Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Luke

My mother's orchid garden was where I saw her more often than not. She had converted the northernmost room on the ground floor of her new house into a sunroom for her orchids, and her extensive research had become a thing she spoke of nearly every time I called. And since Lucy left for college on the West Coast, Mother could lose herself in the sunroom tending her orchids until her stomach knotted with hunger. She was becoming forgetful of most things beyond the room.

At times, I had to remind myself that she wasn't intentionally negligent. Even so, letting myself hold a grudge had become easier since Paris.

"And…you, darling? How are you?" She didn't look over her shoulder. Very carefully, she was measuring where to snip the passing flower. I had once made the grave mistake of asking her what would be left of the pl ant if she cut it all off. The question was followed by a university-level lecture on the biology of orchids and the power supply that was more necessary for their healthy roots and waxy leaves. "The flower will pass because it has to. And once it's over, there's no bringing it back." The gloom had been an unnecessary parallel with my own life at the time. I had just finished a piece of writing for a magazine, and nobody had offered me a new opportunity. I had realized that it was time to strike out on my own. That had been six months ago, and things were not much better.

"Good," I replied. Going into detail didn't serve any purpose. My mother could tune nearly everything out when she was in her world. It was hard to remember the wrought-iron woman she had been, controlling nearly all aspects of my life. It was hard to remember it because I never felt completely free of responsibility for the distracted person she had become.

Ultimately, it had never been about staying or leaving. It had only been about me embracing my sexuality or denouncing it. "You are wrong, darling," she had told me once. "I have many gay friends." And that was when I knew she didn't know the first thing she was talking about.

"Good?" she prodded now, snipping off a tall orchid branch with waning white- and pink-specked blooms. "See? This is the one I rescued. That vile woman on the corner was getting ready to throw it away until I asked to have it." Mom sniffed contemptuously. She had ended up paying ten bucks for the nearly rotten thing. Treating its roots and nursing it back to life had taken months.

In the middle of the sunroom was a heavy worktable. A smooth slab of wood six feet long and two feet wide made up the cluttered surface, with dirt and compost staining it, and iron framework made up the legs. Mother had changed the parquette floor into stone tiles before converting the room. Shelves upon shelves were dotted with orchids in pots, and she knew each one on a personal level. This one was from Lucy. She always looks out for new ones , or, that one I bought as a treat on your father and my wedding anniversary .

I couldn't tell any two apart unless they were in full bloom. And even then, I could only say one was yellow and the other violet.

"Yes," I said, sighing. The Chinese takeout was getting cold, and I was getting upset. I had been avoiding these visits as of late. Too much about them reminded me of how unpredictable life could be. And that was the last thing I needed reminding of when I was struggling to find work.

"And school?" Mom asked.

"It's going well," I replied. She hadn't shown an ounce of interest in my studies when I was a freshman. I didn't see why it would be any different now that I was a senior. In all this time, she hadn't looked at a single piece of work I had produced.

I had pitched a new series to several outlets, then decided to contact agents. My work was now in inboxes all around New York, but based on the number of replies I had received, I was pretty certain my emails were in spam folders.

"Darling, I sense reservations from you. You've been moody as of late." Mom only looked at me briefly before shaking her head and returning her attention to the orchids.

It had been four years since I had taken my life into my own hands. It had been four years since I had decided I wouldn't be a doctor-lawyer-banker but an artist. But my phone rang before I could say anything, rescuing me from what could have turned into a confrontation—I detested confrontations. I wasn't expecting a call. The only people who called were telemarketers and potential employers.

"Can we do this later?" I asked as I pulled my vibrating phone from my pocket. Tight jeans did wonders for my calves, quads, and butt, yet the price was steep when I needed to answer a phone call. "Someone's call…" My voice cut off as a name I hadn't spoken aloud in the longest time glowed on my screen. "I…need to take this," I whispered, my heart leaping high before sinking low.

I stilled my hands at the onset of shivers that ran down my arms. Taking a step back, I turned on my heels and walked into the minimally designed interior of my mother's small living room. Walls were decorated with framed canvas prints of orchids, and a single shelf under the mounted flat-screen TV had a framed picture of my father, Lucy and me, and all of us together. I closed my eyes for a moment, tempting fate to do its worst, the phone buzzing in my hand .

