They sighed with pleasure at a video clip of the day they had picked five-year-old Kylie up from the agency. The raven-haired kid waved at the camera, and Mason’s heart melted. The next series of photos and videos showed their complete family. The walk down memory lane was almost too much for Caleb.
“Please don’t cry, Grandad!”
“I’m not sad, Buggie,” Caleb replied, hugging her neck as she climbed from Mason’s lap to his. She clung to Mason’s neck and turned to continue watching the movie. “We shared so much together. We built so much together.”
“You gave me the happiest life imaginable. I wish my father could see us now.”
“He came around eventually,” Caleb smiled.
“To think, I almost ended up with Riesling Potter.”
“Wonderful woman, but I’m glad you came to your senses,” Caleb quipped. Mason bowed in his direction and smiled. Riesling had gone on to marry his cousin Tae, much to everyone’s delight. “If you could go back and do it all over again, would you change anything?”
“Well…” Mason looked thoughtful as he watched the video of Kylie giving birth for the first time.
Caleb sucked in a breath, recalling how nervous he had been that day. He had worried every second of every birth, but she had churned out three beautiful children and surged right into parenting seemingly without breaking a sweat. Caleb counted it a blessing and a testament to how he and Mason had stumbled their way through being her fathers together. They must have gotten something right.
Mason finally replied, “If I could go back and do it all over, I don’t think I would change a thing. Sometimes I wonder how much different things would be if I had been prepared for our relationship sooner or if I hadn’t told you no the first time you asked me to come with you. I think everything had to happen exactly as it happened for us to get to this exact point.”
“I agree,” Caleb murmured as the film came to an end. “We winged it. Best decision ever.”
Everyone clapped and the lights were turned on. The grandkids’ father, Brandon, moved from the kitchen to the living room with a huge sheet cake covered in candles. The house filled with the sound of voices singing “Happy Birthday to You!” Robert filmed it to add to the collection of moments they had already made together, and Caleb felt his heart swell.
This was it. This was what life was about. His happily ever after with Mason had its share of financial woes and disagreements, but the years had also come with a partner in crime, inside jokes and learning that family came first. They had fought for their love, and they had won.
Caleb’s successful art career had led to tenure at a university. Mason’s writing had taken off quickly and landed him in the ranks as a midlist author for years before a surprise bestseller cemented his reputation.
Mason’s current project was a labor of love. He was writing about a troubled young man who feared getting old in an era where youth and vitality were prized, a man who thought his best years were behind him. Mason was writing the tale of the stranger in the attic who had kissed him one night in a dark alley and fallen head over heels in love at the most inopportune point in both their lives.
Once upon a time, Caleb O’Hara had obsessed over twenty-one pictures of the same face, aging gracefully from canvas to canvas. He had painted by day and night, between classes, at odd hours. He had painted his hopes and dreams into every line, curve, light and shadow, and he had shown the pictures in a small gallery.
He had expected little from the show but the paintings had brought him the object of his affection. Mason had taken one look and known what he was trying to say. They had found their happily ever after. They had gotten old together. They had lived a thousand adventures; life had become a series of experiences that they wanted to share.
“Make a wish,” Caleb whispered.
Mason leaned closed and bussed his cheek. Caleb clutched his cane tighter and grinned. “I have exactly one wish,” Mason replied. “And many more with you, Caleb Sinclair-O’Hara. And many more…”
Mason climbed into bed next to Caleb after the tiring day. The birthday party had been great fun, and seeing family and friends gathered to celebrate another year had been fulfilling, but he was exhausted. He snuggled closer to Caleb, who smelled of talcum powder and medicinal rub. Mason brushed his nose through his lover’s thinning grey hair.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Caleb whispered.
Mason chuckled softly with his eyes closed and hugged him tighter. “It was very enjoyable. Thank you for doing that for me. That’s why I love you,” he murmured. He kissed the back of Caleb’s neck and rubbed his cool, dry hand lovingly beneath the covers.
It felt like just a few minutes had passed when the brilliant early morning sun woke him, and the sound of the children playing in the family room filtered through. Mason blinked sleepily and stretched. He slid his feet from under the covers, rose unsteadily. and shuffled toward the door. Kylie smiled as she reached out to hug him in the hallway. He loved that their daughter was so affectionate.
