Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

our friends what you've done with the place."
    "That sounds really nice," I said. I'd already met some of their friends briefly, seen more come and go without introductions. They seemed like the kind of guys everyone liked and wanted to be around, and I was sure they were beyond ready to entertain. I wished I could see it for myself—the two of them, glowing and alive, surrounded by friends.
    "We're looking forward to showing off your work," Marcus said, grinning. "It'll be a big tribute to you, so I hope you've got some dance shoes in that duffel."
    My jaw dropped. "Oh, I didn't think—"
    Bryan looked at Marcus as if to say I told you so. "You didn't think you'd be invited? Tony, come on, you're the guest of honor."
    A moment ago I had wished I'd be invited. But now my heart was dropping into my shoes. The thought terrified me. To be with them, bathed in their praise, knowing that every plaudit would be just as much a goodbye? It'd kill me. I shrank back, and Marcus must have thought I was going to keel over because a minute later he was reaching forward, a hand burning its impression into my upper arm, and God it was hard to breathe.
    I pulled away sharply. "I'm fine."
    "We thought you'd be excited," Bryan said.
    "I—" I fought for words. "I don't think it's a good idea."
    Bryan's face fell visibly, and I turned away. I wasn't going to volunteer why, not when I didn't have a good excuse cooked up. I could hear Marcus behind me, gearing up to say something, but he lost his momentum and fell silent too. I headed upstairs without a word. There was no reason to talk more. Even though there was a mountain left unsaid.
    They got quiet after that. Really quiet, like they were holding back. I could feel the restraint in each movement, each time we talked. Bryan would reach out, and Marcus' hand would fall on his arm, and silently they'd agree to hold back. The warm friendliness that had made life such hell for me in this house was gone. It became a cold, professional thing, the way we talked—a few questions about the direction things were going, a curt "How are you" in the morning—no more laughter, no more close encounters or casual touches.
    I should have been relieved. It had hurt so much every time Marcus' hand came down on my shoulder, every time Bryan brushed by and his eyes met mine with the glittering excitement of a shared joke. It was all gone. But the pain was multiplying in my heart like a ripe bruise, tender and sore whether or not it was touched. I ached. I missed them. I'd pause with a roller, the smell of paint fresh in my nostrils, and feel like I was breathing in teargas. This scene was incomplete. There was no Bryan behind me to admire my work, no Marcus to make a smart remark. I was alone in this home that didn't belong to me, and it was wrong. It was all wrong.
    When I lowered my roller for the last time and looked around the completed living room, my heart twinged. Done. I was done. All the paint needed to do now was dry, and then I could strip away the cloth and plastic, pack my things, and be free of this house.
    I will swear until I go to the grave that the paint fumes were just really strong in there. That's the reason my eyes were stinging.
    When I'd completed cleanup, I ushered them into the room. Wide, sparkling, vibrant and inviting, it was everything they'd wanted and then some, and Bryan clapped his hands over his mouth to hide the force of his grin. Marcus squeezed his shoulders from behind and beamed. "Perfect," he said. "Tony, it's perfect. I can't—we can't thank you enough."
    In his eyes was the warmth I'd been missing for so many days, and I wanted to cling to it, to reach my arms around the both of them and thank them for letting me in, letting me make a difference in their lives. Instead, I nodded and tried to hold back my own pleased grin. Heartbreak or no, a job well done was a source of joy for me. "I'm glad you like it," I said. "Now, I think it'll take me about a week to find another apartment, so until then I'll stay out of your hair, but as far as I can tell, my job is done here."
    Bryan's fingers had fallen from his face to Marcus' forearm. "Marcus," he said with a bit of urgency.
    Marcus nodded, and Bryan's face softened. "Do us a favor," Marcus said. "Stay put for a second. We'll be right back."
    They retreated from the room wordlessly, and I was left standing in the middle of the room, the joy of my creation tempered by fear. Had I done something horribly wrong? Had