The Bones of You

by Laura Stone

  He turned to hang up his jacket in the front closet, but the door opened the wrong way and it was already full, practically stuffed with coats and jackets and umbrellas and a host of other items that Oliver didn’t recognize. He draped his coat over his arm and called out, “Seth?”

  Instead of seeing the handsome face of his boyfriend (fiancé, soon—he patted the box in his front pocket, sending a wave of excitement and nervousness careening through him), he saw a strange man standing in the doorway between the entry and the kitchen.

  “Are you lost?” the man asked. He looked tense, even if his tone was helpful.

  “Uh, I think I could ask the same of you?” Oliver said, his voice rising in an incredulous tone, wary of this guy. What the hell was he doing in his house?

  “Seth? Seth!” The man twisted behind him, trying to keep his eyes on Oliver but throwing his voice back into the apartment. “Look, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but we don’t want any trouble, okay?”

  What—why was he calling for Seth? And where the hell were this guy’s shoes?

  “Daddy!” A little boy of about three or four came bounding in from another door and wrapped his stubby arms around the strange man’s leg. “Who’s that?”

  Oliver laughed and rubbed at his face. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. I’m clearly in the wrong house. I don’t know how…” His voice trailed off as he looked back toward the door. There was a picture of Seth hanging there. And the strange man was in the picture. They were holding hands and running as a group of friends—those are my friends, Oliver thought—threw confetti after them. Something in his heart twisted and coiled up as anxiety began to build in the back of his brain, pushing out all rational thought.

  “Seth?” Oliver practically shrieked his name, confusion and fear taking over.

  “Hey, hey—you’re scaring my son. Can you calm down and tell me what you need? Are you lost? Did… something happen to you and you need help?”

  Even as he began to tremble, he recognized that the man was trying to be helpful. Oliver, his chest heaving with the force of his breathing, tried to calm himself and figure out what the hell was going on; why there were pictures of Seth with someone else on the wall; why there was a man barefoot in his kitchen; and why the little boy had thick, soft brown hair and hazel eyes and a tiny spray of freckles scattered across his chubby cheeks.

  He looks just like…

  “Seth!” Oliver backed away from the man, who had gotten down on his knees to hold the little boy, now crying, and began to shout Seth’s name, over and over.

  The little boy turned his face against the man’s body and cried, “Why does he want Daddy?”

  Then it was as if the room contracted, making everything small and close before pulsing back out; Oliver was being pulled away from what was happening but somehow was still unable to escape the clarity of the situation. He began to realize what all of this was, what it all meant.

  A door opened from the back and Seth came into the entryway, concern on his features. Oliver sighed, feeling relief at the sight of him. Seth would tell him what was going on. He would make this okay; he would say he loved Oliver, that this was their house, that the other man and the little boy—he looked just like him—would disappear and they could have the dinner that Oliver had planned, and he would wait for just the right moment and pull out the small velvet box and everything would be the way it was supposed to be. Their lives would move in the direction they were supposed to; he just needed Seth to come take his hand.

  But Seth didn’t come to him. Seth went to the man and wrapped his arms around him and the little boy, looking back at Oliver as if he was intruding. As if he was dangerous. “What do you want? You’re scaring my family, and I want you to leave.”

  It was as though an icy knife plunged directly into his heart. “What? Seth… But I came home. I came home, and I wanted to ask you a big question and these people are here in our house, and I don’t understand. Why are they in our house?”

  “I’m sorry, but you need to leave.” Seth turned back to the little boy, scooping him up into his arms and patting him on the back. The strange man put his hand on Seth, leaned forward and whispered in his ear. It was wrong; it was awful, and the man shouldn’t be touching Seth, shouldn’t be standing in Oliver’s house, in his kitchen and in his fucking bare feet as if he belonged here. As if it were—

  “Seth?” Oliver couldn’t help that his hand trembled as he reached out toward him. If he could just touch him, if they could just be by themselves, he could explain. He could tell Seth his perfect plan, and they would be happy and… then…

  This was Seth’s family. This was their house, not Oliver’s. Never was Oliver’s. That was their child, these were their clothes, their furniture. That meant that the picture was of their wedding.

