Page 100 of Fallen Rook

“The picnic spot is up ahead, about a ten-minute walk,” Tom reassured me, even though I could easily do this for another five hours.

“So, how do you usually celebrate your birthdays?” I babbled. I’d been yammering nonstop since we arrived. I couldn’t help it. Logorrhea was part of who I was. He didn’t seem to mind much anymore, though.

“I don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes I knock back a few beers with Zeke or Sully. Maybe grab a bite with Grams, Iris, and Silas.”

“Parents?”

“They send me a card every Christmas and a gift card every birthday, like we’re strangers. They claim not to be homophobic, but as soon as I came out as bi, our relationship was pretty much over.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’m not. If that’s how they feel, I don’t want them in my life, either. I keep to myself, and I like it.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?”

He considered my question. “Maybe it’s hard to distinguish what loneliness is, since I’ve always, one way or the other, been alone.”

“Do you sometimes regret it?” I asked quietly. “Coming out. I mean, you’re bi, which means you’re also attracted to wom—”

“No,” he cut me off. “I don’t.”

“But you don’t have your family now. Your parents. You could’ve been happier.”

“I couldn’t. You’ll never be happy, Enzo, living a life not yours.”

“It’s not that simple,” I mumbled.

“I think it is,” he retorted calmly. “Being unapologetically yourself always pays off.”

I couldn’t believe he’d chosen to spend his birthday with me, doing something meaningful, when it went against every fiber of his misanthropic being. It made me feel special without him having to declare anything, and for the next few minutes, I simply processed this, speechless.

When we got to the top of the mountain, Tom stopped beneath a ginormous oak tree and took out a red-and-white-checkered picnic blanket, spreading it across the ground. Following closely were a trillion different cheeses, figs, grapes, crackers, and cold meats. He’d also brought along a nice bottle of red for me and Gatorade for himself. It was so much effort on his part, I could no longer postpone the present I’d brought for him. Even if I died of fucking cringe from bringing it with me in the first place.

The gift was entirely too much, too soon.

Tom settled on the blanket, pouring my wine into a plastic cup and unscrewing the sports drink for himself. I plopped next to him, trying not to hyperventilate. He looked up from his energy drink, scowling. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I rubbed my nape. “I need to give you your, um, birthday present.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed, and he even looked a little embarrassed at his sharp question. “Oh. Sorry. I thought…” He gestured toward the picnic and the blanket. “I thought this was too much.”

Jesus. The guy had been hitting my prostate with every organ in his body. Now was not the time to talk about hard limits and boundaries.

Gathering courage from shit-knows-where, I dug in my front pocket for the small jewelry box—as I said, BAD FUCKING DECISION—and dropped it between us without offering him eye contact.

What was I thinking?

For one excruciating moment he didn’t even pick up the box. Just stared at it like it might explode. Then, slowly—reluctantly?—he picked it up and popped it open.

And stared.

And then stared some more.

“This bracelet is a family heirloom,” I coughed out while he plucked it from the box. The simple black lava stone bracelet with a golden charm dangled from his fingers. “It’s not very old—it’s not even very valuable, monetarily speaking—but my grandfather gave it to me before he passed, and it holds meaning in Neapolitan folklore. See this charm?” I pointed at the pendant.