by Willa Okati
One purchase. One night spent with glue and painstaking care over his project. One favor begged from a softhearted Rush Plus messenger to make a special delivery.
One day later, Ford got the text he’d been waiting for. Slow traffic allowed him to steer with one hand and check his messages with the other. Multitasking at its finest, and had there ever been a better reason to take a chance?
You sent me a three-inch deer. Glued to a five-inch bicycle.
Ford laughed to himself. He could see Gavin’s “confused face” so clearly in his mind’s eye. Forehead furrowed, eyebrows drawn together, lips pressed together in the sexiest of perplexed moues.
He sent back an immediate reply.
Yep, I did. Turn it over. There’s an itty-bitty kitten glued to the deer’s back.
Gavin’s response took longer. Why?
Ford chuckled. He pulled into a bike rack for safety’s sake and so he could concentrate on this first good step. He held off on replying, wanting to see if Gavin would get it. When the new text came in, Ford laughed out loud. So easy to imagine exactly how Gavin had looked, putting the pieces together and hiding his face behind his hand.
Subtle, Gavin texted.
Good. This was good, right? They were talking to each other. Ford could feel that ice starting to fracture around the edges already.
Now for the risky bit…
Ford texted quickly, before he could second-guess anything.
I sent it because I wanted to. If you won’t let me back in just yet, then keep these little guys. Whenever you see them, know I’m thinking of you.
A long, long silence and a two-word reply from Gavin.
Ford. Don’t…
Ford could feel the indecision. The yearning. He understood now why Gavin had kicked him out. He had gone too far, too fast for a man ruled by fear and doubt. Yet inside all that fear was a man with a lonely, lonely heart who could love so much and so true if he’d just let himself take the chance. Ford knew that as surely as he knew his own name.
He texted back: Meet me for lunch. For tea.
Nothing from Gavin.
Ford took a chance. With you or without you, I still love you. That didn’t change.
Still nothing.
A flash of sunlight off a nearby window made Ford sigh. Caution, okay. A timely enough reminder.
He sent his last text -- for the moment.
Keep the deer? And think about it. Me. Like I’ll be thinking of you. If, when, you’re ready to talk to me again, I’ll be here.
Ford didn’t expect a reply to that, so the beep of an incoming text sent him diving for his pocket no sooner than he’d tucked his phone away.
Gavin said simply, Okay.
That right there? The best sign of all. Ford rode on, a half dozen saved texts tucked in his pocket, and hope keeping him all but afloat through the busy streets.
One other thing kept him distracted. Step one: successful. Step two would require a little more help from his friends… namely, from Kayla. At the next stoplight Ford hit speed-dial 2 on his phone and started chattering before Kayla had even finished her “hello, you’ve reached Flowers Fast!” spiel.
“Are you up for lending a hand on Mission Gavin?”
“I’m so in.”
Ford seriously considered adopting her as his little sister. “Okay. Here’s the plan.”
* * *
Ford would have loved to stay and watch Kayla make her delivery, but even he knew when enough was enough and maybe a little bit creepy besides. He waited outside the museum as patiently as a man like he could. Metaphysical and philosophical patience were totally different animals. When it came to sitting still and staying put -- well, there were reasons Ford loved his job as a bike messenger.
He all but tackled Kayla when she pranced out of the building, bright as a beacon with the excitement flowing from her. He did pick her up and swing her around in a circle, because that was just plain fun and surprisingly addictive.
“Ford,” Kayla squeaked, punching him in the chest. But she was laughing.
“You love it. Sometime I’ll give you the full eagle.” Ford stopped. “That sounded much dirtier than I’d thought it would. Yikes.”
Kayla popped him one more for good measure. When he let her down, she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Sort of. More like she jumped and landed one by luck. “Don’t worry. You’re not breaking my heart. I know you only have eyes for Gavin. Who is surprisingly sweet, by the way. I see what you like in him now.”
“Love about him,” Ford corrected. Just to tease her, he waggled his eyebrows. “There’s a lot more you wouldn’t see in public.”
