by Anyta Sunday
Eric held his breath as Rory stared at the newspaper lining the skirting boards. He was pretty sure who the third person would be. He was nervous to bring up the guy, but this was a part of Rory, a big one, and Eric would have to learn how to deal with it.
The answer, though, wasn’t what he expected.
“You,” Rory said.
“Say what?”
Rory glanced at him over his shoulder. “You, right after the night I said those cruel things to you at Kings, so I could apologize then.” He went back to painting. “I could’ve used your friendship in my life back then.”
Eric gave up even pretending to work. He put down his roller and moved behind Rory. Wrapping his arms around the man’s chest, he drew him back into him. The roller jerked in Rory’s hand, but he continued to paint. It looked awkward, but maybe to Rory it was less awkward for Rory than facing Eric right then.
He sighed against the back of Rory’s neck.
“What about you, Eric?” Rory asked. And Eric heard a silent: Let’s get it all out there in the open. So we can deal with it and move on. “Would it be your parents?” came Rory’s quiet guess. “Your grandpa?”
Eric thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I made peace with Mum and Dad a long time ago. I don’t feel the need to dredge those feelings back up. And my G-pa? He’d throttle me before the first course was served for not scattering his ashes already.” He chuckled into Rory’s hair and felt him shiver.
Rory finally dropped his roller. He laid it down, pulling out of Eric’s grip, and then came back. He reached out and took his hand, holding it between both of his, studying it. “Who then?”
Eric watched their fingers tangle. “I’d invite myself. Myself in thirty years time. I’d wear a disguise, not tell him we are the same person, and see what type of person he’s—I’ve become. I’d jot notes on the things I disliked to work on them.” He paused, a slight grin pulling at him. “And I’d slap the guy if he’s a real doosh.”
Rory smiled, his fingers climbing over his fingers to his wrist and tracing over his koru ink.
“Who else?”
“I’d invite you too, so you could help me with the list and do some slapping of your own if it’s warranted. And maybe I should invite my grandma, because she’d go back and tell grandpa about every slap in detail, which would make him laugh.”
Rory leaned in and kissed him. Eric could feel his smile against his lips. “It would make me laugh, too.”
“I prefer your elusive laughs to be with me and not at me, but I’ll take any I can get.”
They broke apart and moved back into their working positions.
Rory said, “If you could be invisible, where would you go and what would you do?”
Eric laughed. “How to narrow that list down?” It took him a minute, then he had it. “Yeah, I’d sneak into your room . . .”
He paused, watching Rory’s back stiffen and a lip dart over his lip. “Yeah?”
“. . . and I’d snoop until I found out your middle name.”
“My middle name?” Rory shook his head. “That’s what you’d do with the powers of invisibility?”
Eric lowered his voice. “And if I couldn’t find it, I’d haunt you in despicable ways until you told me.”
Rory gulped audibly and adjusted himself. “Maybe you don’t have to be invisible for that.”
Eric wanted to drop everything, take Rory into his arms and start some of those despicable things right there in the hall, not caring they’d get covered in paint. But he held back, because the way he was feeling, if he got started with something, he’d want it to go much further than it had this morning, and Rory wasn’t ready for that yet.
Neither was he, for that matter.
He was going to take it slow with the guy. Making sure at every step this was what they both wanted.
“So . . . what would you do if you were invisible?” he said. “Sneak up on those boys leaving pumpkins on your doorstep and see what they do to them?”
Rory shuddered, and the moment he did, Eric knew it wasn’t at the thought of what dirty things the boys did. No. One of the Forster brothers looked just like William as a kid. Eric cringed remembering the last time Rory had seen them. But they couldn’t ignore the fact William’s ghost drifted between them, and Rory was still struggling with moving on.
“What are you going to do if you see him again?” he asked quietly, exchanging his roller to a small paintbrush. Once the corners were done, the hall would be finished.
He waited for Rory to respond, but he didn’t.
