Curtis’s Night

Curtis sifted through the mail in his hand as he walked inside after a long day at work. Within all the junk mail and bills, a gray envelope stood out to him. He dropped the other envelopes on the console table as he kicked off his shoes. He squinted at the names above the return address. Vincent and Evelyn Mercer.

Just then, Simone entered the room. She noticed his unusual look and asked what was wrong.

“I… I don’t know how this got here,” was all he could mutter. Simone walked around him and looked at the envelope.

“Evelyn Mercer… Hmm,” she paused.

“Yeah, I told you about my old friend, Vince,” he said.

“Oh!” Simone shouted. “I completely forgot to tell you. That woman—Evelyn—she called a few weeks ago. You were at work. She said she was a high school friend and wanted to send something in the mail. I guess this was it.”

“You gave her our address?” Curtis’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, don’t be rude. Just open it.”

He peeled it open hesitantly. He pulled out the glossy card.

“How fancy,” he said in a monotoned voice.

“An invitation to a dinner party?” said Simone, tilting her head.

“That’s what it looks like. What’s he doing? Showing off?”

“Oh, come on. You said you were close with both of them. You’ve never said anything bad about Evelyn, right?”

“I guess not,” he grumbled.

“Then at least go for her sake, hmm? She sounded excited to see you. Besides, when else are we gonna get invited to a fancy party?”

“It’s just… Ironic,” said Curtis, shaking his head. “They didn’t invite me to the wedding, but they track me down to invite me to some yuppy dinner party?”

“Maybe he wants to make amends,” Simone suggested.

Curtis couldn’t figure out a justifiable reason for this invitation. He and Vincent were best friends and neighbors as kids. They grew up together and were practically brothers.

He still remembered the surreal feeling of visiting Vincent in the hospital the first time. He’d wanted to run from the room, terrified by all the wires and loud machines, and by the way Vincent looked so tired and pale. He’d approached his bed anyway, wanting to be close to his friend. He still felt the sick feeling in his stomach with each visit over the years.

When Vincent met Evelyn in high school, Curtis was excited for them, and quickly became good friends with Evelyn himself. The three of them were close all through school. That part was easy.

It was after that where things got quiet.

Vincent went into finance after college, started making real money, and the calls got less frequent. Curtis would hear things through other people. Vincent got a promotion. Vincent and Evelyn moved to a new place. Vincent was doing well. Curtis always found out what was going on with Vincent eventually, just never from Vincent directly.

He told himself it was fine. People went in different directions. That was life. But it stayed with him. The specific feeling of being someone’s oldest friend and realizing you’d become someone they used to know.

When Danny mentioned the wedding—casually, after the fact, the way you’d mention something everyone already knows—Curtis didn’t say much. He just nodded and let the conversation move on.

But that was it. That was the thing that confirmed what he’d already suspected for years. He stopped reaching out after that, and Vincent apparently didn’t notice, and eventually fifteen years went by the way fifteen years do when two people have mutually agreed, without ever saying so, to let something go.

“Fifteen years,” said Curtis. “And now—now I get an invitation to something.”

Curtis stood in front of the car staring across the street at the giant house he was invited to.

“Wow,” said Simone, getting out of the car.

“Alright, we saw it, now drive us home,” said Curtis.

“No,” Simone laughed and grabbed his hand and walked toward the house. “Come on, let’s go.”

“This place is huge,” he scoffed. “I knew he’d have money by now but damn. See? He just wants to show off how rich he is.”

“Psh,” Simone shook her head.

As they approached the gate, Simone entered first, linking arms with Curtis but walking faster than him. He felt like a child being dragged to something he didn’t want to attend.

Simone quickly found the seating chart and dragged Curtis to the table.

“We’re at the main table?” Curtis whispered into Simone’s ear.

“Don’t question, just accept it,” said Simone. “Free food.”

Curtis sighed.

Curtis sat at the table with Simone while the yard moved around them. She was already looking around, taking everything in. He wasn’t.

After a few minutes he pushed back his chair. “I’m getting a drink,” he said.

He found the drink table and poured himself a glass of wine. He turned around and Vincent was already crossing the yard toward him.

“Curtis.”

He was already close, hands open like he was about to catch something. Curtis felt his stomach drop.

“Vincent,” he said.

They shook hands, and Vincent pulled him into a half-embrace that Curtis wasn’t ready for. He patted him on the back once and stepped away.

“Man,” said Vincent, shaking his head. “It’s good to see you.”

Curtis nodded. “Yeah.”

