The Homiemoon

  The Homie Moon

  Harper Logan

  Contents

  1. Frontmatter

  2. One—Calvin

  3. Two—Calvin

  4. Three—Adam

  5. Four—Adam

  6. Five—Calvin

  7. Six—Calvin

  8. Seven—Adam

  9. Eight—Adam

  10. Nine—Calvin

  11. Ten—Adam

  12. Eleven—Calvin

  13. Twelve—Adam

  14. Thirteen—Calvin

  15. Fourteen—Calvin

  16. Fifteen—Adam

  17. Sixteen—Adam

  18. Seventeen—Calvin

  19. Eighteen—Adam

  20. Nineteen—Calvin

  21. Twenty—Adam

  22. Twenty-One—Calvin

  23. Twenty-Two—Adam

  24. Epilogue—Calvin

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  2

  One—Calvin

  At a certain point, love starts to bore the everloving shit out of you. For me, that point came during the reception of the sixth wedding I’d attended in six weeks.

  “I knew the moment I met Tiffany that she was the one for Tim,” the speaker gushed.

  I swished my whiskey around in my glass.

  “She was so bubbly and vibrant, and she complemented Tim perfectly.”

  I suppressed a yawn.

  “She even won over his family. Not an easy feat!”

  As subtly as I could, I glanced at my watch. Only seven o’clock. As much as I would’ve rather been home with Buddy curled up at my feet, I couldn’t make my escape for another few hours. I shimmied around in my chair, settling in for the long haul.

  I had nothing against the speech-giver. Adam was one of the six friends that made up our core group. We’d known each other since freshman year of college, when we’d all been on the football team together at Beasley. And we’d stayed in touch for more than a decade after that.

  We all still lived in Rosebridge, and we’d managed to keep hanging out regardless of whatever life events happened. Getting girlfriends, or even getting married, didn’t stop any of us from making it to our monthly poker nights.

  But as Adam went on about how wonderful Tim and Tiffany were together, I could only sigh. Yeah, I was happy for Tim. He was my best friend in the group. And I didn’t mind Tiffany… anyone could see she was good for him.

  I was just sick to death of all the love-and-romance bullshit. My thirtieth birthday was creeping up on me like a malevolent goblin, and no weddings were in the cards for me. Not while I was this deep in the closet.

  The crowd around me guffawed, and I perked up my ears. I must’ve missed some hilarious joke of Adam’s. He grinned as he gazed around the room, and I forced a smile as his far-too-blue eyes landed on me.

  “That was how I knew the T-Man had found his T-Lady,” he said. “Tim wouldn’t have skipped a playoff game for a girl he wasn’t going to marry!”

  Ah, I knew the story Adam was talking about. I glanced over to Tim and Tiffany at their table. Even with their cheeks red, both looked happier than I’d ever seen them. My heart hurt a little, and I took a long sip of my whiskey before looking back up at the stage.

  Adam was single, too—didn’t seem to date much, although I didn’t know why. He was tall and handsome, with the cutest fucking freckles sprinkled across his cheeks. If I was the gender he was into, I would’ve been all over him. Actually, I’d been consciously putting distance between us for a while in order to not be all over him anyway.

  He put both hands on the mic, shrugging casually as he started to conclude the speech. “That’s Tim and Tiffany for you,” he said. “Congratulations, T-Man. And I expect you to give me just as good of a speech at my thirtieth birthday.”

  Hmm, that was right—Adam’s birthday was a few days after mine. August 28th, if I remembered right, and mine was the 25th.

  Every year in college, we’d talked about doing some kind of joint event. It never happened because one or the other of us was always away for the summer. Since then, celebrating birthdays hadn’t been much of a thing.

  I threw back the last of my whiskey and headed for the open bar as the next speaker took to the stage. Getting drunk for free was one nice thing about the whole having-to-go-to-all-these-weddings thing. But I was actually heading there because Adam was going in that direction.

  “Great speech,” I said as I reached his side.

  He was leaning on the bar, beads of sweat visible on his forehead—and making those freckles of his glisten. “Thanks, man. You liked it? I was so fucking nervous.”

  “I wouldn’t’ve known,” I said. “You sounded like a pro.”

  I gestured at the bartender, who poured me another generous shot of whiskey on the rocks. Adam needed it more than me, so I handed it to him and asked for another.

  “You’re a lifesaver.” He took a sip, squeezing his eyes shut and then letting out a contented ahh. “I really needed that.”

  “You’re that stressed about public speaking?” I threw back my own drink. “I would’ve thought you’d have to do it sometimes for work.” He was a middle manager for the corporate offices of the menswear store he’d worked at through college.

  “Partly because of the public speaking.” He leaned against the bar, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Partly because there’s been so many weddings, and…”

  “It’s getting to you, too?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “You and me are the only single ones left now.”

  “At least I’m in good company.” I reached out for a fist bump, ignoring the thrill that coasted down my spine when our skin touched. “I was thinking, we should do something for our birthdays this year. Thirty’s a big one.”

