Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Luke

Rafael's letter should not have surprised me the way it did. He remembered everything he wanted to remember, including the address of a small apartment on the corner of St. Mark's and Carlton Avenues.

The day had already been long and draining, and Rafael's absence from my life was weighing me down more than I should have on the winter evening when I found the letter in my mailbox. Some days, even though we spoke over the phone, it felt as though my heart just wasn't whole. On other days, it still wasn't complete, but I felt it less acutely. Packaged in a brown envelope and written in calligraphy on aged stock paper just for the sake of pizzazz, the letter was one paragraph long.

Dear Luke,

I hope your chicken Pad Thai was delicious. Can you believe it's been seventy-eight days? I said I would count. I only wish I were counting down to something, but my fortune-teller can't give me a straight answer however many times I ask. I'd say I hope you're doing well, but I know that you are. We spoke twenty minutes ago. And yes, I am still eating the Christmas leftovers. Probably even by the time you read this. Happy 2019, Luke.

Swooning,

Rafael .

I pressed the letter hard against my chest. He didn't need to write it. We had spoken that night and on New Year's Eve, which was hours into 2019 for him. We were going to speak again in a little over a week. I knew he was on a family trip to the highlands. I knew he was querying photography and travel magazines for work. I knew everything that was happening in the Galaxy of Rafael Santos.

Somewhere in my clenching heart, I also knew I wasn't likely to see him soon. In the three months since our last encounter, he had left me full of courage and optimism. I had set out to take from life all that I wanted. It hadn't been easy, and I had been rejected more times than I could count, but I finally had an agent for my graphic novels and a small selection of interested imprints asking for story details. The urban fantasy I was working on blended the well-worn and beloved tropes of the genre with serious themes of trauma, identity, and self-acceptance. For one reason or another, publishers were finally showing interest. And the protagonist's ever-elusive love interest was becoming my favorite character in the new iteration of the story.

I flipped through my sketchbook, where I had begun practicing anew after gifting the old one to Rafael. The characters and storyboards I had developed were my new home. The worlds I had created for the main hero and the one he falls into were where I escaped when I was desperate.

I hated to admit it, but I was desperate often enough to have created more material in my sketchbooks than I could ever use. And it wasn't only that I longed to see Rafael when I knew I couldn't. My life was a mess in every direction I checked. All this work was costing me time that should have been dedicated to preparing to graduate. And the stalling in my studies gave my mother more than enough to complain about.

As winter gave way to spring, my mother's cold disregard for everything I had attempted to build was such that I once stood up from the dinner table and walked away without a word. It took her a week to call me. And when she did, her tone and words were such that you would never think we'd had a confrontation at all.

"It's frustrating," I admitted to Rafael and Rafael alone. "I can't remember the last time she apologized for anything. It's like she has the right to say whatever nasty thing she wants and goes on pretending nothing has happened. She thinks she was right, you know?"

"I know," Rafael said in a tone that carried such deep compassion that I couldn't stop the smile from stretching my lips. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"What can I do? If I say something, she'll just tell me I'm beating a dead horse. If I don't, she wins." I let out a tired sigh. "I must be so much fun to talk to."

He let out a soft chuckle as if to lovingly scold me for that remark. "Luke, I want to know your problems."

And my heart grew twice its size just like that.

We continued to speak over the phone and compromise over the five-hour difference between us. Sometimes, I would get up very early to catch him before work. At other times, he would stay up late to speak to me. And no matter what, we never went longer than ten days without a call, even if life became so messy that the calls lasted ten minutes. Rafael never missed one, and I scolded myself for thinking that he might.

When I was a child, I didn't think tragedies could happen to me. They were the stuff stories were made of, not real life. And when my father was killed in a freak accident, I was too young to understand that everyone was at risk of tragedy. Somehow, that knowledge, which was always purely factual in my conscious mind, faded away. I didn't know it until it snuck up on me, but I had forgotten that sudden loss could happen to me, not just the strangers in the news.

My mother's funeral showed no signs that it had been put together in a rush by someone numb with shock. The days between receiving the news and standing at the entrance to the church in order to shake hands and accept condolences were many and few at the same time. I had stopped counting. It was too difficult to parse through the hours and tell the difference between night and day. Words of compassion and kindness slid off me like water off a duck's oily feathers. I heard them, the words and voices, and felt them, the squeezes and pats, but they didn't penetrate the hard shell around me.