  “Oh, God—” he choked back a sob as the realization hit him. He was the intruder. The little boy buried his face in Seth’s shirt as the strange man—his husband?—rubbed his son’s back, whispering sweetly, “Shh. He’ll be gone soon, it’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll just—” He turned and yanked the door open and started running. The streets were close, and the buildings towered over him, blocking out any natural light. His breath was tearing out of him, but he couldn’t run fast enough.

  * * *

  Jerking awake, Oliver clutched at his chest. He was on his back, staring at the ceiling in the dark room. Seth had rolled toward him, still mostly asleep, and his mouth was trying to work and shush Oliver. Seth reached out and fumbled along the bed, looking for Oliver’s hand. He murmured, “Shh, shh; it’s okay.” He pressed a sleepy kiss to the back of Oliver’s hand, said, “I got you, babe,” pulled their joined hands up under his chin and fell right back to sleep.

  Oliver stared at his sleeping face and tried to reorient himself. His heart rate began to drop to normal and his breathing leveled out. The pale moonlight coming in through a crack in the closed curtains fell across the bed, illuminating Seth’s profile. Oliver settled back onto his side, facing Seth and holding onto his hand as if it were a lifeline.

  He turned his face into his pillow to wipe off the moisture and wanted more than ever to pull Seth into his arms and just know that it would work out between them. He wanted that surety from New Year’s Day back desperately. The worry about which school to choose, coupled with his elation at having Seth so close, kept him from feeling any peace.

  He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to fall asleep, but his brain kept replaying images, keeping him awake. He couldn’t get over how happy Seth had looked in the pictures from his dream.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Good morning,” Seth said, stretching his arms over his head and pointing and flexing his feet.

  Oliver was laying on his back again; it had taken a while for him to fall back asleep, but he had fortunately slept dream-free for the rest of the night, comforted by the warmth of Seth’s body. Oliver knew that they needed to talk; he couldn’t make this decision on his own. The last thing he wanted to do was revisit past mistakes.

  “Mm, morning,” he replied, curling up, flipping over onto his face and burrowing into his pillow. “I want, like, five more hours of sleep.”

  Seth rubbed Oliver’s back soothingly, causing him to shiver. (“Why does he want Daddy?”) “Rough night?” he asked. “You were tossing for a little while. Bad dream?”

  Oliver turned his head to face Seth, who was propped on his elbow, looking down at him with concern. “Yeah, I— it was just something stupid.” He slid his foot across the mattress and poked at Seth’s calf with his toe. “Thanks for making me feel better.”

  Seth’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry. Old habit, I guess.”

  “That’s a good habit,” Oliver said, grinning back at him and then burying his face back in his pillow. He loved how caring Seth could be for those he loved; his heart skipped a beat thinking of it, thinking about how he wanted to be loved and cared for by him. Echoes of Seth so
othing a strange man and child made his heart clench.

  Seth groaned with another wide stretch, shaking Oliver out of his thoughts to ask, “Coffee here? Or…?”

  “Or.” Seth stretched again and smiled through a yawn. “Definitely ‘or.’ You were right, that place was fantastic. Don’t tell anyone I said this,” he said in a conspiratorial manner, “but I think it might be the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

  Oliver grinned back at him. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Seth pushed himself up to a sitting position, twisting left and then right to crack his back. “No offense, but this mattress is medieval.”

  Laughing, Oliver replied, “Given this old house, that’s a possibility.” He stood. “Hey, go ahead and take the bathroom first. I need to reply to some of yesterday’s emails, if you don’t mind.”

  Seth looked at him, one eyebrow raised in question. “Oh? Anything interesting?”

