by Indra Vaughn
“I’m going to call Cleo.”
Thomas began to put the groceries away, and I ran upstairs to find my charging phone in the bedroom. I had two missed calls from Cleo but no voice mails, so I figured whatever had happened wasn’t too urgent. She answered on the second ring.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, “but we’re not going to get there until tomorrow, Ollie.”
“Oh, is everything all right?”
“Yes, fine. We had a little, uh, complication.”
I sat down on the bed and stared out of the window. The sun was beginning to set over Bouillon, casting the hills and trees in a rosy glow. “What kind of complication?”
“I’ll have to owe you an explanation. For now. I’m sorry.”
“Okay . . .” I waited, but the silence thickened and turned awkward. “Are you sure you’re all right? I mean . . . Thomas told me what happened between you two. You’re not breaking up, are you?”
“No.” Cleo’s voice softened. “No, we’re not breaking up.”
“Okay, well, that’s good. So we’ll see you guys tomorrow? It’s gorgeous here. We already picked our rooms, by the way, but I left you the middle one. Did you know Thomas is afraid of heights?”
Cleo was silent for a moment. Then she slowly said, “Yes, Oliver. I knew that. We all knew that. How did you not?”
“It . . . never came up? How did you know?”
“From when we went to Walibi? And he refused to go on the Dalton Terror?”
“Oh. I think I was . . . a bit distracted that day.”
Cleo laughed. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. Only Sam could make a marriage proposal at a theme park romantic.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” I asked with a grin on my face.
“Yes, it really was.”
I thought we’d say good-bye, but Cleo went on. “Ollie? You know how Thomas never really got into a relationship with anyone?”
I frowned a little, still too caught up on the memory of Sam, my beautiful, sophisticated Sam, kneeling in the middle of a roller coaster ride queue of all places. “Yeah?”
“Well . . .” She sighed. “Never mind.”
“What? You think he found someone?”
“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Probably around eleven.”
“Okay. If we’re not here, I’ll leave the key under the doormat.”
“Yeah, because no burglar ever thinks to look there.”
“Oh, shush.”
Cleo laughed and hung up. I stayed where I was for a minute, running the conversation through my head. Had Thomas met someone? And how had I missed the fear-of-heights thing? My stomach felt strange and unsettled when I left my room. Thomas sat on the far-end couch, away from the window, and I could see him from the top of the stairs.
“It’s just us for tonight,” I said. “Want to go out for dinner?”
He looked up at me, head resting against the couch. His eyes were obsidian and unfathomable in the semidarkness. “Just you and me?”
“Um.” I faltered halfway down the steps. “Yeah. Do you mind?”
“No.” He shifted in the seat, and I could see his face better. He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Not at all. But we bought all that food. I could make the fettuccine?”
“Sure.”
“So why are they not coming down today?”
I shrugged. “Something came up.”
I joined him in the kitchen and nursed a glass of white wine as he rolled turkey meatballs. I offered to help him, but he declined with a wicked little smile and started to chop shallots and garlic like a pro.
“Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I dated a chef for a while.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “There’s something very hot about a woman who knows her way around a set of knives.” I watched his hands as he worked the knife. They were strong, but oddly slender for a man his size. His fingernails were clean, broad, and blunt. “She taught me.”
“Well, you can be the designated cook for the weekend.”
“Sure. I don’t mind. You don’t cook at all?”
“I do, but Sam used to say cleaning kitchens was a waste of time when all we did was work during the day. So I usually made really simple meals.”
“That makes sense,” Thomas said mildly.
He grabbed a cast-iron pan, heated it, and tossed in a bunch of chopped peanuts. While those toasted, he snapped the ends of the peas and rinsed them. He removed the peanuts from the pan. He poured olive oil into it, waited while it heated, and tossed in the shallots and garlic. I was mesmerized. Within minutes the kitchen smelled so fragrant, my stomach gave an impatient growl. I was happy the noise of the exhaust fan drowned it out. I watched as he moved with spare grace and confidence. His shoulder muscles bunched under his T-shirt as he stirred the garlic, and just like that my mouth ran away with me.
