by Eve Morton
“And you’re done.” The Countdown host stormed into the room as soon as the on-air light was off and his fit would be undetectable to listeners. “Now I have a mess to clean up. Sponsors are gonna be pissed. Sherry’s gonna be pissed.”
“Don’t worry,” Cosmin said. “I promise you I’ll never do this again.”
The guy sighed and waved a hand to get them out of the booth. The intern let the commercial breaks cascade into one another so the sponsors didn’t get too upset, and then covered the rest of the dead time with music.
Cosmin didn’t care, though. His show was over. The emptiness that he’d been feeling up until this moment was only replaced with relief. Eric still held his hand. His face was no longer as red, but he trembled a little when Cosmin took a step closer.
“I’m sorry I’m late. The deal I was doing ran late and then I got the show time wrong. I thought it was six until midnight. Not noon until six. The website listed it wrong.”
“It’s okay. You’re here.” Cosmin reached out and touched Eric’s face. Stubble had formed on his chin, leaving him with a dusting of red hair that shimmered in the light. “Is it okay to kiss you?”
Eric nodded. Their lips met with a casual grace, one that was undercut by the radio station hubbub around them. Cosmin pulled away before the kiss could grow deeper and they disrupted the radio environment any further. After quiet goodbyes, they stepped out of the radio booth and into the hallway. Cosmin wanted to pin Eric against a door. He wanted to hug him and never let him go. And he wanted to apologize all at once.
The apology won out. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not listening to you when I should have. I sort of threw out the journals.”
“I know, I heard it on the radio. That was really how I knew I was running late.” Eric’s smile turned soft. “Thank you.”
Cosmin nodded. He caught that familiar gleam in Eric’s gaze, one that was a mixture of lust and kindness. Oh, he still wanted to pin him against the wall, but Eric’s hand in his own squeezed him and pulled him in another direction entirely.
“I have something to show you,” Eric said. “Do you trust me to make it a surprise?”
Cosmin already knew that, like all questions that were really about love, the answer was going to be yes.
Chapter Eighteen
Eric shifted from foot to foot as Cosmin surveyed the area. He’d never felt so nervous in his entire life. Not since he’d auditioned for the role that would land him on the set of Crime Bot had his palms sweated so profusely that grasping doorknobs was difficult. Not since that first day on set, when he caught sight of Jeff’s crooked smile, had he felt his stomach bottom out with vertigo, with an incipient sense that his life was now changing. Eric figured this was only appropriate. After all, Crime Bot, Jeff, and his own nervous chatter were precisely what had led him here nearly ten years later, all thanks to the bounty and outright charity of Christopher Ren, and in full witness of Cosmin.
Eric had gone mute the moment Cosmin stepped foot inside the laundromat across from Starbucks. He’d wanted to keep his word about surprises and merely show Cosmin what he was now considering the best investment for his future, but Cosmin’s face remained impassive. The only hint of emotion he gave was his furrowed brows—but as Eric had learned from their time period together, Cosmin’s knitted brows could mean anything.
Eric’s resolve started to waver. How could he explain this extravagant yet utterly banal purchase? How could he even begin to explain that, once he’d met Dillon, and he saw this place next door, it felt as strong as a phone ringing inside of his soul? How could he explain, beyond elliptical references to My Beautiful Laundrette, that he was convinced that this was where he belonged now?
So he didn’t. He remained quiet and anxious and sweating so much he was worried he was losing body mass. Cosmin’s expression didn’t change an inch as he walked the perimeter of the entire store, all the way from the glass doors in need of a clean, to the laundry soap vending machines yet to be fully stocked, to the washing machines installed on the back walls and the dryers right across from them. Each slow-paced footstep was matched by Eric’s shallow and rapid breathing. Once Cosmin completed his circuit, he stood in the centre and cast a furtive glance at Eric.
“So?” Eric asked. “What do you think?”
“It’s a laundromat.”
“It’s my laundromat.”
“You bought this place?”
“Yes. Well. I’m in the process of buying it. There’s so much more paperwork than I realized, and since it’s the holidays right now everyone is tied up with other stuff, so it’s still going to take a while, but yes, I’m buying it. And Michael—Trina’s new husband—is helping me out with little details. I’m... I’m using the money that Christopher Ren gave me in his will. That, too, still needs a lot more paperwork attention, but my aunt is helping me with that. And so that leaves me, and this is what I want. I... I want to do something good with it.”
“And so a laundromat,” Cosmin said, voice still impassive. “Doesn’t strike me as a typical humanitarian cause or sure-fire investment.”
“It’s actually a great source of passive income. Most people know that buying property is a good thing, but having a rental place can be an extreme amount of upkeep. There’s building permits and improvements, safety features and updates, not to mention chasing people down for rent money. I don’t exactly want to be a slum lord, you know?”
“It is a lot of work. I considered it for my father’s place, for a little while, but—”
“You’re selling it. I saw the sign earlier today. It’s fine, makes a lot of sense, actually. But I was worried I was too late, that you were already gone.”