The thought of Rory trying to run again had him squeezing his brush so tight he’d get blisters. “I know it’s hard losing the ones you care about. I know that very well. I really am sorry, Rory. I wish I could change the hurt for you.”
“Fuck,” Rory muttered under his breath. He dropped his roller, but didn’t go for a smaller brush. Instead his feet shuffled over the plastic away from Eric. “Look, um, I just realized there’s something I need to do.”
Eric straightened and tossed his paintbrush onto the tray. “Like hell there is.” He moved to Rory and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t run, please. That’s exactly what I don’t want.”
Rory swiveled to face him. “Guh. I’m doing this all wrong.” He reached out and threaded a hand through Eric’s hair, pulled him close and kissed him. “I was listening. I don’t know how to answer, but I was listening.”
“Then why are you . . .” Eric gave a pointed look down the hall toward the exit.
“I just . . . I know it looks like I’m running right now, and I have to admit, a part of me had that instinct when you were talking, but that’s not it. I don’t want to say why I need to leave, but”—he kissed him again, and Eric found himself nodding—“I just need you to let me go for a bit, okay?”
“When will I see you again?”
“I did promise to spend Christmas here with you. You’ll see me tomorrow for lunch.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay. I mean, go out now if you have to, but tonight . . . ?”
“If things go well, then no. Tonight I can’t. If they go badly, then, yeah, I’ll be here tonight.”
“I still don’t understand—” Another kiss sealed off his sentence.
“Later, Eric.”
“Later.”
And by God he hoped that was the truth.
Rory hurried home.
He’d fucked up the way he left Eric, but what he’d said had struck a tender cord. I really am sorry, Rory. I wish I could change the hurt for you.
How many times had he wished the same thing?
But there was no changing how much it hurt to lose William. He could only change how much he let it affect him. And he was progressing. Staying here and not running . . . that was change he could control.
A cool Wellington breeze hit his back, propelling him up the path to the house. He let himself inside; the darkened entrance feeling just as cold as outside. He switched on a light and found the phone book.
There were three Hardys, and eliminating two—their addresses didn’t fit—he found the place he was looking for.
In less than ten minutes, he arrived at the address. He parked his motorbike and sauntered up to the wooden door of the cottage, dinging a pretentious looking brass bell.
The same bearded man as yesterday answered the door. On level ground the man was a good foot taller than he was, but with the step up into the house, he towered over Rory.
“Yeah?” the guy asked, folding his arms, squinting at him as if trying to place his face.
“Hi, Mr. Hardy, I’m Rory—”
“You’re the guy from last night.” He dropped his arms. “What’ya want?”
Rory stood as tall as he could and lifted his chin. “I want to buy the kitten off you.”
A low rumble left the man. “Fluffy’s not for sale. It’s a Christmas gift for our daughter. I’m sorry.” He stepped back, a hand braced on the door to shut it—
“A hundred bucks. I’ll give you a hundred for him.”
The man shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. And he cost that with all the things we had to buy for him.”
“Two hundred.”
“Not for sale.” But Rory saw the man hesitate. There was a price that would work for him, he just had to hit it.
He dugs his hands in his pockets. “We could make this a win-win somehow. Two hundred and fifty? I’m sure you could buy your kid another kitten and more with that.”
“Ah, but where would I find one so close to Christmas? I’m sorry, but this is in vain. There’s no amount—”
“Three fifty!” Fuck. He’d spat that out in a panic. He could afford it, he’d always been good at saving, and with his inheritance it wasn’t an issue. But still. This was the most he’d ever spent on something he didn’t even like.
Really.
But it didn’t matter that he and Yowler weren’t BFFs or anything. He meant something to Eric. And while Eric could not change Rory’s hurt, it wasn’t too late to change Eric’s.
“Three fifty, and I want the cat carrier.”
The man frowned. Behind him down the hall a girl in a yellow rain coat, polka dot gumboots and a sunflower umbrella trotted down the hall, singing rain-rain, come and play . . .
