He told me he’d been making abstract paintings in his basement, and they weren’t that great but they made him happy, allowed him to express more of himself than the confined lab he inhabited, performing experiments that were not even his idea. He envied the freedom Lenora and I had to let our passions take us wherever we wanted and bring our entire selves into our work. While I tried to focus on his words, I also wanted to hold him because I knew that his steadfast nature meant he could only reveal this part of himself to someone he trusted, which meant that he felt closer to me than I ever dared to think.

“Everyone has doubts,” I said, and told him how I wondered all the time if I only quit writing because it was too hard to sit in a room all day, needing to use all your energy to fill pages with words, only to find that those words weren’t any good. At least with art there was always busywork that made it easier to deflect this feeling, how all your effort would probably amount to nothing.

“You’re not always going to just execute other people’s ideas,” I concluded.

“You’re right,” he said. “Thank you.”

For what? I wanted to ask, not because I didn’t know but because I wanted him to say the words. For listening. For our friendship. For our closeness.

I longed to kiss him then, but instead I told him it was getting late, then we both stood up and hugged for a while. I could have tried to kiss his cheek or brush my hand against his face, to give Richard some indication of the feelings for him I was discovering, but I could sense he wasn’t attracted to men. I didn’t want to compromise what we had, and it would have been an emotional betrayal to Ralph anyway, even when we’d agreed we could sleep with other people. So I allowed myself that one satisfying hug, before my walk back to the subway and life with my partner at home.