Fragile Ground

by Louisa Keller

  “Hi babe,” Olivier says absently as Auriel comes over to greet him.

  “Hey. Don’t let me interrupt you.” Auriel presses a quick kiss to Olivier’s temple and then heads to the kitchen to start dinner.

  “I’ll be there in a sec,” Olivier calls. “I’m just finishing up this draft…”

  They are finishing their pasta primavera when Olivier pipes up. “I’m sorry that I didn’t plan anything for tonight. I’ve been working on this piece for the website all day, it took way longer than I thought it would.”

  Auriel reaches out to squeeze Olivier’s hand on top of the table. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously.”

  Olivier narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You okay?”

  Auriel sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Um, not with a sigh like that. What’s going on?” Olivier looks worried, and that’s the last thing that Auriel wants.

  He struggles to find the right words. “Sometimes it’s nice to just…hang out.”

  Olivier cocks his head to the side, looking confused. “Are you…are all the dates too much?”

  “No,” says Auriel in a rush. “The dates are amazing.”

  “Then why do you look like someone just stepped on your hamster?” Olivier asks.

  “Gross,” mutters Auriel, smiling. “Ok, listen. I love the dates. I’m having so much fun spending all this time with you and I truly appreciate the effort you’re putting in.”

  “But…?” Olivier prompts, and it sends a little thrill through Auriel because Olivier knows him. He’s reading Auriel like a book, and it’s a revelation.

  “But,” Auriel concedes, “you never did this kind of thing before.”

  Olivier looks confused. “We were together for years, dude. I’m sure I planned some dates from time to time.”

  “Well, yeah obviously you did sometimes, but not like this. Not all the time.”

  “I thought you were enjoying them,” Olivier says, looking horrified. “Oh my God, have you just been suffering through all these cheesy dates, gritting your teeth until you can get home and go to bed?”

  “Jesus, Olivier, of course not,” says Auriel, startled. “Shit, I’m making a mess of this. Let me just explain, okay? Can you listen without interrupting?”

  “I can try,” says Olivier primly. He folds his hands on the table and blinks mockingly at Auriel.

  “You’re such a handful,” Auriel says, laughing. “Okay, I’m not pretending to have a good time with you. I’m having a completely amazing time. What I’m saying is that you don’t have to go out of your way to plan stuff just because you think I’ll like it. I like you, and what I want is for you to be yourself. More than anything, that’s what I want. Okay?”

  Olivier raises his hand.

  “Um,” Auriel says.

  “Permission to speak?” Olivier asks.

  “Jesus Christ,” Auriel mutters, shaking his head in amusement. “Permission granted, you little shit.”

  Olivier grins. “What did I do before, to show you how I felt?”

  “It was everyday kind of stuff. You took care of me, took care of the house and the car. When you wanted to spoil me it was usually physical.”

  “Physical?” Olivier asks, smirking.

  “Yeah, sometimes it was sex. Other times it was a massage or…god this one time I was dead exhausted and you just climbed into the shower with me and washed my hair…stop laughing. It was romantic as shit, and more importantly it was completely genuine.”

  Olivier reaches out to trace Auriel’s jaw with his thumb. “I want you to be happy. And I want you to know that I care about you, a lot. So I can stop channeling my indie-movie-love-story-lead alter ego if that’s what you want. But I hope you won’t mind if I keep trying to show you how I feel.”

  “I can’t think of anything I want more,” Auriel says solemnly.

  “Good. Then you go relax and I’ll do the dishes.”

  Auriel goes to their bedroom and settles down on top of the comforter with his annotated, illustrated copy of Animal Farm. He’s read it countless times, has entire passages committed to memory, but he still takes comfort in turning the pages, inspecting the bizarre art. Ralph Steadman’s lines are erratic and his color is splashed frantically across the page, but it pairs well with Orwell’s sordid tale. Auriel is admiring a particularly off-putting illustration of Napoleon the pig when Olivier pushes the door open.

