Small Wonders

by Courtney Lux

  “I don’t know if I believe that I’ve got any good news in me.” Trip watches as June navigates her way over his blankets with careful steps. “I want things to get better, but I don’t know if they’re going to.”

  “You’re twenty years old, Trip. There’s plenty of time for things to change. You’re just getting started.”

  Trip’s heart sinks. “I’m tired, Scarlett. I’m really fucking tired. Aren’t you?”

  “Sometimes.” Scarlett nods. “Especially last year right after June was born. There were days and nights when you went miss­ing and we were living off saltines and I felt like I hadn’t slept in a week and I thought I wouldn’t mind just dropping dead… but not so much now. Even with everything that’s happening right now, I feel okay these days.”

  She loops her hand under his elbow and runs her fingernails over the inside of his wrist. “You got started doing this a lot sooner than most, though.”

  “You think that means I can throw the towel in sooner, too?” Trip pinches the bridge of his nose.

  Her fingers pause. “As your secret best friend, can I give you some advice?”

  “You can try.” Trip pulls June onto his lap, kisses her sticky palm when she presses it to his mouth.

  “Don’t throw out your heart so you don’t have to feel it when things hurt.” Scarlett tucks his hair behind his ear. “Being a roman­tic is what’s kept you alive this long; don’t stop being brave now and throw that away.”

  Trip fiddles with the cuff of June’s sleeve. “I don’t know what he wants.”

  “He wants to know you.” Scarlett pulls June off of his lap and into her arms. “Why don’t you start with that?”

  Trip nods, but he doesn’t respond.

  “We need to get going—we’re meeting Kellan for lunch.” Scar­lett stands. “You should come. Liam’s meeting us there, too. Did you know he sold another piece today?”

  “No. That’s great, though.” Trip draws his knees in close to his chest. “I’m good here, but thanks.”

  “Gonna spend your birthday holed up in your room?” Scarlett raises her eyebrows.

  Trip smiles at her. “Better than spending it in a delivery room.”

  Scarlett stoops back down to press a kiss to Trip’s cheek. “We love you, Trip Morgan.”

  “You’re not too bad yourself.” Trip waves. “Get gone. Have fun.”

  “We’ll bring you home something good.” Scarlett waltzes out of the room, calls over her shoulder, “Happy birthday!”

  Trip listens to Scarlett packing up June’s things and then to the slam of the door. He lifts the key in one hand, the picture in the other. The boy has ears that stick out and he has blue eyes. He doesn’t actually look all that much like Nate, and Trip’s not sure how he ever thought he did. He sets the picture aside and reaches for his bag again to pull the red notebook from the bottom.

  It’s been nearly a year since he wrote in it, almost just as long since he’s opened it to look back on anything. He opens to the first page, rubs a thumb over the words.

  He remembers writing that first entry. He’d been on the bus to Tuscaloosa, his hands shaking and his heart still hammering in his chest with a mixture of panic and elation as he scribbled the words down so they couldn’t be forgotten.

  The urge had come off and on since that day when he’s had no choice but to drop what he’s doing and write something down before it’s forgotten. He’s stooped over benches in the park, sneaked from stranger’s beds, and awoken in the middle of the night, all in the name of scribbling down a memory on any blank page he can find.

  Trip puts the key back in his pocket and the photo and note­book in the bag. He shoulders the bag and leaves the apartment, sure of where he’s going.

  thirteen.

  The snow is still falling and it works its way under Trip’s collar as he stands with his hands on the barricade overlooking the East River. The water looks cold and dark and it’s moving faster than the last time he was here. Trip has been standing here for hours deliberating what to do. He’d been so sure of this plan, but, like so many other things, he’s second-guessing himself.

  He’d come here to dump his bag in the river much as they’d done with Nate’s personal items what seems like years ago. Now that he’s here, he’s not so sure it’s what he wants. He steps away from the barricade and sits on a bench with his things. He’s taken years collecting them, and the idea of parting with them after he’s already lost so much this week pulls at something in his heart. It makes him a little angry to realize that on top of being a reluctant romantic, he is sentimental.

