Page 13 of Necessary Time

“Don’t you have birthday plans? Like a party or something?”

“I’m old, Wesley. My partying days are long over.”

“That’s honestly kind of pathetic,” he said.

“Well. Thanks.” I inhaled sharply. “Did you want to get a bite later or no?”

“Sure. Should I meet you somewhere or…?”

“I can pick you up,” I offered, finally turning my car on and pulling away from the curb. The drive back to LA shouldn’t be too bad in the middle of the day on a Saturday, but if I took too much longer to get back on the road, I knew the traffic would begin to pile up.

“What time?”

“Five,” I suggested.

“You eat dinner at five?” Wes chuckled. “Are you sure you’re only thirty-eight?”

“What time do you eat dinner?” I countered.

“Like…seven at the earliest, dude.”

“Seven?” I couldn’t stop myself from scoffing at the absurdity of the hour. I was ready for bed at seven. Already comfortable on the couch with a good show on the TV and a drink in hand.

“We can call it even at six,” Wes said.

“Fine. Text me your address.”

He laughed again. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call and give it to you?”

“I’m driving.”

“Please tell me you have me on speaker,” Wes said.

“Bluetooth.” I rolled my eyes, even though he wasn’t there to see it.

“Good that your car isn’t as old as you,” he teased.

“I’ll see you at six, Wesley.”

He cleared his throat. “Alright. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I ended the call and finished the drive home in silence.

I thought about Wesley and Amanda, and I even thought about Henry. My oldest and formerly dearest friend who had known me my entire life, but still didn’t know that I was attracted to men. Nobody knew.

I spent about forty extra minutes in traffic, making it home still with plenty of time before I was supposed to head toward Santa Monica to pick up Wesley for dinner. It didn’t take long for me to decide dinner after five was ludicrous, and I snacked on some chips while I killed time.

Freshly showered and dressed, I left my apartment, giving me more than enough time to get to Wes’s place before six. When I pulled up in front of the address he’d given me, I had to swallow back my shock. The apartment building was a glass monolith towering over the coastline, sunset reflecting off the wall of windows like pastel fireworks.

I texted Wes to let him know I’d arrived, then waited for him to come down. He took so long that I’d zoned out, startling and clutching my heart when he yanked open the passenger door of my car and climbing inside. He smelled like body spray and deodorant, all the telltale markers of youth.

“I’m impressed you texted instead of calling,” he said in greeting.

“You teased me enough about it earlier, I don’t think I’ll ever call anyone again.”

That earned a laugh, and Wes buckled himself in, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was long and lanky, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and dark-washed jeans that he cuffed at the ankles with a pair of sneakers. No socks.