Michael didn’t know what to do and he really didn’t know what to say. This was the first death they’d ever dealt with together. Michael stood frozen on the kitchen’s black and white tile floor and just stared.

“I better call Mom,” Griffin said. “She’ll, uh…she’ll want to know. She’s met Adam a couple times.”

Griffin dialed his mother’s number and while they were on the phone Michael texted his own mother. He told her everything he knew about Adam—that he was the one friend Griffin had made at his second stint in rehab, that Adam worked in Hollywood, that he’d struggled with heroin addiction on and off for years, but when they’d seen him last year he’d seemed fine. It was a long message but she wrote back quickly.

Mom: I’m going to call.

Michael: Now?

But it was too late. The phone rang in his hand.

“Hey, Mom,” Michael said.

“Hey, sweetheart. How is he? Shocked or sad?”

“Freaked out,” Michael said.

“Can he talk now?” Her voice was soft and calm, her professional seen-everything nurse’s voice.

“He just got off the phone with his mom.”

“Put me on speaker with him, okay?” his mother said.

“Griff,” Michael said. “Mom wants to talk to you.”

Griffin nodded. His eyes were hollow and his face was still a blank. Michael hated seeing him like this especially since he had no idea how to help.

Michael put his phone on speaker and set it on the kitchen table.

“Okay, Mom,” Michael said.

“Griffin?” she said. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah. Hey, Melissa.”

“This isn’t going to happen to you,” she said.

Griffin’s eyes widened at her words, and then he slowly sank down into the kitchen chair. With his hands over his face he wept silently.

“This isn’t going to happen to you,” Michael’s mother said again and then one more time for good measure. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

Griffin nodded slowly, then whispered a rasping, “Yes.”

“It’s not. It’s absolutely not going to happen. Your friend OD’d on heroin, yes?”

“Yeah,” Griffin said.

“Listen to me. I’ve worked in the ER a long time,” she said. “I know some things, which is why I know this is not going to happen to you. You did club drugs and you drank too much and sometimes you snorted coke, right?”

“Right, but not that often,” Griffin said. “It was mostly alcohol, pot and mushrooms. My overdose was on E. Never took that shit again.”

“Heroin?” she asked.

“Not once. I don’t do needles except for tats.”

“Good. Look, you did some stupid, dangerous stuff when you were younger, kid, and I’m not going to sugarcoat it. But you’re not going to relapse, and you’re not going to die and leave Michael alone in the world.”

Griffin rubbed tears off his face. “But what if I do?” he said.

Michael was weeping, too. He couldn’t help it. Seeing Griffin so scared, so undone, undid him.

“If you get hit by a bus tomorrow,” Michael’s mother said, “Michael will miss the hell out of you for a very long time. But he’ll have me and his sister and all his friends to love him and take care of him, and eventually he’ll be okay again. He won’t hurt himself. He’ll live his life in a way that honors how much you two loved each other. That’s what’ll happen if something happens to you. Got it?”

“You won’t let his father near Mick, will you?” Griffin asked.

“If it takes a pack of wild dogs and a shotgun to keep my ex-husband away from him, I’ll do it,” she said. “But that’s not something you have to worry about. You’ve been completely sober for almost…how long?”

“About ten years,” Griffin said.

“Ten years is a long time,” she said. “Even longer in recovery years. Michael’s not ever going to have to make the phone calls your friend’s husband is making tonight. By the time you keel over at ninety, we won’t even be using phones anymore. We’ll all have telepathy.”

Griffin laughed. “Thank you, Melissa.”

“No thanks necessary. I’m telling you the truth, okay? As a medical professional, I am telling you, this is not going to happen to you.”

“Can you say that one more time?” Griffin asked. She did. She said it slowly and she said it kindly and by the time she was done saying it again, Griffin looked a little more like himself.

“When’s the funeral?” she asked.

“Visitation is tomorrow from eleven to two. Funeral on Sunday at five,” Griffin said. “Jay said Adam’s family might not show up—they weren’t on great terms. He’s hoping to get as many friends there as he can.”

“Then I’m coming with you two, okay?” she said.

Griffin swallowed visibly. “Thank you,” he said again.

