The Bones of You

by Laura Stone

  The reminders of years he had missed out on made him ache. Nothing could be done about it, however. He needed to focus on moving forward. He stripped to his briefs, carefully laid his clothes over the back of a chair and pulled on the silk pajamas Seth had set out for him. He smiled. Of course they were silk. Anything that Seth thought of as opulent—the opposite of the “natural flora and fauna of Kansas”—was what he’d always gravitated toward.

  Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, lining up his shoes, when it hit him. He was in Seth’s bedroom. The place where they’d studied, where they’d talked about everything under the sun (oh God, their first sex talk when Seth had stammered his way through an explanation of what he was comfortable with), where they’d held each other and whispered their dreams for a future together. He sighed and ran his hand back and forth over the cool linen of Seth’s duvet, one he didn’t recognize.

  Another giant yawn overtook him; he was too tired even to worry about brushing his teeth. It wasn’t as though there would be any more kissing tonight.

  He slipped under the covers on one side, remembering that Seth preferred the other, and moaned in pleasure as he stretched out his legs. He didn’t want to be intrusive, but he also didn’t want to seem indifferent, so he placed himself directly in the middle of his half of the bed, one arm behind his head and the other by his side. Blinking to stay awake and failing miserably, he began to drift off.

  The bed shifted, and he turned to see that Seth had come back and was twisted away from him to turn off the light. His heart gave a little clench at the domesticity of the moment. He smiled softly, eyes fluttering shut.

  “Thank you, Seth.”

  Seth hummed a quiet, sleepy note and whispered, “I meant it, earlier. I’m confused and I’m scared, but I know I want you back in my life.” He shifted his limbs, swallowed thickly and let out a slow breath. “Goodnight, Oliver.”

  Oliver felt Seth’s hand find his own, down by his side; a happy noise floated out on his exhalation as he fell asleep.

  * * *

  Oliver woke with the sun streaming through the partially opened slats covering Seth’s window. He stretched his limbs and encountered a lot of empty space. Seth’s side was still moderately warm, so he didn’t have to panic that Seth had had a change of heart in the middle of the night or something drastic.

  He opened the door to Seth’s bathroom and saw a note on the counter propped up by a toothbrush.

  Good morning, sleepyhead!

  This is a spare—feel free to use it. We’re downstairs about to have brunch, but please know you can take your time.

  Seth

  Oliver smiled at the thoughtfulness and decided to grab a quick shower before getting dressed. He made quick work of it; he didn’t want to linger where Seth had spent so much time naked. He had no outlet for his reactions to the memory and sensory overload, and the smell of Seth’s special shampoo was too familiar. It was the smell of holding Seth, of being quiet and intimate. It was the smell of bending to place a kiss on Seth’s head as Oliver got up from studying to get a book in the school library.

  He had to remember that they weren’t in that place anymore. Maybe just for now, but maybe not. They needed time to ease into… whatever it was their relationship was becoming.

  He dressed quickly and, as he looked around the room to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything, he caught sight of a photograph in a simple black frame on a small bedside table. A lamp was partially blocking it; he walked over and picked it up to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

  It was just after Seth’s graduation at Bakerfield, a shot that Natalie had taken of them in a candid moment. Oliver smiled at the sight of Seth’s hand reaching for his mortarboard—he’d spent a solid hour trying to make it just so without completely crushing his hair underneath—as Oliver enthusiastically kissed his cheek, his arms wrapped around Seth’s waist. Oliver’s eyes were squeezed shut tightly, an almost ferocious expression on his face, as Seth laughed, looking slightly embarrassed and nervous with the public affection.

  But before the party Mike had put together—before they’d left the school, actually—Oliver had had his first taste of worry about Seth leaving more than just their small town, and for good.

  * * *

  SIX YEARS AGO, GRADUATION

  “God, I am so relieved that I can finally close the chapter of my life labeled ‘Kansas.’ I don’t ever want to even think of this place again,” Seth had sighed, looking around at the crowds of people hugging and congratulating each other.