“I put on coffee.”
“Good to know. I think I’ll get some writing done after I get some caffeine in me. I’m working on my special project today.”
“I can’t wait to read it.”
Mason put a finger to his lips and shushed her softly. “You’ll wake him. To the kitchen.” They tiptoed out of the room, and Mason settled at the table while Kylie fixed their coffee. They chatted, mainly about her work stuff.
She topped up their mugs and changed the subject. “You know, dad never sleeps this late.”
“You’re right. I should probably go see what’s keeping him in bed. He’s probably just exhausted from the party last night,” Mason murmured.
“You do that, and I’ll go see if I can get the kids to settle down in the den. I swear, they have so much energy but it’s way too early for this much noise,” she giggled. Mason tapped the tip of her nose and made his way down the hallway to the quiet bedroom.
His eyes slid to typewriter under the window, and he gravitated toward it out of habit. The same old Remington that Caleb had bought for him when he was twenty-one. The thing was an ancient, but it had never failed him. Smiling, Mason tapped a key and straightened the heavy paper waiting for him to add more words to the perfect love story. The story of Caleb’s life.
“Aein, how are you feeling?” Mason asked, turning toward the bed. “Get up, get up. It’s morning, sleepyhead.” He leaned over the bed and kissed Caleb’s cool cheek. But something in his stillness and silence made Mason realize things were not quite right. “Caleb?”
He slowly turned Caleb over onto his back. His husband’s eyes remained closed like he was sleeping. Mason felt his heart thud as he sank to his knees beside the bed and clasped Caleb’s hand. The world slid sideways, instant tears. Caleb’s chest was unmoving. He had passed away with a soft smile on his face.
“My beloved.”
“Abeoji, is he up yet?” Kylie asked from the door. She hesitated. “Appa?”
“He’s—gone.” Mason’s voice was breaking. Kylie rushed into the bedroom and laid a hand on Caleb’s chest. She checked his pulse. Mason shook his head. “He’s gone, Kylie.” He rose and gathered his trembling daughter in his arms to ease her out of the room. “He’s gone.”
Tears streamed freely, but his voice stayed level and calm. “Get the children, sweetheart. You guys wait in the den while I call the ambulance.”
She crossed her arms and stared at him with glistening eyes. “I am so sorry.” Mason nodded too quickly. “I’ll be okay.”
The family were gathered together again. Food smells permeated the house and conversation was subdued. Mason drifted through the rooms, touching items they had shared, things soaked in the memories of the greatest love of his life. The funeral had been understated, exactly as Caleb would have liked.
Mason stepped out on the back porch from where Caleb had painted his last sunrise. He sat heavily in the rocking chair, feeling older than his
eighty-plus years. “We had a good life, Caleb-hyungnim,” he whispered. “We raised our beautiful daughter and met her wonderful husband. We indulged our grandchildren. And now, now you leave me.”
Mason had no idea what he would do next. The sudden loss had left him bereft. He hated to admit he had been utterly useless in the days following. The funeral arrangements had been left to Kylie and the nieces and nephews.
But he could almost see him. Caleb. Perched on his modified painting chair. Rubbing salve on his gnarled knuckles, reaching for the paintbrush. “Do you know what happens to muses?” Caleb had asked all those many years ago. “The same thing that happens to prodigies…They get revered, and then they get forgotten.”
Mason shook his head. He realized what he had to do. He owed it to the love of his life to continue the story. He would make sure Caleb O’Hara was not forgotten. Mason padded back into the too quiet house, full of people with sad eyes and food he had no appetite to eat. Kylie rushed to his side.
“Are you alright, Abeoji?” she whispered. Mason nodded and smiled, patting her hand.
“I have work to do,” he said. The typewriter called to him. He sat at the desk and read over the first lines of the story he had been writing for years. The words leapt from the page.
“Are you—are you here for the room, too?” Caleb asked nervously. Mason leaned against the piano, thinking Caleb was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He could flee without talking to the stranger. Or, he could give in to his curiosity. Who was Caleb O’Hara?
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Room for Rent Page 21
