by Laura Stone
The hostess made sure that they were on the list for the cast party (“Oliver and two guests”) and pointed the way up the narrow staircase behind the bar.
“I shouldn’t have worn these heels,” Emily complained.
“Yes, you should have. They make your legs look amazing,” Gus said, scooping her up into his arms for the last flight of steps. Oliver smiled but still felt like a third wheel. He was glad they had each other, that they were having fun; he just felt awkward about the whole night—being solo, being confronted with his ex, showing up at a party last-minute. They could hear the cast whooping it up before they reached the top landing.
The upstairs was a good-sized room—well, New York City good-sized, at least. The walls were a dark gray, hung with musical instruments between the large windows. A smaller version of the downstairs bar was tucked in a corner; clusters of small tables with floor-dusting cloths draped over them filled the rest of the room. It felt intimate, but was large enough to hold everyone.
They stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment as Oliver looked around, trying to find Seth. Someone Emily had chatted with extensively at the stage door apparently recognized her and called out, “Hey!” Emily waved back at him, dragged Gus over to say hello and the three of them began a lively conversation about the show. A waiter came between Oliver and his group; Oliver stepped back, out of the way, which pushed him into another group of people—none of whom he recognized from the show at all—leaving him feeling more awkward and out of place than ever. What was he doing here?
And then there he was, across the room: Seth, leaning against the wall with a highball in his hand, laughing with a group of people. Oliver felt warm down to his toes at the sight of Seth so happy. Seth went still and looked in his direction. They locked eyes for a brief moment before a smile spread on Seth’s face and he waved Oliver over. Oliver’s heart was pounding in his chest.
Don’t make an ass of yourself, please. Be polite and cordial.
He turned to Emily and Gus and pointed toward the far end of the room. Gus waved him on; they were still talking to the chorus member. Oliver steeled himself and resisted the urge to smooth a hand over his hair. He wove through a few knots of people standing around the center tables and made his way to the back corner.
“Oliver! Everyone?” Seth gestured toward him with his glass as he addressed the group. “This is my old friend Oliver. Oliver? This is, ha, everyone.”
They all laughed good-naturedly and a few nodded at him, smiling. The actor who played William was there, sitting in a chair in the corner with his arm slung around a pretty redheaded woman. He pointed to himself and said, “Jonathan.”
Oliver pulled his hand out of his coat pocket to shake, but no one seemed to be the reciprocating kind. They were head-nod types. Okay, then. He cleared his throat and tried to keep his nerves in check; Seth was standing near him, and Oliver could feel his warmth and smell his cologne, and it was almost too much to just be standing there, after all these years, doing nothing more than watching strangers as they chatted amongst themselves.
Oliver had to say something; he couldn’t just stand there staring like a buffoon. “Jonathan, you were excellent tonight. I was on the edge of my seat during some of your moments, truly.”
“Oh? Well, thank you very much! Anything in particular stand out?” Jonathan asked with an artificially wide grin.
“Careful,” Seth muttered, leaning in and almost causing Oliver to have a heart attack at the closeness. “He’ll want you to tell him all night how fabulous he is.”
Oliver was so surprised by the casualness of the statement and the proximity in which it was delivered that he almost sputtered a laugh. He made his best attempt at smoothing his facial features into a more benign amusement. “Oh, well, I have to say that I totally bought that you two were in love. It was… very impressive, your performance.”
He could see, in his peripheral vision, that Seth had turned and was facing him; almost instantly, his face began to heat up. “Obviously, yours too, Seth.” He knew he was blushing; he couldn’t control that, but he could look at some point in the middle distance before smiling and looking at Seth in the eyes.
Seth hummed; he was amused, it seemed. “It’s a long way from Atchison, huh?” he asked.
Oliver laughed and looked down, to the side, anywhere but directly into Seth’s piercing hazel eyes; it was too much. They were too close, it had been too long, and he had been too overcome for the past several weeks by memories of looking into those eyes, of hearing that voice, of that boy. Man, now. He wondered if, in his mind, Seth would always be the boy he loved.