The bearded man glanced over his shoulders, and when he looked back at Rory, he was smiling. “She’s excited about her Christmas surprise. I don’t want to disappoint her. So, I’m sorry.”
“So replace the kitten with another. The SPCA is just down the road.”
“Why don’t you do that?”
Rory pulled his hands out of his pockets, scrunching them into fists. He had to get this. It was more than just a kitten. Eric had grown to love the thing—it was . . . it was—“Yowler’s been a family member for an entire month. He’s been looked after, petted, cuddled, loved every day. I can’t just replace that.”
The man frowned, and stared at him for a moment. He looked over at his kid once again and sighed. “Three fifty, you say?”
Rory exhaled his relief. The man was going to give in. Thank fuck for that. “Yes. With the cat carrier. I’ll pick up the money and be back here in fifteen.”
Eric hesitated after he gathered the potatoes, pumpkin, and sweet potatoes onto the dining table to be peeled and chopped. He couldn’t do this. What if Rory didn’t come?
His grandpa’s funeral came back to him, the image of the table filled with untouched food. . . .
This is different. Rory’s different.
Of course he’d come.
He grabbed a cutting board and a large knife. The blade, slicing through the potatoes with a snuurp, emphasized the quietness of the room. Placing the knife down, he wiped his potato stained hands on his jeans, and checked his cell phone for the time. Just past twelve. Maybe lunchtime to Rory was twelve-thirty. Or one o’clock?
Yeah, that was it, probably.
Eric snipped away at more vegetables and then stopped. The sound of the knife as it hit the wooden board, and the way he kept glancing over at the chair at the end of the table, grated on his nerves. He just had to believe Rory was coming. Not to think the worst . . .
“Crap.” He had to do something.
After washing his hands, he set his laptop up on the table behind the vegetables and turned on some music.
After two songs, he shut it off. The lyrics were too brooding—exactly the funk he wanted to get out of.
He took out his cell again and dialed Rory’s place. It rung ten times before it hit the answering machine. He re-called. Maybe Rory couldn’t find the phone or something? Again, machine.
So that must mean he was on his way. He’d be here in less than a minute.
Two minutes later, Eric gave up on peeling the sweet potato. He rested his head in his hands and stared at his elbows on the table.
He jerked at the sound of his Skype ringing.
Will. Eric accepted the video call.
“Merry Christmas!” Will cheered.
It was good to hear his friend’s voice filling the space in the room. Behind Will, Heath stood, resting his hands on the back of the desk chair.
“So,”—Will craned his head to smile back at Heath, and then looked back into the camera—“we have some news.”
“Candice had her baby?” Eric said, shifting onto the edge of his chair.
Will shook his head. “Uh, no, not yet. She’ll be arriving with Sig soon though.”
Heath lowered himself to kiss the top of Will’s head, then wrapped his arms around his neck. He drummed his fingers against his shirt.
Will’s face broke out into a smile and he lifted his own hand to clasp Heath’s. That’s when Eric saw it.
“Really?”
Heath kissed Will on the corner of his lips. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
“When?”
“After we get back from travelling,” Will said. “We hope you’ll . . . I want you to be my best man.”
Eric couldn’t believe his ears. The fact his closest friend was engaged and happy made him warm inside, but that he wanted him to be a part of their union . . . it was, wow. He was speechless. Touched.
He swallowed. “Yeah, I’d love to.” He wished he could wrap them both in his arms and hug them. “Congratulations. You two are a wonderful couple, you deserve all the best.”
They talked about where and what they might do—casual but intimate, seemed the consensus. When Heath got a little too touchy-feely on screen, Eric opened his Gmail. There was nothing new, so he clicked on the message Rory had sent him last night. It was short, but oh-so-sweet.
Thinking of you.
There was a knock at the door.
Rory!
