by Alexa Land
As I tried to absorb that, I muttered, “Where exactly is he stationed?”
“At the U.S. Embassy. He’s working for the Defense Attache.”
“Oh.”
“If Garcia learns you’re in London, you sure he won’t try to cause trouble for you and Alastair?”
“Positive. I meant nothing to him.”
Roger watched me for another moment before saying, “Now that you know he’s here, will you go see him?”
“Maybe. I’d like to find out how he’s doing. We were friends once, and I don’t think we’ll ever be that again, but I guess I still care what happens to him.”
“Honestly, I expected a flat-out ‘hell no’ there. From what I’ve heard about your relationship, I assumed you’d want nothing more to do with him. I hope I didn’t throw a spanner in the works for you and Gromit.”
“God no! Tracy’s in the past, where he belongs, and I’d never start something up with him, not in a million years. You have to know I’m crazy about Alastair. If you need proof, just look at Exhibit A: the fact that I dropped everything to follow him to the UK.”
Roger said, “Took you long enough. Another couple days and I was going to fly back to the U.S. and chuck you on the next transatlantic flight.”
“But I thought you were on board with the whole keeping me away from the Penelegion clan idea.”
“Now, clearly this isn’t the time to go ruffling feathers, what with Gromit’s dad being on the mend following major surgery. But his family’s opinions on homosexuality are utter bollocks! Telling their own grandson to marry someone he doesn’t love, then sneak around with men on the side? Who gives advice like that, especially in this day and age? Granted, the family’s mentality is stuck in the 1800s in many ways, but that’s just beyond the pale.”
“So, you don’t think we should hide our relationship? I mean, once Mr. Penelegion is well?”
“That’s not my call, it’s Gromit’s. But my two cents is this: what you and Alastair have is the real deal. You don’t hide something like that, you celebrate it. With all he’s doing for the family, they ought to be grateful, not trying to shove him into a mold and make him more ‘acceptable’. It’s all about keeping up appearances with that lot, at any cost.” Roger looked annoyed.
“I know you practically grew up with the Penelegion family, so I’m surprised to hear you say negative things about them.”
“My loyalty to Alastair comes first, and he doesn’t deserve the shite his family puts him through. I hope someday he stands up to them, and I also hope I’m there to see it, because I suspect it’ll be glorious.”
Roger finished his coffee, then stood and picked up the scone. “Not hungry after all?” I asked.
“It’s for me mum. She’s got a bit of a sweet tooth, that one. Figured I’d pop in and see her, since I’m in the neighborhood.”
I smiled at him and said, “You’re a nice guy, Ro. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone and ruin your straight-up gangster rep.”
“You have my cell number, Bonny. Don’t hesitate to call if you find yourself in need of anything, translation services, English lessons….”
“Will do. Hey, have you heard of a place called Mad Jack’s?”
“Aye, it’s a strip club. Why do you ask?”
“I applied for a job there today. My former boss put in a good word for me.”
Roger rolled his eyes and said, “Not even in the UK twenty-four hours, and already Bonny Barebottom is looking for ways to expose his arse to a whole new group of unsuspecting onlookers.”
“Hey, a guy’s got to make a living.”
“You know Alastair would put you on the payroll at Penelegion Enterprises, no questions asked. There are ways to circumvent the rules against employing U.S. citizens.”
“It isn’t Alastair’s responsibility to support me. Stripping may not be my dream job or anything, but it’ll do until I figure out something better.”
He thought about that for a beat, then said, “You could do worse than Mad Jack’s. It’s a fairly classy establishment. At least, that’s what I hear.”
“Not that you’ve been there or anything.”
“Nice boy like me? Perish the thought!” Roger was smiling as he headed down the sidewalk.
After I finished my coffee, morbid curiosity more than anything propelled me toward the metro, which would take me to the U.S. Embassy. I texted Alastair as I walked to the station, because he had a right to know I was going to check out the place where my ex-boyfriend worked. He called me when he received my message and said, “If you run into Tracy and decide to throat-punch him, please get it on film. That would make my day.”
I smiled and said, “Throat punching isn’t the plan. I’m not angry about what happened between us. If I happen to run into him, I’d just like to see how he’s doing. I wonder sometimes whatever became of him.”
“Well, I for one am not nearly as forgiving and would happily inflict body harm on him for the way he treated you.”
“Tracy and I both made a lot of mistakes, and I let myself get hurt. I should have just believed him when he told me he didn’t love me and accepted it for what it was: meaningless sex, with a side of friendship.”
“He’s a complete git who toyed with your emotions. But if you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, be my guest.”
“Are you really okay with me going to see him? If not, just say the word and I won’t go.”
“If you’re asking whether I’m jealous, no worries there. I am a little concerned that seeing him will tear open a wound you’ve spent a long time healing, but I also know you need this.”
“I do?”
“Sure. You’d hoped tattooing over his name would provide closure, and I know you were a bit disappointed when it didn’t make a difference. So, maybe seeing him will do the job,” he said. “As for jealousy though, there’s no need. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing could possibly change that, least of all a wanker from your past.”
“Say that again.”
