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I close my eyes and breathe.
I’m watching the street, expecting a car. So when I open my eyes and realize someone’s standing next to me, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Finn looks down at me. “This dress can only mean one thing,” he says. “You brought me here to reconcile. If you break up with me for good in that dress, that’s just the cruelest thing I can think of.”
My laugh is nervous, but his directness helps break the ice. Right off the bat I understand that he’s here to make things work, not let me down easy. Benny was right. The red dress was a good choice.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I was going to catch a cab, but it’s such a nice night and I needed the extra time to . . . prepare.” He squints behind me. “I assumed this was a show or something, so I didn’t think I had to be here right at eight.”
I take his hand, and he looks back at me. “Is this okay?” I ask.
He tucks some of my hair behind my ear. “You tell me.”
I close my eyes a split second to relish the feel of his palm to mine, the brush of his fingers in my hair. Over my feather. “Come on,” I say, pulling him behind me into the gallery.
He steps inside and immediately drops my hand. I watch with bated breath as he takes in the scene around him. “What is this?”
I survey the space with him. This in and of itself could be an installation, but it’s not. It’s just a sketch of one. I’ve strung Christmas lights along each wall. Taped underneath are small five-by-five prints, ten to a wall. Benny printed them all off for me, and I chose thirty I thought showed Finn’s best work.
“It’s not much,” I say. “I just wanted to show you how it could look.”
He walks along the nearest wall, taking in each print. “How what could look?”
“I know the owner through the agency. I wore him down until he finally agreed to look at your work. He loved it, Finn, and I swear, he’s a hard ass about these things. It’s no favor.”
“What isn’t? I don’t understand.”
“He wants you to have your debut show here. I explained to him the kind of following we had, and after seeing your work, he’s convinced you’re the next big thing. That’s why he let me do this tonight. We want to show you how amazing it could be.”
He runs a hand through his hair, spun gold sprouting from his fingers. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “He’s between shows tonight, so I did some begging to get the space.”
“What about you?” Finn asks. “This is your body. Your boyfriend’s work. Some people will know it’s you.”
I take a breath. The thought of having my dad here makes my heart palpitate. But we’ve been working with Cindy too, and he needs to know this side of me for us to have an honest relationship. He has to meet Finn. “I’m good with it if you are.”
“Will he let us put your captions up next to the photos?”
“I want this to be about your work, not me.”
“They belong together,” he says. “Don’t you think?”
I swallow through the lump in my throat. They do belong together, yes. “I’m sure it could be arranged, but only your name goes on the promotional material. I have something else going.”
He comes over and takes my hand to kiss my knuckle. “Tell me all about it.”
“I’ve put together some of my favorite passages from my journals and submitted them to agents as a book of poetry. It’s a long shot, but—”
“No it’s not.”
“It is.” I nod. “But that’s okay. Rejection will happen, and it’s healthy and normal, Cindy says.”
“Have you heard back from any of the agents?”
“No.” I take my hand back and wipe my palms on my dress. “Well, kind of.”
He brightens up. “Already?”
“I turned it down. One guy said he had a publisher interested, but not in my writing, per se. They wanted our story. Sort of like a memoir, I guess, with a social media spin.” I’m no longer looking at Finn, so I can’t read his reaction.
“Why’d you turn it down?”
“It’s not my story to tell. I’m not even sure I want to try.”
“You should.”
I look up at him. “It was exposing ourselves that caused problems in the first place. I don’t want to put you or myself through that again.”
He makes a point of looking around the room, at the myriad photos of me on the wall.
“Touché,” I say, “but this is your art.”
“And that’s yours. Write the memoir, Hals. I’ll be by your side through the whole thing. This is who we are, these pictures, your words—isn’t it? I don’t want to be ashamed of that.”
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Neither do I. I’d like it if we could even . . . keep posting?” It’s a bold suggestion after the last six months, but like Finn said—it’s who we are.
“Me too,” he says, to my relief. “I’ve tried to maintain the account, but I’m having some trouble finding subjects as interesting as you.”
I smile. “I deleted the app from my phone the day I left, but Benny told me. We’ll figure it out. Maybe we can try food porn instead?”
He laughs. “We don’t have to change the kinds of photos we take. It’s how we dealt with stuff that was the problem. I can’t protect you from everything. We have to work through the shitty stuff—together—and then move on. No running away.”
I nod. “We have to be partners in everything. A team.”
“Yeah. We’ve always made a really good team.” He puts an arm around my neck, drawing me in for a kiss. Finally, I get what I really did all this work for—those to-die-for, pillowy lips of his. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I don’t have a single doubt about that or about us. One day soon, we’ll make our team official. If you’ll have me.”
My cheeks heat. “No doubts here, either. I love you. And I’ll have you.”
I think Finn just proposed to me in some untraditional, roundabout way.
And I think I just accepted.
Who needs traditional anyway?
#finnandhalston
#TheEnd