Simone appeared at his side. “I’m Simone,” she said, extending her hand. “Curtis’s wife. This is a beautiful home.”

“Thank you so much,” said Vincent, and his whole face opened up. “I’m so glad you could both make it. Truly.”

Curtis watched him. He was exactly the same—same soft smile, same way of making you feel like you were the only person in the yard. It used to feel like a gift. Now it just felt like a trick.

“Evelyn will want to say hello,” Vincent said, glancing toward the house. “She’ll find you. She always does.” He laughed, and Simone laughed with him.

Curtis took a sip of wine. Before he could say anything else, someone touched Vincent’s arm from behind. Vincent held up a finger and glanced back. “Give me just one second,” he said to them, then turned back to Curtis. “I’m glad you’re here. Both of you. We’ll talk more at dinner.”

He squeezed Curtis’s shoulder and was gone.

A few minutes later, the low hum of conversation shifted as people began making their way toward the tables.

Simone touched his arm. “Come on.”

He followed.

They reached the table again and sat. Curtis adjusted his chair slightly, then rested his hands on either side of his plate. Simone smoothed her napkin over her lap.

Curtis glanced down the table. He didn’t recognize anyone—except Danny. They locked eyes. Danny smiled widely. Curtis nodded in return.

The conversations softened as people settled into their seats. A soft clink of silverware against glass pulled his attention toward the patio.

Evelyn stood near the steps, announcing that dinner will be served shortly.

Curtis exhaled through his nose. “Here we go,” he muttered.

Simone nudged him lightly.

Caterers moved through the yard, placing small bowls in front of each guest. Curtis looked down at his—cabbage and potato soup.

He stared at it for a second. “All this,” he said under his breath, “and we’re starting with potato soup?”

Simone gave him a side-eye. “Eat it.”

He picked up the spoon and took a sip. It was good. He didn’t react, just set the spoon back down.

Around him, the conversations picked back up. Curtis sat there, listening without listening, eyes drifting across the table.

After a few minutes, the caterers came back through the yard, clearing the bowls from the table.

Curtis watched as his was taken, then replaced with a larger plate.

Filet mignon, a small salad on the side. He stared at it for a second. Of course. Even dinner had to be a whole thing. He picked up his knife and cut into the steak. The meat was soft and rich, and he found he couldn’t enjoy it—couldn’t get past the feeling that it wasn’t really food, it was a performance, and he was sitting in the audience whether he liked it or not.

The meal moved around him. Conversations rose and fell across the table. Simone was talking to someone across from her. Curtis ate, refilled his glass, said nothing.

Then Vincent stood and tapped his glass.

Around the table, conversations dropped off one by one. Vincent thanked everyone for coming. Thanked Evelyn. Said something about faces, about heart, about the people at this table right here.

Then he started down the line.

Curtis watched it happen—the way each person straightened a little when Vincent got to them, the way they smiled like they’d been waiting for it.

Then Vincent looked at him.

“And Curtis.” He smiled, easy as anything. “Curtis and I go way back. And I mean way back. We lost touch for a while, but I’m so glad you’re here tonight, man.” He raised his glass. “Better late than never.”

The table laughed. Curtis felt Simone’s hand find his knee. He smiled, because that was what you did.

Vincent was already moving on.

Curtis reached for his wine. Fifteen years and that was what he got.

As Vincent work his way down the rest of the table, each person smiled and nodded. Eventually, Vincent sat back down and the conversations picked back up around the yard.

The caterers came back through with dessert. Strawberry cake, white frosting. Curtis watched his plate get set in front of him.

He leaned toward Simone. “Okay,” he said quietly. “We stayed for dinner. We can go.”

Simone put her hand on his arm. “Eat your cake.”

He looked at her. She was already picking up her fork, already turning back toward whoever she’d been talking to across the table.

He sat back. He took a bite. It was good. He didn’t react, just set the fork back down and reached for his wine again.

After dessert, the caterers replaced the plates with mugs.

“Do we really have to stay for coffee?” whispered Curtis. “Come on.”

As he scooted his chair back, Simone shook her head, but agreed.

“Holy shit,” Curtis sighed. “Finally. Thank you.”

As they crossed the yard and neared the gate, Curtis heard his name. Vincent was standing near the patio.

“Curtis,” Vincent repeated, “I’m so glad to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to talk much earlier. Are you in a hurry, or would you mind stepping inside with me for a moment?”

Curtis stood, stunned. “I’m kind of in a hurry,” he muttered.

Simone elbowed him in the ribs.

