The Bones of You

by Laura Stone

  He looked so horribly offended that Oliver couldn’t help but laugh and say, “Savages.” (And Oliver was glad that he had worn a silk tie in a half-Windsor, which showed under his pullover.)

  Their eyes met again and Oliver had another one of those effervescent sensations in his stomach. He couldn’t help himself; he would always be fascinated and captivated by Seth. He just lit up a room. And something inside of Oliver, he realized with a painful ache.

  Seth was the first to break eye contact; he gave another yawn and tried to hide it behind his hand.

  “Seth.”

  “Hmm?” Seth was resting his chin on his hand again; his eyes were getting close to half-mast. He still smiled back at Oliver, though.

  “You must be worn out.”

  “I have to admit that I am pretty exhausted.” Seth looked… disappointed? “I really have enjoyed catching up with you.”

  Oliver decided to take a chance; he knew that it was up to him to make any progressive steps.

  “I’m going to be in town through the weekend with Gus, actually.” He took a deep breath to quell his nerves. “Is there any chance we could meet up for coffee? Something like that? I know you’re busy and this is last minute.”

  Seth wrapped his scarf around his neck and held his coat in his hands for a moment. It looked as though he was biting his lip. Great, Oliver had clearly misread the evening and was forcing Seth to have to shoot him down.

  “I’d like that, but I don’t know what your plans are,” Seth said. “I mean, you know mine: perform tomorrow and for the next two nights. So any time before shows or after works for me?”

  Not shot down then. “Yes, whatever works for you! I think my schedule is a bit more flexible than yours,” Oliver said with a grin. “Oh, you know, hold that thought.”

  Oliver jogged over to the bartender to borrow a pen. He scribbled the hotel number and his room number along with his UK email address on a cocktail napkin and walked back to the table.

  “Here. I don’t have my cell phone with me here in New York. International roaming charges are ridiculous. But this will go straight to my room. Or you can email me; I’m pretty fanatical about checking it.”

  Seth read over the napkin and carefully folded it and placed it in the inside pocket of his coat. “I didn’t expect that,” he said, chuckling to himself.

  “What?” Oliver felt like an idiot, suddenly. Was Seth just trying to be polite? He himself was being pushy. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t pick up signals?

  “I’m so used to the old days, when I’d text you and only have to wait a few seconds for a reply. But calling the hotel desk to be transferred is so old school.” He looked pleased about it.

  Oliver’s heart skipped at beat at Seth talking of their past relationship so easily and with fondness. He needed to quit jumping to so many conclusions. Oliver checked Seth’s seat to make sure he had everything; Seth smiled and looked away, seemingly touched by the gesture, and they began walking toward the hotel lobby.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow mid-morning and we can touch base?” Seth asked.

  “Yes! Sure, that sounds fine.”

  Oliver knew that he wasn’t ready for Seth to leave. He didn’t need to show Seth out of the hotel, he just didn’t want to part company: simple as that. He slowed their pace to drag out the inevitable. He wanted to lean in, to touch shoulders, hands, anything to make the reconnection feel real, and not leave it at just a pleasant conversation. He was being obvious, maybe, but Seth didn’t seem upset. In fact, if Oliver wasn’t mistaken, Seth seemed perfectly fine walking slowly and needlessly leaning over into Oliver’s space to avoid bumping into someone.

  Very promising. And very frustrating. Oliver just wanted… well, confirmation that they were okay, that they could be in each other’s lives beyond just this night, this conversation. That Seth really would call him tomorrow. He didn’t know how to get it, though, that was the thing. Not without being really forward and putting pressure on Seth to act. He would never do that.

  A doorman held the front door as they stepped out into the cold air and promptly hailed a cab at Oliver’s signal. Oliver opened the car door for Seth and was almost positive that it flustered Seth a little. In a good way. He liked seeing the blush high on Seth’s cheeks, after all this time.

  “I’ll call tomorrow?” Seth said, sounding slightly breathless. That could have just been because it was freezing and a little windy outside.

