“Welcome back Mr. Harris.”
“Thank you, Ashley,” Graham smiled, eyeing the receptionist’s name from the plastic tag pinned to her lapel. At the sound of her name, her green eyes lit up, and Graham saw a tiny shift in her smile. “How’s your day going?”
“It’s been alright. Bit of a hectic morning, but thankfully things settled down when I got to work,” she answered earnestly.
“Well, I’m happy to hear that. Would that we were all so lucky,” he teased as he slid his credit card and driver’s license across the front desk.
“How was your flight today?” Ashley asked as she processed his information.
“I actually drove,” Graham confessed.
“Oh?” Ashley looked up at him. “How long was your drive?”
“About seven hours.”
“Oh, that’s not too bad,” Ashley commented.
“Considering I spent that long stuck in O’Hare last week, I’d say not,” Graham laughed.
Ashley returned his license and credit card and reached for a single room key. Graham was touched that she remembered his request from the previous Monday, and a small pang of guilt resurfaced as he remembered his gruff attitude.
“We’ve got you back on the seventh floor.” Ashley slid him a room key. “We appreciate your loyalty, and I hope you’ll let us know if we can do anything to make your stay more comfortable.”
“Thank you,” he smiled, retrieving the key. “I hope your day keeps going well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harris.” She smiled at him, but her eyes betrayed a glimpse of curiosity and surprise, no doubt caused by the stark contrast in his demeanor between last Monday and now.
Graham had felt it, too.
It had certainly improved his mood to drive. Trading out the chaotic, claustrophobic drain of the airport for a few quiet, solitary hours on the road had been surprisingly refreshing. He had listened to music – revisiting a few favorite albums from years past, played some podcasts – a how-to guide on improving nutrition and the first part of a series on the Japanese Shogunate, and spent at least an hour in silence, letting the hum of the road relax his racing mind.
It was peaceful. And helpful. Because, amidst all of these activities, he felt an underlying giddiness he didn’t know what to do with.
Ever since he climbed into his rental car and programmed the GPS that morning, he had found himself, much to his surprise, excitedly anticipating his return to Des Moines, to the now-familiar hotel, to Archie.
He’d spent much of his weekend thinking about Thursday night, replaying his and Archie’s conversation at the bar, remembering every smile, every joke, every laugh that had passed between them. It had warmed his heart on an otherwise uninteresting few days at home – he’d taken Eli to the park on Saturday, gone to the grocery store, picked up a latte at his favorite neighborhood coffee shop; but mostly he spent the two days in his apartment, catching up on rest and laundry. It had been mildly depressing, actually, so the promise of this evening, of his reunion with Archie, had been the only thing he found himself looking forward to.
It was about three in the afternoon when Graham stepped into his hotel room. After unpacking his suitcase and taking a much-needed bathroom break, Graham decided to log in to work and see what he’d missed from his day on the road. Only a few items greeted him – some company update emails, a few meeting adjustments for the week ahead, nothing requiring his immediate attention. Still, he felt obligated to log a few hours for the day, knowing he would have done the same on his layover in Chicago.
The decision to change his flight and drive had been a bit impulsive, but figuring he could keep the flight credit for himself and expense the rental car, he didn’t have much to lose. He thought of what he’d said to Archie at the beginning of last week about staying in Des Moines through the weekend. At the time, it had been little more than a joke, but the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea of staying in one place for more than four days at a time, even if that place wasn’t home. After all, he’d taken this job to get away. What good was getting away when you were constantly having to go back home for the weekend?
And so, he made up his mind, floated the idea to his boss, who had been agreeable so long as it didn’t jack up his expense report, and made the arrangements.
He didn't have any plans for his two extra days in Des Moines, but he figured a couple days’ rest could just as easily be achieved in his hotel as his apartment. He'd already looked up a nearby laundromat and scoped out a few new restaurants to try, and part of him was looking forward to the pseudo-vacation: two days in a new city with the opportunity to actually get out and explore. Every city has to have some redeeming quality, right?