Even as I watched the church fill with my mother's friends and acquaintances, I wasn't completely aware that this was happening. Words like sudden and undetected and aneurism were thrown around by people who probably knew what they were talking about. Lucy arrived in the hell of preparations with Tony, a boyfriend I'd only heard of from my mother.

August heat made my shirt stick to my back. The slender black tie around my neck strangled me, the stiff collar itched, and my shoes weren't broken in properly. My feet would blister by the end of the service, let alone the day.

To her credit, Lucy was sociable enough to handle the people who occupied the seats. The hard-faced Tony stood by her side like a pillar she could lean on and like a tree to give her shade against the heat. The stuffiness in the air whispered of the rain that had been a long time coming.

"I think it might rain," I said. The colors of the world outside the church doors were washed, and sunlight filtered through a thick layer of white clouds.

Lucy thanked an elderly gentleman for his condolences.

"Would you mind if I…?" I wasn't sure where I meant to go or what I wanted to do. Lucy wrapped her fingers around my upper arm and nudged me to go when my question lingered in confused silence .

"Go and sit down a little," she whispered. "Tony."

Very promptly, Tony put a hand on my shoulder and led the way to the other end of the church, where a small family room offered some privacy. "Can I get you anything, Luke?" he asked.

You couldn't tell he was a big, stone-faced man from the gentle tone he used. "No. Thank you, Tony. You've, uh…" I sat down in a worn armchair, my pressed shirt tightening around my torso like it wanted to squeeze the life out of me. I stuck a finger under my collar and pulled it from my neck, taking a deep breath of stuffy, humid air that came through the window.

Lucy would drag me out any minute now. The service was about to start, and I still couldn't make my mind accept the reason I was here. I knew what it was. I knew it very clearly, yet the weight of it kept bouncing from my thoughts as though it was a thought too big and too spiky to fit inside my skull. There was a card with words on it inside my breast pocket. Words I had written and could not remember. So when the door began creaking, I stood up, back stiff and shoulders squared, ready to walk out and speak my words. But it wasn't Lucy, and it wasn't Tony.

A shudder passed through me, and I released a deep breath that was as close to a sob as I had gotten in the last few days. "Rafael," I whispered, my body melting into his as he wrapped his arms around me. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Of course I came," Rafael said softly, his lips on the top of my head, kissing my hair and inhaling deeply while his arms tightened around me, giving me the comfort I hadn't realized I needed. "Despite what you said, I knew you needed friendly faces, Luke."

I couldn't recall what I had told him. He had been calling daily in the hours when he should have been asleep. Now, his firm grip was all that kept me standing. I wondered if I would collapse if he released me, but I didn't get to find out because Rafael simply didn't let go.

Leaning against him, I rested my head on his shoulder. How I had hoped to see him all these months, and it took a sudden loss to bring him to me. It wasn't fair. I had wanted us to laugh and flirt and dance, not be numb with shock.

The early afternoon was a blur. I could hardly keep track of the condolences and the faces. The ceremony was lovely, someone had told me later, and my words "were moving. Truly a gift." Later, I would recall that my voice had cracked once and that I had paused for a sip of water, but the ice had cooled it down so much that it felt like I had swallowed a large cube that remained in my hollow chest and stomach for the rest of the day. It wasn't until long after the maze of polite chatter and words of comfort that failed to penetrate my shell that I was alone with Rafael. Tony had persuaded Lucy to lie down, and she was finally asleep. I couldn't imagine falling asleep now. I was burning the last reserve of energy because I didn't dare close my eyes.

"Let's go for a walk," I said in what I imagined was a normal tone. It must have been a little dull and distant because Rafael's brow wrinkled. He tapped his knees and smoothed his face in no time.

"Let's." He was on his feet with one arm extended toward me. I took his hand and allowed him to lead me out of my mother's house in Brooklyn Heights.

Directionless, Rafael and I walked shoulder to shoulder. He wore a dark blue blazer over a crisp white shirt and a pair of matching blue pants. His brown shoes made me feel cruel for dragging him out to the hot asphalt of New York City on an August afternoon until I remembered that I was in my brand-new black shoes. My black suit jacket was back in my mother's house, and my sleeves were rolled up to my elbows, skinny arms hanging limply by my sides. "Thank you," I said.

