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“Are you . . . surprised?” Edwin asked, still staring at his glass.

There was a pause.

“Yes and no.”

More seconds passed. Edwin looked up.

“Are you mad?”

Smiling warmly, William shook his head. “No. I’m a little sad, maybe, but only because this seems to be making you sad. I can imagine how heavy this has been to carry. And I’m sorry you felt like you had to carry it alone.”

Edwin swallowed hard past the lump in his throat.

“Thank you,” he managed to croak out.

William nudged him. “So, this is what’s been bothering you? You’ve been working up the courage to tell me that you like men?”

Edwin frowned. “Not . . . exactly.”

His bottom lip quivered, and William bumped Edwin’s arm with his elbow once more.

Edwin’s eyes fell back to his lap. “I, uhm, I like someone. But because of . . . what might be obvious reasons . . . he and I can’t be together. And it’s not . . . that we’re both men, though I imagine such a thing would make a relationship hard on its own, but because I . . . well, because if he ever found out . . .” Mustering up his courage, Edwin lifted his gaze to meet William’s. “Will, I’m worried that he wouldn’t want me. Worse, I’m worried that he’d tell people and that my family would be forced to move. Even farther away from you than before. And I know he likes me, too. But even so, I can’t make myself take the chance.”

William’s face fell. Edwin’s stomach fell with it. He braced himself for what William might say in response, wondering whether the change in William’s expression had been because the mention of Edwin liking a specific person had been too much for him or if it was because William was simply overwhelmed by the realization that Edwin’s constant carefulness was, perhaps, warranted.

Finally, William said, “I wish I could offer some kind of platitude that might make you feel better. Or that I could tell you that your worries are unfounded. But . . .” He threw back the rest of his whiskey in one fast gulp. “I have similar worries sometimes. About myself.”

Questioningly, Edwin tilted his head. He opened his mouth to ask William to elaborate, but William held up his hand.

“I’m not ready to say anything more.”

Edwin’s chest tightened, and he forced a nod.

For the next few minutes, they sat there in silence. Edwin threw back the remainder of the whiskey in his snifter, taking comfort in its burn like before. Afterward, he stood and fetched the bottle of liquor from the other side of the room, where they’d left it on top of the chest of drawers. He poured one more finger of whiskey in each of their glasses and then placed the bottle on the floor near the foot of the bed before sitting back down next to William.

“I will tell you more, eventually,” William said. “I know it was probably wrong of me to have sat here and let you tell me such private, intimate things while I—”

“It wasn’t,” Edwin said quickly. “And if you end up never wanting to tell me whatever it is that you’re alluding to, then that’s fine with me, too. Our friendship isn’t contingent on compulsory honesty, Will. I want you to tell me things because you want to tell them to me.”

“Thanks, Edwin,” William said with a slightly crooked smile. “I carry the same sentiment.”

Edwin smiled back.

Both men took a drink. And Edwin’s chest warmed, not only from the liquor this time, but from the love he felt toward his oldest and truest friend as well.

Chapter Ten

Edwin

Pen in hand, Edwin sat in what had once been his mother’s room but was now their library. Fire crackled in the small fireplace nearby, the intermittent popping sounds somewhat soothing even as Edwin’s palms were starting to sweat. Staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, Edwin crossed his legs. And then he uncrossed them. And then he crossed them again. He repeated this sequence several more times as he wondered what he should say in his letter to Andrew.

It had been four weeks since the photography lesson, and the two of them had yet to contact each other again. Initially, Edwin had assumed that he’d run into Andrew eventually, perhaps in the neighborhood or even at the Whitney Estate. But he hadn’t. And so, now Edwin had been left to wonder whether he really had ruined their friendship by rejecting Andrew’s advances.

He hoped not.

Hovering the pen’s point only an inch above the paper, Edwin thought about the afternoon he’d spent with Andrew, and his stomach fluttered. The sensation was both bothersome and pleasant at once. He still liked Andrew. He liked Andrew a lot. Sometimes, in fact, he liked Andrew so much he felt as though his heart might burst right out of his chest. Every time Andrew’s handsome face floated into his mind, Edwin became so overwhelmed with like he felt as though he could barely stand to continue to exist. If only he could free himself of it somehow. Empty himself of these intense, romantic feelings he possessed for the wonderfully clumsy man who could never and would never be his.

Edwin eyed the paper, its off-white color begging to be marked by ink. Before he could think better of it, he began to write.