We stood there without speaking, holding onto our respective side of the dime. We became lost in the moment. You smiled at me. I remember thinking you have a beautiful smile. It was a part of you I had grown to count on and to love. Your smile is where I always found hope and happiness. Your embrace is where I found comfort.
I asked you if you still wanted the dime, as you hadn’t taken it from me. You laughed. Your face reddened from embarrassment as you slipped the coin into the slot. The coffee poured down out of the machine, the cup followed. We laughed so hard I thought we would burst. You hit the coin return in frustration, and the dime appeared. You never did get the cup of coffee. When you handed me back my dime, I found out your name was Frank. After our moment in the break room, we were never apart.
I don’t think I ever told you, but I still have our dime. I’ve carried our coin with me every day since we met. I was afraid to let go of the dime, fearing you would go, too. I’m holding the dime right now, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. The old faded and warn surface has somehow become a symbol of the life we once shared. I’m not sure when or why I started rubbing the coin, perhaps somewhere deep inside of me I was hoping it would be my genie in the bottle—if I rubbed the surface long enough, you’d come back to me.
Your mom called me last night. She wanted to make sure I was okay. She apologized for things she didn’t need to; for not wanting her son to waste his time with someone like me. She expressed her regret for the things she said to me when you first brought me home. She said she had grown to love me as if I were her son, and told me I would always be a part of the family and would always welcome in their home. The conversation was odd and uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure what to say to her. What could I say? I was angry her son left me? How her beloved son tore a hole inside of me? A void, which will never heal? We did our best to carry on a conversation, but after a while, it was easier to say goodbye than struggling to find something to say. After all, they were empty words to fill the dead space between us.
She’s a sweet woman, and I do love her, but I kept hearing your voice in hers. Every word she spoke, every change in her tone came to me as if you were on the other end of the phone. I know it was my imagination, but I couldn’t bear to hear your voice coming to me over the phone. The same voice I woke up to every morning and fell asleep to every night for the past ten years.
Last night, like every night since you left, I found myself living in a nightmare. Every night, when I close my eyes, I pretend you are there next to me. At times I can almost feel your breath against my neck as your body pushes up against me, spooning me like we always did as we fell asleep. Each time, I instinctively reach behind me to pull you closer, but your side of the bed is now empty. I curl up with your pillows. Your scent is still on them. I bury my face in them trying to get closer to you. I inhale the warm, sweet musky scent of your body, which has become a part of the fabric. I end up crying into the pillow most nights. I know I’ll have to wash the sheets at some point, but for now, your scent is all I have left of you. I can’t wash you away—not when the pain of your departure still hurts. I need your scent to survive these lonely nights. I don’t know when the grief will stop. They say time heals all wounds, but I can’t imagine a life without the pain of missing you. The urge to cry is constant, but the tears won’t fall. I’ve cried my reservoir dry.
As I curled up with your pillows last night, I remembered the first time we made love. We were both so nervous; not from inexperience, but from wanting to make sure we got everything right between us. We were both sweating before we even had our clothes off. Neither of us knew what the other liked or didn’t like in the bedroom. It was like the blind leading the blind, but somehow we managed to get undressed. Your body was a gift from heaven, covered in the softest blonde hair I had ever seen. I reached out and ran my hand down your body. You skin was damp with sweat as you trembled from my touch.
We leaned into each other and kissed. It wasn’t our first kiss; that came after the botched coffee break, but the kiss is one I will always feel lingering upon my lips. Your lips were thin, warm, and wet. I remember tasting the tequila you had been drinking. We fell on the bed eager to explore each other’s body. As the passion grew so did our love. Our bodies became one, as if we had been made for each other. There were no missed moments, no awkwardness, no pauses, or worries. We blended with sweet perfection.
It’s starting to snow now. The first snow of the year was always your favorite. The gusts of wind whip my face. My ears and cheeks are cold, like my heart. I wonder if you remember our first winter together. It was over Christmas break and the first winter storm dumped over a foot of snow on Christmas Eve. We ran outside to greet the crystal white flakes. We tried to catch them on our tongues. We became dizzy. We fell into the snow. Our mouths met. We rolled in the white blanket of winter as we kissed. We didn’t care who saw us, or what they thought. It was our time, and for us, that was the only thing that mattered. We ended up making snow angles. Those angels didn’t last long with the heavy snow. I wonder now if the brevity of the snow angel’s life had been an omen—a foreshadowing of a life we were not meant to have. We made snowmen as the day progressed. They looked naked, so we took our clothes off down to our underwear and dressed them like us. We ran into the house we were renting and curled up in bed together. We made love the rest of the day while the snow continued to fall outside.
We woke up on Christmas morning. You leaned over and kissed me. Sometime during the night, you had slipped a gift under my pillow. I opened the small box with trembling fingers, and saw two gold bands inside. You told me you loved me and nothing, or no one would ever change that love. I promised you then I would never take the ring off. Over the years, as we grew older and a bit fatter, I had to keep switching the ring to a different finger. I will take this ring to the grave with me and keep my promise to you.
