by M. J. O'Shea
“Boys, come finish your breakfast. You can play with Uncle Christopher when you’re done.”
Christopher leaned over and kissed his sister on the cheek. She was six years older than him, and they’d never been exceptionally close, but he did like being around her and her boys much more than his parents.
“Where’s Mum and Dad?” he asked.
“I’m sure they’ll be down in a little while. It’s early. Are you ready for gifts?” He watched the two boys go nuclear at the word “gifts.” Briony must’ve realized too late that she’d made a mistake. “Breakfast first,” Briony reminded them. “Then you can meet Daddy by the tree.”
Christopher had to admit he felt a pang when he looked at his sister with her two boys. It wasn’t that he missed being around them particularly. The couple of times a year he saw them felt fine. It was that… he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe that he could see August there instead of his sister, leaning over their children, teasing them about finishing their breakfast before they got to open gifts.
August should have been there. He should’ve been there years ago, and he shouldn’t have ever left.
“You okay, Chris?” Briony asked. She was in the middle of wiping brown sauce from Alfie’s mouth, but she, like many mothers, seemed to have eyes in the back of her head.
“I’m fine.”
“You know, we don’t see each other much, but that doesn’t mean I can’t tell when you’re trying to pass off a load of shite.”
“Mummy, you swore,” Jasper said.
“Yes. I shouldn’t have.” She rolled her eyes as soon as Jasper was back to paying attention to his sausages. “What’s going on? Tired of London?”
“Always. I’m just….” He didn’t know how to have a conversation with his sister about someone she’d never met. About a huge, most important part of his life that she’d never even seen. To her, August probably seemed like a university fling, long lost in the mist of his past. Hell, it should seem like that to anyone. He didn’t know how to explain that August wasn’t just a bit of wild oats. He never had been.
“Maybe you should move back down here. Be closer to the family,” his sister said. She had to have realized that their parents were a huge part of the problem, but she’d always wanted him to be a bigger part of the boys’ lives.
“I’ll figure it out eventually,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere until after Libby’s wedding, anyway. She’d behead me.”
Speaking of…. He had yet to inform his parents that they were hosting the society wedding of the season. That was probably best to save for after gifts. Didn’t want to get his mother all wound up in a knot too early in the day.
“Wouldn’t want to get beheaded before boating season,” Briony murmured.
“Travesty,” Christopher replied.
AUGUST woke sometime shortly after dawn to the sound of baking in the kitchen downstairs. He smiled. Should’ve known that his mother wouldn’t sleep in when there were cookies to be made. He pulled a sweater on over his T-shirt and padded down the stairs in his socks for tea and a quiet chat before the house filled with assorted relatives.
“Morning, baby. Did you sleep at all?” his mom asked.
Surprisingly well, actually. “It was great,” he said. “I’m really glad I’m here.”
“Me too.” She came around the counter and kissed him on the cheek. “Do you have any plans for while you’re here?”
August shrugged. “Might go meet up with Petey and the boys at Paddy Coyne’s tomorrow night, but other than that, nope. I’m just happy to relax with you guys.”
His group of high school friends had a standing date for beers the night after Christmas. They’d done it every year, and whoever could make it did. Every time he managed to fly home for the holidays, he did that too. They all had completely different lives, but somehow they’d managed to keep in touch.
He missed it. August had thought about it a lot lately, and he did again. Maybe it’s time to come home….
As much as he’d liked London over the years, it never had been home like the comfortingly familiar but somewhat worn around the edges neighborhood he’d grown up in.
The house slowly filled with relatives laden with gifts and dishes. August went upstairs and got dressed, then came back to help with the cooking.
The day was busy and bright, a little overwhelming and a whole lot of fun. He went to bed with a full stomach and a smile. He found himself looking forward to hanging out with his old friends, and for the first time since he’d left home at eighteen, dreading his return to London.
August got out his laptop and pulled up event planners in Boston.
“Would any of you like to hire me?” he said quietly in the room. Would any of them even be able to afford him? He’d probably have to take a fairly significant pay cut to move home. Of course, life would be a lot cheaper too.
August shut his computer and lay down again. No use even dealing with it until he finished out his current contracts. He’d tell Helena not to send any more his way unless they were short-term. It didn’t help him sleep, though, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do. August had always been that way. Once he got something into his head he wanted it settled. Done. Not something he could probably take care of in the misty future of months ahead. Also he was trying to escape what waited for him back in London, and he knew it. He should’ve left after college. He should’ve left the second he saw Christopher sitting in Helena’s lobby. Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve.
August wondered if it was too late to bribe Will into taking point on the wedding. Or what his price would be.