“So do you prefer boys or girls?”
Thomas nearly dropped the fresh pasta he’d been about to toss in a boiling pot of water. “I . . . What?” He gave me a wide-eyed stare, and my cheeks heated.
“I’m sorry. That was super inappropriate. I was . . . curious. I mean, you obviously enjoy cooking, and I was wondering why you never had a steady relationship and—” Oh God, stop talking. “Never mind. Shit, can we pretend I didn’t say anything?”
I couldn’t read the look he gave me, but he laughed a little and turned back to the burner. “I don’t have a preference,” he said. “Sometimes I find myself attracted to a girl I meet, and sometimes it’s a boy. I don’t have any control over it. And I guess I’m not . . . ready for a relationship.”
I worried my lip. I’d offended him somehow, and I had to bite back another apology. I wished he’d meet my eyes. “That’s fine, obviously.” I cringed at my stupidity but pushed on. “I was wondering if that’s something you’d ever want, and who you’d want it with. But that’s none of my business.”
Thomas stopped stirring whatever he was stirring. “Well,” he said. “I certainly don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. I haven’t been able to convince anyone to stick with me so far.”
You haven’t tried, I nearly said, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. “Food smells good,” I said weakly, and he laughed.
“Yeah, maybe I’ll lure someone in with my cooking.” He planted a plate in front of me. Fettuccine with snap peas, peanuts, and a delicate white sauce that made my nostrils flare. I took a bite as he watched me.
I moaned and closed my eyes. “Sold,” I said, and when I opened my eyes, he was staring at me like I’d said something wrong again. “Uh, it’s really nice, I mean.”
He nodded and turned away to plate his own food.
I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong, but it was something. “My dad was a good cook too,” I told him. “Mom did all the work around the house, but Dad was responsible for grocery shopping and cooking. We were a bit lost when he died. I think my mother ate scrambled eggs and toast for dinner for months.”
“Did you get on well with your parents?”
I shrugged. “We didn’t fight or hate each other or anything, but we weren’t close like Sam’s family.” Dull pain stabbed my chest, but I ignored it. “I actually have a brother who is ten years older than I am. I never see him or talk to him. I’m closer to my mom these days, though.” Maybe because she knew what it was like to lose the person you loved.
Thomas sat beside me at the kitchen island. “I had no idea. I thought you were an only child.”
“No, but I may as well have been. By the time I was seven, he was away at college, and I never really saw him much after that.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s an insurance broker or something. I’m not actually sure.”
“Why did you fall out?”
“I don’t think it was one specific thing. I remember he used to hate it when our parents paid attention to me. He kicked me once when I was a little baby.”
“Aw jeez, Ollie. That’s awfu
l.”
I shrugged. “It’s not like I remember it.”
I watched him take small bites from his food. As he bent forward, a thick strand of hair sprang loose from the tight bun. He reached behind him and undid it so a brown curtain covered his face. Without thinking, I lifted my hand and touched it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair this thick on a guy,” I said, and he went still.
“Yeah, I have my mother’s hair. Dad has thick hair too, but nothing like this.” He pulled his hair back again in a ponytail, and I let it slip from my fingers.
I squinted at him. “You ever think about cutting it?”
“All the time.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.
How did I keep messing up? I was missing something, and I didn’t get it. Did he not want to be here alone with me? Did he feel awkward because of Sam’s death?
Or was I acting inappropriately?
I sat back and stirred my pasta. “The food’s really tasty,” I repeated lamely, and stopped trying to make conversation.
Imran and Cleo arrived sometime the next morning, but I wasn’t there to see them. If the world were a fair place, I’d have been at home right then. Probably tired after a nervous, sleepless night, but wired on adrenaline as I got dressed in a tuxedo for our big day, and Sam did the same.
