A friendship, revisted

Text to G: I'm doing drinks with work people to celebrate a new account. May have to push our dinner to 8:30 instead of 8.

G: Congrats on the account! Okay, see you at 9!

G: J/k!

* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Where is it? Do you remember which way to go?" I'm scanning the sidewalk cafes and restaurants for the tapas place.

"I know it. Keep going this way. No, swing a left."

"I don't trust your sense of direction."

"Neither do I."

We arrive at the tapas place and instead of $10 valet, a parking spot is sitting out front for us, as though it had been reserved. I look at the clock. 8:01.

"We're on time?" I say. "And have amazing parking. This isn't like us. What the hell is going on?!"

He laughs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
"What's wrong with you?" I ask. His eyes are clear and tired. He is trying to smile and not yawn.

We are sitting at a little two-top table trying not to laugh at our situation: we are surrounded by gay couples and gay groups and also appear to be the youngest couple in the restaurant.

He picks at the bread and takes another sip of his red wine.

"Well, I don't want to make this dinner a downer, but..." And he launches into eight weeks of missed events and details, cleaning out the dusty cruxes of his life and laying them out on the table for me to observe and analyze.

And there he is. One of my LA best friends telling me he's having a hard time. And I'm worried about him.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
"So do you like this guy?" G asks.

I shrug. "Yes."

"I don't care about what he wants. What I'm concerned about is what you want."

* * * * * * * * * * * *
"So are you two serious?" I ask G. He's been dating a chick for about six months. I haven't met her yet.

"No. I don't want to get serious, I mean, I could be moving to Europe or Australia. I don't want serious for like 5 to 10 years."

I sip my wine and chew on this a bit. We are now in Jones Cafe and Kings of Leon and Rolling Stones blare from the speakers. We're on a sofa snuggled between hipsters and rockers and industry types.

"What if..." I pause. "What if I had said I wanted something, this past summer. What if I had told you I wanted us to see if we could make it work?"

He is quiet for a minute. "I don't know, Jo."

"That's fair."

* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Let's get everyone we know in Los Angeles together and get sloppy," he says.

"Deal. A pub crawl through Hollywood!"

"Done."

And we're back. On an inseparable track where our grooves intertwine and we are the closest sort of friends: we can talk about anything and reveal all and still like each other the next day.