I hadn’t thought about my lawyer much which wasn’t good, and I’d missed my January check-in. I made a mental note to get in touch with him real soon.
When I got home, I found Sean in the kitchen, making some tea.
He blew at the steam curling from the clay mug and smiled at me, but it didn’t seem as wide as it normally was. “Hey, you. How did it go?”
I took the mug from him, set it carefully on the counter and pulled him into a kiss. He laughed against my mouth as we fumbled toward his bedroom, clothes flying everywhere. I just wanted to be with him, be as close as possible and not think about the problems in my life.
We grinded against each other, hands grasping, lips sucking. I didn’t know how I could ever feel like this with another person. Free. Alive. As if I wasn’t alone in the world and he was the only one that got me when no one else really cared to try.
Our labored breaths synchronized as we collapsed against each other in a beautiful mess.
“See? You’re nuts about me,” he whispered.
And I was, wasn’t I?
I simply grinned and held him close as we came down from the orgasms.
“I got some really good news today,” he murmured as he stroked his fingers through my hair. “Danny and Jere are getting married.”
“Really? That’s neat.”
“Yeah. I wish them the best. Jere is a great guy. And Danny deserves everything coming his way.”
I propped my head against my cheek and looked at him. “Did you two have a thing?”
“No. I had a little crush on him, but it never went anywhere.”
“I had a crush once,” I murmured absently. “Jeffrey Majors. We were both sixteen and attended St. Joseph’s preparatory together. It was his dimples. Don’t ask me why but when he smiled, it did something to me.”
He grinned, looking at the ceiling. “Benjamin Appleby was my first crush. Christ, his calves. He was a track star in high school.”
“Did you ever…do it with him?” I inquired, interested about his life.
“No, but I was lucky enough to get a glimpse of his junk in the locker room more than once. For a kid my age, it was like winning the lottery.”
We shared a snicker. It was nice being able to relate to each other in such a simple and fundamental way. He told me a little more about high school as we laid in bed for an hour, just holding each other. I tapped my fingers against his chest in tune to “Marriage D’Amour”, my heart and mind singing along with my music.
I couldn’t help thinking that we were perfect for each other.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SEAN
I recalled some of the more beautiful passages I’d read in books and pictured the works of art hanging in the Art Institute Museum. I’d never been an artsy person, but I could appreciate expression and beauty. None of the flowery prose and immaculate paintings could match the image of Matteo sitting at the recently polished piano, his fingers moving over the keys as if this was what he’d been born to do.
He played in the low light, his body cast with soft yellow illumination from the spotlight. Dressed in a long sleeve sweater and khakis, he was elegant, beautiful like a piece of art come to life and the music he was making struck something deep inside me. He was romance wrapped in a classy package, something to be admired but not coveted. Maybe I was a poet, after all.
The piece he was playing came to an end, the chords slowly dampening, filling the modest room of red brick and street-level windows with warmth. He passed me a rare and warm smile, one I only got to see when we fucked and when he played his piano.
“Play me your favorite piece,” I said, wanting to watch him a little longer.
He bit his lip and stroked the keys gently as if he enjoyed the way they felt against his fingers. “I can’t say that I have any one favorite, but…”
He started playing again, the gentle, slow opening echoing around me. The melody wrapped its fingers around my heart and didn’t let go. I’d never really taken the time to appreciate piano before and I listened intently. He had something to say with his music and it could only be understood by listening with your heart. In this moment among the dustyand forgotten theater gear, I think I understood him a little better.
The piece came to an end with a big question mark: Will they live happily ever after?
“Liszt’s “Constellations No. 3”. It always reminds me of what falling in love might sound like. Nana said she knew my grandfather was the one right away, but that falling love has multiple levels. This piece makes me feel like I’m floating among the clouds of love, slowly rising and leaving everything physical behind until there is nothing left but endless possibility.”
