by Laura Stone
Oliver smiled to himself briefly, thinking of the New Year’s Eve party at Gus’s house, how they’d slow-danced and held each other, not caring if anyone whooped or hollered at them to “get a room.” They’d kissed languidly at midnight, knowing that the next year would bring them both to their final destination: New York.
Oliver’s stomach heaved and he struggled to get to his feet, breathing hard through his nose. After a moment, the possibility of throwing up passed, and he staggered back to his bed and fell on it face-first. He wormed his way under the sheets, pulled the blanket off the floor and onto himself and stared at his side table, which was knocked askew from whatever the hell he’d done in the middle of the night.
Images from the bar came back: beer after beer, Janos showing up and giving him a tight hug, kissing him on each cheek and calling him “my friend Oliver.” He thought wryly that Janos was being very affectionate with him now. Boys. Well, straight boys, he amended. Janos bought a round of shots, which meant that Oliver felt obligated to buy another round, and Moira kept encouraging them to “be hospitable to one another” to keep the booze flowing. Why the hell did he hang out with her, anyway?
The letter. She had the idea of writing Seth a letter. Now that he was sober, he thought about the merits of that. In a way, he still thought it was a good idea. Romantic. But he’d always thought that he was clumsy when it came to romance. Was this one of those crappy ideas? Say he did write a letter telling Seth that he’s always loved him, that he was especially wrong not to have brought Seth into the decision. God, that had really been wrong. To just drop it on Seth as he’d done?
And… that’s exactly what the letter would be, too: Oliver deciding to do something and dumping it on Seth. “Hey, I know you’ve probably not thought of me in years, but I want to mess up your life by making you focus on something painful and awful so I can feel better about it.” It was like that horrible trope in movies in which the person is advised by a well-meaning friend to tell his ex or friend or whoever that he’s always loved him, and it’s the other person’s wedding day. That was just shitty. It was dropping your problem on the other person and waiting for them to fix it. He couldn’t do that to Seth, not again.
His stomach lurched again. After his moans died down, he heard talking and laughing from the front room. “Moira!” he croaked. “I am going to kill you! I think you poisoned me!”
The laughing reached a crescendo for a moment, and then he could hear masculine muttering.
“What’s all that stramash about in there? Quit being such a girl’s blouse and come have some rashers and eggs before Janos eats them all. Oh, you’re still hungry, are you?” she said. That last bit was clearly not directed at Oliver, if the deep chuckle was any clue.
He moaned into his pillow and pulled the blanket up over his head, whimpering and blocking out the noise of Hungarian-Irish flirting. He couldn’t even comprehend how they understood each other. He flashed on a moment from last night, when Janos did a body shot off of Moira’s neck. Right. They didn’t need to understand much.
Less than two weeks and he could escape back home and never ever drink again.
* * *
After the term’s end, Oliver found himself sitting on his parents’ sofa pretending to read some boring book that they thought he would love while waiting for the sound of their car backing out of the driveway. Once he knew they were gone, he went upstairs to the attic. The entire open space had been lined with cedar, making it an excellent place to store his mother’s furs, their off-season clothing and all the odds and ends they couldn’t bring themselves to throw away or donate.
The past two weeks had been incredibly busy as the term came to an end and the team’s research picked up. Moira had sent him a few significant looks in their makeshift office, but he just didn’t know what to do about her suggestion. The more he thought about sending a letter to Seth, the more he thought how selfish it would be.
And he’d had a sickening thought earlier that day, prompting this little trip of his to the attic: what if Seth was in a relationship? And why wouldn’t he be? Seth was amazing, loving, gifted and incredibly handsome and talented. Of course he’d have guys interested in him. Oliver had been in a few relationships over the years; it made sense that Seth would have, too. Or was in one now. Oliver didn’t want to dump his own stupidity on someone’s happiness.
