It takes me three hours to get into the city, which is ridiculous because it usually takes me an hour, hour and a half tops. I'm really irritated by the time I reach the city limits and I'm a little bit nervous that my inner New Yorker is going to unleash itself and wreak havoc upon the city. I've already let one or two very creative curses slip. Despite the inconvenience of it all, I find myself feeling the faintest twinge of nostalgia as I look around at my surroundings.

I grumble at the unending line of cars in front of me and pull out my cell phone, searching for something, anything to keep me sane. I search through my contacts and choose a number.

"Visberg Gallery."

I smile. "Hey, Dutch-boy."

The voice on the other end laughs a little bit. "Who's this?"

"Well, I'll give you a little hint. I'm short, Irish-Italian, loud and obnoxious, and I pretty much dropped out of existence for about ten years."

Dutchy cackles. "RACETRACK!" I actually have to pull the phone away from my ear. "Specs said you were coming, but I didn't really believe him. Where are you at?"

I laugh without humor. "Well, I'm about seven blocks from my hotel, but as it stands, it's going to be like an hour before I actually get there." I sigh and shake my head. "With all the technological advances we've made, you'd think we could do something about New York traffic."

Dutchy laughs. "Keep dreaming, Race." I grumble again and am finally able to turn off of the road and head towards my hotel. "So, you staying the whole weekend?"

"Yeah. Specs said there's a lot going on this weekend, so I'd better just plan to stay a while."

"Oh, yeah. There's a Stones concert in town."

I laugh. "It boggles my mind that Keith Richards and Mick Jagger are still alive."

I hear Dutchy snort. "I agree wholeheartedly." He starts yelling something at someone on his end. "Sorry, Race, I gotta get going. We've got a catastrophe in the making with the flowers here."

"That's okay. I caught a break and I'm almost to my hotel. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

"Later."

I pull up to my hotel a few minutes later and check in. Once I'm up in my room, I throw my suitcase down and drop onto the bed. I haven't been here more than five minutes before my cell phone rings. I dig it out of my pocket and answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi, honey, where are you at?"

I smile a little bit. Caroline's voice is always comforting. "I just checked into the hotel and now I'm currently laying down and waiting for my head to stop feeling like it's going to explode."

"Uh-oh, what happened?"

I roll onto my side, staring out the window at the dingy building next door. "Nothing happened, traffic was just hell. It's been a while since I've been here."

I hear the faintest hint of a smile in her voice. "How's it feel?"

I sigh and roll back over to my back. "Feels like home." I used to live in Manhattan before I went to J.P.'s, but after I graduated college and started working there again, my folks moved out closer to the school to be around me and Caroline and the kids. I haven't really had a reason to come into the city since, aside from random plays I've gone to see.

"So, what are you going to do now?" I can hear the kids running around and screaming and laughing in the background – I miss them. I want to go home.

"I don't know. Maybe sleep, until Monday when I can just head back there and forget I was even here."

"Anthony," Caroline says. I know she's going to be stern with me now because she never calls me Anthony. "Stop being such a pansy."

"What?" I laugh, unable to help myself. "Did you really just call me a pansy?"

"Well, that's what you're being."

"How am I a pansy?"

"You're being all mopey and pussy-footing around the concept of actually seeing your friends. You're scared. You're a pansy."

"I love you too, honey."

Caroline laughs and I hear a little voice pestering her. "Your little monsters want to talk to you," she says, and the phone is passed off to Junior.

"Hi, Daddy," he says, trying to sound grown-up like he always does on the phone.

"Hey, pal."

"Are you coming home yet?" The way his voice sounds when he asks this reminds me that even though he's already in kindergarten and is growing up a little more every day, he's still my little boy.

"Soon, buddy. You're just going to have to be the man of the house and hold down the fort while I'm gone. Keep your mama and Maria in check. Think you can do that?"

"You bet." I can tell he's grinning with pride right now. "Hey, Daddy?"

"Yeah, Junior."

"Does this mean I get to smoke your cigars?"

I laugh. "No, sport."

"But you just said that I'm man of the house and you told me that when I'm a man, I can--"

"No, Junior." I can hear him pouting on the other end. "Hey, I love you, okay, buddy?"

"Love you too, Daddy."

"Pass me off to someone else."

There's a little jumble of noise before I hear the sound of soft breathing. I hear Caroline's voice in the background. "Say hello."

"Hello?"

I grin. "Hi, princess."

Maria gasps. "Daddy! Where are you?" She still hasn't quite figured out how the telephone works.

"I'm on my trip." I close my eyes and picture my family. "It isn't any fun without you."

She giggles. I love that sound. "Buy my present yet?"

I laugh. "No, not yet. I'm looking for something extra super special for you."

"Miss you, Daddy."

I sigh. "Miss you more, princess." I open my eyes and look at my watch. "Hey, gorgeous, I gotta go. Daddy has to go eat lunch."

"Okay."

"I love you."

"Love you too, Daddy."

"Give Mama and Junior hugs and kisses for me, okay?"

"Okay."

"Bye, sweetheart."

I get up from the bed and shove my phone back into the pocket of my jeans. Looking around the room one more time, I grab my keys and walk out the door with my mind set on a ham on rye from this deli I remember from around the corner. I'm headed toward the elevator, not really paying any attention, when I smack head-on into someone and find myself flat on my ass.

"Sorry, man," a thick New York accent says.

"My fault, wasn't lookin' where I was goin'." A hand is extended to me, and I take it and pull myself up. "Thanks."

The man stands and stares at me for a moment. "Racetrack?"

I shove my hands in my pockets and sigh. "Oh, Jesus, didn't anyone from high school forget me?"

The mans blue eyes go cold. "Hey, I tried to."

"Excuse me?" I look at him, confused.

"I see you succeeded in forgetting your past."

I blink and study him for a moment. Then it hits me. "Oh, my God." He cocks an eyebrow. "Spot Conlon."

"So your memory hasn't failed you after all. Congratulations." And he's gone.

I stand, stunned. What just happened here, and who shoved that stick up Spot's ass?

I walk into the elevator and press a random button. Leaning my head back against the cold, dirty steel, I sigh and remember.

"Pull your head out of your ass, Spot. I'm no fucking queer, and neither are you."

God, I am a horrible person.

I said that to him way back when, when we were sophomores at Pulitzer's. I completely overreacted – I mean, not that you could blame me, really. The kid had just told me he was pretty much in love with me... we were sixteen and we were both confused – well, I was confused, Spot maybe not so much. Point is, it scared me out of my mind and I said some things I didn't mean, and Spot never spoke to me again.

Figures I'd run into him here.

I knew this was a bad idea.