  “Hi,” says Auriel, closing the book and setting it on the bedside table. He pats the bed next to him and grins when Olivier joins him, flopping down face-first and then stretching out, arching his back like a cat. “You know you make this little noise when you do that?”

  Olivier scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. “Do not.”

  “You do,” says Auriel fondly. “It’s the same noise you make when you’re about to drift off to sleep.”

  “Ugh, of course you catalogue every noise I make.” Olivier rolls onto his back and nuzzles his face into the crook of Auriel’s neck. “You smell good.”

  Auriel scoffs. “I smell like I’ve been weeding all day. You would be into the whole dirt-and-sweat aesthetic.”

  “It’s manly, I like it.” Olivier presses a kiss just below Auriel’s ear.

  “Ridiculous,” Auriel says, though he’s smiling. “I should probably take a shower. I’ve been trying to work up the energy, but the bed is just so comfy.”

  “Mmm,” agrees Olivier. Then he sits up and looks at Auriel, clearly deep in thought. His eyes narrow and he purses his lips slightly, tilting his head to the side. “How would you feel about a bath?”

  That gets Auriel’s attention, and he raises his eyebrows at Olivier. “I don’t think I’ve taken a bath in about six months.”

  “Seriously, with that jetted tub in the bathroom? What a waste,” says Olivier.

  “I just never really think to do it. It sounds nice though. If you’re offering to join me, that is.”

  That makes Olivier laugh. “You just stay here for a couple of minutes. Read your book or whatever.” And then he’s bounding into the bathroom, and the sound of gushing water drifts out into the bedroom. Auriel picks Animal Farm back up, turning the pages idly. He watches Olivier walk out of the bedroom and down the hall. Soon he’s back with a handful of stuff. “Don’t mind me,” Olivier instructs, shifting his body so that Auriel can’t see what he’s holding. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  A few minutes later Auriel hears his name. He sets down the book and pads into the bathroom. The lights are off and there’s a single candle burning on the countertop. The whole room smells like lavender. Olivier is sitting on the edge of the tub, swirling a hand in the water, and he smiles softly when Auriel steps into his line of sight.

  “Close the door,” Olivier says. Then he’s up, pressing Auriel against the closed door and kissing him hard. His hands creep underneath Auriel’s shirt, tracing his abs before pulling the garment off and tossing it aside. “I will never get tired of this,” Olivier breathes, tracing Auriel’s muscles.

  “That make two of us,” Auriel murmurs.

  Olivier undoes Auriel’s fly next and kneels to help him pull off his jeans and briefs. He runs his hands up and down Auriel’s thighs reverently, leaning in the press his cheek against the side of Auriel’s knee. “I love your body,” Olivier whispers, just loud enough to be heard. He presses a sweet kiss against the juncture of Auriel’s leg and groin, then follows it up with a teasing nip. Auriel groans, reaching down to weave his fingers through Olivier’s hair.

  “You gonna keep teasing me?” Auriel asks.

  “Maybe,” says Olivier. He presses filthy kisses along the soft skin of Auriel’s lower abdomen, just above the pubic bone.

  “Ah God,” moans Auriel. “Keep going like that and you’re gonna leave a mark.”

  Olivier sucks harder. “That’s the plan,” he says, looking up with a grin. The expression on Auriel’s face is supremely fond, and they stay there for several moments just gazing at each
other. Finally Olivier stands up and gives Auriel one final kiss before grabbing him by the hand and leading him to the tub. “Hattie lent me some stuff. You can take your pick.”

  Auriel looks at the collection of bath products spread out next to the tub. There are pale pink bath salts, a couple of bottles of bubble bath, and a basket full of chalky-looking spheres. “What are those?” he asks, pointing to the basket.

  Olivier glances down at its contents. “I’ve never used them before, but Hattie swears by them. Apparently they’re called bath bombs.” He picks one up and hands it to Auriel for inspection.

