Page 38 of Familiar Things New

Edwin snatched the bottle of whiskey from the chair in the front room before he and William headed upstairs to the third floor, where Edwin’s bedroom was.

Ascending the stairs, Edwin’s nervousness climbed, too, so much so that by the time he was pushing open the door to his bedroom, he could barely register its loud creaking over the sound of the blood pulsing in his ears.

“I haven’t been up here in what feels like forever,” William said as they stepped through the threshold. “It’s been . . . a year or so?”

Edwin attempted to steel himself while he responded, keeping his tone as calm as he could. “About that long, probably.”

“And it’s been even longer since I last spent the night with the Beasley family,” William remarked. “I’ve missed it.”

All of the sudden, Edwin found himself remembering the nights William had stayed over in the past, sleeping in the spare bedroom of his old house. In his old neighborhood. When his father had still been alive. And he’d still been a mess of self-loathing and confusion about practically everything.

Edwin had never not had William to lean on. He’d never not had William’s friendship to help him through all of life’s uncertainties. How impossible it seemed that maybe he’d have to move forward without him soon.

Edwin swallowed thickly and forced himself to reply.

“I have too,” he said, though he was, regrettably, unable to keep his voice from wobbling.

William cocked an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just . . . tired.”

“Should we skip the whiskey, then?”

“No, no,” Edwin said quickly. “No, I just . . .” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Never mind.”

William’s brow creased with obvious concern, but he didn’t press Edwin to say more. Instead, he handed Edwin the corkscrew. Wordlessly, Edwin pried open the bottle and then poured them each a generous splash of the smoky brown liquor.

Both men lifted their snifters. Neither of them spoke while they swirled their glasses. Edwin brought the snifter to his nose and breathed in. The whiskey’s woody scent wafted up his nostrils, and he let out a contented hum. After taking a sip, Edwin swallowed, and the whiskey’s burn settled in his chest, warming him up from the inside.

Over the next couple of minutes, the two men enjoyed their whiskey in silence, William seemingly sensing that Edwin had something he was working up the courage to say. Once Edwin’s nervousness began to fade a little—the whiskey’s effects taking hold, making his body tingle and his mind feel fuzzy—he cleared his throat to speak.

“Will, I have to tell you something.” He looked over at his bed. “Maybe it’s best if we sit.”

Edwin began to walk over to it, but William caught his arm.

“Don’t be nervous, Edwin. Whatever it is you have to tell me, we’ll still be friends. Nothing you’d ever say could change that. I thought you’d have figured that out by now.” His lips curled to form a wry smile. “After all, I was the one who taught you how to tie your first cravat.”

Edwin let out a puff of air.

“I knew how to tie a cravat, even back then,” he countered. “Jesus, Will, have you forgotten that my father was a tailor?”

“Of course I haven’t. But I still showed you my way of tying a cravat, which, as everyone knows, is much better than everyone else’s,” William jested.

Rolling his eyes, Edwin said, “Everyone knows that? Really?”

“Everyone in Albany,” William replied. He pursed his lips, barely suppressing a smile before becoming more serious again. “So, yes, Edwin, we can sit, but I need you to know that whatever it is you want to tell me, it won’t change the way I see you. Or how much I value our friendship.”

Edwin nodded, though he didn’t immediately move. He needed a moment to try to internalize William’s reassuring words. He repeated them over and over, hoping he could actually believe them. Then, exhaling a shaky breath, he nodded again, and he and William headed over to the bed. William climbed up and crossed his legs. Edwin stayed on the edge, letting his legs dangle over the side of the mattress. He rotated the snifter in his hands. It was nearly empty, save for one final sip.

Edwin continued to stare at it as he started to speak, unable to force himself to meet William’s eyes, no matter how sincere William’s promise of continued friendship seemed to be.

“Remember a few months ago when you asked if I’d ever want to find a wife?” Edwin asked, and William nodded. “I said no. And I let you assume that it was because of my . . . circumstances. But it isn’t. It’s because I . . . It’s because I like men. What I mean by that is, if I could, I’d want to marry a . . . a man.”

Edwin’s heart continued to pound.

Seconds passed.

“Oh. Well, that’s . . . interesting,” William finally said.