He clung to that; this was Seth the man. He was older, had lived a life separate from Oliver. Nor was Oliver the same person. He could do this. He could get to know who this new-Seth was.
“There’s a coat check if you’d like to take off your things,” Seth offered with a smile. “You look like you might be a little warm.”
Oliver pressed his lips together, knowing that Seth was giving him an out for his blush. “Well, I didn’t want to intrude on your party, but I didn’t want to not come, either.”
“Always the perfect gentleman,” Seth said with a smile. He tugged on Oliver’s arm—setting about a million butterflies loose in his stomach—and gestured to the other side of the room. “Of course you’re not intruding. I’ll be back,” he mentioned to the cast members before leading Oliver away.
Oliver willingly followed Seth as he cut a path through his castmates. Seth stood aside as Oliver peeled off his coat and scarf, handed them over and took his ticket. Well, it looked as though he’d be here longer than he’d anticipated. He turned to find Seth watching him, a small smile on his face; it gave him a little hope.
“Let’s get you a drink, and then I want you to tell me everything you’ve been doing.”
Oliver shook his head with a little disbelief. “Um, okay. Sure. And the same to you; how are—”
Seth waved him off. “Let’s get a drink and find somewhere to sit first, so we don’t have to shout.”
Seth pressed against the bar and made a little wave at the bartender to get her attention. She came over smiling at them both, looking at Seth expectantly. For the first time all night, he looked mildly flustered. Seth looked at the bar and then back at Oliver, his eyes a little lost for such a brief moment Oliver almost wondered if he imagined it.
“I don’t actually know what you’d like. A snifter of brandy?” he offered, with a cheeky grin.
Oliver covered his face with one hand, laughing. “No, thank you.” He turned to the bartender, pulled his wallet out and said, “Wheat beer on tap? Thanks.”
Seth rolled his eyes and pushed Oliver’s arm down, giving him another little thrill at the touch even though he had a long-sleeved shirt on. “It’s a cast party; you’re not paying.”
“Oh! Well. Thank you.”
She came back with a glass of beer, and as Oliver took it, Seth asked, “Shall we?” He motioned toward a small table under a window at the back of the room.
“Yes. That’s… yes.”
He was in a bar in New York City with Seth. With Seth. He didn’t know if he should laugh at the absurdity of it all or praise the heavens that he had the chance to rectify some of the mistakes he’d made. If ever there were a time for him to actually feel religious, this would be a good one.
There were only the two chairs facing each other; Seth rested his chin on his hand, smiling. He asked, “So are you still in Boston, or… ?”
Oliver toyed with the base of his glass, trying to control his nervous stomach. “No, actually. I’m at Cambridge. The one in England,” he amended, smiling up at Seth and looking back at his beer.
“England?”
Oliver looked up; Seth was sitting back in his seat, a little shocked.
“I’m working on my master’s there, thinking about a PhD there, possibly.”
“Wow. Don’t get me wrong,” Seth said, leaning in toward the table. “That’s
amazing. I just… England. When you want to get out of Kansas, you really get out of there.” He blinked a few times and then flashed Oliver with a wide grin. “Have you seen the Queen?”
“Of course! She comes round for tea every afternoon,” Oliver said, speaking in a terrible British accent and earning a laugh from Seth.
How was this happening? He was sitting at a table with Seth Larsen and they were laughing with one another as if… as if nothing had happened. Well, that wasn’t true, because if nothing had happened they’d be holding hands and talking with other people. They’d share secret looks, and Oliver would maybe wait for a prearranged signal from Seth to announce to the group that they had to head back home, and they’d laugh and kiss and be completely comfortable with each other. They’d be with each other—if nothing had happened, that is.
“So,” Oliver said, trying to inject as much lightheartedness as possible into the conversation. “How’s your dad?” He tried to not look desperate for information. He just wanted to hear that Seth and Big Mike were both doing okay.
Something in Seth’s expression softened at that. “He’s fine. In fact, he just recently opened a second custom shop near Fort Leavenworth—”
“Really? That’s amazing!”
