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“Please, the two of you, come to my gallery sometime. I want to give you both a private tour.” He reached into the pocket of his black skinny jeans and pulled out a simple white business card.
Alfredo Ortiz was his name, and his gallery was right on South Beach. I could now remember walking past the windows on multiple occasions and stopping each time to admire the bright and eye-catching art that was on display.
“Thank you,” Oliver said, pocketing the card. We stuck around for a short while longer, speaking to not only Alfredo, but also Candice and her mom. An eclectic meeting, especially since Oliver and I were both still dripping different colors of paint off our fingers and noses.
“Oh shoot, I haven’t been paying attention to the time,” Oliver said. “We’ve got dinner reservations in thirty minutes.”
I looked from his shoes up to his head, knowing that I looked just as crazy and colorful as he did. “Let’s go,” I said.
“Yes! Go, you glorious, colorful bitches.”
“Candice! Language.”
I shot a wink at Candice, and we said our goodbyes. Alfredo also left to go and collect some of his other pieces—paintings this time. They were much more portable than his rainbow pool and didn’t require destroying. Before we headed to the car, we found the bathroom and washed off as much paint from our hands and face as we could, helping each other get the backs of our necks, laughing all the while.
“Usually when you destroy an art piece, you end up having to pay whatever it was worth, not getting an invite to a private tour,” Oliver noted as he soaped up his hands as if he were clocking into a surgery.
“We lucked out there. And the pictures Candice snapped were definitely worth the quick dip.”
Oliver turned to me, eyes wide. “Right? They’re frameworthy, I’d say.”
And they were. Candice’s mom, whose name we learned was Rose, deserved credit for spotting the photo op and forcing it on us. It just so happened that with Oliver on my shoulders, we had lined up perfectly with a breathtaking piece of wall art. The photo showed the two of us smiling, a neon rainbow surrounding us. Above the rainbow, the words “True Love is Never Made, Only Found” was written in bold white letters, popping against the back wall it was painted on. On closer inspection, inside each band of the rainbow, the words “You’ve Found Yours” was written, the same color as whatever band of rainbow you looked at.
“You sure you don’t want to reschedule dinner?” Oliver asked as we reached his car.
I didn’t even consider the offer, especially since I remembered Oliver mentioning he had pulled a few strings for these reservations. “Let’s go,” I said. “Let’s give everyone a taste of the rainbow tonight.” I shot him a smile over the hood of his car. I moved the flowers I bought him, placed down the towels, and got into the car.
Inside, we both started to laugh. “What a day,” Oliver said, holding his gut as he pulled out of his parking spot.
“And it’s still not over,” I reminded him.
“Thanks for laughing this all off with me.”
“You kidding? This has been one of the funnest days of my life, by far. Minus the potential skin problems we’re going to get after this paint soaks in.”
Oliver nodded, his smile taking over his face. He drove us to South Beach, the windows down and the music playing the entire way. The drive was relaxed, and our moods were high, our heads bobbing to the music and our thumbs tapping out to the beat. It was already six in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon. The streets of Miami were starkly different to the streets of London, but one thing remained constant, and that one thing seemed to make a world of difference: Oliver’s smiling and positive presence.
I wasn’t bluffing when I told him this was one of the funnest days of my life. As I looked out the window, the Miami Bay sparkling underneath us, I realized I hadn’t thought once about the letter.
The one I couldn’t even read if I wanted to.
The thoughts seemed to shoot my good mood right out of the sky. I hated myself for caring so much, and I hated myself for not caring enough. If I wasn’t such a coward, I could have opened the bloody thing already and figured out what my father wanted to tell me.
Instead, I lost it, and with it, my father’s last words to me.
“And we’re here,” Oliver said. “Think they’ll let us two crusty gay rainbows in there?”
Oliver motioned up and down and gave a twirl. We must have looked quite ridiculous, and yet there was Oliver, dancing and laughing and not having a damn care in the world.
His joy, his zest, they were infectious.
I laughed, realizing how much paint was still drying up on our clothes. I wondered how he did that. How was he so good at pulling me out of the darkness?
“I’m sure they’ve seen weirder things come in from the beach.”
Oliver pulled the car up to the valet, where a smartly dressed man opened the door for me. I saw the surprise in his eyes as I stepped out, covered from head to toe in dry paint.
We got a few stares; some were bold, and others tried to be secret. I was an observant man, and the sneaky glances didn’t get past me.