CHRISTOPHER flopped down on the leather couch in his library and waited a grand total of two minutes before Fergus bounded in and came to lie with his coppery head in Christopher’s lap. He usually took far less time than that, but he’d been sulking the past couple of days about being left in London with only a housekeeper for company while Christopher left for Christmas. Usually Christopher brought Fergus to Longwick with him, but it was so cold and snowy, Fergus wouldn’t have been able to spend much time outside running like he loved to do, so it would’ve been pointless. Christopher still got the silent treatment when he got home.
“Ready for our big New Year’s plans, boy?” Christopher asked.
He scratched Fergus’s head and was treated to a hand lick. Libby and Edward were throwing a party that night, but Christopher hadn’t been up to it. He wasn’t really up to much of anything, if he were honest. The city was alive with revelers outside his window, but somehow Christopher felt like he didn’t belong out there. He wasn’t happy, and he didn’t know that he’d be able to fake it even if he tried. A night in a crowded party sounded like torture. He’d far rather stay in with his dog. Libby had told him he was acting like he was ninety-nine instead of twenty-nine. Christopher didn’t really care.
His phone burned in his pocket. Two days ago, he’d finally worked up the nerve to text Libby and ask for August’s mobile number—Christopher knew she had it. She’d always been the kind to get more than just the professional line. She’d called him back in an instant and told him she’d been waiting for him to ask. Then she told him the number and said she’d better hear of some progress before their next meeting. Christopher doubted he could promise that.
He looked at the clock. It was nearly midnight. He would’ve gone to bed already, but that felt too pathetic. A night in with his dog was a choice. Asleep before the New Year hit? Even he couldn’t go that far. Christopher scrolled through his phone and brought August’s number up. He hadn’t even had to enter it into his phone. After Libby rattled off the digits, he realized he’d already had August’s number, because it had never changed. All these years and August still had the same contact information he’d had when they broke up, and Christopher had never had the heart to delete it. The number had traveled with him from phone to phone, so much that it just seemed a part of him. A part that he’d always figured was in the past.
H
e could’ve called August all along. Not that it mattered. Christopher wouldn’t have known what to say. He still didn’t.
Christopher pretended to read his book, but really he watched as the clock ticked closer to midnight. When the fireworks started going off, he looked at his phone once again. He pulled up August’s name and hit the message button. After about a million false starts, Christopher was left with one simple line of text.
Happy New Year
It took all of his courage to push Send.
Chapter Four
AUGUST had been out with his old neighborhood friends for New Years. It was always good to see the boys—rowdy and unchanged for the most part. It felt like no time had passed, rather than the more than ten years that really had gone by. They’d all promised to do a better job of keeping in touch. Even if they didn’t actually follow through, it felt good to know his friends were still out there, and they cared what was going on in his life. By the time his Uber dropped him off at two, he was pleasantly buzzed and more than ready to crawl into his bed and pass out.
He showered off the late-night film of sweat and spilled beer, then changed into sweats and a T-shirt and crawled into bed. He noticed his phone was blinking from where he’d left it when he went out earlier. August was notorious for losing phones in clubs, and he didn’t want to deal with replacing it on the wrong side of the ocean. He figured it was a good night from one of the guys or New Year’s wishes from Will or Louise, so he reached for his phone with a smile. What he saw was a bit of what he expected, greetings from his friends in London and a few slightly misspelled texts from those he just left, but there was also something else. A single text from an unknown number.
Happy New Year
August had a feeling in his gut about who it was, but he typed a question in return anyway.
Who is this?
Then he rolled over before he could get an answer and passed out.
AUGUST woke fairly early the next morning, as he did sometimes when he’d been drinking the night before. His fingers felt tingly, probably from too much Red Bull, and he was a tiny bit dizzy, but it was nothing that a plate of scrambled eggs and some toast couldn’t fix. He wandered downstairs and made himself breakfast. He was drinking the last of his tea when his mom came down in her robe. She jumped when she saw August sitting at the table.
“You scared me!” She chuckled and leaned over with her hand to her chest. “I figured you’d be asleep until noon.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” August said.
“Why not, baby?”
He shrugged. “Just happens sometimes. My body wakes up, and I can’t get back to bed.”
“Are you okay?”
His mother peered at him. Sometimes he hated her intuition—intuition that hadn’t seemed to fade despite eleven years of rarely seeing August in person.
He sighed. “Sort of.”
“You’ve seemed like you had something on your mind the whole time you’ve been here.”
“I guess I do,” August said.
“Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to torture it out of you?” She pinched his cheek.
“Can torture involve chocolate chip cookies?” August asked. No matter how much he tried, he could never replicate her cookies on his own.
“It can. But maybe not at eight in the morning. What’s going on, baby?”
“Christopher.” August knew that one name was enough to prompt quite a bit of explaining.
“Please tell me you aren’t back with him.”
August coughed. “No. No. He’s… a client. Sort of.”