"For what?" Rafael sounded genuinely bewildered.

"Everything." I appreciate his willingness to accompany me in my wandering, as much as I loved that he flew across the ocean to sit in the second row during the service. "This isn't how I imagined meeting you again."

"Nobody could have predicted it," Rafael agreed with quiet respect.

I fumbled for words as we reached Manhattan Bridge on foot. I had an idea of where I was heading, and the distance didn't frighten me. My feet were already screaming with pain, splitting and tearing through the middle after an entire day of standing in hard, unbroken leather. I wanted to say something nice to him. I wanted to tell him how sweet he was, but nothing was moving from my heart to my tongue.

We slowed down on the bridge, and a light breeze picked up from the East River, cooling the sweat-drenched fabric of my shirt.

"Luke," Rafael said gently. I wished he wouldn't treat me with so much pity. "I just want you to know you can tell me whatever's on your mind."

Nothing was on my mind.

He scratched the back of his handsome head. His hair had grown longer, and the mustache and chin beard were darker than the last time I had seen him. "I know what you're like," he said and paused for the persistent honking on the bridge to subside before continuing. "I know you'll feel like you shouldn't bother me or anyone who offers to listen. And maybe the others don't know you this well, and they believe you just need your quiet time, but I'm not like the rest of them."

When the inside of my lip stung, I realized I had been biting it. I gritted my teeth and stiffened my back. We were almost on the other side of the bridge, almost in Chinatown, but I halted and set my hands on the railing along the bridge and gazed at the river flowing away from us. You could almost breathe freely here, where the air kept moving and carried away the dampness. "I…don't have anything to say."

"Right." Rafael stood next to me, hands on the railing, his left arm touching my right. As I gazed out, I saw him looking at me from the corner of my eye.

"She's gone," I said flatly. "She's been gone for a week." My heart clenched. "And for a week before that, we hadn't spoken."

Rafael let out the shortest, saddest exhale in the history of nonverbal communication.

"No, it's not like that," I said. "I would have called a few days later." And now I can't . But I told him we were like that. We didn't chitchat. "There wasn't anything to talk about. There wasn't…she…" I snapped my mouth shut and held my breath. My eyes stung as anger bubbled to the surface. "She never asked, Rafael," I said in a near hiss. "Never, ever. About anything. Not about my work or my studies. She never asked about you. Not once since in all these years. It's like she never wondered if she'd made the right call that night. And I fucking hate myself for saying this, but it's like she didn't care." The anger made my voice rise higher. I cleared my throat. "I thought it would all change. Later. Someday, you know? In some future that had to still be ahead of us. I thought we would get it all out in the open, but we won't. Not now and not ever." My voice trembled as thoughts trickled down into my throat, and I let them pour out. I piled them all up on the only person I knew was strong enough to carry them.

"It's okay to be angry," Rafael said, his eyes never leaving my face, even as I refused to look at him straight on. I stared at the river, but I saw only him in that little corner to my right.

"Angry," I huffed. "I am angry. Because it makes me the asshole, you know? It means she'd moved on. It never crossed her mind to check. But me? I held this grudge for years. This and countless more." A sob burst from my chest like a panic attack lifting. I trembled and gripped the railing harder, barely aware of Rafael's arm around my shoulders. "Every time she made me feel like a confused child when I told her I was gay; every time I tried telling her I'd spoken to you; every time I said another goddamn magazine had the decency to send a rejection instead of ghosting me…I added a new grudge to the pile. To be resolved later ." The arm around my shoulders pulled me closer to Rafael. My throat tightened. I could only whisper. "And now we can't. She's…she's…" I didn't notice that I turned around. I didn't know I was pressing my brow hard against Rafael's round shoulder. I didn't realize that my voice was squeaking instead of whispering. "My mom is dead." I clutched the lapels of his dark blue blazer as tears surged into my eyes and rolled down my nose and cheeks.