When I answered, I pressed the screen hard against my ear. "H-hello?"

I could hear him inhale a shallow breath of air before speaking. "Luke?"

I clenched my teeth, my ear hurting from the pressure. "Hello," I said again, finding my voice. This was not a call I had hoped to get. Not after so long.

"Are you in town?" Rafael asked, his smile audible.

"Which town? We've done many." Hearing his voice again was enough to wake a fire in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't felt this warm and excited in too long. He had no right to make me this glad to just hear his voice.

"Your town," Rafael said softly.

I nodded before I could drag a confirmation from my lips.

"Good," he said. "I was afraid you'd be away."

If you'd ever called, you would know , I thought with enough spite to bristle, but I wouldn't say it. Not like this. "You're here?" I asked, butterflies in my stomach growing huge. It wasn't fair that he had this much sway over me.

"Only for today," he said. It was hard to read his feelings over the phone and from such a flat statement. Was it a warning? Don't fall in love with me by tonight . As if anything could stop me. "Are you free to see an old friend?"

"Um." Friend? What else? I blinked fast. "Let me check." Guilt squeezed my chest like stone weights. "I should…erm…I should be free." Why was I pretending to be busy? It made me feel like a child. But who was he to expect me to come to heel on moment's notice ?

I retracted that thought right away.

If there were anyone on this planet I would go to in a heartbeat, it was Rafael. No matter what happened before, it was always going to be Rafael. Not that I would tell him that.

"Oh, that's fantastic," he said with a relieved sigh. "How about a walk in the park?"

"A classic," I said, my heart filling with sensations that I hadn't realized I was still capable of.

The limits were clear as day. Not this cold and muggy day, though. I needed to keep the lid tight on my heart. He was passing through, and I was here. That was all.

And yet, as I waited to cross the street, I found him sitting on a bench at the very corner of Terrance Drive and Fifth Avenue. My heart gave a little throb, and I rubbed my hands against the sides of my legs. Bundled in a deep red jacket and with a brown beanie on top of my head, I wasn't exactly runway-ready. Not like Rafael. Never like Rafael.

He checked the time and stood up, not looking at the crowd of people around me waiting to cross the street. He wore cream chinos and a midnight shirt, a light gray scarf falling over the middle of his torso, and an unbuttoned black coat flapping lightly in the breeze. Behind him, the park was on fire. Fall had painted the world amber and brown and orange, damp fallen leaves covering the ground constantly despite the diligent people raking and sweeping and making little piles every day.

The pulse of traffic halted for a minute, and my crowd crossed the street. As people moved around Rafael, I slowed down. He wore black boots, ankle-high with inch-tall soles, making him taller than ever before. And when he turned on his heels, I was ready for him.

Our gazes locked on one another's faces. We stood as people sped by, heartbeats passed, and seasons changed. I gazed at his painfully beautiful face and reminded myself how I had always felt it wasn't fair for anyone to look that good. A dark shadow above his lips and over his chin hinted at a stylish mustache and beard, cropped short and perfect. His cheeks were still smooth, just like mine. The healthy glow of his bronze skin and the happy glimmer in his dark eyes made my heart perform a happy dance in my chest.

Without a word, we leaned close to one another. The hug he wrapped me into was everything I had been missing in life. Not a single trouble remained when his warmth enveloped me.

"God, it's good to see you," Rafael said, his face pressing hard against the side of mine. I could have sworn he turned his head a little and inhaled deeply the scent of my hair where the beanie had lifted. The gentle hmm he produced afterward confirmed that the lavender shampoo had found its way to Rafael's nostrils.

"It's good to…see you, too," I murmured. The words failed to come close to the truth. To feel you. To hold you. To gaze at you like you're my last sunset and all my business is already settled. The gratification I found in being so near him faded when compared to the pride I felt in his happiness to see me. Did I matter that much? It seemed so.