Better to be stupid in the privacy of your own home, he thought as he switched on the attic light. He would allow himself one night to be pitiful; he’d sort through his things and see how he felt at the end of it. Mostly he just wanted to remember how much in love he’d been, how special that relationship was. With all of the painful memories that had come rushing back over the past few weeks, he wanted to remember the good things, if only so he could brace himself before seeing Seth perform. He still wanted to go to the show. Seth was one of the most talented people he’d ever known. This was a show not to be missed. It seemed right to add to the applause, to the accolades.
Even if he wouldn’t have any contact with Seth on the trip, he still wanted to connect in some way. Maybe something here could help him make sense of what to do. He skirted a large armoire that had belonged to some random relative generations ago. Boxes with the words “Oliver’s H.S. things” written in shaky handwriting across the labels were stacked neatly and out of the way. He dragged them to a clear space and lined them up side by side.
He sorted through them, lifting their tops until he found the one that mattered. He went still for a moment, holding the top, when he saw the silver frame around the picture they had taken at the end of Seth’s prom. Oliver put the lid aside, sank to the ground and pulled the box between his legs. He smiled, tracing the edge of the picture frame. Seth stood proudly as Oliver, eyes shut, arms wrapped around Seth’s slender waist, kissed his cheek.
Looking at the picture, Oliver could remember the excitement of getting ready, the fear that it would go wrong and how amazed he’d felt when their classmates let them have that moment. How Seth had walked into the ballroom defiant and proud, almost daring anyone to say anything about them as Oliver trailed nervously behind. How he realized in that moment that Seth was—had always been—the strong one in their relationship.
That was why he didn’t need to bother Seth. Seth was strong. He was fine. He was making his dreams come true, and he didn’t need Oliver to drop in out of nowhere and remind him of when life hadn’t been good. Oliver blew gently on the glass to dislodge some of the fine dust that had accumulated and used the edge of his T-shirt to wipe away a smudge near Seth’s face.
He pulled random things out of the box, looking for a small package tied in a pale blue ribbon. He found a manila envelope that he knew held ticket stubs from all the movies and concerts they had gone to. He saw a flash of green fabric and his heart gave a little lurch. After carefully tugging it out, Oliver fanned it out over the opened box. His old Larsen Custom Cycles & Repair shirt. It seemed so funny to him when he first met Seth’s dad—they couldn’t be more opposite if they’d tried. Where Seth was lean, stylish and graceful, his father was huge, barrel-chested, bald-headed, covered in tattoos and, at the time, sporting a long, braided beard. The first time Oliver saw him, he was terrified.
That is, until Big Mike (“Mr. Larsen’s my old man. Call me Big Mike. Everyone does.”) grinned at his son and pulled him into a bear hug, kissing Seth’s temple. Oliver had offered his hand only to be pulled in for a hug of his own.
“So you’re the one who’s got my kid happier than he’s ever been, huh?”
Big Mike loved his son with everything in him, and after Seth’s mom—whom Seth looked like—died suddenly, Seth was the lone recipient of Big Mike’s surprisingly tender-hearted affection. Big Mike couldn’t care less about Seth being gay, aside from worrying about him being mistreated. Everyone who worked for Big Mike in his shop understood straightaway that a homophobic slur would not only get you fired, but also “get your ass kicked.” One look at Big Mike in his
leather vest, huge arms crossed in front of his chest, and Oliver felt pretty confident that the biker community in northwestern Kansas supported the LGBT community based on the force of Big Mike’s love for his kid.
Oliver was incredibly jealous of Seth’s relationship with his father. Fortunately, Mike had quickly begun to see Oliver as an extension of his own son and never left Oliver feeling like an outsider. Seth’s house and Big Mike’s shop had seemed more like home than his own did; he’d spent more time there, too.
Oliver held the familiar shirt in his hands. It was so soft; it’d been his favorite. He always made Seth wear it, whenever he came home for visits, so it would smell like him again: his skin care products, his cologne, his own smell. Feeling a bit foolish, Oliver held it to his face and breathed in. The familiar scent was long gone from the fibers. That it smelled like musty cotton—and only that—was heartbreaking. Just another reminder of what he’d lost for good. He carefully folded the shirt and set it aside. When he turned back, he spied what he’d been looking for: all of the letters that Seth had written him that first year in New York, carefully stacked in chronological order and tied in a blue ribbon from a gift Seth had given Oliver the summer before leaving.