  He pulls open the zipper and touches his collection of treasures with gentle fingers. He no longer needs them, but they deserve something better than being tossed into a river and getting lost with all the other garbage. These things are not garbage.

  Trip glances over when a woman sits down in the space of the bench he is not occupying. She settles her bag at her side and stares out toward the water.

  Trip studies her bag. It’s one of the easy ones—big, slouchy leather with only a snap at the top to keep it closed. He rum­mages through his own bag until he comes across the plastic spider. With quick, quiet fingers, he slips it in the opening of his mystery companion’s purse. He stands and knows what he has to do.

  The park is surprisingly busy given the cold. There are run­ners decked in fleece and leggings—they are harder to catch, but every once in a while, Trip slips something into an open vest pocket. Old women bundled in two and three jackets and walking dogs dressed in a similar number of layers are the easiest tar­gets; he pets their dogs and listens to their near-endless queries about his eyes while he slips two or three things into any one of their numerous pockets. There are families taking photos of babies see­ing their first snow and couples walking close with their hands stuck out to catch the snowflakes on their gloved fingers—Trip gives them the more interesting things and hopes they discover them together. The wind off the water makes this place colder than the streets closer to the park, but no one seems to notice the cold or the occasional tug on their pocket or purse. This snow globe day of laughter and joy does not fit with the winters Trip remembers from past years, but he chalks it up to it still being early in the season. Despite his easy marks, his project takes him until nearly dusk. It’s so much easier to take things than to give them, but when he’s finished, Trip feels lighter.

  The walk to Nathaniel’s apartment isn’t far, but he hesitates for a long time outside the door, debating whether he should knock. There’s music playing on the other side of the door and it smells as though Nate’s been cooking. Trip lifts a hand, drops it back to his side.

  He pulls the key from his pocket, fits it into the lock and swallows down his heart that is suddenly in his throat as he pushes his way into the apartment. He’s quiet closing the door and equally quiet pulling off his shoes. When he steps through the entry, Nate is in the kitchen.

  He’s standing barefoot beside the stove over a large pot of some­thing. He’s dressed in jeans and a gray Henley and he’s wearing a pair of reading glasses that he takes off every time he goes to look at something pulled up on his laptop screen.

  “Think you’re supposed to wear them when you’re trying to read.” Trip speaks quietly from his place beside the fridge. “Could be wrong, though. Never worn glasses.”

  Nate jumps and his cheeks flush with momentary surprise, but then he’s smiling. “They keep steaming up.”

  Trip shifts his weight from his left foot to his right, suddenly shy.

  “You used the key.” Nate breaks the quiet.

  Trip lifts the key to show off. “Guess I did.”

  “It’s your birthday.” Nate takes off his glasses and steps away from the stove.

  “It’s my birthday.” Trip agrees.

  Nate closes the distance between them. He hooks a thumb under Tr
ip’s chin and tips his head up to press a light kiss to his mouth. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.” Trip’s cheeks warm a little.

  Nate holds his gaze for a moment, but then he’s touching a quick kiss to Trip’s forehead and going back to his pot. “Twenty years old—you feel grown up?”

  Trip hoists himself up onto the breakfast bar. He fiddles with his bag on his lap. “Does being grown up feel like you just know less and less what the hell you’re doing?”

  “That’s been my experience with it so far.” Nate turns down the burner before facing Trip again.

  “Then I’ve never felt so grown up.” Trip notes an empty water bottle beside him. He opens the cabinet below his feet and drops it into the recycling bin.

  “Speaking of having no idea what you’re doing, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.” Nate points at his pot. “Trying to make soup to freeze, and it’s way more complicated than I thought it would be.”

  “Open the can and stick it in the microwave,” Trip suggests.