  He flushed adorably. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned that up there. Today is about Tim and Tiffany, not about me.”

  “I don’t think they minded.” Especially not after he’d given them such a great speech. “Think about it, though. Everyone else is throwing themselves huge parties, and I don’t know about you, but nothing like that is on the horizon for me.”

  “Me either.” He took another sip. “You know, it’s not a bad idea. I just got my student loans paid off, too—finally!”

  “Shit, so did I! I didn’t even think about it. It does seem like a good time to celebrate.”

  “It’s decided, then.” He grinned at me. “We’ll do something for sure. I should head back to my seat.”

  “Okay.” I would’ve rather stayed here and kept talking to him, but whatever. At least I’d found myself an ally in singlehood… even if I was still alone here in the closet. “I’m up near the front.”

  I grabbed another drink before turning to go. Open bar, why not? I tripped over my feet as I took my first step back.

  “You all right there?” Adam asked. “How much’ve you had?”

  “I’m fine, man.”

  I managed to walk fairly normally as we weaved through grou
ps of people. Every few steps, someone wanted to congratulate Adam on his speech. At last I got back to my table, where the other members of the bridal party nodded to me.

  Oh, did I not mention? I was the best man.

  And at the moment, the person onstage was gesturing me up there.

  I tried to make my grimace look like a smile as I walked forward. The good thing was that I was already sloshed, so my nerves wouldn’t bother me like Adam’s had done to him.

  The bad thing was that I hadn’t realized exactly how sloshed I was until I stepped away from that table. And the whiskey was still in my hand! I paused and half-turned, intending to put it by my plate, but I was practically at the stage already and it would’ve been too obvious.

  A few scattered titters rang out as I squared my shoulders and kept heading for the platform. All right, maybe it was obvious anyway.

  I nodded sloppily to Tiffany’s coworker, who mouthed good luck before leaving the stage. Taking the mic with both hands, the whiskey glass balanced between my fingers, I began to speak.

  “I’m… uh… oh, I had notes.” I fumbled in my pocket, the whiskey sloshing around dangerously. “I swear I had something good. I googled best man speech.”

  “Doing great, Calvin!” Adam called from his seat.

  He was cheering for me? Really? My face went hot, and I set the glass on the floor to keep searching for the notes. Dammit, I’d honestly spent a good amount of time putting this together, and now I was too blasted to even get through it. Sober Me was going to be pissed about this.

  But the notes were nowhere to be found. I straightened up, giving the crowd a self-conscious smile. If I was trying to put them at ease, I’d failed—they just looked uncomfortable.

  I’d just wing it. I’d say something quick, and then I’d get off the stage. I could manage.

  “Cheers to Tim and Fiffany.” Wait, that wasn’t right… but it was already out, so I forged ahead. “I’ll make this quick. Tim, you’ve been my best bro for over ten years, and Fiff…” Shit. “Tiffany, you’re perfect for him. I’m so happy for you two.”

  A few people applauded, including Adam, up at the front. I got the feeling most of them wanted me to get off the stage, but from him it felt like genuine encouragement. And who was I to let him down? I did have more to say.

  “Tim and Fiffany, you made it through your wedding. It can be a stressful, stressful day—” I swiveled my glass—“but now you’ll get to relax on your honeymoon.”

  At the head table, Tim was leaning forward and raising his eyebrows at me. His bride was grabbing his arm and whispering into his ear.

  I gave them my most winning smile. “Tim, you’ve been my friend for a long time. My bro… my homie.” I looked around the room, picking out each member of our friend group. “Same with you, Mikey, Dan, Rich…” Those three were each sitting with their wives.

  I turned my attention back to the table at the front. “And you, Adam. You know, we haven’t been hanging out so much recently, but I want to change that. You’re my homie, too.”

  Whispers were starting, and not just from the head table. I laughed to myself as I looked around the room. They all thought my speech was going off the rails, but they’d understand once I told Adam my idea. Even if I’d just come up with it now, it was too brilliant not to share.

  “We’re both turning thirty in one month.” My words slurred together a little, but only from my excitement. “And we both just paid off our student loans. We have so much to celebrate… so much…”

  I hadn’t seen Mikey get out of his seat, but suddenly he appeared at my side. One hand on the mic, he hissed into my ear. “That’s a good speech, Calvin, but it’s time to let someone else have a turn.” He wasn’t taking the mic away from me yet, but the gentle pressure he was using to pull on it told me that was the next step.

  “One second,” I said. “Adam, my friend. I’d like to take this occasion of commemorating Tim and Fiffany’s love… to invite you to celebrate our birthdays together. I want you to take a trip with me, my brother.”

  I held out a hand to him, whiskey splashing onto the floor. His face was bright red now, his hand white-knuckling his drink. He had to be so flattered that I was highlighting our friendship like this. We hadn’t hung out in ages, really, and yet I was making him the focus of my best man speech! If I were in his shoes, I’d feel so special.