The previous night with Thomas had unsettled me, made me question a friendship I’d counted on for years. I didn’t want to spend the morning with him moving awkwardly around me, not knowing what to say. So I’d risen bright and early, put on my hiking boots, and found a trail that led up to the castle and beyond it. I climbed the hill and found a peaceful spot where I could watch the town wake.
Had I counted on my friendships though? Or had I lived in a bubble of bliss with Samuel, only surfacing a few nights a week to socialize and have fun? I hadn’t been there for their troubled times.
Around nine my phone had buzzed, but I didn’t look at it until past ten.
You okay?
Thomas. I sighed and swiped my thumb across the screen. His profile photograph was an off-center picture of him, laughing at something to his right. He was really gorgeous, in a rugged way. Samuel had been distinguished and elegant, but a little unavailable looking to people who didn’t know him. Thomas, however, was lovely in a comforting, I-can’t-stop-looking-at-you sort of way.
I closed my eyes and sighed. What was I doing here? Pretending I could move on? After one whole month? The ache for Sam burned in my veins. The scar inside me hurt like a fresh bruise. I never knew grief could fluctuate like this, allowing me to feel fine one day and wrecked the next.
I thought of Sam’s painting in the attic. I thought of the tuxedos hanging in our closet, packed away in suit bags now that we’d never wear them. I knew what I was doing here. I was hoping being with my friends, away from home, would distract me from the horrible truth. My phone buzzed again.
I know what day it is today. Please tell me you’re okay.
I’m fine.
Then come home. Cleo and Imran are here.
Part of me wanted to hide for the entire day, but what good would that do? It was just another day, an insignificant moment that would be part of my blurry past soon. Not the happiest time of my life. That had been snatched away from me for good.
I got back to the apartment at noon, finding the three of them on the balcony, eating tapas and drinking wine. Thomas sat with his back safely tucked against the wall, as far away from the railing as possible.
A lull fell in the conversation when I joined them, and while I didn’t think they’d been talking about me, I knew what they were all thinking now. Cleo was the first to approach me.
“Ollie,” she whispered and hugged me.
“It’s fine. It’s just another day.”
“But it’s not,” Imran said. “You can’t pretend it doesn’t mean anything.”
“We thought . . . we could do something.” Thomas rose to his feet. “A little ceremony of our own. To remember him.”
I shook my head. “I don’t—”
“You need to share your grief, Ollie. Or you’re never going to get over it.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get over it,” I said. “Maybe I don’t want to forget.”
“This isn’t about forgetting.” Thomas reached into his pocket. “It’s about remembering.”
I stared at the white velvet pouch in his hand. With trembling fingers I took it from him and opened it. Two heavy platinum rings dropped into my palm, cold and glittering in the midday sun. I covered my mouth, afraid of the sound that might come out.
“Wait,” Imran said. “Why do you have those? I was his best man.” And Cleo had been my “best lady.”
“He thought you’d forget them with your brain still half stuck in the hospital,” Cleo said. “Or that you’d get called in for surgery and you’d forget to hand over the rings to me and they’d be standing at the altar, ringless.”
Thomas was trying not to laugh at Imran’s outraged expression but failed. “I’m sorry,” he said—to me or Imran, I didn’t know.
“No, you’re right.” I closed my fingers around the rings. “Let’s go remember him. I know just the place.”
I wasn’t a religious person, but when I’d visited the Abbaye de Clairefontaine as an eleven-year-old boy, I’d been awestruck. The church and cloister stood regally by the side of the Semois River, with a very green wall of forest at their backs and no houses nearby. The Cistercian sisters lived there and offered a space for peaceful retreat to those who wanted it.
When we left the apartment, everyone had been pretty subdued, but as we walked onto the grounds of the abbey, the silence grew almost reverent. Because I figured there was no hurry, we visited the church, browsed the little gift shop, and then walked the grounds until I found the spot I’d been looking for. A tiny beach hugged the shore of the Semois, and when I took off my shoes and socks, everyone else followed suit.