Cosmin shook his head. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. Eric’s heart shuddered. Cosmin was waiting for him; even if he hadn’t made it to the studio just at the right moment, he was sure now that Cosmin would have still been there, waiting. He wasn’t running away scared, determined to go back to his old way of life and not invite anyone inside, and keep the journals locked up in his own storage unit, turning into a new generation Prospero. No, nothing like that was happening at all.
When Eric had stopped at his parents’ place—to give his father more cigars—and saw the sign, he turned on the radio in the front porch, heard Cosmin’s stories, and realized he was late. But he also realized that Cosmin wasn’t talking about Viktor Frankl, Shakespeare, or even Proust, but his father’s search for meaning, which was now his own.
“Why didn’t you mention me on your show?” Eric asked. “You know, earlier? Before the robot interlude?”
“I wanted to. Then I worried you weren’t coming—”
“Because of...” It took Eric several tries to finish the sentence. “Because I committed infidelity in the past?”
Cosmin was quiet for a beat too long. “You’re right. It does sound too serious when you say it like that.”
Eric let out an aggravated breath. “It is—was—serious. I did cheat, but I know now I don’t have to. I know now I shouldn’t have—I—”
“The past is the past. I’ve always trusted you, Eric.”
“Even after all I’ve told you? You still trust me?”
Cosmin nodded. When Eric still stared at him in disbelief, Cosmin continued. “It’s never been just about the actions for me. It’s more about the feeling behind them. I saw you make a mistake, one that you agonized over.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“But it’s in past tense,” Cosmin said, and quickly added, “I never mentioned you on the radio show until you showed up, mostly because my radio instincts took over. When I saw I had no one speak to, I rose to the occasion and told a story about my friend’s daughter instead.”
“I heard. You gave her the same advice.”
“You could say I stole it back. Then she
can pass it on.”
“Good. I... I almost want to frame what you told me, maybe put it right here.” Eric pointed to a bulletin board that was still covered with out-of-date concert flyers, offers for babysitting, and a handful of other suspicious ones that just contained phone numbers. “These types of boards used to have acting auditions too, you know? I found a couple commercial gigs on some when I moved to the city. They never went anywhere, but I got fifty bucks and a story.
“And in the movie, My Beautiful Laundrette, the same space acts as a gathering area for a bunch of misfit kids. You hang out when you wait for your clothing to be done, or you dance in the space because there is nothing else to do. You talk, you pass the time, and do nothing much at all, but sometimes something small can change your life.
“So, I know it’s totally premature, but I wanted to show this place to you. I wanted to frame what you told me years ago and put it front and centre.” Eric took a breath. He’d been speaking so quickly, as if he was running out of time and space.
Cosmin was still in the centre of the laundromat, though, quiet, subdued and oh-so-serious like his sister had said. But he was beautiful in that stillness. It wasn’t pretentious, or mean, or even difficult. It was a quiet passion that came with being included. It was probably how Cosmin must have felt upon first seeing his father at the orphanage, so long ago now, with the stars in his eyes.
“I suppose this is also me proving that I’m serious,” Eric went on, “about you and about my life. I’m doing something with the second chance I’ve been given. I’m not just going to go back to Waterloo and squander it. I’m not going back to Waterloo at all, aside from packing a bag. A friend, Valerie, is going to let me stay on her couch as I get the paperwork for this place sorted. Then I’m probably going to get an apartment. Or stay in Cobourg and commute. I—”
Cosmin interrupted him. “I truly meant what I said. I saw the feelings behind your actions and they were always kind. Even as a kid.”
“That’s nice. But I still think it means nothing until I do something, act in that way, you know? I talked to Trina...” After a moment’s hesitation, the story came out. Not just the conversation with Trina but the one with Dana, too. He even told Cosmin that she thought he was pretentious.
He smiled. “She’s not the first, nor most likely the last person, who’ll call me that.”
“And other people will call me a fuckup. A cheater. Any number of things, and you know, some of their words might be technically true. But I don’t want to believe that, not anymore. I want to do something different. Like your show. It was different than all the other Sleep Alones, and it was better for it. It reminded me of us talking in your father’s house.”
“Thank you. I definitely drew inspiration from that time we spent together.”
“So, why not mention me? Why did your radio instincts leave me behind?”
Cosmin took a step towards Eric, who was so surprised by the movement that he almost backed away. Cosmin touched his shoulder first, heavy and anchoring. His gaze darted all around Eric’s face; he seemed unable to focus on anything for very long. Then, like that first kiss, he touched Eric’s chin and rubbed his thumb back and forth. Eric kissed the nail, followed by the soft and fleshy part. Then Cosmin closed the distance between their bodies, mouths tightly together.
Eric melted into him, colliding their hips and placing his hands on Cosmin’s neck. This was so good. So good. He wanted to pull their bodies together and dance like this was what they were built for—but the lemon scent of stale soap and tinny smell of spare change reminded him that they were making out in a laundromat. Each scent reminded him they were still in a strange in-between place with one another, home but not quite home. Adult but not adult. Still single people, interlocking, not yet a couple.