The handwriting was so precise and elegant; he always got a thrill when there was something in the mailbox with that handwriting on it. When he mentioned, over that first Christmas break, that he was keeping all of Seth’s letters, Seth had both blushed and beamed. Later that night he’d shown Oliver just how pleased he was. Oliver’s breathing went shallow as he remembered the thrill of being in Seth’s house with all of Big Mike’s coworkers and friends celebrating while Seth had his hands down Oliver’s pants and his mouth on Oliver’s neck. Oliver had kept his fist pressed against his mouth to quiet his moans so they wouldn’t be discovered in the laundry room.
He knew that Seth had felt neglected by most people for the majority of his life. It was something Oliver never could fully wrap his mind around, though. Seth was interesting, funny, talented and so, so handsome. Once Oliver had stopped worrying about how his dad would react (exactly as Oliver had feared) to his coming out, he let himself open up completely to this amazing, fearless boy who inexplicably loved him back. Of course he would want to keep Seth’s letters. Seth told him later, brushing Oliver’s hair back in place as Oliver did up the buttons on Seth’s shirt, that he simply loved that Oliver thought they were something worth keeping. Which was crazy; everything about Seth was worth keeping.
Why didn’t you keep him, then?
But… he couldn’t. He wanted to. Did he try hard enough? He flashed back to the agony on Seth’s face, the way his own heart felt as though it was shattering inside him. Why? They had loved each other so much. Oliver held the package of letters close, drawing the point of one of the envelope’s corners against his lip. And he caught the faintest whiff of Seth’s old cologne.
Something in his soul faltered, and he felt a sense of longing so strong that his eyes watered. What was he doing? Why was he doing this to himself? These were nothing but ghosts, tokens from a past love. He gave a bitter, sharp laugh. Past love? He was an idiot if he thought he could convince himself of that. He would always love Seth.
He put everything back, barring the packaged letters and the shirt. Those he carried down to his old bedroom. He just wanted to know where they were, that they weren’t molding in a box up in the attic as if they had never mattered. Because they did matter. No one before or since had ever shared his heart with Oliver as Seth had in those letters. He fingered their crisp edges. Well, maybe rereading them wouldn’t be a bad idea. They might remind him of happier times; that once he’d been a part of something amazing. That once he had been loved.
Once he was back in his room, Oliver set them on the edge of his dresser and forced himself to get back to the task of packing a travel bag for his trip with Gus. He pushed aside thoughts of opening the package and reading every one of the letters right then, or pulling out a pen and paper and writing one of his own. He didn’t have the right to do that to Seth, to tell him how sorry he was, how much of an idiot he had been for not fighting harder, for not bringing Seth into the decision sooner so they could better plan their futures together. He didn’t have the right to tell Seth that he never stopped loving him, not really.
He powered through the rest of his packing after making that choice. Finished, he couldn’t help but look back at the dresser. He bit his lip, contemplating the small bundle with its blue ribbon. Then he carefully picked it up and wrapped it in a tie to keep the letters from getting bent or crushed, and put it in a corner of his luggage. He didn’t want to leave the letters where the maids might mistake them for junk, or worse, ask his parents what they were. It was best to keep them close until he got back from New York.
Chapter Four
Oliver was biding his time; he’d stopped paying attention to the music one state back when he’d been proven right on the barbershop. Who the hell paid money on iTunes for that? Gus, apparently, and clearly just to use as a method of torture. Eventually Gus would slip up and Oliver could take over the music choices.
After a break in the noise Gus insisted on calling music, Oliver dropped the volume to a background hum and asked, “So how’s Emily’s internship going? She had to leave Boston, right?”
“Mm hmm. She’s in D.C. full-time for the next year.”