Kayla stuck out her tongue at him. Pierced, ouch. Not much Ford wasn’t scared of. Punching holes through his body? Oh God no. “You want the story of how it went down?”
“Are you kidding?” Ford sat down on a handy bench that he’d already warmed nicely with his restless up and downing and pulled Kayla in front of him. That actually put them right about eye to eye. “Begin at the beginning and stop at the end, and don’t forget the middle parts.”
Kayla bounced on her toes and tucked errant locks of blonde hair behind her ears. “He wasn’t hard to find with the directions you gave me. You should have seen his face. Confused at first. Wondered if I had the right office. Then when he opened the box, even more confused. Not that I can blame him. That’s possibly the weirdest floral arrangement we’ve ever put together.”
Ford chuckled. “I figured, and I forgot to explain. They had this whole ‘language of flowers’ back in the old days when gentlemen were gentlemen. Each one of those has a specific meaning, and if you put them all together, it’s a message. ‘I love you. I will wait for you. I am yours.’”
“Oh my God. Do you have a brother? Tell me you have a straight brother.” Kayla plopped down on the bench next to Ford and gave him a squeeze.
“And then?”
“Then he read the card. And he smiled. Teeny tiny but definitely a smile. And when I turned to go and he thought I wasn’t looking, I sneaked a peek back and saw him reading the card again. A little pink in the cheeks, but” -- Kayla exhaled the happy sigh of the true-blue converted romantic -- “you’re on the right track, Ford. Just keep on --”
“Being myself?”
“Exactly.” Kayla bounced up and pulled at Ford in a vain effort to haul him to his feet. “So what comes next?”
Ford grinned and pretended to let her win the tug-of-war that brought him upright. “Not sure yet. But I’ll know it when I see it.”
* * *
The text message came late that night, right in the middle of Ford’s dinner preparations. Well. Attempts at dinner preparations. He loved spices, whether sweet or minty or flaming hot, but he tended to get enthusiastic when cooking, and be damned if he could find the chili pepper flakes. Ground beef sizzled on the stove, thick tortillas warmed in the oven, and a jar of salsa bubbled slowly in a saucepan, but Ford dropped it all, even the half-sliced onion, to make a grab for his phone and read.
A text from Gavin. Thank you.
“Yes!”
He texted back, right away. I love you.
From Gavin: I don’t know what to make of you.
Ford replied: You don’t have to make anything. Take me as I am. It’s how I take you.
He closed his phone, tucked the slim case in his pocket, and hoped for the best.
* * *
No new plans came to Ford right away, so he decided the best thing he could do was to wait for a sign.
Apparently the waiting list for omens was short when something this big rested in the balance. Three days after the textfest, Ford got home to a blinking light on his answering machine. An out-of-date machine, but he liked the anticipation of knowing someone had called.
At first Ford heard nothing but a crackly pause that might have been just plain static. Oh no. Don’t let it be a random hang-up or worse, a hang-up from Gavin. Ford dropped to his knees in front of the machine and stared at it,
willing the message to go on.
“Ford,” Gavin said at last. Ford’s heart softened. Poor guy. He’d have been pacing, maybe thrusting his hands through his hair. Ford could hear him swallowing as he tried to make the words take shape and come out.
Ford waited as he’d promised he would.
“Ford,” Gavin started again on the tape. “I don’t think I can --” Breath. “I wish I could -- Damn it, Ford, you make me want to, but…”
Long pause.
“I can’t,” Gavin said, sounding so defeated. “Fuck. I can’t even say it like this.”
“Baby, I talk enough for both of us,” Ford said, stroking the edge of the machine. A poor substitute, but he’d like to think that many blocks away and probably still sitting on his couch with the phone in his hands, Gavin could feel the reassurance of the touch.
Ford heard Gavin gather his strength for one last burst. “You get to me, Ford. Under my skin and you stay there. I can’t dig you out. This was supposed to be… But you won’t be driven off; you’re still here… I don’t get it.”
The longest pause yet. Ford held his breath, sure this would be the end and that the tape would click off.
“You shouldn’t love me. Just stop. Please.”
Click.
Ford rewound the tape, took it out of the machine, and tucked it into his pocket. That one was never getting recorded over. And he wanted to keep it as close to his heart as he could.