Rafael pulled back from me, the satisfaction apparent on his face. And after a moment of inspecting me, he lifted his perfect eyebrows. "You never called." It was an accusation as clear as any, but nothing stung when Rafael said it in that cheeky tone.

"You never called," I argued, frowning at him.

We stared at each other without blinking for a heartbeat or two before he grinned. "We're good, right?"

"Always." And that was the end of it. If there ever was a timeline in which I held a grudge, it was a miserable one. Whatever had happened before was far out of our reach. Nothing could be done about it. And nothing could change what was coming tomorrow. Our lives were fixed in a way that would never let us be together for more than a day.

Rafael licked his lips and tilted his head toward the slope leading to Conservatory Water. We crossed Terrace Drive shoulder to shoulder.

"I still want to know what you were up to the last two years," I said. Even if I wasn't angry for the silence he'd given me after that disastrous day in Austria, I wanted to know where his life had taken him. His fingers were free of rings, which meant he hadn't gotten married in the meantime.

My heart sank. That man. Had he survived?

"Where do I start?" Rafael asked.

A sliver of envy made itself known somewhere in the deepest, most secret part of my heart. His life was so full, while mine had gone nowhere. What did I have to show for the two and a half years that had gone by? And in another five, would Rafael see me again and find that I was unchanged, stagnant, and boring?

"Start with that night," I said. We didn't have time for pleasantries. We didn't have time to chat. I wanted to be consumed by this moment, devoured by the intensity of his company. I wanted to spiral off this planet with him and roam the stars until his departure. "What happened to the guy you were dating?"

Rafael glanced at me, then let his gaze roam over the fiery canopy. "He lived." Rafael's tone was so calm that I knew not everything was alright. He hesitated, tilted his head this way and that, and looked into my eyes with a sad smile. "You really know how to break the ice, Luke."

"What happened?" If he could hear the faintest trace of the alarms screaming inside my head, he wouldn't be stalling like this.

Rafael sucked his teeth. "By the time I got there, he was awake. When I walked in, he…" A shudder passed through Rafael. "He cried like a child, Luke. He cried and begged me not to leave him. I'd never seen him like that. He said I was all he saw in that moment before…before it all became too painful, and he passed out." Rafael shook his head and rolled his shoulders, his coat hugging them tightly and emphasizing once again how perfectly sculpted his body had remained through the years. "So I nursed him." He said it simply, almost the way my mother talked about her orchids, and gave it no importance at all. As if giving his life for the benefit of his boyfriend was the least he could have done. "I nurs ed him back to strength, bit by bit, until he could walk again. And then some more until he could manage some chores. And more until he could ride his bike and go to the gym and run in the park. And still, I nursed him. Doted on him and took care of him. Helped him rebuild his old strength until he could lift a bowl of soup from the dinner table and smash it against my head." He lifted a finger to his temple, where a pale little scar added to the scar above his eyebrow.

My heart burned with fury. "He should have died on that mountain," I growled. I couldn't feel my legs. Something big and cold filled my stomach as if I'd swallowed a frozen bowling ball.

Rafael shook his head.

"You should have told me," I whispered. What would I have done? Would I have gone to London to bury that horrible man alive?

"Really?" Rafael asked pointedly. "After leaving you in Kufstein, I should have told you that all my guilt had gotten me was three more stitches. Luke, you were the last person I wanted to see."

It would be a lie if I said hearing this didn't hurt. The fact that I understood precisely what he meant didn't help. But Rafael counted on me to understand it. He had been embarrassed. Too many people had been in his shoes and returned to those who had power over them for the same reason. "What happened then?" I whispered over the anger that choked me.

"I left." He started walking again, and I had no choice but to catch up. "To India, actually. I told no one. Stitches and all, I packed the bare minimum, left my keys in the bowl in the hallway, and bought a one-way ticket to New Delhi. That was, oh, almost two years ago. Dad tracked me down a month later through my cash withdrawals. It took some serious work, but they did it. I refused to speak to anyone, least of all Dad. He acted like he had no idea, but they all knew things weren't as rosy as they looked. So I kept moving because I couldn't stop there. I couldn't stop running, even when nobody was after me anymore. I got busy with photography, moving from one place to the other. I flew to Bangkok, almost died in Khao San Road, got mugged on the train, fought like hell to get my life back, and then I moved on. Phnom Penh, Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi. I got mugged a couple more times, but I can't tell you where. When I lost my camera about a year ago, I knew it was time to go back to the real world, and that terrified me more than spending three nights on a bench by Hoan Kiem Lake. I was lucky I still had my passport and my card to return home."

