Page 119 of String Boys

TWO WEEKSbefore Seth graduated from the conservatory, he walked out of a modest recording studio in San Rafael with Guthrie by his side.

“You boys want to come out and celebrate?” Butch asked, smiling mightily. “It’s not every day you cut a record, you know.”

“Thanks, Dad, but no,” Guthrie said before Seth could accept. It was their last time playing together, and Seth had agreed to cut the record because Butch got a contract. It wasn’t forever money—but it was enough to help supplement the Cruz family while Seth was in Italy, with a little leftover for Seth’s surprise for Kelly, and a small apartment in Walnut Creek in the three months before Seth’s plane took off. Seth had wanted to go closer to Sacramento, but his string quartet had a number of paying gigs then too, and Seth wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make money in Italy.

He was supposed to be a headliner, but he also thought he was in a graduate program, so what did he know?

“Well, okay, boy. We’ll see you at your graduation, that okay?”

Seth smiled, grateful. “You can meet my dad,” he said happily. “And Kelly.” They would be coming down too. He was embarrassed at all the attention people were paying, but apparently graduating from college was a big deal.

Since Bridgford had been a little deal, and he hadn’t done a high school graduation per se, he was taking people’s word for it. He personally was looking forward to seeing Kelly graduate from junior college.Thatwas happening the week after Seth’s walk across the stage, and he couldn’t wait.

They were going to take a trip up the coast, to Mendocino, and see if the ocean close to Oregon was more or less magical than the ocean in Monterey or San Francisco.

They would be together—Seth was voting on more.

“Of course,” Butch said, grimacing. “Kelly.” Eventually everybody had figured out that Seth was gay. And eventually, Butch and Jock could say Kelly’s name without looking at each other like Seth having a boyfriend wasn’t out of the fucking park. Every time Seth talked to them about it, he got a little more hopeful that someday, Guthrie would be able to bring a boy home and they wouldn’t lose their shit.

Vince had come back from USC his senior year and applied for the San Francisco Conservatory. At first Seth had been baffled—he’d been so adamant that USC was the place he’d be happy.

Apparently, any place Amara wasn’t couldn’t make Vince happy.

So Amara and Vince had paired off, and Seth had always had Kelly. But Guthrie hadn’t dated, really—not girls, not boys—since Christmas, two and a half years before, when he and Seth had gotten beat up and had become friends.

Seth wanted his friend to be happy.

Which meant that what Guthrie wanted right now was important.

“He’ll be happy to meet you,” Seth said guilelessly. “I’ve told him so much about you guys.”

Jock and Butch nodded uncomfortably, and Guthrie snorted. “You’re gonna make their heads explode, Seth. Hop in the truck. I actually made reservations.”

Seth wrinkled his nose and looked down at himself. “I’m not dressed,” he said, even as he swung into Guthrie’s now familiar ancient Chevy pickup. He waved at Jock and Butch, who were looking… well, concerned, and Seth had a moment of doubt. Had Guthrie come out and not told him yet?

“I’ve got something behind the seat,” Guthrie said calmly.Hewas wearing nice slacks and a tie and a jacket. Nobody had told Seth there was a dress code for recording songs you’d been playing for two and a half years. He’dbarelycommitted to buying the used tuxedo so he could play with the string quartet.

Seth turned in his seat as Guthrie got on 280, and pulled out a department store garment bag with, oh my God….

“This is new,” he mumbled, not sure if that meant what he thought it did.

“It’s a present,” Guthrie said firmly. “You dress like shit, Seth. If you’re going to walk the stage, you need a suit at least, and not the shitty tuxedo you wear for gigs.”

“But I’m wearing it to dinner?”

Guthrie sighed. “Yeah. I’m taking you to dinner. At a really fancy place. No, it’s not a date unless you want it to be.” He kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, but Seth could see a smile try to climb up the corner of his mouth. “You’re going great places, Fiddler. To Italy—and someone’s paying you, which is like fucking amazing. And as far as I can tell, every spare penny you make goes to your boyfriend’s family, which is super sweet and all, but….” He shook his head. “Just once, just tonight, I’d like to see you dressed pretty and not worried about spending money. This is a gift to myself as well as you. Please accept it.”

Seth hung the suit back up behind the truck seat. “Where should I change?”

“We’re swinging by my apartment—don’t get any ideas. You’ve got about fifteen minutes to spare.”

Seth snorted. “No ideas gotten.”

Guthrie’s apartment wasn’t bad. When they’d first met, Seth had assumed he lived in a double-wide with a Formica table and a sink full of dirty dishes, but it wasn’t that at all. A basic suburban apartment, yes, but he had curtains and the leather couches were clean and the TV modest but well placed. He’d put posters on the walls—Kenny Chesney and Blake Shelton and Miranda Lambert—but given how much he loved country music, Seth thought it fit.

Speaking of fit, so did the suit. Very well. Seth buttoned the collar of the beige shirt and tied the bronze-colored tie in surprise. The suit itself was a warm blue, and the contrasting colors looked… well, sort of amazing with Seth’s darker skin and his pale hair.

Feeling self-conscious, Seth availed himself of Guthrie’s electric razor by the sink and used a little bit of toothpaste on his finger, and hell, some more deodorant, in case what he was wearing decided to quit. It wasn’t like Guthrie hadn’t slept on the floor of his dorm room enough times. They were buddies, right?