Out of all the stammering and pauses, Ford had heard the message loud and clear: You make me want to believe you. You make me want to try.
And beneath that, Please help me. Finally. Reaching out.
And like Ford had promised, he’d be there. Whatever it took.
And because the unorthodox, admittedly quirky approach had worked so well so far, Ford knew exactly what to do next. He grinned and patted the answering machine with loving fondness. Tapes, eh?
He could do tapes.
* * *
Ford knew he was getting some pretty strange looks as he stood in the middle of the sidewalk across the street from the museum. Some pedestrians were angry at him for blocking the flow of foot traffic, some younger passersby who didn’t know their classic ‘80s cinema scowled at him due to not getting what the heck he might be doing, and some -- the romantics at heart -- covering their mouths in suppressed delight and lingering to watch the show.
Let them stare; Ford was used to that. He could see Gavin sitting on the terrace wall from where he stood, though Gavin hadn’t glanced down yet. Either he had no idea Ford was there or he wasn’t looking on purpose. Maybe both -- the latter so he’d be sure of the former.
He looked so lonely. So in need of love.
Ford nodded firmly. Let’s get this party started. He raised his voice to its impressive full volume, the one that’d carry across a crowded street and hopefully five stories up. “Gavin! Hey, Gavin!”
Gavin popped his head up, as startled as a rabbit in its burrow. He looked from side to side, perplexed, then stopped, covered his face with one hand, and shook his head.
He couldn’t fool Ford. Ford saw Gavin’s shoulders shaking, and it was the sweetest sight ever. Ice: cracked. Mission accomplished. Almost.
“Gavin!” Ford bellowed. “Down here.”
Gavin didn’t look happy about it, but he turned to prop his chin on his knee. He was watching Ford anyway, and that was what counted.
Ford blazed his brightest smile up at Gavin and with the proper flourish, lifted the biggest boom box he’d been able to find at the pawnshop high above his head.
Gavin nearly tumbled backward. Since the street had fallen mostly silent, and by a miracle -- or a good omen -- the cars had slowed to a trickle, Ford could hear him shout back, “You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would,” Ford called up. He waved the boom box. “Yes, I am this cheesy. Yes, I am willing to go there.” I love you enough to shout it to the rooftops.
Gavin’s shoulders were shaking. Almost there. Almost cracking up. “Oh God, don’t!”
“You know I will,” Ford shouted, shimmying his hips. “Baby, I’ve got Peter Gabriel locked and loaded. I’ve got ABBA; I’ve got the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. I even have” -- he struck a pose -- “the Village People, and I know how to do the dance.”
Gavin buried his face in his arms. “You’re crazy,” he yelled down.
“Crazy about you,” Ford retorted. “C’mon. Talk to me?” He balanced the boom box in one hand. “I have Celine Dion on here, and I’m not afraid to use her.”
There. Finally. Gavin gave it up, and Ford saw once again what he’d waited so long for -- that gorgeous, real and honest and true laugh, that smile that would crinkle his eyes at the corners, the one that made him tip his head back and just… let… go. He needed to do that more often.
Ford figured that Gavin needed him in his life as much as he needed Gavin. Maybe -- no, not maybe -- Ford had finally won them both a second chance.
“My finger’s on the button, and these woofers are cranked to max.” Ford waved the boom box. “Want to hear ‘My Heart Will Go On,’ or can I just come up instead?”
Gavin shook his head and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “My God. How are you even real?” He calmed down and looked at Ford in a way Ford couldn’t quite describe, but was more than he’d hoped for. “Okay. Yes. Come upstairs.”
Ford whooped for glee, shoved the boom box into the arms of the nearest onlooker, and bounded across the street at a full gallop. He sang an entirely different song as he thundered into the service elevator and punched the buttons: “At Last.” At last… my love has come along…
Almost a week of separation and mostly silence before he made his way back inside Gavin’s heart. Not bad, if you asked Ford. Not bad at all.
