19th Nervous Breakdown

“Shit,” Dustin says. “Shit shit shit shit shit.”

He dodges his way through a field of wait staff, each of them carrying a giant flower arrangement. Not any more difficult than trying to get through the I-93 tunnels during rush hour, but Mark will forgive Dustin if Dustin crashes one of his cars. Eduardo will not forgive Dustin if he fucks up the decorations for his wedding.

He nearly barrels into Sheryl where she’s bent over her iPhone, tapping out some last-minute e-mails. Her day job is to be Mark’s operations person, making sure that Mark doesn’t have to sweat all the details. She’s a little older than most of Mark’s staff, a veteran, a pro. Mark recruited her out of some organization in New York, just said she was looking for bigger and better things. Dustin doesn’t know exactly how much Mark had to pay her in order to get her to take time out of her busy schedule to help organize a wedding of all goddamn things, but it’s probably not enough.

“Whoa,” Sheryl says. “Where’s the fire?”

Dustin shakes his head. “We have wedding crashers.”

“Press or FBI?” Sheryl asks. The wedding has been the talk of the town since forever, and there’s no shortage of rubberneckers who’d like to sneak in. Eduardo finally gave up on waiting for Mark to get a clue and propose himself sometime in ‘09, but then refused to set a date until same-sex marriage was legalized across all fifty states. It was a savvy political move, played well to the academic and bleeding-heart liberal crowds. It also meant that no decisions or arrangements had to be made for years and years. Then Obergefell v. Hodges went to the Supreme Court, and to say all hell broke loose afterwards is something of an understatement. It’s times like these that Dustin wishes Chris were still here.

“No, worse. Sean Parker.” Dustin glances down the hill to see if he can spot Sean, but it’s hard with everyone bundled up in their dark coats. They’re on the steps of the Massachusetts State House, right in the heart of downtown Boston, which makes it a little bit hard to keep secure, and it’s harder still to keep the tourists and pedestrians from gawking at the activity. Dustin doesn’t know how many political strings Eduardo had to pull in order to get this location for the wedding, but he does know how many favors and threats Mark had to call in. It’s mid-March, and the trees are still bare, but it’s bright with winter sun. Dustin’s spent most of the morning squinting.

Sheryl raises her eyebrow. “We invited him, didn’t we?”

Dustin grits his teeth. Sean hadn’t sent in an RSVP. “Yeah, but no one expected him to actually show up.” Dustin knows she’s dealt with Sean before in a strictly business capacity, which means she’s only had to deal with him when he’s on his best behavior. She wasn’t around for Sean’s Boston days and has therefore never seen Eduardo’s reaction to the mere thought of Sean Parker in the same state as him. To be fair, the last time Sean and Eduardo were in the same place at the same time was over a decade ago, back before Sean was exiled to California, but Dustin doesn’t really believe they’ve buried the hatchet since then.

It must be something about the expression on his face, because she takes one look at him and settles into crisis-management mode. “Okay, what’s the game plan?”

“I’m going to intercept Sean near the entrance,” Dustin says. “I need you to keep the grooms from getting wind of this.”

It’s a credit to how much random shit Mark has thrown at her over the years that she just nods and takes the instructions in stride. “On it,” she says.

Thankfully, it’s early enough in the morning that most of the guests haven’t arrived yet and the police have blocked off a good portion of Beacon Street. Dustin won’t have to have this confrontation with an audience. Last thing he needs is footage showing up Youtube or Twitter or whatever.

He glances around, looking for familiar blonde curls, but as usual, he hears Sean before he sees him.

“Nah, Mark knows how to throw a party.” Sean’s talking into his phone with one hand and holding a coffee cup in the other while he leans against the gate that circles the state house. The suit he’s wearing is nice, well-tailored, underneath a black wool coat and his pale skin has been darkened a few shades by a California tan. Dustin can’t remember the last time he saw Sean in person -- three, four years ago? -- but he hasn’t changed much.

“Sean,” Dustin says. He’s trying to put on his most intimidating glower, which works on most people, but most people aren’t Sean. Sean was the first person to teach Dustin how to handle a gun. Dustin will probably always look like a punk-ass college student in his eyes.

“Sorry, gotta go. The guard dog’s here,” Sean says. He hangs up and plasters a broad, fake smile on his face. “Dustin, my man. You’re looking good.” He holds out a hand.

Dustin clasps it for a moment, pulling away before Sean can pull him into a hug. “You know you shouldn’t be here, dude.”

“Nonsense,” Sean says. “I wouldn’t miss Mark’s wedding for the world.”

Dustin resists the urge to point out that it is Eduardo’s wedding as well, because it’s kind of hard to miss, and Sean’s just being a dick about it. “Look, I’m sorry you flew all the way out from California, but if you turn around and walk away right now, then we won’t have to--”

Sean’s expression shifts in a second, dropping the false camaraderie. A sneer slides across Sean’s lips, as smug as Dustin has ever seen him. “Won’t have to what? Disappear me like you did to--”

Dustin grabs a handful of Sean’s shirt before he can say anything else. “You don’t get to say his name. Not here.”

Sean holds up his hands. “Okay,” he says. “No need to get violent about it, Moskovitz.”