  Oliver had gone quiet, though. It was finally, fully hitting him: Seth was leaving. He was going somewhere bigger and better than Kansas, where he would be around incredibly talented people and have the cultural center of the world at his fingertips. What if Seth decided that it was too much to keep in contact with his high school boyfriend? What if Seth realized that it would just be easier to cut all of his ties here? Well, Seth would never do that to his dad, Oliver knew that for certain. But how many high school sweethearts made it, really?

  They may have been stupid fears, they may have been unfounded, but Oliver had them regardless.

  “Ugh. Look at Bad Breath Brian’s parents, acting as if he was salutatorian. I don’t even know how he graduated, come to think of it. Money changed hands, I bet.” Seth noticed Oliver’s silence and laid his hand on his arm. “My normally jubilant boyfriend seems to have disappeared; any idea where he might be?” Seth teased.

  Oliver picked at his pants leg, trying to control his rising panic. “I… I don’t want you to forget me.”

  Seth laughed, sounding shocked and completely unaware of the dread filling Oliver’s heart. “That’s ridiculous! How on earth could I ever forget you?” Seth asked, running the flat of his palm across Oliver’s chest and squeezing his shoulder. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion, “is this some horrible way for you to back out of helping me with our crêpe brunch for ten tomorrow morning?”

  “What I meant was that I’m still a part of Kansas.” Oliver looked into Seth’s eyes and tried to dispel the gnawing worry that Seth would soon realize he no longer wanted any ties here and was finished with everything that reminded him of Kansas, including Oliver.

  Seth’s face fell as he realized what Oliver was talking about. He reached out to hold Oliver’s hand and pulled him away from the crowd, holding a finger up to his dad to ask for a minute. Instead, they spent five minutes behind a linden tree, Seth kissing every available bit of skin on Oliver’s face, neck and hands.

  “I could never forget you, Oliver,” said Seth, kissing the side of his neck. “You’re the first and last thing on my mind every day, and always will be.” He held Oliver’s face in his hands, brushed their noses together and kissed him on the lips, a kiss slow and sweet and full of promise.

  Oliver looked at him, stupidly and completely in love; Seth chuckled as he fixed Oliver’s tie and smoothed his shirtfront.

  “Well, we’ll just blame my hair on my graduation cap.” Seth winked. “I’ll kiss the other parts later,” he said, his voice dropping with the hint of another promise. A wave of heat pooled low in Oliver’s body. “Come on; Dad has dinner reservations, so we better hurry back.”

  Oliver tugged on Seth’s hand, pulling him back for one more kiss. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  * * *

  Oliver noticed that the frame had a little bit of dust on the top. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, flicking the offending material into the air. It had been there for some time, it seemed. Seth hadn’t packed it away, thrown it away or burned it after their breakup.

  He was amazed at how young they looked in the photo, and at how it was still them. And then it hit him: it was still them. They still had something, something that would never leave. Looking at the picture, seeing it right next to the lamp (“You’re the first and last thing on my mind every day”), Oliver knew in his heart that every time Seth came home, he saw the same thin
g.

  ”You know he spent all four years at college comparing boys to you?”

  Maybe Natalie wasn’t the most reliable of sources, but it had been the same for Oliver. He had spent years trying to recreate the spark they’d shared, but constantly came up short. There was no one else for him. No one.

  “I could never forget you, either,” he murmured, putting the picture back on the table but in front of the lamp, in a more prominent position. He cast his eyes around the room, no longer afraid of the ghosts it held, but hopeful for the new memories he knew, deep down, that he and Seth would make in times to come.

  He grabbed his keys and sweater and shut the door, smiling.

  * * *

  “Hey, toss me one of those oranges, Seth.”

  Seth passed one to his father and continued his story about the weird homeless man on the F train who had fixated on him a few months ago. Oliver sat comfortably in his chair, watching Mike make a face as he poured the sugar-free syrup Seth insisted on over his waffle. He felt the warmth and ease of the family fill the entire room with a sense of peace and comfort.