Provided, of course, that what waited for him on the patio was a Gavin willing to make a fresh start. Ford crossed his fingers, spit over his shoulder, and spun three times counterclockwise on the ride up -- a ride almost as smooth as silk, with just a few bumps and one nerve-racking grind.
None of that mattered as soon as he stepped out and saw Gavin on the patio, still waiting. Still smiling.
Smiling for Ford.
* * *
Gavin had thought about this impending moment before. Of course he had. Ford didn’t take no for an answer.
He wondered if he should have been surprised at how long it took for that to sink in.
Wondered still more if it shouldn’t have gone deeper. Hated that part of him that was still afraid.
Been amazed that the longing for Ford never stopped, no matter how hard Gavin tried to push it away when Ford wasn’t around.
But for all that, he hadn’t quite been able to picture how this reunion would go. The shaking hands, slightly damp palms, and the knot in his throat he could barely swallow around -- those were naturally to be anticipated. But the rest?
What would come next remained a mystery to him, even as the elevator doors rattled open and Ford stepped onto the terrace, three times as large as life, and as invigorating in his sheer life force as the fresh, clean morning air.
“Hi,” Gavin said. Ah. Awkward. That was how it would go.
“Hi,” Ford replied. Gavin registered a blur, and then he was wrapped up in a giant hug that squeezed the breath out of him, enveloped in Ford’s scent, and blanketed by the body heat that made him want to cling tighter than even Ford.
Suddenly it wasn’t awkward at all. Something jarred loose inside Gavin, and he didn’t know what, but his throat was open and be damned if he would waste one second of it. He pushed Ford, but only far enough away to be able to look up at the man and meet his eyes when he spoke.
Ford didn’t seem to mind. He even kissed Gavin, a hearty smooch atop his head, as he shifted them both from a standing hug to sitting together on the terrace railing.
“Hi,” Ford said, teasing at the collar of Gavin’s shirt. “I missed you.”
“I noticed.” Damn. The voice was going. Ford was t
oo… overpowering for Gavin to control himself when he needed that most.
Why did that not seem like a bad thing right now?
“A boom box, Ford? Seriously?” Gavin blurted instead, feeling himself go tomato red.
Ford laughed, a low rumble of a chuckle, and wouldn’t let Gavin look down. He bracketed Gavin’s face in his huge paws and kissed him once, a real kiss this time, soft and kind and patient and so much more than Gavin deserved. “Seriously,” Ford replied. “I really did have a mix tape in there, and I would have done it.”
“I have no doubt,” Gavin said. A small measure of calm seeped back into him as he ran his palms over Ford’s arms from wrist to elbow. Touching Ford soothed him. Gavin didn’t know if he could cope with that, needing someone else so much.
Only that Ford made him think it might not be weakness.
“Lean on me,” Gavin murmured.
Ford didn’t ask. For once. He did smile almost softly and hummed a few bars of the song. He understood.
“Let me say this.” Gavin stilled his touch, resting his fingers lightly on Ford’s wrists. “Okay?”
Serious for once, surprisingly so, Ford nodded. He did reach out to brush Gavin’s hair out of his eyes, the touch so tender that it spoke volumes.
“I don’t understand how you can say you love me because of a sign,” Gavin started all in a rush, determined to get it all out.
“I know, baby.”
“No. You don’t. Not all of it.” Gavin rubbed his temples. “I don’t believe in signs or omens. I hate people giving ‘luck’ or something else nebulous credit instead of taking responsibility for their own actions.”
“Gavin.” Ford touched Gavin’s chest. “What’s controlling you right now isn’t ‘out there.’ Okay?”
Gavin held up his hand to shush Ford. “Let me finish. We’re here. I’m with you. Can’t that be good enough? For now?”
Ford scooted closer, enfolding Gavin under one of his massive arms and stroking his back. “For now,” he said. “But if there’s a now, is there going to be a later too?”
Gavin closed his eyes and pushed the word out. “Yes.”
As abruptly as he’d been hugged, Gavin was being kissed. In a way. It felt more like being attacked by a giant, zealously affectionate Saint Bernard. He found himself laughing again -- so strange, how that became easier each time Ford goaded him to it -- and almost playful in his fending Ford off.