  Oliver tried to control his face; he didn’t want Seth to see any remnants of nervousness or dread from his dream and start their day off on the wrong foot. “Could be. Let’s get cleaned up and we can talk in depth over some strudel, if that’s okay?”

  Seth narrowed his eyes, but it was obvious that he meant it to be playful. “Strudel, hmm? You must be sweetening me up for something if you’re going to steer me away from my granola.”

  Oliver laughed and then cringed inwardly at how forced and worried it sounded. But Seth didn’t seem to pick up on it and began gathering up clothes and toiletries. Oliver left him to it, putting on a pair of slippers and shuffling into the living room. Even though it was officially spring, the old stone floors never seemed to warm.

  He pulled up his email, agonized for a few minutes, and then replied to Dr. Jones at Silver with his thanks and a range of dates when he could come to New York. Anxiety twisted his insides as he hit “send.”

  * * *

  They carried their coffee and pastries to a sunny table in the corner where they could sit comfortably. It had taken Seth longer than he’d expected to get ready and out the door (“You poor thing. You have zero water pressure in that shower.”), so by the time they’d arrived, the morning rush had mostly come and gone. They hadn’t talked much on the way over, had just exchanged pleasantries; it was if the words “The Talk” were hanging over their heads and they were waiting out the impending downpour.

  Oliver took a deep breath and folded his hands together at the edge of the table. He glanced up to find Seth looking back at him expectantly, albeit guardedly.

  “Before you say anything,” Seth said, nervously picking at his napkin, “I get it. I get why it’s a big deal to be here. It’s the school of Watson and Crick. Darwin. Tilda Swinton.” He swept the tiny pieces of paper into a pile with the flat of his hand. “I mean, I haven’t done more than just walk past the buildings here and… I get it.”

  Oliver opened and shut his mouth a few times, trying to process what Seth was saying. Heaving a deep breath, he pasted a nervous smile on his face and said, “Okay. Uh, thank you for that. I got a very interesting email late yesterday from Silver, though. A pretty outstanding offer from their doctoral program, a part of NYU—remember me telling you their graduate program is one of the better ones in my field?”

  Some of the worry in Seth’s face melted away as he nodded; his shoulders even relaxed enough to give Oliver encouragement.

  “Please explain?” Seth asked. He raised his eyebrows and stared at his fingers as they flicked torn pieces of napkin back into a pile.

  “I, um, may have been a bit too preoccupied with you being in my basement on New Year’s, looking so very handsome,” he said, grinning, “that I didn’t take in all of the changes regarding your school choices since the last time we tried to talk about this.” Seth gave him another silly sort of half-grin and folded his hands primly in his lap.

  Oliver could feel the table shake with the force of Seth’s bouncing knee. He took a steadying breath and said, “NYU’s undergraduate program? It’s good. However, their graduate programs are excellent. Silver is one. That’s the one I brought up on New Year’s Eve.”

  Seth looked as though he was going through a complete thaw. Oliver hoped with everything in him that he was seeing excitement and possibility glimmering in Seth’s eyes. He still didn’t know what to do, but the very large “maybe” was definitely something Seth needed to know about.

  “What sort of offer did you get?” Seth asked, leaning forward to rest his weight on his forearms.

  Oliver sighed and ran a hand over his scalp. “They want to pay me to go to school there for three years. Then I’ll be a research associate—like working there—to pay off my last three years.”

  Seth’s jaw dropped along with the bite of strudel he’d picked apart. “Oliver, that’s amazing!”

  But Oliver had meant it when he said that he didn’t want a repeat of their first talk about schools. He needed Seth to know all of it. “Wait.”

  Seth slowly sat back in his chair, his eyes shuttering any excited emotions.

  Shit.

  “Cambridge made me an offer, too.” Oliver closed his eyes, not wanting to see Seth’s face just yet. Cowardly? Yes, but he needed to be a bit of a coward to get it all out. Then they could look at the situation together and work through it. He needed to be smart; he needed to be thorough, just as much as much as he needed Seth.

