The funny thing was that just as Nate and I were finally coming to terms with our situation... everything changed.
Typical.
The first change came at us fast and furious... our near-sacred baseball screenings quickly evaporated. As the final countdown to the playoffs got started, all kinds of fair-weather fans came out of the woodwork and wanted to be part of the action.
Including, alas, our wives.
I'm hoping that when my wife announced she and Nate's wife wanted to join us to watch the games, and wanted make some nice hors d'oeuvres and bring a bottle of wine to share while we did so, I reacted with grace and poise instead of making a face of unbridled horror.
Worse was the playoffs themselves. Nate decided to host a viewing party--his downstairs TV room was large enough, and posh enough, for just such an occasion. Several of his co-workers were expected. I slapped a smile on my face and was a magnanimous guest... although at one point, I did whisper to Nate that whatever he used to clean the downstairs couch, I hoped it was strong.
He punched my arm.
The playoff games were an utter disaster. Our boys crashed and burned, getting knocked out in straight games. Worse, they looked like they were playing T-ball in a Hollywood film about hapless, lovable losers.
Fucking Yankees.
Fast on the heels of that debacle, Nate got a great opportunity at work that sucked up nearly all his free time. As the new guy, he had been itching to make a name for himself; the company decided to give him a chance with a project that would take everything he had for about six months, and still keep him tied up after that. Nate was flush with excitement at the opportunity and I very vocally cheered him on, even knowing what it would do to our chances of getting together. At first, we were able to still sneak in a couple of small-scale get-togethers where I, um... "pumped him up," but those quickies on the side weren't the same as those magical fuckathons during that first weekend of discovery.
I have to say... all that combined bullshit, going down at all the same time, kinda knocked the wind out of my sails. It fucking sucked. Ironic, being that I had been seriously thinking of trying to break things off with Nate to avoid getting too attached. Not a chance of that anymore.
Damn.
I really, really, really missed the life-changing sex we had. But more than that, I... I... missed my buddy. Well, "missed" doesn't seem to capture the full range of feelings. I couldn't really put it into words.
Looking back, that first crazy-ass weekend we spent exploring together had really did a number on me. It was something I couldn't shake... or seem to move forward from.
At the same time, I intellectually realized that Nate missed me, too. During the first couple weeks on his new project, he reached out often, saying he was thinking about me, and trying to schedule time together, even if the timing never quite worked out. But as the project advanced, even those messages fell by the wayside. I was happy for him, but... well, it sucks being the one left behind when someone else starts an adventure.
Fall turned to winter. At the start of December, my wife and I hosted a massive open house to kick off the holidays. Nate and Shannon showed up and were their wonderful selves. Nate tried to talk to me, but as I was the host, there was always something else that needed my attention. Only when they were starting to leave did he finally corner me away from the rest of the hubbub. Nate quietly held up a sprig of holly he had grabbed from one of our decorations and said, "Will, bud, I don't think we can meet under the official mistletoe, but I brought this as a hopeful alternative." He looked around conspiratorially, held it over his head, then turned to me with puppy-dog eyes. I laughed, leaned forward, and shared an all-too-brief kiss.
"Thanks bud. Merry Christmas."
"Happy New Year."
The next couple months were more of the same, as Nate's big project drew closer to completion. I gathered from the few hasty messages he shot me that stress was eating him alive, and I responded by doing what I could to keep his spirits up. At one point, we got a nasty snowstorm, and as I finished up snowblowing our driveway, I made it point to do his, too. Just trying to look out for the guy. Strangely, I didn't hear from him. Not that I expected to, or really needed to... but it was just one more sucky reminder of the distance that had crept between us.
It kinda tore my heart out. Nate was legitimately busy, and hell... we both had other commitments, but...
For good or for bad, the enforced radio silence gave me ample (way too much) time to think about what I wanted from him. From us. From our wives, our lives... everything. Some things clarified, but a lot of my feelings just had to be put on a shelf. Fuck all these... complications.
Of course, the kicker was that even my wife noticed me moping about and asked if anything had happened between Nate and I. I gave kinda a wishy-washy answer and she responded, "Oh, quit being such a
man
about it! Guys are allowed to reach out to their friends, too! Just talk to him... you know you'll feel better."
That, maybe not surprisingly, really got to me. I mean, she had no fucking idea about us, but here she was pushing for us to spend more time together. She instinctively knew Nate was important to me, and that his absence was weighing on me. Great. Way to make me feel like a real piece of crap. Again, I had to wonder if the fates were just playing with us, or worse, were telling us we shouldn't be together anyway.
But the fates kept on working in mysterious ways. One particularly blustery late-winter evening, I got a message after dinner. Pretty low-key: "Hey, you around this eve?"
Despite my self-pitying conviction we were never going to see each other, I snapped up to instant, full-body alertness. I typed out an affirmative reply so fast, I completely misspelled "Yes!"
A minute or two later, he was at my back door. Despite the close distance between our houses, he was covered in wet snow. "Hey stranger," I answered, trying to remain cool even though my voice was warbling like a teenage boy's. "This is a surprise, what's up?"
"Hey man!" Nick enthused. Shit. His baritone voice was warm and smokey, like fine scotch. I think I was getting butterflies. "It's nasty out here. Can I come in? Seriously, this a bad time for you?"
"No, no, it's all good." I gestured toward the living room, continuing, "The wife's watching TV, and I'm just wasting time online."
"Cool." He bushed by me and started to stamp the snow off his shoes. Taking... a loooong time to stamp his shoes. Staring at them the whole time. Finally he looked up at me. "Cool. I......... Look, I just thought......... I mean............"
