Page 32 of Laying Low

“No, no, no,” Anthony said.“I thought you liked me, and now that we’re stuck on a road trip for the better part of a week you want to ghost me?”

Reg scowled.“Idolike you, but what part of liking somebody means you have to ruin their life?”

“I don’t know, Reg.What part of putting on a high school art show means you have to upend your whole existence to keep teenaged boys from being kidnapped or deported to a death camp in El Salvador?It’s like the commercial says: Life comes at you fast.Sometimes you just have to roll with it.”

“That’s not a commercial.What would they be trying to sell?Tums?”

Anthony snickered.“The last two days giving you acid reflux?”he asked.“Because as much as I love your mom’s cooking, I couldreallyuse a salad or some beans and rice or something.”

“It’s cute that you think take and bake pizza is cooking,” Reg said dryly.“And let’s do burrito bowls for lunch.Lots of whole ingredients, greens, veggies, beans—you can go full health nut if you like.”

“That’s taking it a bit too far,” Anthony teased, and then he grew sober.“Reg, I’m not sure if you realize this, but there’s not much I wouldn’t do, or go through, to get your attention.”

And just like that.

“Why?”Reg asked, his voice faint to his own ears.He scanned the rearview mirror, and both boys were asleep now, Ilia—for all his tough talk and old eyes—with his head tilted vulnerably on Reynaldo’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Anthony said, sounding like this didn’t bother him at all.“Something about how thoughtful you are, how your mind works, how your paintings make me feel like I’m home.”

Reg swallowed, the mention of his art almost his undoing.

“I’m not that remarkable,” he whispered.

“You work hard not to be,” Anthony said, an edge to his voice.“Good boys don’t get lost—I get it.Chance was the baby, and everybody worshipped the baby god.I get that too.Iwasthe baby god, remember?”

That surprised a chuckle out of Reg.“You were the baby god?”

“Son, I had two bedrooms, two bicycles, two laptops, two Lego sets, and my choice of television at both venues.I was the apple of my father’s eye, the squishy center of my mother’s heart, and the surprise treasure of my stepfather’s middle age.My cat passed away when I was twelve because she was old, and in a week, I hadtwo kittens, one at each house.”

“Aw,” Reg said.

“Well, yeah.And when my dad’s job traveled too much, they both went to live with my mom, where they are currently collecting a pension and eating bougie cat food, leaving me without a cat.”

“You need a cat,” Reg said.

“I need aboyfriend,” Anthony retorted.“And I’mdamned closeto having one.He just….”Anthony blew out a breath.“My God, Registrar—you are so bright.Why won’t you believe you shine?”

Reg felt it again, like he’d felt it pressing down on him the night before—the weight of a thousand childhood expectations that he’d addressed himself, because the adults around him had so much more important matters to attend to.

“Why do you always…,” he started, eyes burning.“I mean, with the full name—why do you gotta—”

The warmth of Anthony’s hand on his knee calmed him down.

“One thing,” Anthony said softly.“One thing a day.You can save it for tonight, but think about it.I mean, the first time I tried to kiss you, you tried to pawn me off on Chance.What’s so awful about Reg that he doesn’t get a kiss at sunset?”

A subtle lightening allowed Reg to breathe.“Ididget a kiss at sunset,” he said, remembering the night before.

“Yeah,” Anthony sighed.“You did.I’d like for you to have kisses every day and all the time.Think about it.One thing that’ll help us get there.”

“Okay,” Reg agreed, not even sure that was his own voice.“I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Anthony told him.“And what’s wrong with your full name?”

Reg snorted.“What isn’t?I mean, even with the whole family namething, Registrar?My God.I would have taken Oxford or Fellowship or Emeritus.Emeritus would have been fine—Em for short.Professor as a middle name.But Registrar?It’s like being named ‘DMV Clerk.’”

“Yeah, Reg, but Julliard is a school for the arts.I mean, you’re the only artist in the family—it’s like fate.”

“But nobody calls me Jules, do they?”Reg sulked.