Page 44 of Technical Advances

“I promise, he’s not. They’re not.”

“Huh. That partner of his seems to spend a lot of time buying up smaller companies or putting them out of business. You’re sure …”

“That’s just business, Dad. Competition or whatever.”

“Son,” he said softly. “What if you were the competition?”

“I shared my project with them. Willingly, freely, Dad! It’s not like that. We just happened to be working on the same thing. Here, let me show you …”

I didn’t know how else to convince him except by diving into the science—and Dad, as usual, started to glaze over the second I did.

Dad grunted when I finished, and I hated that he felt the need to keep his emotions in check, understandable though it was since we were surrounded by strangers on the subway. He’d tried so hard over the years to relate to the way my brain worked, to the fact that we hardly shared any interests, to the fact that I’m gay. He really tried, but he’d always been a man of few words. That grunt meant we were going to agree to disagree; that we would have one more thing that we didn’t understand about each other.

I needed time to solve this equation in a way that Dad would get, and that certainly wasn’t happening on a commuter train on the Friday night before graduation.

Dad’s hotel was near my apartment, so we exited the T together, remaining silent as we walked in that direction. It took me a few blocks out of my way to stick with him, but since he wasn’t as familiar with the city, I walked to the hotel’s portico with him.

When we got to the bustling door, I muttered, “Please don’t worry about me, Dad. Everything’s great with my new job. I promise.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Everything was great with my job at New Day Tech, except for the fact that I couldn’t erase the memory of kissing the owner of the company in his lab while I ran my fingers through his hair.

Dad nodded before hugging me. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Benji.”

“I know, Dad.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” he said as he followed a large group into the hotel lobby, a group that looked like a big family, probably also in town for graduation, based on the number of them wearing MIT gear. I thought about my dad and all he had lost. With my mom gone and my grandparents away, Dad would be sitting in the audience all alone the next day. I tried not to let that fact bum me out as I moved away from the bustling hotel entrance. With me finishing up my degree, maybe my dad would finally take some time for himself. Maybe he’d even find someone to date. He’s not that old, I thought, realizing almost immediately that he was exactly as old as Anson.

Even in May, a Boston evening can get chilly. I tucked my hands in my jacket, tucked my head down, and power walked to my apartment, dodging crowds on the busy street like I’d learned to do over my years in the city. My thoughts were still on my dad and how serious and concerned he seemed. It was not at all how I had envisioned our dinner with Anson would go.

I had prepared for tension between Anson and me, but I had hoped he and Dad would have a pleasant reunion. My dad sometimes seems so alone to me, and sure, Anson had Beck, and a company full of colleagues, but did he have any other friends?

It was all so frustrating. I could be his friend or maybe more. But how would that work? If the public found out that Anson was dating an entry-level employee, what would the ramifications be?

I couldn’t envision ever getting to that point, because Beck would swoop in long before the press and try to put an end to anything between us. In truth, wasn’t that what his daily interruptions were all about? Beck protecting Anson. Protecting him from me.

I needed to shield him, too, his reputation and his company. Pushing him away had been the right thing to do. The only thing a person who cared about him could do.

I stopped when I passed a bench and sat down, searching for recent images of Anson online. There was only one of us touching grass, and from the angle it had been taken, our joined hands were blocked, making it look like we had just both bent down to pick something up. The poster had commented simply that they were excited that Anson Day was a fan of the same food truck as them. I heaved a sigh of relief, feeling like we had dodged a bullet and wondering what would have happened if people had started speculating about the tech mogul and the much younger man he had been holding hands with at the Boston Commons.

“I have to protect him,” I resolved as I stood and continued the trek to my apartment.

My mind was a jumble of thoughts: my dad, living by himself in his childhood home; Anson, spending most of his time in a private lab that hardly anyone else ever got to visit. I thought about social media and friendship and loneliness, age gaps and queerness and loss.

I was preoccupied with the chaos in my brain, something that I was very much not accustomed to having, as my keys jangled, and I opened the door to my apartment.

The back of two heads, sitting on the couch and staring at the Boston Crimson game on our huge TV, were a surprise. A familiar-looking sports jacket, bisected by a ponytail, stretched over the shoulders of one of the men.

Jake turned around first.

“Oh, hey.” His eyes bulged as he tipped his head toward the other person. “You have a visitor,” he said. I think he may have been going for nonchalant, but he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.

The other man stood and turned, running his hands down the front of his jeans as if he was suddenly worried about his casual appearance despite the fact that he’d been sitting with my roommate, a twenty-something college student clad in a torn T-shirt and baggy sweatpants—while he was still clad in his expensive sports coat and jeans that looked like they were tailored to fit him.

They probably were.

“Anson!”

“Benji,” he said, right on the heels of my surprised outburst. His tone was much more subdued, calm, or maybe sad.

Jake leaned forward, grabbing something off the coffee table before getting up. Without taking his eyes off his phone, he rounded the couch toward me and the still-open door that I stood in front of, in a bit of shock.