“Oof! Alright, fine.”

“I’ll be in the car. Take your time, honey,” said Simone, smiling as she opened the gate and walked out.

Curtis followed Vincent into his unnecessarily giant house.

Vincent closed the door behind them. They were standing in the kitchen now. The noise of the party faded.

“I just wanted a chance to talk to you properly,” said Vincent. “Without all of that out there.” He paused. “I never understood what happened between us. I went to your apartment and your job and looked for you, man. I didn’t know what I did wrong.”

Curtis looked at him. “You didn’t invite me to your wedding.”

Vincent went still.

“I found out from Danny,” said Curtis. “After the fact.”

For a moment Vincent didn’t say anything. Then he said, “Curtis. We sent you an invitation.”

Curtis stared at him.

“I swear to you. We sent it. I assumed—” He stopped. He put his hand over his mouth for a second. “I thought you just didn’t want to come. I thought that was you telling me something.”

Curtis didn’t move.

“I looked for you after,” Vincent repeated, quieter now. “I didn’t know where you’d gone. I thought you were done with me.”

“Are you sure you invited me?” Curtis frowned.

“Come with me,” Vincent walked into the living room, then up the stairs. Curtis followed.

He found himself in Vincent’s and Evelyn’s bedroom. Vincent started digging through a closet. He emerged with a large binder. A wedding album. He dropped it on the bed and opened it, flipping through the pages. He landed on the guest registry.

“Look,” he said, pointing to Curtis’s name.

Curtis Cross ………… RSVP: N/A

“I wanted you as a groomsman,” he continued. “I wanted to ask you directly but—you know weddings—I was so busy. I figured once you got the invitation in the mail…” Vincent’s voice trailed off.

Curtis stared at the page for a few long moments. “Danny was your best man?” he finally muttered.

“You and I weren’t as close after high school,” Vincent spoke quietly. “Danny and I were. I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand,” said Curtis.

It was quiet for a moment.

“I can’t believe this,” Curtis dragged his hand down his face. “I’m such an idiot. I am so sorry, Vince. God.”

Vincent curled his lips and his eyes filled with tears. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Then he extended his hand.

Curtis hesitated, then grabbed it. Instead of shaking, he immediately pulled his old brother into a strong embrace. They hugged for several seconds before Curtis pulled away.

“I better go,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “My wife is in the car waiting for me.”

Vincent nodded. His cheeks were wet, but he was smiling.

Curtis turned, went down the stairs, and practically ran back to the car.

Simone was in the driver’s seat reading a book under the cabin light. Without looking up, she said, “Did you boys kiss and make up?”

“You were completely right, honey,” he spoke slowly and softly. “It was all a misunderstanding.”

Simone tucked her book into her purse and turned off the cabin light. As she drove home, Curtis told her everything.

A week later, a letter arrived in the mail. It was postmarked priority mail. He looked at the return address. It was from Vincent.

He sat on the couch and silently read the typed letter.

Dearest Curtis,

I have been trying to figure out how to start this letter for a long time. Now that I’ve finally gotten to see you after all these years, I still don’t know quite what to say. I think the only honest place to start is by saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the invitation that never reached you. I’m sorry for the fifteen years. I’m sorry it took me this long to find you.

I keep thinking about when we were kids. Running around the neighborhood until it got dark. Your mother hollering out the front door for you to come in and you pretending you couldn’t hear her. I think about that one summer when we were little kids, and we dug that hole in your backyard because we were convinced we could make it to China. We got about three feet down before we gave up.

I think about how easy it was back then. And I think about how none of it was actually easy for you—not the way it was for me. I saw how people treated you. I didn’t always know what to do about it, but I saw it. And you just kept showing up. Every single day, same Curtis. I admired that more than I ever told you.

I am dying, Curtis. I have been sick for a long time and I have chosen to stop treatment. That dinner was my goodbye to everyone I love.

I am so glad you came.

Your friend always,

Vince

Curtis held the letter for a while, staring at the typed words. He closed his eyes, and then he was standing in white room. Loud beeping machines surrounding him. Wires coming from all directions, wrapping around Vincent’s eight-year-old body like white and gray vines. Feeling helpless.

Eventually, he opened his eyes. They were wet now. He folded the letter back up and stuffed it back into the envelope. When he did, he noticed another piece of paper inside. A check. He looked at the memo.

I don’t need this where I’m going. Take care of yourself, old friend.

Then he looked at the number—fifty thousand dollars. He fell back into a chair and stared silently out of the living room window.

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