“So when I came here when I was eleven, Sam was here too,” I said to no one in particular. “We were in the same class that year. In fact I think that was the last time. After that we were always in different classrooms. We’d snuck away from the tour guide and stuck our hot feet in the water. We’d been walking all day and were . . . tired of it, I guess.” I walked up to the water and let it lap at my toes. “I remember having these weird feelings for him. He was my friend, but . . . at the same time I thought things about him that were confusing and a little bit scary and . . . he knew. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but he used to look at me in a certain way and tell me everything would work out fine. Even then he was looking out for me. Protecting me. And he was right. It did turn out fine. For a while.” I fell silent, having to take a moment to let the burn in my throat subside. A hand came to rest on my back, and I didn’t have to look to know it was Thomas. “I think he saved my life that night,” I whispered. “He stepped between us, and the guy stabbed him. I think it should’ve been me. It should’ve been—”
“Oh, Ollie.” Cleo wriggled her way under my shoulder and wrapped her arms around me. The hand on my back slid to my neck and squeezed slightly. “You can’t think like that,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said. “I know.” But in my darkest hours I wished that it’d been me. Sometimes I couldn’t help feeling like Sam had it easy. He didn’t feel any pain anymore, didn’t have to go through the drudgery of getting up in the morning, or enduring those moments in the night when nothing seemed worth continuing for. I couldn’t tell my friends that though. I couldn’t tell anyone how I sometimes felt. “He’s gone and I’m here and that means I have to go on for as long as I need to. I . . .” I looked out over the river, the current sweeping past us and licking at our toes. “I miss you so much, Sammy. I’ll never forget you. I’ll never love anyone the way I loved you.”
Cleo gently let go of me, and Imran hugged me and patted me hard on the back. Everyone said a few words after that, apart from Thomas, who looked too choked up to say
anything at all. I pulled the white velvet pouch from my pocket and let the heavy platinum rings slide into my palm. For a fraction of a second I considered throwing them in the water, but I didn’t. I’d have them turned into a necklace. Something simple and elegant, with maybe an infinity sign or something. I ran my thumb over the smooth metal of the smaller ring. I’d never tried it on. And I never would.
We stood at the water for a while longer. By the time we left, I felt oddly . . . cleansed. I even suggested going out for drinks that night, and everyone perked up—apart from Thomas, who remained subdued all night. Regardless of his near-silence, he pulled a pretty girl called Marjory and ended up bringing her home with us.
We drank more wine on the balcony—Thomas staying safely against the wall—until I was too tired to keep my eyes open. This day hadn’t gone the way I wanted. In a different world, I’d be alone with Sam now. We’d retreat to our bedroom, where we’d make love as husband and husband, till death do us part. The death part wasn’t supposed to come first, but I could do nothing but go on, one foot in front of the other.
I couldn’t sleep, which was turning into a habit. Foreign bed, no one beside me. Too much strong coffee in the afternoon with added wine in the evening, resulting in a full bladder. That was why I heard the noise and crept out of my room to peer over the balcony leading to the stairs. I couldn’t see much at first, but I heard something again, so I stayed where I was until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I didn’t think anyone was breaking in, but maybe someone else was suffering from insomnia. We could keep each other company.
Making sure I trod carefully on the creaky landing so I didn’t wake anyone else, I eased along, barefoot and wearing nothing but my boxers, and looked down into the kitchen. No one. I shuffled the other way so I could see the couch tucked away from the huge windows. And what I saw took my breath away.
Marjory was straddling Thomas, both of them buck naked, their hair hanging loose and sweaty over their backs. She moved sensuously, slowly, guided by his large hands—dark against her alabaster skin—and I saw his cock disappear into her. His thighs flexed. I couldn’t see his face because he was kissing her, but I heard him moan. I saw how his knees trembled slightly. I saw how his hands gripped her waist, her back, her butt. He pushed deeper, and she sighed into his mouth. His cock reappeared and the condom around it glistened. He kissed her harder, cupping her head as he bent her backward. His hair swung over his left shoulder and his neck was bared to me, oddly vulnerable.