Love Is Always Write Volume 4

Owen watched his friends as they pressed their hands against the brick wall. When he did it, he let his hand feel the weather-worn brick, and the masonry layered between. Life was a series of layers, built on a sturdy foundation that can weather changes. Owen smiled and caught up with his friends.
    They sat on the riverbank until the sun rose. Each of them ran down the batteries on their phones playing music. They discussed every major event they had shared. They discussed their hopes and dreams for the future. Owen knew this was another layer of masonry that held his life together. Why had he made so many mistakes while he was at NYU?
    They dropped Jay off at home first. Saying goodbye wasn't as difficult as Owen had expected.
    Grace pulled up to Owen's house, and they were sitting in her parked car. "You okay?" he asked.
    "Yeah, it's weird. I'm really okay. It's like something changed, but it's good." She turned and smiled at him.
    "Ditto," he said and kissed her cheek. "Weekly coffee, Greene Beans, you and me." Owen pointed at her and then himself.
    "It's a date," she said.
    He closed the passenger door and watched her drive away.
    ****
    Saturday morning was on Owen's mind the rest of the week. When Friday arrived he was restless. He had avoided going over to peek in the windows of The Hearty Boys. And he hadn't been back to Richard's. Instead, he'd been working on a new project. His mom and Maman had cleaned out the old art studio in the attic for him to use. His maman had a new studio built for her own use in their backyard. He was grateful for the space and privacy. In a house with four kids and two moms, privacy was a premium.
    Owen kept checking the time. He'd been painting for hours. He decided to take a break. He headed straight for the kitchen. The house was amazingly quiet. His moms were in Europe for an art buying trip, his sisters were both doing internships out of state, and his younger brother was at a basketball camp.
    He plugged his iPod into the speaker system set up in the kitchen. Owen danced and searched the kitchen for food inspiration. Nothing. He stopped at the counter and stared out the window. He was nervous.
    His stomach growled. Deciding to go for easy, he loaded a plate with cheese and crackers. He discovered a container of Maman's ham and leek soup. He warmed some up. The soup reminded him of being a kid and Maman only speaking French. When he first heard her speak English, he was shocked. He had no idea she spoke both languages. The moms had to explain to him that Maman just wanted to make sure he and his siblings were fluent in French. It wasn't a magic trick.
    Owen cleaned up the kitchen and headed upstairs. It was seven o'clock, and he only had eleven hours until his date. "Date? Appointment?" he looked at the cat. "What do you think?"
    The cat jumped up on his bed and mewed. Then fell over, as if it were all too much, and began a thorough cleaning of her fur.
    "You're not much help," he said.
    When he looked at the time, he realized he had spent an hour debating jeans versus chinos. He grabbed the jeans and put the chinos back in the closet. Maybe he could waste another hour on shirt choices?
    When he was finally satisfied with his clothing, he didn't know what to do. Typically, he'd get on online and see if he could find a hook up. Or go out dancing and find a hook up. Or troll the NYU campus parties and find a hook up.
    He went back to the attic and worked on his painting. He finally found a rhythm and stopped checking the time obsessively. Unfortunately, when he did look at the time, it was after one in the morning. He cleaned his brushes and headed to the shower. He collapsed in bed still wet from his shower.
    Something was making a terrible sound. The alarm caused him to fall out of bed. He searched the floor. He had set his cell phone alarm and placed it across the room on purpose. Finally, he found it and turned the damn thing off. Seemed like a good idea last night. Now, though, he was cranky, tangled in his sheet and sprawled on the floor.
    Owen rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his unshaven face. He looked at the time. Crap. It was after five. He had less than an hour to get ready. After he had finished brushing his teeth and shaving, he stared at his reflection.
    His hair was standing straight up on the left side. Great. He wet the unruly mess and smoothed some gel into it. Once he was satisfied, he stepped back and stared at himself. He'd always