  “Hilarious.” Nate points a wooden spoon at Trip. “Don’t go sticking cans in my microwave, by the way—metal doesn’t go in microwaves.”

  “Don’t be so patronizing,” Trip retorts.

  “Big word.” Nate abandons the pot with a grunt and turns his attention to the fridge.

  “Took a look at that GED book.” Trip picks at a loose spot of duct tape on his bag. “Thinking about taking one of those classes.”

  Nate turns to look at him. “Yeah?”

  Trip pushes the tape back into place when it starts to pull away from a hole in the canvas. “Might need some help studying.”

  “I can do that.” Nate pulls a bottle from the fridge before lean­ing to kiss Trip a second time. “I’m a good flashcard-maker.”

  “Not surprised.” Trip eyes the bottle. “Champagne?”

  “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” Nate offers him the bottle. “Hold onto that.”

  Trip cradles the bottle and watches as Nate pulls out a cake. It’s small, undecorated save for white icing piped along its edges. “Y’all really know how to overwhelm a guy, you know that?”

  “Call it payback for every time you overwhelm me.” Nate sets the cake aside. “It’s strawberry, so it sort of goes with champagne, I think.”

  “Think anything can go with champagne if you really want it to.” The cellophane wrapped around the champagne bottle crackles in his arms.

  They go quiet. Nate glances around the apartment before looking back at Trip. “You, um, notice anything new around here?”

  Trip looks around. He knows the orange Le Creuset stockpot on the stove, the coffeemaker on the counter and the paint on the walls is unaltered. “You forgot to fold a dish towel.”

  Nate looks at the towel on the counter. “It’s bigger than that.”

  Trip twists in his spot on the counter to inspect the rest of the apartment. His gaze drifts over the counter, the partially-open bathroom door, the couch, the bookshelves and the record player. He does a double take and stares for a long time at the record stand. There, leaned against the wall, is an item he knows well. He pushes himself down off of the counter, stumbling over his own feet as he goes to pick up the guitar.

  He runs a hand over the neck and down to the body, checking and admiring every nick and chip in the varnish. He sits on the rug and pulls the guitar into his lap just to feel the familiar weight in his hands.

  “I was going to try and get you a new one, but I didn’t think it would be the same.” Nate’s watching him from the kitchen. “I know how much you love that damn thing, so I went on a hunt at all the pawn shops I could think of.”

  Trip opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a lump in his throat and he doesn’t know what to say.

  The floor creaks and then Nate is sitting on the floor in front of him. “I know that you get pissed when I go too far trying to be helpful. I just… that guitar is as much a part of you as your eyes are. I didn’t want you to be without it and I’m sorry if it seems—”

  Trip studies Nate while he babbles on. Nate’s cheeks are flushed from the heat of the kitchen and his sudden embarrass­ment; his hair is slightly unkempt, no doubt from running his fingers through it while he fretted over trying to make his soup. He looks more Nate right now than he ever does with his freshly-shaven face and crisp suits—silly, flustered, earnest Nathaniel.

  “I love you.”

  The words take them both by surprise, and Nate finally stops babbling. “You…”

  “I love you.” Trip’s voice wavers. He feels the hot slide of tears on his cheeks. He brushes them away with the edge of his sleeve. “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah… yeah, that’s okay.” Nate pulls the guitar from his lap with a gentle hand and kisses Trip long and deep with a hand on either side of his face.

  They make their way backward up the stairs in a familiar dance of fumbled steps and stubbed toes until they’re in bed. Nate strips Trip out of his clothes and kisses every new spot of skin he exposes.

  The sex is slow and quiet. Trip’s head rests on the pillow and Nate’s eyes stay on his. Nate is warm and heavy and solid on top of him; he sets their pace and presses in deep and close in a way that makes a pleasant shiver work its way up Trip’s spine. Nate keeps his left hand wrapped around Trip’s cock and the fingers of his right tangled between Trip’s in the sheets. He kisses Trip’s neck and his mouth and wherever else he can reach and murmurs sweet words in Trip’s ear until they’re both sweating and panting and loose-limbed against one another.