Seth ducked his head, smiling hugely. “It was my idea.” Seth took a sip of his drink, a faraway look on his face. Oliver knew how important his father was to him; Seth probably missed him, Big Mike being back in Kansas. “Dad needed a new project when I started living here full-time,” he said with a small shrug.
Oliver’s ribs felt tight, as though he couldn’t get a deep enough breath; he was so happy for them, that they were well, secure, thriving even. He just… he really missed them, both of them. They had been his family as much as his own was, and in some ways—acceptance, warmth, encouragement—even more so. Hell, Seth’s father got choked up while taking their prom pictures. Oliver’s parents hadn’t bothered taking any, since Oliver didn’t have a “real date.”
“But your dad?” Oliver pressed. “He’s doing okay health-wise? No more wrecks or anything?” He knew he looked concerned, but Mike Larsen had meant a lot to him. His hands were wrapped around the base of his glass; he wasn’t quite ready to look up into Seth’s eyes, not until he knew for certain that everyone—everyone—was fine and happy.
“He’s really okay, Oliver. Dad’s doing great. No health scares of any kind in over three years, actually.”
Oliver let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and chanced a look at Seth. He looked… sad, maybe? Pleased, in a way? It gave Oliver a little jolt to realize that he didn’t quite know all of the expressions Seth had now. In some ways it seemed as though no time had passed at all, but these little moments were a reminder that it had—there had been a lot of living since they’d known each other. And what were the scares before the three years? He had to remind himself that he didn’t have the right to pry.
“I always smile if I drive past his shop when I’m in town,” Oliver said. “He’s such a good man, your dad.”
“Well,” Seth said, tearing at his napkin and clearing his throat, “I’ll tell him you said so.”
“And who’s this tall drink of water, Seth? Don’t be rude; introduce me to your friend!”
Dough-Face. He sat on the window ledge, practically in Seth’s lap, and put an arm around his shoulder. Right. Oliver had let himself forget that little kiss. All of the warm, bubbly feelings that had been building up since he’d gotten the note were quickly doused by the arrival of Seth’s… boyfriend? Oh, God, his lover? Oliver felt suddenly sick.
He slapped a smile back onto his face and turned to look at Dough-Face; he didn’t think he could look at Seth just yet.
“Oh, right. Um, Oliver, this is Brandt Whitston.” Seth cleared his throat and said, “You remember him from the play, right?”
“Of course he does! Hi, there. Oliver, is it?” Dough—er, Brandt—leaned against Seth as if he was trying to claim him. Hmph, he doesn’t know Seth that well if he thinks that’s okay—and held out his hand with a smarmy, smug little grin.
Oliver took it with a mental note not to try to prove anything with his handshake and was pleased when he realized he wouldn’t have to. Nothing was worse than a limp-washrag handshake, and that’s just what Brandt had. Oliver absolutely was not preening internally at how large his hand was in comparison to Brandt’s, either. Okay, maybe he was, a little. A lot. Whatever.
“And how do you know our rising star here?” Brandt asked.
Seth jumped in before Oliver could answer. “Oliver and I have known each other since we were teens. We were in choir together.” Seth smiled at Oliver, catching his eye for the first time since Dough-Face interrupted. “He’s a pretty fantastic baritone. And he was my very first boyfriend, actually.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet! God,” Brandt laughed, “I don’t think I have any exes that I’d want to see again, let alone come to my show. That’s so nice that you stayed friends.”
Oliver was ready to go, ready for a hole to open up underneath him and just swallow him up. He couldn’t look at that simpering jackass draping himself all over Seth. Okay, he just had an arm around him and was leaning against Seth’s shoulder, but it seemed as if he was draping himself all over Seth.
“Actually,” Seth said, “we haven’t seen each other in years. I was pretty surprised to see you, Oliver.” Oliver looked up at that. “It was a happy surprise.” The heat in his face flared again as Seth reached across the table and patted the top of Oliver’s hand, lingering for just a moment before he pulled it back.