“Your friend’s death was a tragedy,” she said. “But his life wasn’t. He was your friend, so you know what a good person he was. Focus on that.”

“I will. You’re the best, Other Mom,” Griffin said.

“Back at you, Other Son,” Melissa said.

They talked a few minutes more and then she told them both she loved them and hung up. Michael walked over to Griffin still sitting at the table. Griffin pulled him close and wrapped him in a strong embrace. For at least five minutes, Michael just stood there by Griffin’s chair holding and being held. They didn’t talk. What was there to say?

The funeral was hard but it was made bearable by the presence of Griffin’s entire family, who were doing their part to make up for the lack of people from Adam’s. Griffin’s parents came, all of his brothers, their wives and even some of the older kids. Michael sat next to Griffin and Michael’s mother sat next to him. Griffin’s mother spoke for nearly half an hour with Jay, Adam’s husband, while Michael’s mother stayed close to Griffin’s side.

When they met Jay, all Michael could think to say was, “I’m really sorry.” Jay shook his hand and looked between him and Griffin.

“I’m just glad we’d gotten married last year,” Jay said. “I had to fight like hell as it was to get the funeral home to let me make all the decisions. His parents were just going to cremate him, no funeral. They had the gall to ask me if Adam left them any of his money in his will.”

“I hope they got jack shit,” Griffin said.

“Jack shit and nothing else,” Jay said. Michael could tell Jay was running on pure anger and adrenaline. The poor guy couldn’t have been over thirty but his eyes looked eighty. Apparently Adam had relapsed twice before while trying to get sober. They’d both been working on getting jobs back in New York. Hollywood held too much temptation, too much pressure. Griffin’s dad had offered to set up some interviews for Jay when he was ready. Sometimes Michael forgot what good people Griffin’s parents were, even if they were insanely intimidating.

“You two should consider getting hitched,” Jay said. “I wouldn’t have made it if I had to sit on the sidelines while I watched Adam’s family erase him from existence. We need all the laws on our side we can get, right?”

“God bless Cuomo,” Griffin said.

He and Jay hugged goodbye. Michael shook the man’s hand again and turned back to Griffin, who was staring across the room at his own mother and his brother Lucas.

“Griffin?” Michael said. “You okay?”

“Just thinking…I was with Mom when Lucas got engaged,” Griffin said. “I was in the backyard, and I heard this shrill piercing scream. I thought Mom had seen a rat or something in the house. Or someone was trying to kill her.”

Michael smiled. Griffin’s mom Alexis was a screamer.

“I ran into the house,” Griffin said. “Mom was on the phone sobbing. She looked at me and said, ‘Lucas and Lily are getting married!’ Her hands were shaking, she was jumping up and down…He’s her stepson, Mick. She was that crazy happy when her stepson got engaged.” Griffin fell silent for a moment. “She’d probably faint dead away if I ever got engaged. Woman goes nuts at weddings.”

“We have good moms,” was all Michael could think to say. He had never imagined marrying Griffin. They were as together as two people could ever be anyway. Sure, there was no red tape around their relationship, but who needed red tape? Marriage was a money thing and Michael didn’t want or love Griffin for his money. And his mother was right—Griffin was probably never going to relapse. His situation was very different from Adam’s. They didn’t need to worry about stuff like hospitals and funerals and inheritances. And their families loved and accepted them as a couple. Why get married for the legal protections when they didn’t need any, right?

Griffin didn’t say anything else about it that day or any day after. He was quieter than usual. Not his typical exuberant self. When Michael went back to school, they talked on the phone, but they didn’t exchange their usual goofy text messages all day every day. Instead of running in the park, Griffin went to the gym and lifted weights until he was miserable with exhaustion. And then a week and a half later, last night when Michael came home for his four-day fall break, Griffin said to him over dinner at their favorite small Italian restaurant, “Don’t answer me until Sunday because I know you, and I know you’ll need to think about it, but I want us to get married after you graduate in May.”

“Wait…what?” Michael asked.

“I’m asking you if you’ll marry me,” Griffin said. “But don’t answer me until Sunday. Got it?”

Michael didn’t say anything, not a word. He could only stare in shocked silence. Griffin pointed his fork at Michael’s entrée.

“So,” Griffin said. “How’s the lasagna?”