Page 136 of The New Place

They had a list. They should have stuck to the list. He’s, oh⁠—

Ned’s hand slides into his and gently, he pries the bottle free and pushes it toward Pat, saying something to him that Abbot can’t hear.

Pat sets it down and then claps his hands once, loudly, then again. “Alright people,” he calls, stepping into the midst of the conversations and raising his voice over the clamor. “Listen up, folks. We’re pivoting. We’re doing this all wrong. Everyone who’s not getting married today is on setup crew. The grooms, you two go on, get. We’ll take care of everything. Go upstairs.”

“Oh, of course,” Cheryl says. “Go take some time for yourselves.”

“Absolutely,” Chris says. “Soak it all in.”

“I can help,” Abbot says automatically.

Ned tugs at him. “No, let’s go.”

Pat shoos them toward the door. “Go, go, go. You two need a minute. Give us a half hour or so, and we’ll let you know when you can come back down.”

Outside, winter’s icy silence hangs around them, a relief in its stillness. Their breath comes in white puffs of clouds, ice fracturing beneath their shoes.

28

NED

Pat’s apartment looks the same as always, the recycling nearly overflowing, a couple dishes sitting on the kitchen counter, and his shoes tossed carelessly by the door.

Ned perches on the arm of the couch and Abbot sinks into the same spot he always chose, back when he’d come over to watch baseball or bring work to ostensibly do, and he and Ned would invariably end up in bed.

Those were good days. That entire fall semester had been, when everything had been the potency of new love and the novelty of having as much sex as he wanted. Before Ned had moved and real life had rushed back in to interrupt their bubble where expenses and living arrangements and job security couldn’t touch them.

“My parents are kicking me out?” Ned asks the quiet room.

“I think they’re just renting out the house,” Abbot says.

“Sure.” Same thing, it feels like. And Abbot…“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Great. They both are. Happy fucking wedding day.

Ned sets his elbows on his knees and pushes his face into his hands. Renting. Swapping. Whatever, they’re trading houses with strangers from Italy, a plan that sounds like it hinges on Ned being gone.

He lives there. He has to live there. That feels like an important detail everyone is brazenly overlooking.

Like how everyone thought it’d be a good time to bring up Abbot’s mom. “Hey—” Ned starts.

“I can’t. Not today.” Abbot’s voice is deeply strained, a fissure waiting to break open. “Please. And Ned, the house⁠—”

“Don’t tell me it’ll be fine.”

Abbot nods. I wasn’t going to, he at least doesn’t say, because they both know he was. An assurance it would work out, another offer of help, and Ned might scream.

Abbot looks like he wants to, too. How fun. They can both have breakdowns while everyone giddily celebrates downstairs.

“We’re good?” Ned asks and then states, “We’re good. We are.”

“Yes, we are.” Abbot squeezes his hand.

Ned squeezes back. They are, and they always have been. And they’ll continue to be.

Just…married.