“Arthur finally winds up just linking his arm through mine, real tight, and we walk really slow. There are other people around, but I don’t think it really matters. Dudes used to walk around arm in arm all the time. That just meant they were classy. Classy like Lassie. It’s like, we just so happen to be fellows of style and refinement. We are gentlemen.“We,” I tell Arthur, “are so gentlemanly.”

“Arthur reaches over to take them. As he does, his thumb brushes my thumb, and it’s so cold, this sudden shock of cold. The flowers get dropped. They make a slight, swishy sound as they hit the floor. “Shit,” I say, my voice sounding really loud in my ears. And then he kisses me.It’s— I don’t know.I don’t know, I don’t know.It’s my brain turning off, it’s nothing. It’s a feeling. It’s a mouth on mine, and fuck it. Fuck my whole goddamn life, man. Just fuck it. I don’t move away like I should, but neither does he. He puts one of his hands on my face.Then the bells on the front door ring. We break apart and I open my eyes.And there’s Arthur looking back at me.”

“I think,” I say, shifting my gaze to the ceiling so I don’t have to experience the torment of saying this directly to another human being, “Mitch might … have … thoughts …”It’s right about here that I get tripped up. “Um,” Arthur says after a long time, “well. I think so too. I mean, I always assumed so. Maybe on occasion he doesn’t precisely give off that vibe, but just because he’s subtle about having thoughts doesn’t mean—”

“Afterwards, we don’t head straight back to work. Instead, we stop at McDonald’s. Kristy gets a Happy Meal. Cora gets like four pies, which doesn’t exactly seem like a healthy, balanced meal to me, but she’s not exactly a healthy, balanced young lady. I get a couple of Big Macs and some fries. Arthur stares at the menu the way a time-traveling seventeenth century Puritan would watch a Lady Gaga music video.”

“Howie?” Arthur says. “What?” “Why do you want me to freak out?” He asks it sort of gently, which makes it worse somehow.“Because you make me freak out all the time.” Maybe I’m not so totally chill, but whatever, whatever, I’m sick of it. “Like, honestly, I’m pretty sure I’ve started doing it professionally. Maybe you should start considering paying me extra. ‘Cause seriously, dude, when it comes to freaking out about you, I am the master. I am friggin’ incomparable, I got mad skills all over the place. And I don’t think this is exactly mutual freaking out, like, I don’t get the sense that I make you want to wither and die and explode. And that’s okay. That’s cool. I’m kind of going through a thing here that you probably went through a long time ago, unless you didn’t go through it at all because you’re just all together, like, you popped out of the womb, all, ‘Thanks for squeezing me out, Mom; no more pussy for me.”

“You know, I don’t think it’s worth it to deny yourself happiness just so you can stay faithful to the person you think you’ve become.”

“Hey, Arthur?” “Yes?” “Thank you for turning into a lunatic that one time, chasing a bunch of shoplifting teenagers through a rainstorm, and coming back to kiss me in the fake flower aisle at random. In retrospect, I really appreciate it.” “You’re welcome,” he says fondly.”