“Wanker?”
I grinned and said, “No, the other part. The one about us belonging to each other, because that was awfully nice to hear.”
“You know it’s true.”
“I’m smiling ear-to-ear right now. The people in the Underground probably think I’m deranged.” A loud noise let me know a train was coming into the station a few moments before it appeared, and I said, “I think my ride’s here, I’d better go.”
“Good luck, Sawyer. If you happen to run into Tracy, say hi for me. Just remember, in my family, that’s traditionally done with a throat punch.”
*****
The U.S. Embassy was a boxy, off-white building with a huge eagle on the edge of the roof, centered above the front entrance. I stood in the park across the street and stared at it while trying to decide if I should go over there and ask for Tracy. Even if he was available and actually agreed to see me, we’d probably end up having an awkward two-minute conversation, and then I’d leave, and closure would remain ever-elusive. It was pretty pointless.
Just as I decided to skip the exercise in futility and head back to my apartment, a deep voice to my right exclaimed, “Oh my God, Sawyer!”
Tracy Garcia stood about ten feet away, dressed in uniform and holding a shopping bag. He was tall, muscular, and nearly thirty, with close-cropped dark hair and a face that, although handsome, seemed to naturally default to a scowl. Right then though, his expression was pure astonishment. There was something different about him, aside from that stunned look, and I tried to figure out what it was.
In the next instant, Tracy dropped the bag, closed the distance between us, and crushed me in an embrace. I was so stunned that I went completely rigid and kept my arms pressed to my sides. He was really tall, with huge arms and shoulders, and I felt completely engulfed by him. I found myself musing that getting crushed by a giant anaconda would probably be exactly like this.
After a moment, the shock of what was happen
ing wore off enough to mumble, “Um…what are you doing?”
He let go of me, but then he took my face between his big hands and searched my eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’d given up hope. All this time, all those emails, and you never wrote back. Not once. I was sure you’d forgotten all about me. But now, here you are!”
When he went in for a kiss, I jumped back and exclaimed, “Whoa! Can we just take a moment here? I don’t understand what’s going on right now.”
Suddenly, I realized what was different about Tracy: there was raw emotion in his dark eyes. He was one of the most stoic people I’d ever met, and about the only emotion he tended to display was anger. And what the hell was he doing, trying to kiss me in public? His fear of revealing his sexual orientation was almost pathological.
Tracy looked confused too, but then he said, “I’m about to be late for a meeting. I would just blow it off, but I’m already on probation and can’t afford another screw-up. Will you meet me for dinner tonight? There’s a little restaurant in Covent Garden called Café Valerie. It’s right at the entrance to the market. I can be there at seven.”
“I…guess?”
He pulled me into another hug and whispered, “I’m so glad you came to London, Sawyer. I’ll see you in a few hours.” The fact that I remained as responsive as a corpse with rigor mortis seemed lost on him. Tracy kissed my forehead before retrieving the shopping bag and jogging across the street and into the embassy.
I wandered back to the Bond Street tube station in a daze, wondering what the hell was going on with my ex. The man I’d known never would have acted like that. He seemed like a completely different man. A stranger.
And apparently, I’d just accepted a date with him.
*****
When I got back to my apartment, I paced for a while, then pulled my laptop from my backpack, consulted the laminated instruction sheet I’d found in the dresser, and typed in the Wi-Fi password. Tracy had said something about emails, and I was reminded of an old, free account I’d opened when I was in the military, specifically for him so we could contact each other privately, far away from the prying eyes of the United States Army. It hadn’t even occurred to me to access that account after we broke up.
It took five tries to remember my password. I tried every variation of the passwords I used for pretty much everything, then sat there staring at the blinking cursor for a solid minute. Finally, a vague memory stirred, and I frowned as I typed ‘S_loves_T’ into the password box. Ugh, what a stupid, lovesick sap I’d been.
After a moment, my in-box appeared on screen. I had four hundred and thirty-seven messages. But how? Exactly one person had that address. I scrolled through the emails and muttered, “Holy shit.”
They were all from Tracy, every last one of them. I navigated to the very end of the list, where the oldest messages were, and clicked on the first one. He’d sent it the day after I broke up with him and left Afghanistan, and all it said was: We need to talk.
The first couple dozen messages were just like that, simple, emotionless requests for me to get in contact with him. But as time went on, the messages started to get more in-depth. He began talking about his feelings, which for Tracy was a major break-through. I clicked and scanned message after message in a daze. He admitted he was wrong, and that he’d screwed up.
And then, a month after we broke up, in the thirty-third message he sent me, Tracy told me he loved me. He said he always had and always would, and that he’d been afraid to admit his feelings to anyone, especially to himself. It made my heart ache.
A month after that message, there was a period of seven weeks where he didn’t send a single email. I wondered what happened during that time. But then they started back up again. He wrote every day, sometimes even twice daily. He seemed to use the emails almost like a journal. I could practically chart Tracy’s evolution, his gradual opening up to me and to himself as the weeks went on.