I know you would be angry with me, but I brought with me this morning a single red rose. You always hated when I gave you flowers. You said the gesture was sweet but a waste of money because flowers always died too quickly. That’s why I’m giving you one now because you died too soon. You shouldn’t have left me. It shouldn’t have been your time. We had so much more to give each other, so much more to do. We had plans for the rest of our lives, and now they will go undone. All I have now are the long, dark days ahead of me. I can’t see past tomorrow for fear of all the loneliness I’ll be facing. You will always be the light of my life, my one, and only true love. Rest now, babe. You deserve it. Please don’t forget me wherever you are, as I will never forget you.
I think you should have this. It’s the dime I gave you ten years ago. I don’t need it now. The sun is starting to break through the clouds. The dull warmth of the sun’s light comforts my cold skin. Perhaps it’s you looking down on me. Warming me and trying to comfort me like you did when you were alive. It’s time for me to go. The sun is setting, and I would like to take one final walk with you into the sunset.
* * * *
ABOUT WILLIAM HOLDEN
William Holden is an award-winning author and multiple Lambda Literary Award Finalist. His books include Words to Die By, Secret Societies, The Thief Taker, and Crimson Souls, all published by Bold Stroke Books, and from Lethe Press; A Twist of Grimm and Grave Desires. For more information, visit williamholdenwrites.com.
Alphabet Pasta by Drew Hunt
It was a Friday night and Giuseppe’s Italian restaurant was busy. Opera played on the sound system but was almost entirely drowned out by the hum of conversation, laughter, and the scrape of silverware on plates. The place was full. Waitstaff moved back and forth carrying trays of food. Near the entrance, a knot of people stood at the bar, drinks in hand.
Garth Morgan and Tony Luciano were in their favorite booth at the back of the restaurant. It was the first time the two of them had been able to go out on a date since the horrific events at the Pulse nightclub in Florida two weeks before.
The morning after the sh
ooting, Adam, Garth’s ten-year-old son, came into their room and crawled into bed between them. It seemed Adam had gotten up to watch cartoons but the TV had been left on the news channel. The live coverage from the scene had scared Adam, somehow convincing him the next attack would be closer to home and…
It had taken Garth and Tony some time to reassure Adam that they were safe and no one would be coming after them with a big gun. Tony’s assurances that he was a trained Marine and his promises to always take care of them and keep them safe seemed to do the most to calm Adam. It helped Garth feel safer, too. And when Adam left the room to go watch his cartoons, Tony spent more than an hour showing Garth just how strong his Marine protector was.
Back in the restaurant, Tony raised a curious eyebrow when Garth ran a foot up Tony’s leg.
Garth grinned but soon sat up straighter in his seat when their antipasto platter arrived.
Tony picked up a huge black olive and, leaning forward, fed it to Garth.
Once they’d finished eating the first course, the empty platter was taken away and was soon replaced by the entrée, or, as they were eating Italian, Garth wondered if it should be termed the primo.
Garth could only cook the basics, and although Tony was pretty handy in the kitchen, he worked long hours as a security guard in a shopping mall, so they ate out about once a week, sometimes taking Adam with them, and sometimes Adam would go to his grandparents’ place.
Although they ate a wide variety of cuisines, each time they had pasta, Tony insisted Garth try a new dish, systematically working their way through the alphabet.
On their first date Tony had chosen angel hair pasta. Garth had no idea what had been served with it; he’d been too mesmerized by his dining companion. How had Garth—Mr. Average, middle school science teacher, with custody of a kid from a failed marriage, landed a date with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Drop-Dead-Sexy Marine?
“Earth to Garth?” Tony waved a hand in front of Gath’s face.
“Uh?” Garth looked up at his lover. Seemed little had changed over the past year and a half. Garth was still amazed Tony was his.
“Your penne alla vodka okay?”
Garth nodded, swallowed, and said, “Love the sauce.”
Tony smiled.
* * * *
They’d reached P on Garth’s A-Z pasta education course. Previously Garth had asked what they could eat when they reached X.
Tony had merely grinned and said Garth should focus more on Z. When Garth had asked why, Tony had told him he’d celebrate his graduation with baked ziti as part of their wedding feast. Seemed ziti was a traditional bridal food.
Garth had opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, so not expecting Tony to offer to marry him. But on reflection it was exactly the “I’ll protect you and keep you safe” type of thing Tony would do.
The only slight downer to the evening was Garth’s concern for Adam.
The night after the shooting Adam had wet the bed. This caused him, as well as Tony and Garth much distress. Again Tony came to the rescue. He called his employer to tell them he wasn’t coming in. Garth would have preferred to have stayed home with Adam, but he’d recently changed schools and although the pay was better in the Ann Arbor public school system, he found he had a lot more non-teaching crap to deal with. Therefore, Garth felt it would be difficult to take a day off at such short notice.
That evening, Garth discovered Adam and Tony had spent the day bonding. This made Garth more determined to put into action an idea he’d been mulling over for a while.