At four o'clock, Graham changed clothes and went down to the fitness center for a quick afternoon workout. The hours behind the wheel were starting to get to him, and he thought a quick pump might help to loosen his stuff muscles and reset his wandering mind. He was half right, though he still found himself distracted, constantly checking the clock and repeatedly losing track of his sets. Still, something was better than nothing, and when he returned to his room his body felt rejuvenated and alert.
His mind, on the other hand, remained restless and distrait.
At five o-clock Graham decided to go find something to eat. He knew he couldn’t go to the bar quite this early – he didn’t want to come across as a drunk, or worse, as desperate – but the longer he sat in his hotel room the more he felt himself pulled to the first floor lounge. After a quick search online, he found an appealing restaurant about a twenty-minute drive from the hotel, figuring the trip there and back, plus the time spent eating dinner, would help to pass the evening.
He grabbed his wallet off the bathroom counter, took the elevator to the first floor, and hurriedly made his way to the parking lot, trying to avoid any distractions in the hotel lobby. Once outside, he laughed at himself, at how ridiculous he was behaving. He knew it was silly, that he was overthinking his whole evening, but he still felt a strange nervousness, an unignorable self-consciousness he hadn’t felt in years.
He felt like a teenager.
A teenager with a silly, schoolyard crush.
He stopped abruptly at the word crush.
It sounded strange and foreign in his head, not to mention a little absurd. He was nearly forty years old; he didn't have crushes. Crushes were for teenagers or, at best, naive twenty-somethings who had yet to be in a serious, committed relationship. He’d been through enough in life to know he didn’t develop crushes anymore. And yet, as it echoed in his mind, something somewhere in him clicked into place.
He’d finally admitted to himself on the flight home that his interest in Archie was…above average. At first, Graham told himself it was a purely selfish pursuit: it had been so long since Graham had met anyone new, since anyone had taken an interest in him, he was simply flattered by the attention. But that theory quickly became void. Sure, Archie was a magnetic personality – confident and charismatic – but Graham found himself more intrigued by the few moments of vulnerability he had shown, those brief betrayals of a softer, more sensitive soul behind the glistening smile. While he obviously found Archie to be engaging company, the flattery theory failed to account for all the questions Graham wanted to ask, the stories he wanted to hear, the secrets he wanted to know.
All of his current symptoms – his giddiness, his nervousness, his self-conscious overthinking – all pointed to one obvious but incomprehensible conclusion: Graham had a crush on Archie.
“Jesus, Graham,” he muttered to himself as he backed out of his parking spot.
Graham mulled over this revelation for the entirety of his dinner. He didn’t quite know what to make of it. It was certainly unexpected, and yet, somehow, the reality of his crush on another man didn’t feel half as shocking as he knew it should. He felt no shame or embarrassment, no sense of disgust or moral objections. None of the things he thought straight men would be inclined to feel at the thought of desiring another man. He simply…felt it.
He had always had a certain awareness of other men’s bodies, but for most of his youth that awareness had been inextricably tied to his own insecurity – he noticed in others what he lacked in himself. The scope and scale of his awareness had grown with time as he became older and more aware of the idealized body images that were pushed by Hollywood and social media. Even after getting married, when he finally had a sex life of his very own, he never quite felt at peace with his own body. His wife had reassured him of her attraction to him, of her satisfaction in their sexual dynamics, and he had believed her, but always with the caveat that it had been in spite of his body, not because of it.
He’d grown out of this eventually, as they settled into their marriage, became pregnant, and transitioned from young newlyweds to busy parents. Sex became obligatory and infrequent, a marital duty they did their best to perform. And he had enjoyed it, often immensely. He’d always found his wife beautiful and attractive, and had been a loving, if imperfect, husband; and long before that, he’d been a normal, horny, porn-consuming, slightly girl-crazy teenage boy. His whole life he’d desired girlfriends, marriage, family, without giving it a second thought.
