The Muse's Undoing

“Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, no problem.” My pleasure, in fact.

Fischer leads the way down the gallery hallway to the living area. The apartment has been scraped clean of most of its personality, and the hole in the stud features prominently.

“Damn,” I say when I see it.

“Yeah—drywall guy should be here tomorrow.”

“What’d you do to piss her off?” I ask as I set the drinks and bagels down on the coffee table.

“I’m not sure it was malicious. More a factor of her boyfriend’s incompetence.”

I laugh as I sit on the couch and notice the cushion has almost no give. “Dude. This couch sucks.”

“It doesn’t,” he argues.

“It looks like it doesn’t, but it’s hard.”

He sits beside me and leans back, propping his cane on the coffee table. “It’s a perfectly fine couch. Expensive, too.”

“Like I said…it looks nice…”

Fischer digs into the bagel bag and finds the one I got for him with lox. I grab the sesame seed for myself and try to make myself comfortable, dragging my thigh onto the cushion and facing him, once again trying to take in the fact that he’s really home.

It’s one thing to stay in touch with someone—to know you’re never too far from their thoughts, but having him on the same continent is an intense relief, one I hadn’t realized I’d been so stressed about. I put my hand on his shoulder and give it one, long, firm squeeze, trying to communicate all of this. He gives me a smile like he gets it, too.

I’m curious to know where we’ll go from here in terms of our relationship. We started off as adopted brothers who didn’t grow up together and were never close, then we became two grown men who shared a bed platonically for nine months while he was in the worst mental and physical pain of his life.

We have a bond, for sure, but it’s hard to know what it looks like anymore, given all the time and life that’s passed. It’s not like I have nothing to do but pour all my attention into him like I did back then, not that he would want that anyway, but I wish I had more time to get to know him again. “Glad to be back? Or are you hating it already?”

“I already said it’s good. I want to be home.” He puts a hand on my knee, giving me a squeeze, too. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“I mean…you know everything. I told you about Valentine.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Great.” I lean my head on the back of the couch and sip my tea. “She’s perfect. I wish I could see her more often.”

“What’s she inspiring for you?”

“She’s got an ethereal face,” I tell him. “Like, angelic. It reminds me to be delicate. I’ve started working with glass.”

“Glass, huh? Do I get to meet her?”

I scowl. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I thought—you make her sound special.”

“They’re all special.”

He gives me a confused look.

“I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“You don’t need to,” he says, letting me off the hook.

I relax. “So, what about you? What have you been up to at all hours?”