“And?”
“And I spent two days watering my plants and overthinking, which is basically my version of a spiritual retreat.” The corner of his mouth moved. Not quite a smile, but the precursor to one. “I can love someone who usedto be that. I already do.”
I exhaled. The shaking slowed but didn’t stop.
Ellis continued. “I need you to know something. When Nathan said ‘good luck,’ I didn’t hear a warning. I heard a guy who was hurt, and I felt sorry for him, and then I felt angry at you. In that order, but underneath all of it, what I actually felt was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That I’m not enough to make you want to be different. That the wall is still there and I can’t see it anymore. That one morning you’ll wake up and realize I’m another person in your kitchen making eggs, and you’ll lie about having somewhere to be.”
“Ellis.” I tightened my hand around his. “I rearranged my entire life around your watering schedule. I named your fern. You’re not the eggs guy.”
“You named my fern?”
“Jack. The pothos is Diane.”
He stared at me. “Since when?”
“Weeks. I was waiting for the right moment.”
The smile broke through. Small, reluctant, like it was annoyed at itself for showing up during a serious conversation. “You named my plants without telling me.”
“I name everything. It’s a character flaw.”
“It’s not a flaw.” He pulled my hand toward him, pressed his mouth against my knuckles. Held it there. His breath was warm and uneven. “I love you. I’m still scared. Both things are true.”
“Both things are always going to be true. For both of us.”
“I can live with that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He let go of my hand. Picked up the spring roll. Bit into it. “These are good.”
“Tía Rosa says that placehas roaches.”
“Your tía Rosa says everywhere has roaches.”
“Because everywhere does. This is New York.”
We ate. Not in the loaded, emotional way of the last half hour, just ate, like two people who’d been hungry for longer than either of us would admit. The pad thai was good. The spring rolls were better. Ellis opened a beer, gave me one, and we sat at his tiny kitchen table with our knees touching underneath and didn’t talk about Nathan or ghosts or the wall I’d built or the one he was still learning to see around.
After dinner, he washed and I dried. Jack got misted. Diane got wiped down with a damp cloth, which I hadn’t known was a thing until Ellis showed me, and I filed under “reasons this man is insane and I love him.”
We ended up on his couch for a while, the TV on mute, some nature documentary neither of us was watching. He was tucked into my side, my arm around his shoulders, my other hand running through his hair. We sat there like that for an hour, maybe longer. Quiet. Together.
Then, without either of us saying anything, he stood, took my hand, and led me to the bathroom.
“Wash the day off,” he said, quiet. “Both of us.”
“Yeah.”
He turned on the tap. Steam started rising before the water was hot. The bathroom was small, and the steam built fast, fogging the mirror, fogging the small framed photo of Jack his sister had taken last Christmas as a joke. The smell of his soap, basil and bergamot, wafted out of the bottle as he uncapped it and set it on the lip of the tub.
We undressed each other slowly. No buckles to fight tonight, sweatpants and t-shirts, the soft laundered cotton he kept on Sundays. He pulled my t-shirt up over my head and stayed close and pressed his mouth to the Libre tattoo before he stepped back. I peeled his shirt off. The barbells caught the bathroom light. I touched them, no mouth tonight, just my fingertips, the steel cool under the pads. His sweatpants slid down his hips and his cock came free, already half-hard, the curve of it heavy againsthis thigh. Mine came free a beat later. The PA brushed his stomach as we stepped close. He shivered.
He stepped under the spray first. Held the curtain open. I followed.