  It is surprisingly light in his palm, and Auriel holds it up, admiring the swirl of glittery colors. It looks like a spherical galaxy and it smells faintly of rosemary. “Let’s give it a try,” he says, handing it back to Olivier, who unceremoniously drops it into the tub. It immediately begins to disperse, a flurry of color seeping into the water. Olivier reaches a hand in to stir the tub, and soon the entire bath is a dark plum color.

  “Get in,” Olivier urges, and Auriel doesn’t need to be told twice. The water is delightfully warm, just shy of too hot, and muscles he didn’t even know were tense begin to relax. He sinks down until the only parts of him above water are his head and his knees.

  “Jesus, this is fantastic.” Auriel leans his head back against the tub and lets out a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you,” he adds.

  Olivier sounds a little bit choked up when he says quietly, “you’re welcome.” He reaches a hand into the tub and finds Auriel’s own hand under the dark water. They sit there for a while, holding hands and breathing slowly.

  “Can you tell me abut your day?” Auriel asks.

  Olivier clears his throat. “Um, sure. There’s not a lot to tell, I was mostly just writing.”

  “What were you writing about? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “It’s, uh, kind of all over the place right now. The piece I’m working on, I mean. But Greg and I decided that I’m going to start a weekly series about my recovery.” For some reason Olivier sounds almost shy. Maybe a little bit embarrassed? Auriel can’t quite put a finger on the emotion in his voice.

  “You mean like the stuff with your hand?” asks Auriel.

  “Not really…I mean, yeah, I mentioned the physical ramifications of the accident. But I’m not sure readers are going to be particularly interested in the fact that my hand basically fucks off a couple of times a week. The series is more about how my life is recovering.”

  Auriel’s eyes have been shut this entire time, but he opens them now and looks at Olivier. “Do you mean your relationships?”

  Olivier nods. He’s not meeting Auriel’s gaze, but instead looking up toward the ceiling. This is a classic Olivier move—he has always struggled with eye contact when he’s confessing something heartfelt. “Yeah. It’s mostly about, uh, you and I.”

  “You’ve always written a lot about us,” Auriel says. He’s testing the water, ready to assess Olivier’s reaction to this statement. It took Olivier the better part of a year the first time around to push through his own discomfort in these situations and spit out whatever it is that he’s trying to say.

  It surprises Auriel, then, when Olivier adds, “it’s about the two of us rebuilding our relationship. But mostly it’s about falling for someone the second time around.”

  The words sit there between them, impossibly fragile, and Auriel wants to wrap them in tissue paper and keep them locked in a drawer where he can peer at them anytime he wants for the rest of his life. He is exhilarated, but also simultaneously terrified. It feels like the slightest breeze could carry this entire conversation away until it disappears into the ether. So instead of saying anything, Auriel squeezes Olivier’s hand under the water.

  In response, Olivier lets go and stands up. There is a horrible, earth-shattering moment where Auriel thinks that he is leaving. But then Olivier shucks his shirt and pants, tossing them to the other side of the room, steps carefully out of his underwear, and quirks an eyebrow at Auriel. “You going to make room for me in there?”

  It is a crunch, fitting two fully grown men into one bathtub. They finally manage it when Auriel scoots forward, bending his knees and sitting up, which allows Olivier to slide in behind him, legs extending on either side of Auriel’s body. The water rises and threatens to splash over the side of the tub, but all-in-all they pull it off without a hitch. Auriel leans back against Olivier, who wraps his arms around him. They are silent for a long time, just soaking together in the fragrant water. When they do finally speak, it’s in hushed voices, as if they are afraid to break the silence.

  “I didn’t mean to be disingenuous,” Olivier murmurs, his lips brushing against Auriel’s neck.

  “I know. I just felt like I should tell you that it’s okay to just…be yourself in this relationship,” whispers Auriel.

  “I never thought that would be possible. To find someone who would want me just as I am, I mean.”