  Trip and Nate shower together afterward. They bicker over sharing the hot water, use too much soap and agree that Trip needs a haircut. When they’re washed clean, Nate coaxes Trip into sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter so he can replace the butterfly bandages on Trip’s cheek and kiss his bruised ribs. Nate leaves the ruined soup pan in the kitchen sink for later cleaning after they’ve finished in the bathroom, and he takes the champagne and cake back up to the bed. Trip follows with his bag over his arm.

  They both cry out in surprise when the champagne cork rico­chets off the wall and cracks the edge of the full-length mirror and then laugh until they can barely speak, debating whether a crack will bring them bad luck. They decide they don’t care and drink the champagne straight from the bottle and share a fork for the cake. They end up celebrating more than Trip’s birthday when Nate announces he got the job.

  “They’re taking me on right after the new year, thought I’d want the holiday off before I got into it.” Nate swipes his thumb through the icing on the cake and smudges it on Trip’s nose.

  Trip catches Nate’s wrist and licks the rest of his finger clean before wiping the frosting off of his nose. “Still get to go home and see the family. I guess you really can have your cake and eat it, too.”

  “Guess so,” Nate replies.

  “Things been good with them?” Trip tips the champagne bottle up to his mouth.

  Nate takes another bite of cake before responding. “It’s been okay… I’m better with them, I think. Trying to be, anyway.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Trip trades the bottle for Nate’s fork.

  “I, um, I didn’t want to bring it up since it’s your birthday, but what’s happening with everything?” Nate squeezes Trip’s ankle. “We don’t have to talk about it today, but you were so upset yesterday and—”

  Trip sucks the prongs of the fork clean. “It’s fine. Dev and I are okay. He’s moving back south. We’re getting the boot from the apartment in three weeks.”

  “Shit.” Nate’s hand shifts down to Trip’s foot. He massages it absently. “I’m sorry, Trip.”

  “Nothing to be done for it.” Trip abandons the fork on the plate. “Some of Scarlett’s friends at the club know about some places up in Harlem that might work out. If it takes some extra time, Li’s gonna go
stay with his family a couple weeks and Scarlett and the baby are going to crash with Kellan.”

  “Don’t think I need to say it, but I will anyway: You can stay here as long as you need.” Nate squeezes Trip’s foot one last time before releasing it. “Whenever you need.”

  Trip nods his thanks, but he’s bashful again, so he lifts the fork to pick at what’s left of the cake.

  They go quiet, but then Nate breathes out a laugh. “I think you just gave me more straight answers about your personal life in three and half minutes than you’ve given me in three and a half months.”

  Trip’s stomach swoops because he knows this is the perfect moment for what he’s been planning to do since he left the apartment. He clears his throat, reaches for his bag. “I, um, I have something for you.”

  Nate puts the cake down on the floor beside the bed to make space. “Aren’t people supposed to give you stuff on your birthday?”

  “Not giving it to you forever, it’s on loan.” Trip’s fingers shake as he pulls open the zipper on his bag. There’s not much left inside. A spare T-shirt, his umbrella, Nate’s old business card, the GED book, the picture and the red notebook are all he’s kept, all that feels truly his. He pulls the picture and offers it first.

  Nate looks at it before glancing up at Trip. “You showed this to me yesterday. You were upset about it.”

  “Look at the kids.” Trip leans closer to look over the top of the picture. He points. “Two boys, one girl.”

  “Right.” Nate frowns.

  “And a white porch.” Trip points at the railing and then at a few trees in the background. “Couple of jack pine back there.”

  Nate looks over the picture for a long time. “It reminds you of me? Is that why you’re showing it to me again?”

  “Remember the first time we had coffee—I read your mind and told you about your brother and sister and the porch?” Trip sits back on his legs folded beneath him.