Adam had been okay to attend school Tuesday, although Garth could still see signs of separation anxiety. Reluctant to go out and leave his son with his parents the weekend after the shooting, Garth and Tony had taken Adam out with them. They’d let Adam pick the venue and not surprisingly he’d chosen Chucky Cheese.
Tony had insisted he and Garth were going out on a date on Friday, May 24, as it marked their eighteen-month anniversary. In truth, Garth had completely forgotten, although hadn’t admitted this fact.
Tony, superhero parent that he had become, had had a serious talk with Adam and they’d come up with a strategy that the two of them had planned with military precision. Garth’s mother would come and watch Adam. Usually Adam went to his grandparents’ but they didn’t have wi-fi, and that was crucial to the mission. Adam had added Tony as a friend on his iPad so he could track the location of Tony’s iPhone on a map. Tony had also agreed Adam could text him any time while they were out. Garth knew he should have been the one in contact with his son, but as he only had a basic cell phone, that wasn’t possible. However, Adam’s texts soon turned humorous, or at least what passed for humor to a ten-year-old. When the new text chime sounded for the eighth or ninth time, Garth threatened to take Tony’s phone from him but Tony refused and pushed the phone down the front of his pants.
“Don’t think I won’t go in there to retrieve it.”
Tony smirked. “Am hoping you will.”
Seconds later the phone chimed again, and Tony got a strange look on his face.
“What?” Garth asked.
“I forgot I turned on the vibration function.”
Garth laughed, which only increased when Tony set about trying to retrieve his phone.
“Is everything okay with your meal?” the perky waitress asked.
Garth nodded, too busy chuckling at Tony’s antics to speak.
“Yes, thanks,” Tony said, setting his phone on the table, where it beeped again shortly afterward.
“Tell him enough is enough,” Garth said.
Tony nodded, swallowed, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and picked up his phone. After reading the message his expression changed to puzzlement.
“What?” Garth started to worry that something was wrong with Adam.
“He’s just asked me if you’ve asked me yet.” Tony shook his head in confusion. “Asked me what?”
Garth was going to save his big question until dessert, but he guessed now was as good a time as any. It was a miracle Adam hadn’t spilled the beans the moment Garth had discussed the idea with him. Garth had had to threaten his son with loss of iPad privileges, withholding his pocket money, grounding him until he left for college and…Garth picked up his wine glass and took a big gulp of Chianti. The wine sloshed a little in the glass.
“Garth?”
Garth shook his head. “Sorry. I’m nervous, and it’s stupid because I know what your answer will be. You’ve asked me to marry you and that’s, like, huge. As huge as this I guess.” He closed his eyes momentarily. He always corrected his students when they misused the word like. Garth plowed on. “Would you be prepared to adopt Adam? I’ve checked and—”
“Yes.”
“—although the state of Michigan doesn’t exactly embrace the idea of two men adopting, they—”
“Yes,” Tony repeated more loudly, taking Garth’s hand and giving it a squeeze for extra emphasis.
“Oh.” Garth wasn’t sure what he felt. Relief he’d finally asked but foolishness at how he’d asked. More relief that Tony had agreed and…
“Oh?” Tony smirked.
“It’s just…With the shooting the other week and everything, it made me think about the fragility of life and what would happen to Adam if I died and you’re totally wonderful with Adam and—”
Tony raised Gath’s hand to his lips and kissed Garth’s knuckles. “You’re not going to die, not for a long time.”
“Even so, I want Adam to have two parents. What if I wasn’t around and Adam needed to go to the hospital and…”
“I agree,” Tony said, releasing Garth’s hand. “As a gay man I never thought I’d have kids. But you came into my life, along with Adam, and it was perfect. I got an instant family.”
Tony’s cell beeped again. He looked over at Garth. “I don’t want to tell him something as important as this in a text.”
Garth nodded in agreement. “Want to get this boxed up,” he gestured to the partially-eaten foo
d, “and go home?”
“You mind? It’s our anniversary and—”
Garth called over their waitress. He was eager to see Adam’s reaction to Tony’s decision.
Tony unlocked his cell and burst out laughing. “Little shit.”
“What?” Garth asked.
Tony read the message aloud. “If we’re celebrating bring me some Geritol.” He looked up from his phone in confusion.
“Gelato?” Garth offered.
Tony laughed. “Don’t you just love auto-correct?”
“Tell him we’re on our way back.”
Tony nodded and tapped out a quick message, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. Then he announced to the diners around him, “I’m going to be a daddy!”
* * * *
ABOUT DREW HUNT
Drew Hunt lives a quiet life in the north of England and until Mr. Right comes along he’ll continue to write about fictional ones. For more information, visit drew-hunt.co.uk.
The characters of Tony, Garth, and Adam first appeared in The Nutcracker.
Found Out by Rebecca James
Nicco rolled over, immediately on alert. A noise had awoken him. As he sat up in bed, he heard it again, and his sleep-addled brain struggled to process who could be using a key to get into his apartment. There were only two people who had one, and one of them was lying asleep beside him, a pillow over his head and the sheet barely covering his bare ass. The other was four thousand miles away.
Love Is Proud Page 20