And there, in the heat rising from the asphalt and the chaotic cacophony of city traffic pulsing on and off the Manhattan Bridge and with Rafael's arms around my shoulders to keep me upright, I cried for the very first time. I cried, and my nose ran, and my mouth opened wide as shudder upon an uncontrolled shudder rocked my body, and sobs rose from my chest, each liberating me a little more from the anger and guilt and regrets that I had been keeping close around my heart. Each was a brick in the wall I had built around myself. And each was dismantled once after another.

Heroes in movies were cute when they cried—puffy eyes, red noses, and tears glimmering on their long eyelashes. The real world wasn't so kind. As I fumbled for tissues in my pocket, Rafael found a pack in his blazer and offered me his. Rubbing my nose and eyes, I felt feverish and hollow. The pain I hadn't dared recognize disappeared.

This hollowness wasn't the same as the one that had plagued me for days. This was almost as though I was content. For the first time since Mrs. Brooks had called me in tears and panic to inform me that she had phoned 911, I felt a sliver of relief. Perhaps there was something like acceptance awaiting me in the future. Perhaps I could work through this.

I straightened and apologized to Rafael, who scolded me kindly for the latter. "Thank you, though," I said in the end before I started walking again. Occasional sobs rocked my chest, but they were few and far apart.

Only once we neared Greenwich Village did I take a deep breath of air and exhale it slowly. "I think I needed that."

"I think that, too," Rafael agreed.

We wandered between the brownstone buildings and redbrick venues until we reached a tucked-away neighborhood of Hudson Burrow with its rugged charm and busy venues. On the bank of the Hudson River, this historic spot was my destination whenever I felt particularly stuck on a story or yearned for Rafael too much to sit still.

"I want to show you something," I said in a tone that was oddly normal again. I was not fine, not by a long shot, but Rafael was here, and I couldn't imagine a better way to cope than to gaze into his eyes and feel the spark of hope that I would heal after this.

That was his superpower. He made you believe in the impossible. He made you think it would all be alright again.

"I started coming here after your last visit," I said. "Hudson Burrow. If you don't keep your eyes open, you'll miss it. It's just a few blocks across, and this is the heart of it. That's the old theater over there, and this…" I slowed down in front of a low redbrick venue with rainbow flags decorating its windows and the gutter along the roof. "This is where I sketch."

"Not in that armchair?" Rafael asked.

"There, too," I admitted. "But when I feel like I'm going crazy, this is where I come." I pulled the heavy doors of Neon Nights open and let Rafael enter the cozy and dim interior. "At night, it transforms into a club with a huge drag repertoire, but during the day, it's where people come to hang out, have coffee, snack, network…" We stood for a moment as the door closed behind our backs. Along the far right side of the venue, there was a wood-and-brick bar, a line of taps with all craft beers imaginable pulled my attention first, then the slim, tall bartender wiping a glass, and the mirror behind shelves upon shelves of various liquors stood behind him. The bar was L-shaped, and in the nearer right corner, a queen sat in full drag, reviewing the books. The space was cluttered with small wooden tables and mismatched chairs scattered around, which would later be cleared to create a dance floor. On the far end was a spacious stage for performers to compete and entertain the crowds at night. Beyond the bar was a door leading to the backyard terrace, and that was where I took Rafael. It was paved with red bricks and had space for dozens and dozens of small groups of people. Tables and chairs were placed under a canopy of colorful lightbulbs hanging from a dark green net, and lanterns added even more light and life when the night came .

"This is charming," Rafael said.

"After you left, I returned to the Stonewall Inn, but…" I couldn't force myself to go in without him. "Anyway, I walked around the neighborhood until I discovered this place. You wouldn't know what's hiding inside unless you walked straight in, huh?"

"Never in a million years," Rafael said, smiling softly. His eyes were warm and beautiful as we sat down, and he gazed at me without breaking his attention. Even when the beautiful big queen approached our table, Rafael took a beat before looking up.

"Luke, darling, you look like allergies are kicking your little behind," the queen said. She waved her hand with a long, ornate cigarette holder between her fingers.

"Mama Vivien," I said with a smile I had to dig up for the queen. "You're glowing."

"Alright, you little rogue, you don't need to shout it. I know I'm covered in sweat. The AC unit broke last night in the middle of a show. You should have seen the river of mascara."

Despite everything that had happened in the last few days, a laugh broke out of me and surprised me before anyone else. "I'm sorry I missed it."