  “They’ll pay for a year and offset the remaining five with work. But the thing is,” he finally looked up, “they’re handing me the keys to the project I’ve been running. A private company is funding it, and the government wants it. It’s kind of a big deal. I’d be publishing with one of the most renowned scholars in my field. That’s… well, that’s the hard place, and Silver is the rock. And here I am…” he trailed off, his hands twitching in his lap.

  “Stuck in the middle with you,” Seth sang quietly.

  Oliver couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, please don’t sing that! I always think of Mr. Blonde and the ear.” He shuddered and made a face.

  Seth smiled as he sipped his coffee. “This is why I’ve told you for years that you should stick with the Golden Age of MGM instead of Tarantino. Greta Garbo and Fred Astaire would never have given you those nightmares.”

  They smiled across the table at each other for a moment. Oliver’s feeling that his lungs were trapped in a metal cage was lessening; he took a deep breath and told himself that it was good they were being smart about this, that they were being adults. That they were still smiling.

  “I—” Seth started but snapped his mouth shut. He started bouncing his leg again and looked out the window. Oliver could understand him needing to gather his thoughts, since his own were too numerous and scattered. It was like trying to grab mercury.

  “I don’t want to tell you what to do here, Oliver. I don’t think it’s fair for me to do that to you.” Seth sighed and picked at his strudel with long, delicate fingers. Oliver watched his hands, flashing to the feeling of a box in his pocket from his dream, and shuddered briefly.

  “And I don’t know enough about what you do, who’s important, why one school would be better over the other.” Seth looked back at Oliver helplessly.

  Oliver breathed deeply, reached across the table and took one of Seth’s hands in his. He stroked along its back with his thumb, gave it a squeeze and forced himself to let go; he needed to keep his wits about him.

  “Well, that’s where I am, too. Except for the knowing who’s who.” He watched as Seth looked down at his hand, as if he were seeing Oliver still holding it. “Think of it like this: Cambridge is the best place for research. That’s what they’re known for. They produce scientists and Nobel Prize winners in math and physics.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Oliver continued. “I would get to do more research and publish a paper. Everyone who is anyone would see my name next to Dr. Lan’s, and that is some serious clout. Governmental policy-changing clout.”

  Seth looked thoughtful; he also went back to
eating, which Oliver took as a good sign.

  “It would almost be like you doing a workshop with Neil Patrick Harris, knowing he was eventually going to pull strings and get a show for you.”

  Completely still, hanging on his every word, Seth finally gave a nod of understanding. Oliver sighed in relief: Seth was on the same page regarding how important all this was.

  “And Silver,” Oliver continued, “would be more hands-on application, less research. Which isn’t a bad thing at all. It’s just, well, different. The head of the program is seriously phenomenal. Her whole thing is working with LGBT kids and their families directly, something I’ve thought about doing. I just don’t know what—” He exhaled harshly. “I just don’t know.”

  Seth let out a shocked, dry laugh. “I hope you don’t think I do?”

  “No… well, I might have hoped you would have something pithy to say that would make it all clear?” Oliver said, giving Seth a dopey grin. He sighed in frustration. “Okay, so that deal would be like, hmm, performing a supporting role with Neil and hanging out with him afterward.” He dropped his head onto his forearms and groaned. “It’s like an embarrassment of riches. And once I choose, that’s it. I can’t change my mind later,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by his arms.

  Seth patted his elbow, leaving his hand resting warmly on Oliver’s forearm. They sat in silence for a few moments. Oliver’s thoughts were all over the place, refusing to slow down and look at the problem head on; it was like trying to catch sight of dust motes in his peripheral vision—as soon as he turned to look at them directly, they disappeared. He sat back up, jammed the last bite of strudel into his mouth and hurriedly chewed and swallowed it, chasing it with his coffee. “Let’s get out of here. I do my best thinking while moving.”

  Laughing softly, Seth finished his coffee and stood up. “Where to?”