  Auriel’s heart aches. “I’ve never quite been able to articulate how much I love you as your are.” They lapse back into silence for a bit, and then Auriel adds, “I hope that’s not too much. Let me know if I need to keep some of this to myself.”

  Olivier shakes his head. “I think I’m ready to hear it.”

  Auriel twists so that he can look Olivier in the eyes. “I am so in love with you.”

  Olivier kisses Auriel, and it is the kind of lazy, familiar kiss that Auriel has always cherished above all others. He sighs into it, leaning back against Olivier contentedly. When they finally break the kiss, the water is starting to grow cold.

  “How does a blow job and an early bedtime sound?” Auriel asks.

  Olivier laughs. “Like a dream come true.”

  14

  Olivier

  I haven’t been able to come up with a perfect simile for what it’s like to wake up one day and realize that you’re living someone else’s life. I have wracked my brain for weeks, and the best I can come up with is this: it’s like showing up for an algebra exam and being told that you’re actually going to be tested on calculus. Not only that, but they insist that you’ve been taking calculus class, acing it even, and that you may or may not start remembering all of the necessary concepts. But even if you don’t remember them, you still have to pass the exam.

  Auriel tried to give me an out at first. He played it off like we were just roommates, because he knew it would be ridiculous to expect me to be in love with a stranger right off the bat. It was probably the right thing to do, and definitely came from a place of caring. Now though, several weeks out from my accident, I’m coming to a realization. The only way forward is to live my life, and in order to do that I need to examine my surroundings, and investigate the choices I have made since college. I don’t want to start over somewhere else, or go back to the comfort of my hometown. I am ready to tackle the here and now.

  This, of course, requires me to put an awful lot of trust into people I can’t remember getting to know. I have to trust my friends, my boyfriend, my editor…I ask them about myself as well as about themselves, and I have to take their answers at face value. Perhaps more importantly, I need to trust my past self—the one who moved across the country and spent a thousand dollars on incomprehensible tattoos and fell in love. He did an awful lot of living, and I have to believe that he made the best choices he could.

  In college I studied Philosophy. My focus was primarily on the French existentialists (Sartre, de Beauvoir, Camus), and I came to identify with it in more than just an academic sense. It became a part of my personal philosophy. My favorite nugget comes from Sartre: he says, “existence precedes essence.” My understanding of this quote, within the context of his mid-twentieth century works, is that we are formed by our own existence. Our experiences, our choices: these are not only demonstrations of who we are…they are the things that make us who we truly are.

  The big question I’ve been asking myself recently is this: do my experienc
es from the past two years inherently contribute to who I am now? I haven’t come to a solid conclusion about this. But I am starting to think that it doesn’t matter. What matters is whether or not I choose to stick around for the aftermath of those experiences. And today, I am choosing to stay. I am choosing to fall in love with my boyfriend again. I am choosing to write pedantic essays for you all. I trust the self I can’t remember, and I have decided to allow his choices to define the me that is alive and aware in the here and now.

  Olivier bites his lip as he watches Auriel reading through the beginning of an article. He has been working on it for a while, and it still feels very rough, but Auriel had asked what he was writing and Olivier didn’t have the heart to keep it to himself.

  “It’s not done,” Olivier says for the third time.

  Auriel glances away from the paper to smile at Olivier. “It’s a great start though. I especially like the last bit.”

  “Of course you do,” sighs Olivier.

  The two of them are lying in bed together. Auriel has been snoozing all morning, enjoying his day off. The window is slightly open and cool autumn air flutters the curtains each time a breeze picks up. They’re both clad in nothing but boxers, staying under the covers for warmth but unwilling to shut the window. The natural light slanting through the maple outside casts a hazy golden shade across the bedroom. Olivier could bask in this moment forever.

  Auriel pulls him out of his reverie. “Are you hungry?”

  The morning has melted into early afternoon already but neither of them has ventured to the kitchen for sustenance. Olivier doesn’t feel particularly motivated to do so even as his stomach grumbles.

  “I guess that’s my answer,” says Auriel, making to throw back the covers.