  “Come away with me,” I said. “Just the two of us… on a homiemoon.”

  3

  Two—Calvin

  The sheets smelled different—like puke, for one thing, but they also had a cottony undertone with a hint of something floral. Maybe it was the detergent or the fabric softener, but one thing was for certain. I was not in my own home.

  I stretched out, and my limbs still didn’t encounter the ends of the bed. I should’ve been more careful, seeing as there was probably a puddle of bile somewhere around here. I sat up carefully, and when I didn’t see the source of the smell anywhere, I touched my face. There it was… crusted up my chin. Ugh.

  Now I remembered. I’d thrown up on the side of the street after Tim and Tiffany themselves carted me outside the wedding hall and into a cab. I’d managed to keep everything down during the ride, and then I’d puked a little more once I arrived at the hotel. Luckily, I’d made it into the toilet.

  I stood up, and my weak legs managed to carry me to the bathroom, where I washed my face. The smell lingered, but I guessed it tended to do that. It’d been years since I had to deal with the aftereffects of drinking so much. That open bar had just slayed me. At least nothing too embarrassing had happened. Not that I could remember, anyway.

  Yeah, getting wasted was pretty stupid of me, but I’d made it back in one piece. I sometimes blacked out when I drank—large swathes of the night would disappear into oblivion, and friends would later recount all the crazy things I’d said or done. Drunk Me made very little sense most of the time, and I’d had some good laughs hearing about his antics.

  This time I remembered everything: Heading to the wedding reception, hearing Adam’s speech, talking to him at the bar… all right, there it did get a little blurry.

  My phone was vibrating, and I grabbed it from the counter before falling back into bed. The starched white sheets were crisp against my rumpled clothes. I’d managed to get out of my suit jacket before falling asleep, but everything else was still on. I hadn’t even taken off my tie.

  I tugged at the knot as I opened my phone. Eight missed calls and twenty-four new text messages? Dammit, Drunk Me, what the hell happened? I listened to one voice mail after another. None of them were saying much… although I picked up from Tiffany that I’d ruined their wedding. Fuck.

  No one was really saying what I’d done, so I turned to the texts instead. The most recent came from Tim. A video was attached, and all the message said was Dude…

  My stomach did a queasy flip as I clicked the video. The title was Best Man Fail, and it already had two hundred views on YouTube. Drunk Me, I thought I could trust you.

  I watched in silent horror as a tiny version of me drunkenly slurred his way through an attempt at a best man speech. God, had I been so disturbed by the wedding that I felt the need to get that wasted? This had to be one of the most embarrassing things I’d ever done.

  Oh, wait. I hadn’t even gotten to the good part.

  “And you, Adam,” I said from the stage.

  Why the fuck was I making my speech about Adam at Tim and Tiffany’s wedding? Tell me Drunk Me didn’t hit on him. That would be the fucking icing on the cake. The fucking wedding cake I’d stood up and taken a metaphorical shit on.

  “We have so much to celebrate…”

  I didn’t seem to be going down that hitting-on-Adam route, thank God. Still so deep in the closet that no one would ever manage to find me. Not until I was ready, at least.

  I intended to come out one day, I really did. Tim and Tiffany’s wedding wasn’t the time, though. And if I hadn’t managed to find the right time in
the ten years since I’d figured out my sexuality, well… I just wasn’t ready.

  I’d been a football player in college, for heaven’s sake. My buddies were still former football players. Athletes weren’t exactly known for being open and accepting about homosexuality. And then there was my family. Let’s just say it’d be safer to wait for my parents to go senile before trying to come out to them.

  I turned my attention back to the screen. At least things couldn’t get any worse. Could they?

  Yeah, they could. “Come away with me. Just the two of us… on a homiemoon.”

  Oh God. I watched, frozen, as Mikey tried to take the microphone out of my hands. I wrestled him for it, still yelling about the homiemoon, and then I kept calling out to Adam as Mikey ushered me off the stage.

  I swallowed, letting the phone fall to the mattress. A small blessing was that the camera had been focused only on me. I hadn’t had to see the crowd’s reactions as I made an absolute ass of myself.

  Although I’d been able to hear the laughter.

  And the booing.

  And I still had to look at the other twenty-three texts on my phone.

  God, I felt like throwing up all over again. And I was about to see the rest of the guys! We’d decided to all spend the night at a hotel. The idea was for us to keep the party going after Tim and Tiffany took off for their honeymoon.

  But I’d done enough of that on my own. Jesus fuck, what was Drunk Me thinking? I didn’t even recognize the guy who’d been up there. That part of the evening was a huge blank to me, and I would’ve been happier if it’d stayed that way.

  My brain was enough of a bro to delete the most embarrassing parts of the evening. These smartphones and YouTube, not so much.

  I refreshed the video. Two-fifty views now, and the first comment had appeared. Too funny! Calvin and Adam, please go on your homiemoon!

  Yeah, right. I doubted if Adam would ever speak to me again.