  Mike had greeted him when he finally came downstairs with a nod toward the coffee pot and a “Hurry up, kid, these waffles won’t last long.”

  “My roommate and I were singing scales—it was when I was going in to audition for understudy?” Seth asked, glancing at his father. “And he just… it was weird. He just stared. People in New York don’t stare without expecting to be called out on it, you know?”

  “Nope,” Mike said blandly, pulling the peel off his orange. “But don’t let that stop you.”

  “Ha. Well, anyway,” Seth said, looking pointedly at Oliver, “it was creepy.” He took a sip of his coffee. “But he’s harmless, I think. It’s been months, and I’ve not heard him once ask me to put the lotion on its skin, so I think I’m safe.”

  Oliver laughed at Seth’s reference to Silence of the Lambs, even as he worried for Seth’s safety. “You’re sure he’s harmless?” he asked, feeling Mike’s eyes settle on him briefly.

  Seth waved his hand dismissively. “I know this is going to sound weird, but—”

  “It sounded weird at the lotion thing,” Mike said.

  Seth fixed his father with a droll expression. “As I was saying… I think he likes my voice. Which, that’s weird, right?”

  Oliver propped his chin on his hand, enjoying the banter. While Mike had a more blue-collar sense of humor, he was still quick-witted and dry; it was clear where Seth got his own sense of humor. Oliver felt that he’d slipped right back into the family dynamic, that they were letting him back in, and it filled him with such a sense of yearning: This was how he wanted his life to be for years to come.

  Today he’d realized: It was only a matter of time before that happened. He just needed Seth to come to the same realization. He watched as Seth spread preserves on a piece of toast, telling his dad about a repair he needed to have done on his apartment back in the city. It was as though the previously unclear picture of Oliver’s future was slowly coming into focus.

  Seth turned and smiled at him, tapping his foot under the table in a genial manner. Oliver looked down at his plate, beaming and trying to keep under control. Seth took his hand under the table and gave him a squeeze.

  He didn’t let go.

  * * *

  “I could drive you to the airport and save you the trouble—”

  “Oliver, it’s fine,” Seth said, laying his hand on Oliver’s shoulder for a moment. “I’m not even letting my dad drive me. John and Natalie offered as well, but I assumed they’d be dealing with his hangover today.”

  They both smiled. Seth smoothed the lapels on Oliver’s wool peacoat, keeping his eyes on his hands. “I didn’t want any teary goodbyes at the airport. And the cab is already arranged. It’s fine.”

  Oliver bit his lip. He didn’t want to plead for Seth’s attention. Well, he did; he just wouldn’t. “You probably want a little more time with your dad, too.”

  Seth smiled in gratitude. “He’s gotten more emotional the older he gets. Such a softie. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Oh, no, no. I should go. I shouldn’t have stayed this long,” Oliver said, wondering where his manners had gone. He might feel as if he were a part of the family again, but the fact was, he wasn’t.

  “Oliver. If we didn’t want you to stay for breakfast, you know that my dad would have said something.” Seth busied his hands with precisely wrapping Oliver’s scarf around his neck as Mike wandered into the entryway.

  “You leaving?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for having me.”

  “Anytime, Ollie. And I mean that,” Mike fixed Oliver with one of those intense, “you can test me on it” looks of his; it seemed good, familiar. Then Mike pulled him into a hug; he held his mouth close to Oliver’s ear, the one farther from where Seth was standing, and whispered, “You finally get your head on straight?”

  Oliver squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to maintain his composure. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now let’s get his.”

  Mike clapped him hard on the back, and Oliver had the wild thought that he’d done it to give Oliver an excuse for the sudden, stinging moisture in his eyes.

  “All right. Good seeing you, Ollie. Tell your folks I said happy New Year.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.” Oliver smiled as Mike retreated to his easy chair; it was almost time for the Rose Bowl.