I took his forearm and pulled him to a stop. Perhaps he was inhaling to ask me what I was doing, but I didn't let him get that far. My arms wrapped around him so tightly that it was almost like I never meant to let him go. And that was close to the truth. For all I had told myself over two years earlier, I had failed to let him go. I had refused to kiss anyone else—not that boys were lining up to flirt with me and beg for my kisses. I had forgotten about that part of myself when Rafael left. I had killed all hope that I could ever have it. If it isn't with you, I don't want it .

"I'm glad you're alive," I said. "And done running. "

"Oh, I'm done," Rafael said, his deep voice vibrating through me. My head rested in the crook of his neck for a short time longer, and then I pulled away from him. "I thought of you."

I thought of you, too . But instead of saying anything, I gave him a little smile.

"Enough now," Rafael said in a cheery tone that matched nothing about his reserved posture. "Tell me about your life." His hand found its way to mine, and the warm touch was more welcome than the first sip of coffee on a snowy winter morning.

"Oh, that's easy," I said, my attention never shifting from our threaded fingers. Was this what old friends were always like? I wouldn't know. "Nothing important happened to me."

"Lies," Rafael said, tugging my hand gently as he began walking. Holding on to him, I trotted quickly until we were shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped like they would never part.

"I missed this," I told him. "I didn't even realize how much."

Rafael looked at me with big, hopeful eyes. "Mm, you're avoiding my question. What's happened since I last saw you?"

I shrugged. "I told you. Not much happens around here." But when he decided not to steer our conversation away, I had to speak again. "I finished a gig that was keeping me busy for the better part of the year. Now, I'm between jobs. Well, I've been between jobs for a long time."

Rafael squeezed my hand as if to say it would all work out just fine. "Any boyfriends? Great romances or casual meetups?"

I snorted hard enough to frighten the fearless New York pigeons.

"Ah, that's a ‘no,' I'm guessing." Rafael's tone rose high by the end.

"It's a definite no," I confirmed. "Who has the time for boyfriends?"

He rolled his shoulders in a guileless shrug. "You made time for me."

"You're different," I said right away. I would always make time for him. "It's been too long, Rafael." I didn't make it sound like an accusation. After all, when he'd left me on the Kufstein fortress, I gave him silence in return for silence. Countless times, I had wondered what his life was like and what could have been had the stars aligned, but I hadn't dared poke the wounds that had never properly healed.

We slowed down to a halt, and Rafael looked at me as if he wanted to read my mind. "What do we do?" he asked in a much more hushed tone. "You have a life here. And I have something like a life in London."

"I know." And to pretend that some sort of long-distance relationship could work for our kind was the quickest path to despair and disappointment. "When do you go back?"

"At midnight. From JFK," Rafael said after a moment of hesitation.

I nodded. We didn't have a lot. We never had a lot. But it was more than I had been hoping for. Sometimes, a few extra hours made all the difference. So I let go of his hand and rubbed both of mine together. "Alright."

"Is that an idea that you're having?" Rafael asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

I lifted my chin a little. "It's better than that. It's a plan." Our gazes met, and I let him wait a bit. "If we have to keep saying goodbye, that's okay. But I'm not letting that ruin what little time we have."

"Oh?" He perked up, his hands taking mine, our torsos touching.

"I'm making an executive decision," I said. "We're going on a date—a real one."

Rafael's eyebrows rose a little, and he suppressed a smile. "I think I like this dominant Luke."

"You better," I said. "You're stuck with him till midnight."

Rafael threw his head back and laughed. His laughter brought me relief, elation, and sheer joy, lifting my heart to new heights. I couldn't make him mine forever—I couldn't even begin. But I could have him for a day and a night.