Henry picked me up at the airport. As we merged into traffic, Henry said, “Griff has already moved into his office. I guess you will stay with Hank and me. Unless you want to snuggle with Griff on that office couch.” This was the first time since Henry had gotten sober that I had heard him make a joke.

“Henry,” I warned.

“Sorry. No questions.”

“It’s the Englishman.”

“Oh. Didn’t know things were that serious.” Henry then changed the topic to Hank, Daddy, and Christmas. I knew on some level he had a point. Griffin and I had never been under the same roof for three weeks without some sort of horizontal hijinks occurring.

I remembered the first time we were alone together in Griffin’s office. It was a Tuesday or Wednesday. VERT had just opened. I brought in the paper and the magazine that contained its reviews. I handed them over to Griffin, thinking he might want to read it alone.

“No. Please stay. I want to read them with you before anyone else.” He handed me the magazine.

“Are you sure?” I asked. When he nodded, I turned to the review and read the headlines aloud, “VERT Blooms.” I smiled at him, our eyes exchanging stored-up emotions. That was enough. Griffin nodded and closed the magazine. We then collided seamlessly as always. Words and clothing fell away.

Before fame was anointed, before articles were written exclaiming success, before nicknames were born, before congratulations were bestowed, and before the first honor awarded, it was just this. Just now. Just us. I remember now, it was a Tuesday. Somewhere I heard the sound of champagne corks popping, but neither one of us made an effort to move.

“I think your adoring public wants you.”

“They can wait. I sign their checks.” We had laughed and began again. Enjoying these moments, punctuated with joy and kisses. Our clothes lay on the floor in a puddle of togetherness. Only later did we untangle and get dressed. Celebratory sex. Those memories followed me like shadows on a sunny day. It made me smile even now. I just hoped Henry couldn’t read my mind.

Griffin greeted us at the door. “Welcome to Brown Box Land.” He gestured to the sea of cardboard decorating the landscape of his condo. I embraced him, and then we kissed as spouses reuniting at the end of the day.

“You’re so welcome.” I surveyed all the boxes. I studied the rooms and remembered the pictures Griffin had sent me. It was remarkable how much of Daddy’s furniture he’d chosen to keep. It made me smile.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”

“I can’t help it. I love your mother’s and daddy’s things.