  Seth opened the door and ushered him onto the front steps, arms immediately crossing tightly in an effort to keep warm. “So, we’ll talk soon, right?”

  “Yes,” Oliver replied, happy for the reassurance.

  They stared at each other for a moment, smiling. Then Seth opened his arms, shivering, and made a “come here” gesture with his hands. Oliver wrapped himself around Seth, trapping Seth’s arms against his body to keep them warm. Seth shuddered once in his embrace and buried his face in Oliver’s scarf.

  Seth pulled back and kissed him softly on the cheek, rubbing it with his nose. “Be safe going home. I’ll email you soon, if that’s okay?”

  Oliver laughed. “I’d be upset if you didn’t.”

  “Okay, then.” Seth’s teeth began to chatter.

  Oliver let him go, backing down the steps with a huge grin on his face. “You should go inside.”

  “You should get in your car,” Seth teased.

  He looked at his feet, trying to fight down the exuberance welling up inside of him. It was just like when they’d first started dating and each would wait for the other to hang up first. “Okay, okay.”

  He circled the back of his parked car, gave Seth a little wave and hopped in. Seth still didn’t go into the house; he kept standing there, shivering and clattering and grinning at Oliver. Oliver started the car and leaned over to wave again from the passenger side window. Seth returned the gesture and finally went inside.

  They weren’t going into this blindly. This wasn’t one passionate night without promise for more. This was the building of something Oliver thought might actually last forever. With the promise of a truly new year before him, he turned on the radio and sang along happily on the drive back home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jan 1, 11:23 PM EST

  To: Oliver Andrews

  From: Seth Larsen

  Subject: La Guardia is the fifth circle of hell

  I’m home, I’m exhausted, and I need to get to sleep—back on stage tomorrow. Just checking in so you didn’t think I was abducted or something dire. :) I hope you get back safe and sound—I imagine your travel is a little trickier than mine was.

  Talk soon?

  S

  Jan 3, 1:45 PM CST

  To: Seth Larsen

  From: Oliver Andrews

  Subject: Hi :)

  Hope your rehearsal and first performance went well. Can I say that? Or is it always “break a leg,” even via email? Oh my gosh, is that insensitive, given David actually broke his?

  I fly out i
n the morning. I don’t know how I packed a month and change’s worth of things in these two suitcases. I always lacked your superior packing skills. :)

  I hope the rest of your performances this weekend involve a dozen legs being shattered. (Too much?)

  XO

  ~Oliver

  Jan 14, 2:13 PM EST

  To: Oliver Andrews

  From: Seth Larsen

  Subject: re: Hi :)

  Ahh! I’m so, so sorry it took forever to reply, but it’s funny that you mentioned a certain someone’s shattered leg in your email. Guess who seems to be making a full recovery? And who, apparently, has left the director for (omg) Dough-Face Brandt? And guess who—

  Okay, this is ridiculous of me. David is all healed and has been released to physical therapy. He’s hooked up with Brandt, whose brother basically owns us. He’s the one that foots the bill, at least.

  Rumor has it that David is looking to take his “written expressly for him” role back. I have a few more weeks as The Fair Youth before he’s out of physical therapy, at least. :(

  I’m going to need to channel my inner diva. I think that all of my spare time is going to be wrapped up in rehearsing, vocal coaching and Pilates. At least I’ll look and sound great when I get the ax?

  There was an old lady in the front row this week who kept asking her husband—equally ancient—“HUH?” loudly and he repeated what the actors said, every time. In his normal speaking voice. KILL ME.

  S

  Jan 14, 10:51 PM GMT

  To: Seth Larsen

  From: Oliver Andrews

  Subject: re: re: Hi :)

  Oh, Seth! You don’t really think that they’d let the toast of Broadway go, do you? (It’s you that I’m talking about, obv.) I’m so sorry that you’re feeling stressed about this. Don’t let it get to you, though. Don’t give up hope ever! I can attest to this philosophy. :)