Chapter Thirty-Three

Hank

Now

It wasn’t until the winter sun dipped behind the treetops and the mourning doves had long disappeared that Hank went inside, his knees protesting from staying outside in the cold for too long. Walking into his kitchen, he poured water into the pot and started the coffeemaker. On instinct, he grabbed two mugs from the counter. The deer in the middle of the moss green cup— Finn’s cup —looking back at him accusingly. Yeah, I know. Don’t need you to tell me, too. I messed up. But what could I do? He needs to be with his family, not with some old nobody from nowhere. And… he was talking to a coffee cup now. Great. Just great. Putting the cup in the cupboard, the deer facing away from him, he closed the door and stared out of the window, waiting for the coffee to brew.

It was snowing again, the white covering everything, perhaps in a merciful attempt to erase every trace of him . The tire tracks from the FIAT leading away from Hank’s house, the outline of his boot prints in the snow. The row of pine cones that Finn had gathered in the woods every day, lining them up next to each other, smaller ones on one side of the porch railing, the bigger ones on the other side.

‘Aren’t they beautiful, Hank? From afar, so similar, but up close, you can tell that they’re all truly different. Unique in their own way.’

When the coffee was done brewing and quiet once again filled the room, he poured himself a large cup. It wasn’t until he pulled out his chair that he noticed the two bright white envelopes in the middle of the table, his name written on the front in delicate lettering. Hank. For a couple of seconds, it felt like his legs were finally going to give way beneath him, and he grabbed the back of the chair impossibly tight, steadying himself. Inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with a relieving breath, then another, he sat down in his chair, the wood whining beneath him, and just stared at the letters. For how long exactly, he couldn’t tell, but the light changed in the small kitchen, the lemon-colored walls growing darker, the shadows from the pine trees dancing across the surfaces.

Several times he reached for the letters, only to withdraw his fingers like he’d burned himself. Placing his hand on the lavender tablecloth, his fist clenched and unclenched like his own miserable heart that he now cursed for leading him astray and for bailing on him. For breaking the pact that he’d made with his stupid, traitorous heart after Eugene died; to never let himself feel something like that again. That that part of him began and ended with Eugene. But like a newborn, blue at first, with that first life-giving breath stuck in its lungs, his heart—dormant and lifeless for almost seven years—had gone rogue on him and burst through his chest and sucked in a deep breath.

I wanna live , his heart had screamed at him . I wanna feel alive again, goddamnit! And as if that hadn’t been enough, his heart had gone all greedy, too. And I want him! It had cried. Him!

And then his damn dick had joined in, too. Not only poking at him at random times throughout the day, but keeping him awake at night, too. A dull itch at first, then growing in power each day spent with Finn, until the yearning became all-consuming and unbearable. And his heart had had a field day, hadn’t it? If you’re not ready to listen to me, then listen to your dick, it had chimed in. One time buried inside that sweet ass won’t hurt ya. You’re a guy. A guy with needs. Just one time… C’mon… He’ll be gone soon, anyway. In the end, of course, he’d succumbed to the peer pressure, his damn traitor of a heart and his bully of a dick too powerful to repress.

He wasn’t going to read the letters. He wasn’t. It would only bring him more misery. More self-loathing. Maybe it was Finn’s final rant. All the unspoken words written across Finn’s beautiful face this morning. All the whys and the if onlys . All the maybes and the one days . Shit, Finn had even put himself out there, hadn’t he? Asking Hank to come to Oregon sometime. And he’d just stood there, stupefied and paralyzed, like some… like some damn coward.

So, no, he wasn’t going to read the letters. And he wasn’t going to wonder about why there were two of them. That’s what he kept telling himself right up until he was lying in his bed and the darkness, and the silence became too overwhelming, and he just needed to hear Finn’s voice one last time. He just needed to hear his name on Finn’s tongue again, and it didn’t matter if it was spoken with resentment or anger. Or with disappointment and resignation. He just needed to hear it.

So, he opened the letter with a parenthesis on the back that said PLEASE OPEN THIS ONE INSTEAD, HANK . And he couldn’t help chuckling miserably because it was just such a Finn thing to do, his mind such a weird and wonderful place most days. Finn making him wonder even long after he’d gone why he’d left two letters when he’d obviously only wanted Hank to read the one. So, as a final gesture to Finn, he read that one.

Dear Hank,

As you can see, I wrote you two letters. If you had read the Finn Being Selfless one (I didn’t title it that, obviously), then I would’ve told you it was nice meeting you and that I’m grateful for everything you did for me. Some egotistical part of me hopes you didn’t—and that you never will—read that letter and that you open this one instead. Please open this one instead, Hank! (I did, in fact, write that on the envelope).

By now, I’ll have gone home to fix things like you suggested. I need to sort things out with my family—you were right about that, at least. But you weren’t right about all the things you never told me. All the things I always heard between the lines, in the small pauses and the silence between us. That you think you’ve got nothing to offer me. That’s not true. You’ve given me so much and if you wanted to, you could give me even more. I’m sure of it.

You never told me your heart left your body the day Eugene died. You didn’t have to. You never told me it’s not yours to give away again. And it’s true. It belongs to him. But that’s okay—he can have it. I never wanted it in the first place. Eugene can have your heart—it is, after all, just a muscle, nothing more, nothing less—I only ever wanted the rest of you.

You probably think that’s not enough. I think it’s plenty. More than I ever imagined, anyway. Because I’d get to have your smile and your beautiful eyes. I’d get your beard to scratch my chin and your mouth to mark my thighs. I’d get your low hum in the kitchen in the morning when you think I’m still asleep and you listen to Rod . And yes, in case you were wondering, I do think ya sexy . I’d get to have your hands touching me, and your arms holding me oh-so-tight that all the hurt goes away. If you think that’s not enough, then you don’t see what I see or feel what I feel when you look at or touch me.

We aren’t selfish people, Hank, although, at times, I wish we were. Our love—because it is love—is not a selfish one. There’s room for Eugene too. I think there needs to be. Because he is as much a part of you as your eyes, your lips, your hands, and your magnificent cock. And if I would just quit being selfless for one fucking second, then I’d tell you that I want every part of you. Not just the ones that you think are pretty and neat and then you hide away the ugly parts. How is it that you think that there’s no room for your ugly broken parts when you accept mine so easily and unconditionally? Even if the parts are broken, they can still make something. Be something. It might not be what you thought you’d end up with, but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t as equally beautiful and strong. That it isn’t something, in its own right, instead of nothing.

I hope you can see that one day, too. In my own selfish way, I hope it will be with me, but if it can’t, then at least promise me you won’t spend your days alone.

I’ve left my parents’ address with Henry. He says I need to be patient. That you are a stubborn man and that it runs in the Dietrich family. He says loving a Dietrich man is like running up a hill with a heavy backpack strapped to your back. It’s hard, and you wanna give up, cursing all the way, but when you get up there, the arms holding you are the strongest you’ll ever feel, and the view is the best you’ve ever seen. It will take your breath away, he says.

Please, Hank, when you’re ready, come take my breath away again like you did every day for the past month and eighteen days.

I’ll see you when I see you. I love you,

Your Finn