At the same time though, something else was happening, which he alluded to in vague terms. Tracy had been in complete control of every aspect of his life when I knew him. He was an excellent soldier in part because he was highly disciplined. It seemed as though, the more he started being honest with himself about who he was and what he wanted, the more he started unraveling in other aspects of his life. He began getting in arguments with senior officers, something I couldn’t even imagine him doing, and expressing feelings of discontent about life in the military.
Eventually, his father intervened. He had enough pull to get Tracy reassigned to that desk job in the UK, when it became clear he was too emotionally compromised to remain in Afghanistan. Tracy hated every minute of the new job, and he’d put in a request to be transferred to a position near San Francisco…so he could be closer to me.
I opened one of the more recent emails, which said: I love you, Sawyer. I know you’re still angry, and that’s why you’re not writing back. But I refuse to give up on us. My transfer to the Bay Area was approved and will take place at the end of August. Once we’re living near each other, we’ll have a chance to work this out. I’ve changed. You’ll see that for yourself when I finally get to California. I wish you’d taken me up on my offer and visited me in London, but I get why you didn’t. I was such an asshole, and I know you have no reason to trust me. I’m so sorry I hurt you, and that I could never admit how much I loved you. It wasn’t just you I was lying to. I was also lying to myself. The end of summer can’t get here soon enough. I’m going to make this right and show you I’m worthy of you now.
A new message popped up as I sat on the bed with my computer balanced on my knees. It said: You made me the happiest man in the world today, Sawyer. I know I came on too strong, and that you were thrown off by it, but I was just so overwhelmed to see you standing there. It was a dream come true. I promise I’ll dial it back over dinner tonight. We have so much we need to talk about, and I won’t try to rush anything. I’m so excited to see you, though.
I muttered, “Fuck,” and closed the laptop.
How often had I wished Tracy would admit his feelings? Later on, how many times had I wished he’d apologize? I’d thought hearing those words would give me closure, but they didn’t. Not at all. It was just a great, big mess, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do about any of it.
*****
“It’s odd that he’d keep sending dozens upon dozens of emails while getting absolutely nothing in return. The fact that you weren’t writing back didn’t dissuade him in the slightest,” Alastair said.
He was in his office, and we were video chatting. I noticed he looked more rested than he had in a week. It felt great knowing he’d been able to get a few hours’ sleep in my arms the night before.
As soon as I’d closed my computer, I’d texted him and told him everything that had happened. A couple hours later, when he had some time to himself, we’d decided to video conference so we could talk about it. I felt bad for disrupting his workday with this shit, but he said he was glad to take a break and focus on something other than numbers and spreadsheets.
I said, “I don’t think I should meet him for dinner. It feels too much like a date, and he’s bound to get the wrong idea.”
“You clearly need to talk to him, though.”
I leaned against the headboard and said, “This must be weird for you, and I’m so sorry. You already have way too much to deal with, and the last thing you needed was a front-row seat to this drama with my ex.”
His voice was gentle as he said, “Don’t apologize, love. I’m glad you’re finally going to be able to reach some sort of resolution with Tracy. That’s been a long time coming, and I know how much you need it. I’ve known ever since you went to get that tattoo over his name, right after you and I got together.”
“Thank you for being so understanding.”
“Of course.”
We talked for a few more minutes, and then I scrubbed my hands over my face and muttered, “Shit, I suppose I should get ready.”
“The least sexy thing I own. Maybe some sort of sack, with a hole cut out for my head. I have a very clear, concise message for Tracy tonight: nope.” Alastair chuckled at that, and I said, “I feel bad for him though, and I’m going to try my best to let him down easy. He’s come so far in terms of accepting his sexuality and opening himself up to a relationship, and I don’t want this to push him back to square one, you know?”
“I have every confidence in you.”
“Thanks. I’ll just be glad when this is over.”
*****
When I left my apartment a few minutes later, I was surprised to find Roger waiting for me. He’d been leaning against the building across the street, and when he saw me, he stood up straight and adjusted the cuffs of his black suit jacket. I called, “Hey Ro. Did you remember a few more bombshells from my past? Let me guess: my grandpa was actually Elvis, but he’d had a shitload of botched plastic surgery that made him look a hell of a lot like Dumbledore.”
“What’re you going on about, Bonny?”
“Just wondering what you’re doing here.”
“Gromit told me about the emails from your ex. Seems a bit unhinged, if you ask me. Who sends hundreds of messages to an ex-boyfriend, especially while getting nothing in return? Given that, I decided to accompany you on your date, just in case you need a hand.”
“You get that I was in the Army, right? I can actually handle myself.”
“But so’s he, and by all accounts, Tracy Garcia is built like the bleedin’ Rock of Gibraltar. What if he goes Fatal Attraction on you?”
“In a restaurant in Covent Garden? What’s he going to do, order the boiled rabbit stew for dinner?” I grimaced a bit and added, “Since we’re in the UK, that might actually be on the menu.”
“Funny.”
“It probably is, though.”
He considered that, then said, “Possibly.”
Roger fell into step with me as we headed down the street. After a moment, I asked, “Aren’t you in violation of your mission statement right now? The one where it’s your job to keep an eye on Alastair?”