Al hugged Henry into the damp cushion of his torso and took a deep sniff as if reveling in the scent of sawdust. “Fuck me, dude. Been a minute, huh?”

When Al released him, Henry saw what he’d suspected: Al was strung out. Couldn’t stop fiddling, couldn’t stop jabbering, saying how awesome it was to see Henry, the both of them, he meant, duh. How it’d been so long, way too long and, hey now—lookie here—that bookshelf was new and sure looked good, real good, dude, and then he flopped onto the couch while his eyes zipped around the singlewide in search of other recent projects or touch-ups, the game he played anytime he came over and—

“Goddamn, them steaks!” Al hefted himself back to his feet, wiped his nose on a sleeve, tonged up a porterhouse, and told nobody in particular to fuck him if these weren’t the biggest motherfucking steaks he’d ain’t never seen.

“Who wants a beer?” Michelle said.

“No thanks,” Henry said.

Al side-eyed his friend, then corrected him. He used a Bic to pop open both bottles. Henry looked from the beer to Michelle, who gave him a go-ahead nod.

She sent the boys out to the patio to catch up and get the grill going. After Henry unfolded lawn chairs, Al crashed into one. He squeezed the armrests, reconsidered, and popped back up to thump a slab of flagstone with his boot heel. He lit a Kool, paced, sniffed, coughed, twisted a pinkie in his ear, inspected it, then flicked. All the fidgeting was making Henry anxious, so he did his best to look occupied as he poured coals into the Weber’s gullet. After a few sips of beer, he realized he hadn’t put anything in his belly all day besides coffee. With his stomach empty and alcohol tolerance at a virginal level, he welcomed the boozy glow. Even took a hit of Hennessy from the fifth Al offered to help speed things up.

It’d been months since they last saw each other. The two had drifted apart when things heated up with Michelle, back when Henry traded his old habits for this new and all-consuming addiction. Other than the occasional crack about being pussy whipped or getting old and going square, Al didn’t appear to resent Henry’s withdrawal from the skinnies, plenty distracted by all his side hustles and comedowns. Whenever they did get together, Al chatted and laughed with Michelle in the same easy, goofy way as ever, and Henry was glad the two got along so well. But once the nights got late and Al’s eyes went from glazed to bloodshot, sometimes Henry would catch Al staring at him with an odd melancholy, which stood in queasy-making contrast to his otherwise jovial dopiness.