“Pretty amazing how well our Seth has done for himself, hmm?” Brandt asked. Oliver got the impression that Brandt was trying to ferret something out of him, but Oliver couldn’t figure out what. “I knew he was going to be something back when he was picked up as understudy.”
Seth shifted in his seat, his eyes darting around the room as Brandt spoke. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, but Oliver wasn’t sure if it was because of whatever relationship Brandt was trying to imply he had with Seth. When Oliver noticed Seth shift farther away from Brandt, he decided not to be just an observer.
Oliver looked into Brandt’s face. “Seth’s always been something.”
Seth smiled and looked into his glass. He took a sip, carefully set the glass back on the table and turned to Brandt. “You know, Oliver and I really haven’t been able to talk in years, Brandt, so how about I just see you tomorrow before the show?”
Brandt looked at Seth, shocked. Oliver wondered if he wasn’t used to having people tell him to leave. Probably not. Brandt pulled himself together quickly and flashed them each an over-bright grin. “Oh, sure! Old friends, I get it. Well…” He leaned down as if to kiss Seth again, and Oliver felt a ferocious surge of pleasure when Seth leaned back and patted Brandt on the arm.
Seth isn’t some kind of prize, moron. And if you don’t know that by now…
Maybe they aren’t a couple after all.
Oliver watched Brandt walk back to the table where he’d initially found Seth. He turned back to find Seth staring at him intently.
“I’m sorry about him. He’s…” Seth trailed off, seemingly embarrassed.
“A bit of a lech?”
Seth laughed loudly out at that and covered his mouth with his hand. “I was going to say obnoxious, but lech works.”
“Seth, I know it’s not my business. But are the two of you… ?”
Seth reared back; Oliver almost audibly sighed with relief at the disgust on Seth’s face. “The two of—me and Brandt? Oh, no. Oh, that is a definite no.”
“Oh! Well. I just meant to say that if you were, I would go. I don’t mean to get in the way of anything, really.” Oliver sighed and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles on his opposite hand. “I really struggled with coming. We always were honest with each other, right?”
Seth nodded, and Oliver hoped he wasn’t just imagining the look on Seth’s face, as though he really was okay with h
im just showing up.
“I really… worried that I would, well, mess up what you had going here. I didn’t want to be something unhappy for you that just dropped in out of the blue.” He circled the tip of his finger in the condensation ring on the table around his beer. “My plan was to support your performance and just be proud of you. I don’t mean to upset you; I hope you know that.”
Seth looked at him for a moment, his eyes searching for… something in Oliver’s, Oliver didn’t know what exactly. The longer the silence stretched on, the more panicked and worried Oliver became, fearing he’d said too much, sounded too desperate. Seth stretched his hand out across the table, palm up. Oliver’s breath hitched a bit at that. Seth had done that over the years they’d dated: silently reaching out, waiting for Oliver to take his hand, acting as a tether when Oliver was filled with worry or self-doubt, quietly offering his love and support. There was no question now that Oliver would take it, even if it were just being offered out of friendship.
His hand slid into Seth’s warm, dry palm; as he looked at their hands together he had a strong sense of déjà vu, which was silly, because of course they’d been like this before. He’d just never imagined that they’d be here again.
“Thank you.” Seth said, sounding as if he meant it. “I—thank you for coming to see it.”
Oliver finally looked up from their joined hands at Seth. “I would have come sooner if I’d known.” He knew that was true, despite all the hemming and hawing he’d done. There really was no question now that he would always want to support Seth if the opportunity presented itself. “I’ve kind of buried myself in my studies these past few years. Gus says I’m letting things slip by.”
God, that sounded pathetic. He hadn’t meant to sound like that; he just was used to opening up to Seth about how he was feeling. Old habits die hard, he supposed.
Seth squeezed his hand. “I wondered if you were the plus-plus one, you know.”
Oliver started.
Seth continued, “I didn’t know Gus’s parents, so I wasn’t sure if they were both coming, but then he mentioned that he was excited for me to finally meet Emily, so that just left the one ticket. And he’d been specific about needing three.”