Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

on a blank page from his sketchbook and tore it out. "Give me a call," he repeated, smiling as he held it out to Riley.
    Riley took it, a nostalgic look in his eyes. "You and your sketchbook." He paused and added, "It's really good to see you again, Westie."
    No one had called him that in years. "It's good to see you again, too." He watched Riley go, and then let out his breath and had some more coffee.
    ****
    Riley didn't come home over winter break their freshman year, and stayed with West and his family that first summer vacation. Their second winter break, West flew out to see him in Ohio for New Year's Eve and stayed with him in his little dorm room.
    "The dorm is mostly music majors," Riley had told West happily when he got accepted to Bowling Green with a tidy pile of scholarships to pay for it. "We're by the main music building and there are practice rooms right in the dorm." He'd lost none of his enthusiasm for it even in his second year, while West was starting to feel worn out from living in Lost Angeles and being so far from home. There were so many good schools in Seattle, even if they weren't ranked for their arts programs, maybe he should have gone to one of them ...
    He and Riley were talking about this the night before New Year's as they lay in his narrow bed (his roommate's bed was West's while he was visiting) and it felt like old times, like when they would lie in the bottom bunk at West's house and talk until they both fell asleep. He looked at Riley, as gorgeous as ever and happier than West could remember seeing him, and moved without thinking to place a kiss on those familiar lips.
    It went on longer than he expected, longer than he'd ever dreamed, and Riley's lips stayed soft and even opened. It went on until Riley placed a hand on West's chest and said, "Dude, " in a quietly reproachful way, and West said, "Right, yes," and moved to the other bed. Riley had always been okay with putting an arm around him— had even kissed his cheek once in the tree— but they'd never done anything more and he still went out with the girls who flocked to him every Saturday night.
    The next night, at the New Year's Eve party thrown by the music students, West spent most of the night talking to a boy with green painted fingernails and dyed black hair who painted West's nails while they talked, and Riley spent most of the night dancing with a girl with long red hair and earrings all the way up both ears. At midnight, West kissed the boy and Riley kissed the girl and West thought nothing had really changed.
    That summer Riley stayed in Ohio with a friend from the music program, saying it was cheaper than traveling back and forth, and by the time he and West graduated he hadn't been to Seattle for years.
    ****
    West finished his coffee slowly and when he was done, went home to study. He had notes to write up and case studies to read. His favorite place to do this was a corner window that looked over the street, and when he looked up from his laptop sometimes he could see neighborhood kids playing or people working in their yards. His parents had wanted him to move home to save money, but he'd already agreed to room with one of his friends from undergrad and once they found this building they both had fallen entirely in love. At least the newlyweds' new apartment was only a block away and West had a standing invitation to come by any time.
    It was hard to focus. West's mind kept wandering to Riley, their adolescence together, that kiss. They had gathered people to them throughout high school who ignored the Jesse Snyders of the world and found they could connect to each other. West had fallen in love once or twice. Riley had flitted from girl to girl, the kind of behavior he'd continued through college and, West assumed, the two years since graduation. No matter how many other friends they might have, though, no matter who they went out with on Saturday nights, they always came back to each other. The top bunk in West's room was Riley's, and they still did homework in the oak tree or at Father Jackson's table.
    One night when they were fourteen Riley had brought a bundle to West's house, and they sat on the floor of West's room as Riley carefully unwrapped the blanket he'd used to cushion this precious object: an instrument case, which he opened to reveal a honey-colored violin. "It was my mom's," Riley said, and West didn't know what to say because Riley never talked about his mom.
    "Play for me?" was what first