Oliver adjusted his seat to make more room for his long legs in Gus’s sports car. Even with their stopover in Chicago, it was a long time in a vehicle. Somehow road trips had been more fun when he was a teenager. “That’s rough. How are you doing with that?”
“It’s hard, but long-distance relationships can work. And the train ride to D.C. is surprisingly pleasant. I get my best thinking done on that trip. Well,” Gus paused, checking his rearview mirror and using his signal before changing lanes, “as long as I get the quiet car. We each get a lot done during the week, and the weekends when we get to see each other make up for everything else.”
Oliver looked out the window as they drove, quietly growing irritated. Sometimes Gus was utterly obtuse.
“Oliver. They can work.”
Maybe not so obtuse.
Oliver turned back to Gus’s profile. “What are you getting at, here?”
“I—” Gus looked briefly at Oliver and seemed to think better of finishing his sentence. “Sometimes I just don’t understand what happened. Sorry. It’s not my business.”
Oliver pressed his heated face against the cold window and bought himself some time to cool off and gather his thoughts. He didn’t want to get into an argument.
“Look. We were kids back then. I mean, for God’s sake, we met when I was a sophomore in high school, Gus. No one ends up with his high school boyfriend. It’s a myth. We were good for each other, and then we weren’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” Oliver turned in his seat to face Gus straight on.
Gus straightened his spine and exhaled slowly. “There wasn’t a time when you weren’t good for each other. I can buy that things didn’t work out because of distance, that you were both young and had a lot of life to get under your belts. That makes sense. But I know what I know: You were good for each other. Always were.”
Oliver picked at the hem on the sleeve of his shirt, not trusting himself to look elsewhere. “Why are you doing this? I just want to be happy for him, okay? That’s what this is. Let’s get real,” he said. He turned to face his friend, hoping he looked as if he meant it when he said, “Seth is probably in a very healthy relationship, and I truly wish that he’s happy in it.”
He was probably lying to Gus and himself about being okay with that, but he didn’t need to tell Gus about his feelings now.
Gus gave a noncommittal grunt. They drove in silence for a bit, save whatever song was playing.
After a bit, Gus said, “I’ve known you since you were seven, Oliver. I know how important that friendship was. When Seth showed up at Bakerfield, you
immediately knew that he got what it was like to be, well, treated the way you both had been. And I think you needed a friend who could understand you in that same way. We all welcomed him, obviously. I certainly count him as a friend, but you two were important for each other. Beyond the intimate relationship. I just worry about you.”
“What?”
Gus sighed before saying, “You’re letting people slip away, Oliver. Of course it’s natural to separate from high school friends, but not all of them.” He turned and flashed a quick smile at Oliver. “Obviously, our families’ long history together and our fathers’ partnership means that my obligation to you is a lifelong commitment—”
“Oh, thank you,” Oliver laughed.
“But you’ve been holing yourself up in your research so much that we hardly talk anymore, either.”
“Gus, I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop it. I’m not angry. You think I haven’t been buried in law books and studying these past few years? I understand completely. I just want to make sure that we don’t lose touch. And I think it would be good for you to try and have a friendship with him again.”
Oliver sat quietly for a few moments. Be friends? And only friends? Listen to him talk about dates or boyfriends? No, he didn’t think he could do that. Not with everything that he’d been feeling these past few weeks. But was that childish of him?
Gus made a good point: They had been the best of friends. Oliver had never known anyone who got him the way Seth had, got his corny humor, his need to make people happy, his self-doubts. Seth was the only one who would tell him to stop being self-deprecating, to stand up to his father and stop trying to make his father accept him. Seth would have put Janos in his place right off the bat and had him eating out of his hand by the end of the first week.
He smiled at the thought of it. Seth would love visiting England and would most likely insist on visiting Buckingham Palace and stalking the milliner for the Royal Family. Oliver realized that he had no idea if Seth had even gone to England over the past few years. He might not be interested in the same things as when Oliver had known him; they didn’t have that connection anymore.
