Gregory entered like Ezra’s suite was his own, plunked the alcohol onto the mahogany desk, and flopped on the bed, rolling onto his back to unwrap his scarf and unzip his bright red puffer jacket. “Drink, my friend, you must drink. It’s the only way to see this through.” He rolled back over, then pushed up to his elbows and eyed Ezra.

“I’m fine,” Ezra said. “I’m totally fine. I’m better than fine.”

Gregory gave him a long up-and-down stare, as if his gaze were a lie detector, then he hopped to his feet and grabbed one of the bottles and took a swig. “You know that she’s here, right?” Gregory didn’t need to elaborate: she was Frankie. Ezra didn’t bother to ask how he knew such things because Gregory always knew such things.

“Mimi’s coming,” Ezra offered. “So I’m honestly fine. She’s flying from Kansas City to Chicago tonight, Hartford in the morning—I have a car bringing her.” He grabbed his bright blue iBook from the desk. “I was just about to check on her flight.”

“Mimi.” Gregory sniffed.

“I’m sorry again,” Ezra said.

Gregory shrugged like he knew there was no use in holding it against him. “I’m just saying that Prague is significantly more awesome than Nantucket.”

“I know.” Ezra nodded. Because he did. “It was just . . . it turned into a thing.” He didn’t mean to sigh but did anyway. How could he explain that Mimi was upset that everyone else was bringing a plus-one to the retreat while her plus-one was in Prague with his college buddy, and so, rather than disappoint her, he canceled his own plans.

Gregory moved on and refocused. “Your shirt is buttoned wrong,” he said, and Ezra glanced down at his plaid flannel (College Chic!). Gregory’s always-animated face slowed for a beat, and Ezra knew he was worried. He was one of just a handful of Ezra’s friends, well, really his only friend, plus Frankie, who knew how deeply his anxiety used to run straight through him.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not fine,” Ezra said, unbuttoning, then rebuttoning, but Gregory held the bottle between them until Ezra finally sighed and reached for it and drank. It burned all the way down, deep into his gut, and he shuddered.

“Special Portland blend.” Gregory smiled. “I know a guy.” He paused. “We used to know each other intimately but fortunately now are still on speaking terms. Because, you know, the booze.”

Ezra took this to mean that Gregory was still happily single, as he had nearly always been since he’d come out their senior year. Ezra never understood his rotating lineup of men, how it didn’t unnerve him not to have a steady partner, how Gregory seemed to delight in the chase. For Ezra, the chase was the most arduous, exhausting part. Give him the evenings in pajamas and Blockbuster rentals, give him morning breath and bed head, give him the assured companionship over dinner, the shared New York Times crossword, the intimacy of being on a first-name basis with her parents.