Less

by Andrew Sean Greer

But once you’ve actually been in love, you can’t live with “will do”; it’s worse than living with yourself.

New York is a city of eight million people, approximately seven million of whom will be furious when they hear you were in town and didn’t meet them for an expensive dinner, five million furious you didn’t visit their new baby, three million furious you didn’t see their new show, one million furious you didn’t call for sex, but only five actually available to meet you.

“It’s an honor to be in love with you.”

That’s what it was like to live with genius.

“I think the saddest thing in the world is a twenty-five-year-old talking about the stock market. Or taxes. Or real estate, goddamn it! That’s all you’ll talk about when you’re forty. Real estate!

Looking out at the view, Javier says, “Here is something strange about growing old.” “What’s that?” “I meet new friends, and they are bald or they are gray. And I don’t know what color their hair used to be.”

But some people do take it a little too hard. It’s just a birthday, after all.

You were different. I think everybody wanted to touch that innocence, maybe ruin it. Your way of going through the world, unaware of danger. Clumsy and naive.

I look at you, and you’re young. You’ll always be that way for me.

“Love you always, Arthur Less.”

How could I not love him?