  “Looking forward to it,” Oliver replied, rocking on his heels, knowing he had a huge grin on his face and not really caring. That just may have been confirmation.

  Oliver shut the cab door once Seth was inside and gave a little wave as the car pulled off the curb and out into the never-ending New York traffic. He stood smiling and watching the cab until it turned at the end of the block, headed to wherever Seth lived. He gave the doorman a huge grin as he turned back to the entrance and whistled tunelessly on the way to his room.

  He hoped that he had a big day ahead of him.

  Chapter Six

  Oliver was checking his email (two messages from Moira, both asking how things were going, and one from his department advisor, who wanted to track his schedule for graduation in the spring and remind him that he needed to decide soon whether or not to enroll in the doctoral program) when the phone rang in his hotel room. His hands hovered over the keyboard, frozen, as the phone continued to trill. He hadn’t been completely sure that Seth would take him up on the offer to meet again. Now his heart hammered away and his ears rang faintly as he crossed the room, staring down at the small black phone with the red blinking light.

  “I don’t know why I need to get so nervous for a phone call,” he mumbled, even as he smoothed his hair before picking up.

  Calm. Don’t be too eager. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Oliver,” Seth said.

  “Hi!” He practically sang hello, for crying out loud. So much for not sounding eager. He could hear Seth’s quiet laugh on the other end of the phone, an old, familiar sound that made him smile and flash back to late night phone calls when they had talked for hours.

  Oh, who was he kidding? He sank onto the bed, holding the phone tightly, and hoped that he and Seth would get to spend some time together today.

  “Someone’s had their coffee, I hear,” Seth teased.

  “Oh, you know. Just a good, beautiful morning, that’s all.”

  “Oliver, it’s snowing outside. There’s going to be icy slush everywhere.”

  Why was he blushing? “I’m pretty used to it. So! Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

  He settled in comfortably on his side as Seth rambled about his cab ride home and how good it was to fall into bed. Oliver could almost let himself forget that this was the first time they’d talked on the phone in years. A happy part of him that he hadn’t realized was missing was beginning to make itself known as he listened to Seth’s voice.

  When there was a natural pause, Oliver decided to seize the moment. “You feel like getting lunch, maybe?”

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling, actually.” He could hear Seth shifting on the other end, and the echo of footsteps on tile. “My publicist called me a few minutes ago—oh my God, can you believe I have a publicist? It’s both fabulous and irritating. Irritating because she told me I need to do some PR stuff today. So there goes my free time.”

  Oliver’s heart sank. Well, he knew he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. As much as it stung, he didn’t want to make Seth feel guilty, so he forced himself to sound as though his hopes hadn’t just been dashed. “Okay, then,” Oliver said, faking cheer. “You’re too busy today. I understand.”

  “Well.” Seth paused. “I was wondering if instead you’d like to grab a late dinner after the show tonight?” Oliver noted that Seth’s voice was pitched a little higher and that he had rushed through asking the question. Was Seth nervous? Or maybe excited? Holy—

  “Sure! Yeah, sure.” Oliver cleared his throat to calm himself
; his heart rate had doubled since he heard the first ring of the phone; the ups and downs of this conversation had kept it high, and Seth’s familiar, richly-toned voice in his ear wasn’t helping matters. He sat up and rubbed his palms on his pant legs. When did they start sweating? God, he was like a kid again. “How does this work, I meet you at the theater? Here?”

  Seth was moving around on the other end of the line; Oliver could hear the sound of a sink turning on. “Why don’t I meet you in your hotel lobby, and we can catch a cab to dinner? I know a great place that stays open late. Nothing in the theater district serves after the shows let out. Meet you there about ten-thirty?”

  “Perfect! I’ll, ha, be the one with the red carnation.” Good lord. Oliver banged his forehead against the padded headboard, wishing he could just sound cool for once during this conversation. He couldn’t help himself, it seemed. He was positively giddy at the prospect of dinner; it was hard to be cool and relaxed in light of the night’s potential.

