56. Davis

Another step in their relationship, Davis imagined as he unlocked the door to Jeremy’s house. A date that involved time between them and a glass of wine in Jeremy’s hand and nothing was odd about it. Sitting down at a table in an Italian restaurant that reminded him of the ones in his hometown, with the red and white checkered tablecloths and someone’s nonna’s recipe used for the sauce with a healthy pinch of sugar.

Davis had kissed people who had been drinking since he’d become sober, but he hadn’t given it the time of day. But Jeremy, sweet, wonderful Jeremy, had been giving up a small, simple pleasure of his to make sure that he could kiss Davis.

He had driven them back after Jeremy had thrust the key into his hand.

“My tolerance was always shit,” Jeremy said, walking unsteadily into the house and plopping onto his couch. He kicked at his shoes before Davis came over and helped him out of his designer boots that wouldn’t actually last as much as a mile on the trail that was meant for elderly guests.

I should buy him a better pair of hiking boots.

“But it’s even worse now, which is fine,” he giggled, that loud honk of a laugh that warmed Davis’s heart.

“Let me get you a water, babe,” Davis said, pushing off the couch and heading to the kitchen. He loved Jeremy’s kitchen, with its shelves meant for small, prewar humans who were Davis’s height, but he still missed his kitchen. Jeremy had, in Davis’s opinion, an absolutely nonsensical way of organizing his dishes (bowls on top of plates?) and he put the wrong size of fork up front in the silverware drawer. He poured Jeremy a glass of water from the purifier in the fridge, then grabbed a sparkling water for himself. His heart thudded an extra beat when he realized that all the flavors that Jeremy kept were Davis’s favorites.

They were making space for each other in these small ways that led up to something huge.

“Here, take this and drink it,” Davis said, and Jeremy did. Davis sipped a seltzer and drew idle lines up and down Jeremy’s arm, enjoying the way tiny goose bumps sprouted in the wake of his fingertip.

“Can we watch a movie or something?” Jeremy asked, his clear blue eyes turning into pleading circles.

Davis scoffed, as if it was the most difficult task in the world. “What are you in the mood for?”

“The one with the rat that cooks,” Jeremy said, sliding himself sideways.

“Nope, uh-uh,” Davis said, getting up.

“Do you hate the French?” Jeremy asked.

“No, I have no thoughts on the Fr— no, it’s the fact that rats shouldn’t be in a kitchen. I saw too many things when I cleaned the chicken fryer and when I worked at a diner in Morgantown. I don’t want to entertain the idea that rats are anything but nuisances and carriers of the plague,” Davis explained.

Jeremy, to his credit, burst out laughing, that goose-like honk echoing throughout the living room.

“I love your laugh,” Davis said when Jeremy had settled down and caught his breath.

“It’s my dad’s laugh,” Jeremy said. “I hated it all the time growing up, tried to hide it, but when he was gone, I missed hearing it. So I laugh like that.” He smiled. “My dad would have liked you, I think. He was good with his hands, liked to tinker with things.”

“I bet my gram would have liked you. She didn’t finish high school, but she read all the time. Probably knew about all those artists on your bookshelf. May have been the smartest person I ever met, even though she had an accent thicker than my own.”

“I like your accent,” Jeremy replied. “It’s like a little history book of where Nathaniel Davis is from.”

“You’re gonna make a man full of himself,” Davis said as Jeremy nestled his head against Davis’s neck. Three deep breaths, and Jeremy was almost falling asleep.

“Ah-ah. No, no, no,” Davis said, poking Jeremy in the side to wake him up. “You’re not going to make me fall asleep on this couch.”

“You’ve grown to appreciate my couch,” Jeremy mumbled.

“I tolerate it. But I’m not sleeping here.” With that, he poked Jeremy again, to get him to move, but also so he could hear that laugh again.

“I love you,” Jeremy said, seeming like the words tumbled out of his mouth as his laughter subsided.Davis froze.

Jeremy loved him.

You should say something, you fucking idiot.

Jeremy tucked his face into Davis’s shoulder, his lanky body wrapping around Davis’s own. “You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s soon. I just…I just had to say it to you.”

“I’m sorry” is how Davis responded, which was the worst fucking way that he could imagine responding to his dream man confessing his love to him. “I’m not sorry for, uh, what you said. But, well, I’m sorry that I can’t— fuck — words are so hard for me, Jeremy, but—”

And Davis decided that he could use his mouth in a different way to show Jeremy all the mixed-up and confused feelings that were swirling around in his chest. So he dropped his mouth to Jeremy’s temple and whispered, “I’m glad you’re in my life.”