Dustin lets go of Sean’s shirt, stepping back, and gets his breathing under control. He’s never had problems with Sean before, but it’s been a rough month, and Sean’s -- Sean-ness -- is different when you’re not trying to memorize every other word out of his mouth like it’s gospel.

Dustin’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks it. A text from Sheryl. Sorry, someone else got to him first.

He puzzles over the message for a bit, not quite sure what to make of it, until a different head of unruly curls shows up.

Sean brightens, a beaming smile spreading across his face. “Hey, Mark,” he says.

Mark’s expression is as inscrutable as ever, but Dustin can read irritation in the set of his shoulders and the tension in his fingers. Still, it softens a little at the sight of Sean. Dustin knows Mark as well as anyone can know Mark, but there’s something about his relationship with Sean that defies understanding or explanation. “Sean,” he says, “you’re lucky I heard about this before Wardo did.”

Sean shrugs. “Fuck him. You invited me.” Something shifts on his face, his bravado changing. “And I wanted to be here. Last few minutes of freedom or whatever.”

Mark’s pauses for a moment, the gears turning in his head. “Dustin,” he says. He doesn’t so much as glance in Dustin’s direction, but Dustin knows it’s a dismissal.

He gets out of the way, out of earshot, but he makes sure he can keep an eye on the two of them. This is how he and Mark work. Mark will do whatever the hell he wants, and Dustin will watch his back.

A few people come by looking for Mark -- including Mark’s mom, who’s still dabbing tears from her eyes -- and Dustin deflects them as best as he can. He keeps an eye out for any possible explosions in Mark and Sean’s conversation. So far, it’s subdued. Mark says something. Sean nods. Mark shakes his head, and Sean shrugs.

At one point, Eduardo himself appears at Dustin’s shoulder. “Is Mark ready yet?” he asks. “Marylin wants to make sure she has his vows correct.” He’s not bothering to hide his annoyance, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to murder anyone either. That’s good. That’s something Dustin can work with.

“Uh,” Dustin says, arranging himself so that Mark and Sean aren’t in Eduardo’s line of vision. It’s not that he likes getting in the middle of Mark and Eduardo’s little spats, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Lying for Mark should be second nature by now, but he doesn’t have to do it very often anymore when it comes to Eduardo. “He’s taking a last-minute meeting.”

Eduardo rolls his eyes in a way that distinctly reminds Dustin of Mark. Sometimes, Mark will snap his fingers in a way that reminds Dustin of Eduardo. It’s almost definitely a weird couple thing that Dustin won’t ever understand. “I know Sean’s here,” Eduardo says.

Dustin’s mouth goes dry. “Look, I was just trying to get rid of him. I won’t let him make a scene or ruin anything.”

Eduardo waves him off. “It’s fine. Just make sure Mark’s at the altar on time.”

“Um,” Dustin says, watching Eduardo out of the corner out of his eye. He doesn’t look like he’s been replaced by a pod person, but Eduardo is being far too calm about this. He loathes Sean with the strength of a few fiery suns. There is no way he’s as blasé as he seems to be.

Eduardo seems to pick up on Dustin’s confusion. A thin smile spreads across his face. Dustin remembers the early days of Mark and Eduardo’s relationship, when they were all young and stupid, and the way Eduardo would grin so wide his eyes would scrunch up a bit whenever he could get Mark to start rambling in his direction. Eduardo doesn’t smile like that anymore, even during photo ops. “If you think that I have anything to worry about when it comes to Sean, then you don’t know either of us all that well.” He spins around on his heel and turns back to find Marylin. Dustin caught sight of her earlier, looking resplendent in her judge’s robes and genuinely happy to be marrying Mark and Eduardo to one another. That’s how Dustin knows she is definitely as crazy as the rest of them.

A little ways away, Mark says something to Sean and then looks behind him, at the golden dome of the state house, before shaking his head and walking away. He’s walking towards Dustin, and Dustin gets a clear view of the expression on Sean’s face, something conflicted and hurt and sad and weirdly happy.

Dustin thinks of how awful it must be to be even a little bit in love with Mark Zuckerberg.

“Eduardo stopped by to say that Marylin wants to talk to you before they start the ceremony,” he says to Mark as Mark walks by.

At the sound of Eduardo’s name, the corner of Mark’s mouth twitches. He bounces once on the balls of his feet, and for a moment, he looks like a kid again, overeager and restless. It causes a moment of dissonance as strongly as watching Eduardo give a speech about the horrors of the heroin addiction epidemic sweeping throughout the state while knowing that Mark was responsible for supplying most of that heroin. “Okay,” Mark says.

He brushes past Dustin without looking back. Sean gives Dustin one last nod, his gaze lingering on Mark’s retreating back, before turning to walk away.

Dustin texts Sheryl. Crisis averted.

Good, she writes back.

Dustin turns to look down the hill again, squinting with the sun on his face. The snow on the Common is melting in patches. Soon, there might be some green again. Life’s a little like that, probably, the good peeking up from underneath the bad.

The band starts warming up, horns humming and howling and strings screeching, and that’s Dustin’s cue to get back to work.