“I want to be in your life,” Eric said. He was shocked at how heavy the words were, how insistent. He wasn’t just asking for Cosmin to put his hands on his body. He was asking for Cosmin to let Eric into his world. “Please.”
“Do you know what I think you should frame instead?”
Eric stared at Cosmin pleadingly before he shrugged. Cosmin went on, speaking so loquaciously it almost got on Eric’s nerves. “There’s a scene from The Tempest when Miranda and Ferdinand are together and she asks if he loves her. It seems to come from nowhere, but you realize, as the audience, that she asks because she already longs for the affirmative. It’s the bravest moment of the play. Leaving the island is easy after it, because she’s already figured out what she actually wants, and she asks for it.”
“Okay. I’ll put it on the wall. It might seem strange, but sure, Cosmin. Yes.”
Cosmin nodded. “Eric. Do you love me?”
“No,” Eric said. They were so close together that Eric could feel Cosmin’s hands against his body tremble; he could see the smile fall; and he felt the desperation come over his body. He’d answered no to the most important question, and the most vulnerable. So Eric gripped Cosmin’s back harder, pulling their bodies closer, refusing to retreat. “No,” he repeated. “I don’t think so. Not yet. But I want to love you. And I think I can. Just give me more time. More than an emergency storm, more than—”
Cosmin drew him into another kiss. It was softer, tender and yet frantic at the same time. Not a goodbye kiss, Eric knew, but Cosmin’s own answer to his question. Yes and no. No, not now, but yes, yes, yes with time. Always, always with time.
“I like this,” Cosmin said after the heat of the embrace passed. “Not just you. But this.” He gestured to the store, to the space between their bodies, to all that was left and what was soon to be. “All of it.”
“Yeah? It’s not some foolish fantasy?”
“Not a fantasy. Not in the least.” Cosmin placed another hard kiss on Eric’s mouth before he nudged him towards the door. “Come with me?”
“Yes,” Eric said. That was a far easier question to answer, and a far easier task to complete.
Ten minutes later they were in one another’s arms again. Cosmin’s condo was at least twice the size of Trina’s and in a far nicer area. The smells of fair-trade Columbian coffee and decades-old bottles of fine red wines, along with baked goods, permeated the small enclave in Toronto’s Parkdale neighbourhood and made it seem like a Parisian double. The sidewalks and pavements were no longer treacherous, but signs and awnings still had sharp, dagger-like icicles dripping from their edges.
A large window in Cosmin’s living room looked out onto the city itself, and everything outside was cascaded in an amber glow, snow mixed with clouds in a light storm. With the city sepia toned, it made the feelings of communion and belonging that much more acute, which in turn made it easier to slip off clothing and fall into one another’s arms again.
They moved from the living room couch, touching and kissing like teenagers, to the bedroom in no time. When Cosmin turned him over on the bed, Eric’s stomach clenched with desire. Cosmin’s movements were so carefully practised and intoxicating that Eric almost lost himself with the first layer of clothing removed. Again, so much like teenagers rather than adults.
Eric bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to grow up, to think beyond the moment, and did so by focusing on the moles on the inside of Cosmin’s arms, and the high thread count on his off-blue sheets. By the time he’d reached the edge of his patience, Cosmin was ready, and then with another breath between their mouths, he was inside.
Eric opened his mouth but he didn’t speak. Their chests touched skin to skin; hands seemed to scatter as if independent from their wrists. Their scents intermingled with the motion of their bodies. They became sharp edges and powerful, yet there was a sense of softness in their actions. Eric found it in Cosmin’s moles, but also his belly and back hair; Cosmin seemed to find it in Eric’s thighs and limited chest hair, his lips and gentle breaths that came faster and faster as he was closer. Eric was overwhelmed by intimacy, a s
hared intimacy that needed no language, and that he knew would grow only stronger in time.
As they both reached climax, following so close in sequence, Eric wanted to scream out that he did love Cosmin. Why had he ever said no? He hadn’t wanted to lie; he hadn’t wanted to rush, but the words would not have been untrue. He didn’t need more time. All time was now, all time was inconsequential. There was only ever one moment, and it was that moment that had just passed, and that moment that happened again as their mouths met. Now, now, now. Yes, yes, yes.
But he still said nothing. He would, though. That he knew for sure. Another day, another week. And love would come like a new verb he’d learned.
After the comedown, the urgency for the three words passed and was replaced by the urgency for rest and food. After lying in bed together, and then snacking in the condo’s kitchen, Eric looked outside and realized the New Year was upon them. The streets seemed to become louder and louder with each passing second, more and more people pressed out onto the sidewalks and into the roads after being cooped up for so long due to the holidays and ice. Eric confirmed his suspicions as he noted the time of 11:58 p.m. on the digital stove clock.
“It’s almost midnight,” Eric said. “Are you tired?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Good. Are you ready for the New Year?”
“Always.” Cosmin paused, as if to hold his breath. Eric followed in suit. They became so quiet the hum of the fridge sounded like a steel drum. Both nearly jumped when the crowd outside the bedroom window erupted in cheers. No countdown was needed. “Tomorrow is now today,” Cosmin said. “Happy New Year.”