He knew it. He lurched to his feet, made for the front door, and threw it open. When his eyes landed on the guy himself, he felt like he was freaking flying. “You’re here.”
“You sound surprised.”
Eric closed his eyes and breathed in a fresh breeze scented with a touch of Rory’s aftershave. When he opened them again, he pulled Rory in over the threshold. “Relieved. I tried to ring.”
Rory fell into the embrace and returned it. “I had to walk over.”
“Walk? Did your tire give out again or something?”
Hot breath fired against his neck before Rory moved back. He ducked outside and picked up a box covered with what looked like a tablecloth. Coming inside with it, he hurriedly toed off his shoes and moved into the lounge.
Eric followed, watching as Rory placed the box on the edge of the kitchen bench.”
“You’d better open this right away.”
Eric heard a long meow. Scratchy, loud, and—
“Yowler!”
He reached for the box, feeling the hard plastic carrier under the tablecloth. With a yank, the cloth was off. And there was his little grey kitten, poking his paws through the gaps in the gate.
“You got him back for me?” He unlocked the gate and scooped him up, bringing him to his chest. The familiar smell of his kitten had knots forming in his gut. He’d thought he’d lost this. Now it was here in his arms again. He kissed the top of Yowler’s head, holding him tighter than he probably should. “He’s mine for good?”
Rory nodded.
“This is amazing. How’d you . . .?”
“It’s why I left so suddenly yesterday. I should’ve done it the night they came. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. Then when you said you wished you could take away my hurt, I realized that’s what I wished for you, too. And I had a way to do it. So I left straight away—I wanted to get him back before they gave him to their kid.”
Rory slumped against the counter, elbow jerking the carrier. He looked sweaty and exhausted, but his smile was kind and happy.
Eric said to him, “This is . . . it’s the best gift.”
Rory hesitantly brought his hand to Yowler’s head and scratched behind his ears. Eric watched the tenderness in Rory’s expression. He could say what h
e wanted, but Rory loved that cat every bit as much as he did.
When Rory caught Eric staring, his smile faltered. He leaned in and kissed Eric, soft and sweet on the lips.
“I-I missed you.” Rory blushed as he said it and quickly looked over to the table. “Need help?”
Eric’s gaze skimmed over the half-cut vegetables to his computer. The screen showed his email, but . . . he hadn’t finished his Skype call.
He felt the blood drain from his face. Had . . . had Will and Heath just seen . . .
He put Yowler down. The kitten immediately trotted to his chair, jumped, and curled up on it.
Rory stood right in front of the computer. He sat down on Eric’s chair, reading the screen. “I’m sorry I couldn’t, um, come back last night. I didn’t want to leave Yowler alone in the house. Good thing too, because he peed in the kitchen. Twice.”
He thought he heard a crackle coming from the computer speakers. God, please don’t say anything! Eric suddenly moved to Rory and shut his laptop. How much had his friends seen? He cringed, already sure of that answer. Crap. How would Rory take it? Should he say something or . . .
Rory raised a brow at him. “Got something to hide, Eric?” he joked.
Eric opened his mouth to spit it out at the same moment Rory stood and crushed their lips together again. “Sorry. Fuck. I love kissing you.”
He swallowed. Better not to tell him.
This day had become too perfect to tamper with.
After an afternoon of cooking and eating, Eric and Rory were washing up. Dishwashing suds covered Rory’s hands when he handed him the last piece of cutlery.
The sink gurgled as the plug was let out. Eric slid the dried plate into the cupboard and cupped Rory’s hands with the dishtowel, patting them free of suds.
“I’d like if you stayed over tonight.”
With a blush that had Eric heating up, Rory nodded. “I’d like that too. Um, first, though, I need to go home and get stuff. Toothbrush, whatnot.”
Eric placed the dishtowel in a heap on the bench and tangled his fingers in Rory’s, drawing them closer. He could feel Rory trembling, and when he leaned in, they shared a nervous kiss.