  Seth chuckled into the phone, a sound that made Oliver’s eyes close and his breathing hitch. “I’ll see you then.”

  “Okay!”

  Another soft laugh from Seth. “Okay, bye.”

  “‘Bye.” Oliver held the phone to his ear a bit longer, leaning forward and waiting to hear it disconnect before hanging up.

  He flopped back on the bed with a happy sigh. It wasn’t ideal; he had hoped that they would spend the day together, but dinner was fine. Dinner would be great. They’d talk and laugh—aside from Seth, only Moira could get him to laugh and break out of his thoughts—and he’d get to be with his friend again. He hadn’t realized how big the hole in his life losing Seth had created until he was faced with the chance to fill it again. Not that he didn’t enjoy himself or have friends; it was just that around Seth, life had always been… brighter. Better. He wanted it again.

  He wanted his best friend back. His talented, funny, interesting and devastatingly handsome best friend.

  Okay, okay. Don’t push your luck.

  He hopped to his feet, humming a song under his breath as he straightened his things. He hated to make more work for the maid service. He glanced at the clock—eleven more hours to go. There was no way he’d be able to focus on his work, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sit and read a book for any length of time. He was practically bouncing on his toes, ready to go and make things happen. And since Gus and Emily were spending the day catching up with some of their old college friends, it looked as if he had the whole day to himself. This was unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome.

  He needed to keep busy so he didn’t sit and wait for ten o’clock to roll around. Oliver saw the wet snow blowing outside his window and grabbed his gloves, coat and scarf. It seemed like a good time to get a jump-start on his holiday shopping. And maybe he’d end up in Washington Square. NYU’s Silver School of Social Work was heavily focused on some of the programs that Oliver was interested in; visiting might help to inspire him to get focused on what he wanted to do beyond his master’s. He was beginning to be keenly aware of a need to sort out where he was going.

  He sang a happy little tune under his breath as he entered the elevator.

  * * *

  Oliver couldn’t stop fidgeting. He’d had a drink at the bar around nine o’clock, flipped through a newspaper, walked around the lobby to stretch his legs, apologetically turned down a nice woman trying to flirt with him, went for another walk around the lobby and now, at ten-fifteen, he flipped through a coffee table book about Swedish light fixtures as he sat on one of the sleek chairs near the front entrance. He assumed the hotel had it out because of its attractive, modern cover. He could either read that or the other one, a series of photographs of ashtrays.

  “If you’re too engrossed with your book, we can always reschedule.”

  Oliver jumped at the sound of Seth’s voice. He almost dropped the book, but managed to get it closed and set aside without looking like a complete fool.

  Flustered, Oliver asked, “How did you—”

  “Valet entrance,” Seth said, tugging at his gloves. He was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hmm. Well, this is pretty fascinating, you know. In fact,” Oliver said, “did you realize that Swedish glass,” he picked the book back up and flipped it open to read, adopting a lofty tone, “‘had a major socioeconomic effect on the culture of Sweden after the first World War?’”

  Seth laughed and nodded toward the entrance, still smiling at him. “No, I can honestly say that I did not know that.”

  While pulling on his coat and fishing his gloves out of the pockets, Oliver said, “Knowledge is important, Seth. And if it ever comes up as a question on a trivia night, you know who to thank.”

  Seth laughed again and bit his lip as if to control his smile; it was as if he was as excited as Oliver about having dinner and spending some time together. That was encouraging. Oliver tried to control the bubbling and fizzing in his stomach. He and Seth would have dinner and relax, and Oliver just really needed to keep it all together and not mess up his chance by being hyper.

  Seth stood aside the revolving door to allow Oliver through first and even held the cab door for him; Oliver smiled at the gesture. They chatted comfortably about Seth’s earlier performance on the cab ride to SoHo (“Would it have killed the guy to have brought a throat lozenge? He was coughing up a lung during the entire first act.”) and pulled up to a nondescript gray-fronted restaurant with a red awning.

  Seth pulled off his gloves and tucked them neatly into his coat pocket before holding the door for Oliver again.

