about them. It sounded like it would be somewhere between mediocre and terrible.

Let’s keep our expectations low, Marco suggested, and if we’re lucky we’ll be pleasantly surprised.

That was kind of Marco’s advice to himself for Greg, too. As long as he didn’t have any expectations, he could just soak up Greg’s presence.

As a friend, of course. They hadn’t hooked up or scened in the two months since Greg started talking to him again, not even a peck on the cheek.

Maybe they never would.

But there was still something just a little bit… more. Maybe?

When they got to the theater, Greg was still messing around with his phone, which gave Marco the time to slip around the car and open his door.

Greg smiled up at him and Marco, because he was a hopeless fool, gave in to his impulses and leaned over to unbuckle Greg’s seatbelt.

Greg, surprisingly, let him. He took Greg’s hand and guided him out of the car, placing a hand at the small of his back to lead him inside.

Sometimes, it mystified him that such a simple act could both get him so revved up and feeling all mushy inside.

The theater was tiny, maybe thirty or forty seats, and a set that seemed far too large and complicated for such a small space. They squeezed into their seats in the middle of a row and chatted while they waited for the show to begin.

Maybe a quarter of the audience seemed to be using ASL, which wasn’t surprising. Marco had found out about the show from a Deaf newsgroup, and whenever something like this was available word spread fast. They probably weren’t the only ones who’d driven over an hour to see a mediocre play.