“How could he possibly have that much nerve?”
If teleportation were possible, August was fairly sure his mother would already be in Christopher’s house beating the hell out of him for daring to dangle a relationship in front of her boy.
“No, Ma. Not him him. His best friend. Her fiancé is out of town a lot. He’s kind of the stand-in for the planning. I don’t think he had any idea that I’d be the one working with them.”
“Can you pass the job off on Will?”
He was so tempted. So, so tempted. “Well, Will already passed the job off on me since he hates doing weddings. I might talk to him about it when I get back. He doesn’t even know Christopher existed.” Lord knows August spent enough years pretending he didn’t. “As far as Will’s concerned, Libby is just another customer, and Christopher is her rich, hot, gay best friend. He’s already planning how I can land him for myself.” August winced at the thought.
“Tell him. He’ll help you, sweetie. Will loves you just as much as your brothers and sister do.” Another group of people who would probably not react well to the news that Christopher was back in his life.
“Yeah. Christopher texted me last night.”
“What?”
He almost laughed at how obviously his mom’s jaw clenched.
“Well, I think it was him. It was an unknown number. In England. I haven’t checked to see the reply.” A large part of him didn’t want to.
“What did the message say?”
“Just Happy New Year. He seems really sorry, Ma.” August had tried to be cold during the meeting, but he couldn’t stop picturing the wonder on Christopher’s face when they’d first made eye contact. He just looked so much like Chris it had been hard to stay aloof.
“That boy needs to stay away from you. He has no right to text. I don’t care how sorry he looked.”
August got his stubbornness directly from Mama O’Leary. “I don’t know if I do either.”
He got up after that, rinsed his plate, and stumbled up to his room. He gingerly picked up his phone, knowing what he was going to see and wishing the entire situation would just disappear in a puff of smoke.
But it hadn’t. There was an answer, a text from the unknown number. It was Christopher. Of course it was.
How did you get my number?
August texted back. He was surprised when he got an answer nearly immediately.
I never lost it.
Christopher had kept his phone number all this time? Something about that made August’s belly go all wobbly. He got another text.
Can I call you?
No. Absolutely not. The slight wobbles turned to tsunamis at the thought of having an actual conversation with Christopher.
No. That’s not a good idea.
Can I keep texting you?
August took a deep breath, thought about his mom’s face, how much he didn’t want to tell Will and Louise about his past, about how he thought he’d die when Christopher had left him the first time, how his finger felt naked without the ring for years, and he almost said no. Somehow, though, he found his fingers typing out a very different answer.
I guess so.
August hit Send. And stupid or not, it was too late.
The thing was, he didn’t expect Christopher to really follow through with it. But he did. He’d ask August about his holidays, text him random pictures of London, a few messages a day, not enough to be annoying but enough to confuse the hell out of August. It lasted a couple of days until August was packing his bags for his morning flight back to London.
Can I see you when you get back?
He should’ve expected it. If it was anyone but Christopher and their long, painful history, he would’ve expected the question days ago. August didn’t know if he was ready to go beyond the territory of slightly friendly texting and mandatory wedding planning meet-ups. He just… didn’t know if he could.
We’re meeting with Libby at the end of the month.
It was the cowardly way to turn him down, and August knew it. He just… couldn’t.
That’s not what I meant.
August’s throat felt a little sticky.
I know.
He was almost sure his phone would start ringing, but Christopher obeyed his no-calling rule. He did send another message, though.
I’d really like to talk about things. In person.
No. No, no, no. August t
hrew the last of his socks into his suitcase. He sat on the bed in his ex-bedroom and stared out the window. He tried to imagine explaining to his family how he was speaking to the guy who nearly broke him in half, explaining to Will, who wouldn’t take it any better once he knew.
I don’t think there’s much to talk about.
Christopher didn’t reply for a long time. August wondered if he’d given up. He’d never been all that persistent. Probably a symptom of always having everything he wanted handed to him. When August was crawling into bed after a final movie with his parents, his phone buzzed one more time.
Can I at least keep messaging you?
August sighed. It was probably the worst idea he’d ever had, but the can was already open. Might as well pour out the rest of the worms.
Yeah. That’s fine.
IT had been over a month since he’d seen August last, and Christopher was about to lose his mind. He was waiting in his car outside Libby’s town house, and she was taking for-goddamn-ever to get ready. If it were any other situation with any other wedding planner, he’d probably tell her he had other things to do than wait for her to fuss with her hair and just leave… well, until he came back because he felt bad for ditching his oldest friend.
But this wasn’t any wedding planner.
This wasn’t any situation.
It was August, and Christopher had been waiting for this moment since New Year’s Eve. She finally made it out of her house bundled in a peacoat and scarf and gloves. Of course the icy weather didn’t keep her from wearing a dress and heels.