"And who's your friend, darling?" Mama Vivien asked in a deep, womanly tone. Her dress emphasized her curves and made her into a diva that she was. "My, my, you're going to steal our Lucky Luke away from us."

"I very much doubt that. I've been trying for the last five years," Rafael said.

Mama Vivien gasped as she recognized the person from my stories, but I shot her a frown that silenced her. "Isn't he charming?" she asked me instead, laughing in that campy way of hers.

Rafael looked between Mama Vivien and me with a sneaky smirk on his lips and more empathy in his eyes than I wished to see right now. "Rafael, this is Lady Vivien Woodcock."

Rafael snort-chuckled and nodded deeply as if it made perfect sense.

"Mama Vivien, this is Rafael. He's visiting from London." And the Lady Woodcock lowered an elegantly bent hand into Rafael's.

"London? Dear me, I never would have guessed. Your accent blends right in." It was a decoy. She knew what she was doing.

Rafael chuckled. "It's the opposite, actually. I never dropped my native accent."

Mama Vivien accepted that as news and asked us what we were having. We ordered a round of beer, and Mama Vivien promised to send the server right away. When Rafael and I were alone, he folded his arms on the table and leaned closer to me. "Look at you making friends."

Our beer arrived, and I was still holding a small smile on my lips. "How long are you staying this time? Ten more minutes? Twenty?"

"How long do you want me?" Rafael asked.

"Forever," I said before I could stop myself.

He gave a little nod. "Maybe next time." Though it was hardly anything more than meaningless banter, it almost sounded like a promise coming from his lips.

"Where are you off to next?" I asked instead .

Rafael lifted his beer, and our glasses touched. He drank, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and pulled his lip between his teeth. "I got an assignment from City Break to deliver ten hidden gems in Istanbul. I'm flying there straight from here the morning after tomorrow."

I nodded. That was longer than we'd ever had. But it wasn't that sort of visit. He was here to hold my hand and help me stand on my own two feet. He wasn't here for the romance, and I wasn't ready to ask that of him. Another time , I decided.

"But," Rafael said and let it linger. "I can stay longer."

I frowned.

"I have a colleague who just needs to hear the word, and he'll cover for me," Rafael explained.

I shook my head right away.

"I mean it, Luke," Rafael said. "It would be my honor."

"No, Rafael," I said. "You shouldn't do that. What am I going to do for inspiration if I don't get the photos from Istanbul?"

He remained still for a few heartbeats, measuring me and watching for my true feelings. Well, these were my true feelings. "Okay."

With that out of the way, I drank with him.

"What do you have in mind for tonight?" Rafael asked after I drank a little more in one go than he had expected.

"Tonight, we're going to get drunk, and I'm going to tell you the story of how my mom once fell into an Olympic pool with her best dress and makeup on," I said with a chuckle. She was so funny about it, even as I had expected all hell to break loose. She had laughed at herself and the melting makeup on her face as the guard pulled her out, her dress sticking to her slender body and dripping like crazy.

Tears surged into my eyes, but I didn't try to hold them back. Instead, I decided to remember her in all her shades. We'd had our fair share of problems. No deep age would have solved the manipulative tendencies or the selfish streaks she was capable of. Yet those did not make her into a villain. She died too young, only fifty-four, and it wasn't fair. The woman I had known my whole life had dedicated herself to her children and had done her best in the circumstances. She had made mistakes, and the gap between us had grown, but that never meant I didn't love her.

Rafael listened to my stories. He smiled, laughed, and even cried once when we were deep into our third round of beer. He asked me for more whenever I finished a tale, and I dug through my memory for another anecdote.

"…and tomorrow, I'm going to need you to help me learn everything I can about those goddamn orchids," I said, my tongue a little numb. "I inherited a small jungle."

Rafael laughed with me. We shared a companionable silence on the terrace that brimmed with people and conversations, glimmered with countless colorful lights, and echoed with the classics of Lady Vivien Woodcock's '80s playlist.

Rafael was here, in person, and with nothing existing in the entire universe except the two of us. Just now, we were all that was there. And I knew then, just like I know now, that stars had brought us together, and stars alone could tear us apart, but not without us putting up a good fight.