Chapter 11: Everybody Looks Different in a Gay Bar
The small envelope that accompanied the roses was from a florist in Beverly Hills. Philip pulled out the card and read the message:
Missing You,
Love,
Josh.
Well, this was some sort of consolation, but he now had the Saturday and Sunday to get through. He’d even graded essays ahead of time to clear the decks for a work-free weekend. Love, the card said. Was it just a formality? What people say when they really mean something else like, take care, or my best, or the dreaded sincerely yours.
Philip filled a large vase with water and arranged the flowers. He placed them on the mantel near a photo of Jonathan looking so healthy and sexy that day at the Renaissance Fair. Philip was still drawn to his smile, and to the memory of a young ma