But he couldn’t deny that, throughout all this, he’d always felt something when he looked at men. A visceral, physical sensation, one that confused and unsettled him, one he often repressed or, at the very least, dismissed. And now he wondered whether, amidst the insecurity and jealousy, a third emotion had been there all along, one much harder to identify and, at the time, impossible to articulate: desire.
On the ride back to the hotel, Graham’s head swam. It was as if, unbeknownst to him, two decades’ worth of dominos had been carefully lined up and now, quite unexpectedly, the first one had tipped. He tried to ignore the rushing, crashing sound as all the rest began to tumble, and focused instead on the songs on the radio.
It wasn’t that he resisted the idea – he liked to think of himself as open-minded and progressive, someone who didn’t want to rule out any possibility for himself or others – he just didn’t have the bandwidth to address it tonight.
Reevaluating his entire life seemed like something to do after at least a couple of drinks, and thankfully, as he pulled into the hotel parking lot, he knew those were soon on their way.
Archie’s eyes met his as soon as he entered the lounge, and a slow smile spread across his face. Instinctively, he shuffled towards an empty section at the end of the bar, knowing Graham would prefer to sit near the corner, and wiped down the counter.
“Hey there,” Archie greeted as he took a seat.
“Hi,” Graham replied.
“How was your flight?”
“It was good,” Graham answered automatically. “I mean, I drove. I didn’t fly this time. Didn’t want to deal with the connections and delays.”
“Good decision?” Archie asked, his head cocked to the side..
“I think so. It was a nice drive.”
“Glad to hear it. Want your usual?”
“Please.”
As Archie began preparing his gin and tonic, a slight panic took root in Graham's stomach. Had he imagined his connection with Archie last week? Exaggerated it in his memory over the weekend? Was it just a fluke? A product of circumstances that were no longer in alignment? He steeled himself against the potential disappointment while Archie garnished his drink, setting it gently before him.
“How was your weekend at home?” He asked.
“It was good,” Graham answered briefly, expecting Archie to move along to the next customer, the next drink order. But Archie stayed put. It was only then that Graham realized the lounge was rather empty: two women sat at the opposite end of the bar, and only one table was occupied, halfway through dinner by the looks of it. Archie looked at him expectantly, so Graham continued. “I didn’t do much. Had an easy flight home, thank God. Took Eli to the park on Saturday, so that was nice.” Graham paused. “Other than that, I just caught up on rest.”
Archie smiled. “That sounds nice. How is Eli?”
“He’s good,” Graham relaxed. “Same happy little nerd.”
They laughed.
“How was your weekend?” he asked.
“It was good,” Archie said enthusiastically. “Made bank at my other job, so that’s always nice. Got brunch with a friend. Went for a bike ride. That was about it.”
“Sounds like a good weekend.” Graham took a sip of his drink. A dozen questions raced through his mind at once: Where did Archie ride his bike? Who did he have brunch with? Does he spend his weekends with someone or was he, like Graham, often alone?
He wanted to ask them all, but they felt inappropriate, at least while Archie was on the clock. After their Thursday night outing, the hotel bar suddenly felt restrictive.
“It was,” Archie smiled. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind.
“Any plans this week?” Graham asked at the same time as Archie asked, “Busy week ahead?”
“Oh,” Graham stopped, his cheeks warming. “Sorry, you go.”
“I was just asking if you had a busy week ahead.” His smile was almost shy. Graham could hardly bear to look at it.
“Um, not too bad. Working with the plumbing group, so…that ought to be fun.”
They laughed, then fell silent.
“Well, I was gonna ask,” Archie began. “If you were serious about that next round…There’s this wine bar downtown that does half-price bottles on Wednesday nights. It’s a pretty cool spot. I thought…if you wanted to go?”
“That sounds great,” Graham smiled, his adrenaline slowly subsiding.
“Great,” Archie beamed. “Wednesday it is.”