  Okay, this feels like a date. No. It’s not a date, and I need to stop it. He’s just being polite and getting the door for me. Every time… It’s not a date.

  “I don’t know if this sounds appetizing to you,” Seth said, “but it’s fabulous and what they’re known for: oxtail marmalade and beef marrow bones.” Seth showed two fingers to the hostess and turned back to Oliver. “This is a place where chefs come when they’re off work. I hope it’s okay?”

  Oliver looked around at the cozy interior with low lighting, happy knots of people laughing and drinking, some more intimate tables in the corners and modern art hanging on the exposed brick walls. The smell was amazing: like a campfire with undertones of herbs. He saw that the bar along the far wall had a huge bank of micro-brews on tap.

  I… think this might be a date. No, it just feels like a date because you’re out of practice, dummy. Two people can eat in a small, quaint place with flickering candlelight without it meaning something romantic. Apparently.

  “Wow, this place looks terrific,” Oliver said, following Seth closely as they wove through the crowd to one of the smaller tables in a corner. Seth looked over his shoulder with a satisfied grin that almost stopped Oliver’s heart.

  “Even my dad likes it,” Seth said. “He asks me to bring him here every time he visits. Oh,” Seth stopped and put a hand on Oliver’s arm, and the heat of his touch unfurled and rolled through Oliver’s entire body. “Don’t ever tell him what sweetbreads are.”

  Although he chuckled, Oliver still felt a twinge of longing at the mention of Mike. “Got it. Does he—do you get to see him often?”

  Seth’s expression softened; he had always looked softer, more protective when he spoke about his dad, but Oliver got the impression that it was also because he had asked. “Not as much as I’d like, but we make the most of it when he comes.”

  Oliver slapped his hand over his heart; he couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked yet. “Oh my God, how did he take the news about you getting this part?”

  “I think everyone three counties over could hear his yell of excitement,” Seth laughed, taking a menu from the waiter. He looked proud and pleased and a little shy. That little touch of shyness was something new. Seth had been the most confident person Oliver had ever known. It was just another tiny reminder that life had moved on since Kansas.

  “I can just imagine how excited he is for you,” Oliver said.
He could almost hear Mike’s deep, gravelly voice, soft and awe-filled whenever he spoke about his son. “Has he been here to see it yet?”

  “Are you kidding?” Seth asked. “He came for the first week and to every single show. He pointed out to people that I was his son every chance he could get. It took me days to convince him that he needed to stop accosting the audience. Theater people were terrified of the giant Hell’s Angel dude out in the lobby.”

  Oliver laughed, a little embarrassed by the hot-itch sensation of tears in his eyes. He could picture it: Mike in his one dress shirt and bolo tie, tearing up as soon as he walked into the theater, maybe looking around at the opulence in awed wonder. He probably had his playbill dog-eared at Seth’s bio page, just so he could whip it out and point to Seth’s picture. “That’s my boy, right there.”

  Big Mike was just in love with his kid; he’d been the most loving husband to his wife before she died suddenly. After her loss, all of his affection was poured into their son—the spitting image of Renee Larsen, down to his eye color and the faint spray of freckles across his nose. Mike couldn’t save his wife from the drunk driver who killed her, but he sure as hell could be there for his son, and had been. Oliver knew how much it meant to him for Seth to find a school that would not only accept, but embrace him. How proud and relieved Mike must be feeling now! Oliver fought the lonely ache for a relationship with his own father that was a fraction of what Seth had with his dad. And truthfully, a big part of that ache was from Oliver missing the relationship he’d built with Mike.

  Seth told him stories about Mike’s first show as they ate their meal, and how he had to get security to move his dad away from the poster out front; Mike stationed himself there before each show, listening in on people’s conversations to make sure they were going to “be nice.”

  Oliver laughed at that.

  “He was so ridiculous.” Seth at first looked pleased and happy with his father’s affection but now lowered his gaze and shook his head, as if he was embarrassed by it. Seth had never been anything but proud of the relationship and love he shared with his dad; something else was going on.