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Our first date. It seemed like so bloody long ago, like I’d been with Oliver for years and years.
All of them being the best years of my life.
But it hadn’t been years, and yet we’d experienced a lifetime’s worth of memories already.
I smiled as I worked on getting the rest of my place ready. In my living room, I had placed five big bouquets of pink and white lilies, all of them blooming, the entire living room filled with their candy-sweet scent. I remembered Oliver telling me they were his favorite flowers, and I could see why.
The lights were on the dimmest setting possible before I started bumping into furniture. I glanced at my watch. I hadn’t realized, but it was already past the hour I had told Oliver I needed to set up his surprise. Still, maybe Oliver decided to shower and freshen up at his place. I busied myself with getting the cotton-candy grapes and the bubbling rosé ready. I filled up a steel bucket with ice and dug the bottle of expensive rosé into the center, setting the grapes on the sides of the bottle.
“Oh!”
I had almost forgotten. I grabbed my phone and connected to the sound system. I’d spent hours crafting the perfect playlist, and I’d be damned if I forgot to play the bloody thing.
Soft jazz started playing through the speaker. A woman sang, sultry and hypnotic, making me sway a little, back and forth.
“Shit!”
That was when I realized.
I almost forgot to set up the backyard. I opened the cabinet where the rose petals were hiding and grabbed them. Outside, I left a trail of them leading up to the couches, where I had left sleeping bags and pillows and mosquito repellant, along with a bowl of chocolate bars, marshmallows, and graham crackers.
Oliver was going to lose it when I told him I wanted to sleep under the stars with him and camp out in the backyard. He loved this kind of stuff. The things that I once thought I’d been too old to do, to enjoy.
But of course, that was a lie. There wasn’t such a thing. I could enjoy whatever the damn well I pleased, and Oliver had been the one to teach me that. He lived with a permanent joy, his kid-like sense of wonder having never left him, and it made me feel the same way, too. Like his joy and positivity had rubbed off on me.
And here I was, standing in my backyard and smiling like a goof thinking about the unforgettable night that was ahead of us.
I checked my watch again. Oliver should be getting here soon. He normally texted me when he was on his way, but maybe this time he skipped that. I started to head back inside when something caught my eye.
The corner of a thick, dark blue book. It stuck out from a plastic box, one that had been mostly untouched until Oliver spotted the photo album. I hadn’t looked through those photos in… I couldn’t even remember the last time had been. I thought I’d be okay flipping through it with Oliver. I thought I wouldn’t be bothered, but the second we landed on that one photo, all bets were off. My emotions grabbed control of the reins, bucking like a wild bronco. I needed to cut that trip down memory lane short, because the photo had sent me on a spiral.
I reached for the book. The box’s contents rustled and rearranged as I tugged the photo album out.
A deep breath filled my lungs. The photo album was heavy in my hands. And it should be—it held a ton of photos. This wasn’t the only photo album from my childhood either. My mom loved to make these. There had to be at least twenty more somewhere, locked up in storage. This was the only one I had taken with me. The one I kept with me everywhere I went, like some kind of fragile anchor to the past. Back when the innocence of the world seemed infinite. Like there was so much good and potential in the future that nothing could ever go wrong.
How little did I know.
I walked to the small round table and pulled out a chair. The night air kissed my skin the same way it did the palm trees, which gently rustled above me.
I opened the album, somehow managing to open it to the same damn photo I had shut it on days ago.
My dad and I were smiling back at me. His arm was around me, his cheeky grin resembling mine. If I remembered correctly, this had been taken the day of my dad’s birthday. Only days before I was to be kicked out of the house.
Of course, that wasn’t reflected in the photo. There was only happiness and love. Sure, we had other issues growing up, and his love of the bottle wasn’t always easy, but one thing I could say was that he always loved us, me and my mom. His drinking never affected his ability to provide or his ability to love.
It was me coming out that did that.
“Dad.”
I spoke out loud, into the night, into the past.
“Why? Why’d you mess everything up?”
I felt stupid. I went to close the book, but something stopped me. Maybe closing it was the stupid move. “I needed you, Dad. When I needed you and Mom the most, I was pushed out. We could have fixed things. Could have had a family.”
The words I spoke echoed in my head. I dwelled on what “could,” and that was my mistake.
“I’m good now, Dad. I’m the best I’ve ever been. I found someone, and he makes my world bright. I was living in sepia, and he comes in with a blast of technicolor… I wonder… did you feel like that with your love? With Arnold?”
