Page 3 of Doors & Windows (Liam & Jonah’s Story)

Jonah

Jonah hoisted himself onto the lip of the truck bed, wincing at the flare of pain in his upper arms. Despite Liam’s praise at his feats of athleticism yesterday, Jonah very much felt the aftereffects of the move in his body.

Not that he minded. If there was ever a cause worth aching for, it was Liam Cassidy.

Today’s job site was just outside the city limits: a wealthy neighborhood on Long Island, nestled right up against the water.

The Great Neck McMansion was under a long-haul renovation his crew had been on for the last few weeks and would likely extend into the fall.

Jonah appreciated the job security, and he enjoyed getting to see a side of New York he likely wouldn’t have otherwise.

He unwrapped the parchment around his sandwich.

His crewmate Beatriz brought lunch from her girlfriend’s deli, and she always made sure to grab Jonah something when she went, remembering his quiet delight the first time he ever tried one.

He used to think all sandwiches tasted the same until he moved here, but he was quickly corrected on the facts of life.

Tearing off a bite, he swiped at the oil and vinegar that dripped down his chin.

He wasn’t used to the change in topography on his own hands, the roughness of calluses still an unexpected scrape against his skin.

As he chewed, he studied his hands in his lap, turning them over to see the blisters on his palms—some newly formed from the morning of work behind him, some healing in peels of dead skin from the weeks before.

A working man’s hands, his father’s voice surfaced uninvited. The echo was accompanied by a memory of the two of them in the garage, Jonah’s tiny, child’s fingers dwarfed as he pressed their palms together.

Back then, Jonah had wanted nothing more than to be just like his dad.

The strongest man in the world. As he took stock of himself now, he could see the physical payoff of his work this summer.

His skin had reclaimed its warm, bronze tone, months of direct sunlight chasing away the last of the gaunt paleness that had stolen his color.

There was an obvious change in his musculature, too.

Jonah was never going to be buff , but he was no longer a collection of skinny limbs and sunken, hollow places.

When he took another bite of his sandwich, he watched the muscles in his forearm move beneath his skin and felt something like pride.

This was tangible proof of the effort he had put into his new life.

There was a strange, bitter irony in realizing he now so closely reflected the type of man his father always pushed him to be.

Your son is a regular blue-collar, hands-on construction worker, he thought. And a gay one, at that.

Smiling despite himself, Jonah reached for his phone. It had been a busy morning, leaving him without a chance to check his notifications since he arrived on site. He was pleased to find an unread message from Liam waiting for him now.

That thrill of pleasure stopped short, however, when he opened the text:

I want to ask you about something.

Jonah paused mid-chew and set his sandwich on the paper in his lap.

The tiny spike of adrenaline, the sudden dampness of his palms, was ridiculous.

He knew that, but it did little to temper his body’s reaction.

He wiped his oily fingers on his work pants and typed a message in return, hoping it came across lighter than he felt.

Has anyone ever told you that’s a terrible way to start a conversation?

Thankfully, Liam didn’t leave him waiting long on his reply.

HA! Ugh sorry. I’m nervous ok

You know that makes it worse, right?

Liam’s ‘typing’ bubble appeared and disappeared several times before his next reply came through, in a series of disjointed messages.

SHIT

Ok, so this is hard.

Because this feels like the kind of conversation to have in person .

But now I’ve already opened the door.

Liam…

NO SORRY

It’s not anything about you

I mean

It is

But it’s nothing bad

I PROMISE

Shit. Doing a bad job. Hang on a second.

Jonah was about to put them both out of their misery and hit the call button, but a knock against the side of the truck startled him out of his spiral.

He looked up to find Beatriz gesturing at the spot beside him.

Her dark hair was tied back in a single, tight braid, the flannel shirt she had been wearing this morning tied around her waist.

“Mind if I join you?”

Jonah nodded to the open space and forced himself to take another bite. His body desperately needed the fuel, so he couldn’t let his anxiety stop him from eating. Bea kept a couple feet of distance between them as she went to work unwrapping her own sandwich.

She was older than Jonah, maybe in her early thirties, and she had immediately taken him under her wing from the very first job.

Bea had the uncanny ability to read Jonah’s unspoken cues for space.

She never touched him with a casual clap to the back or a bump to the shoulder as so many of the crewmen did.

Jonah had even seen her covertly step between him and some of the more enthusiastic guys, providing a barrier.

Antonio Ellis, the man with whom Jonah had a complicated past and an unusual present, had promised him that none of his construction pals knew about Jonah’s trauma when he hooked him up with this job.

Some people, Jonah supposed, just had an innate instinct for empathy.

Liam had been the first person to prove that to him.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Bea asked around her first mouthful, shooting him a sly grin that Jonah staunchly ignored.

“I never said he was my boyfriend.”

Bea snorted. “Sure. I always look at my phone like that when I’m texting my bros .”

“How do you know that’s who I’m texting?”

“Is it?”

Jonah’s avoidant silence was all the answer she needed to have a fresh grin splitting her face.

The truth was, Jonah wasn’t lying. Not technically.

He didn’t know if Liam was his… his anything , really.

They hadn’t put a label on it. But Beatriz wasn’t wrong, either.

With or without the words to describe it, what he and Liam had was more than friendship.

If he was honest with himself, it had been for a long time. At least for Jonah .

The day Liam told him about his acceptance to Fordham’s art program, a countdown had begun.

Even if they never said it outright, both of them knew that moving to the same city would put them at level ground in a way they had never experienced.

There was a silent expectation that it would change their relationship inevitably, though it was hard to predict exactly what that meant.

But the truth of it was there all along, waiting for one of them to gather the courage to say it out loud.

Jonah had thought last night might have been that moment.

He and Liam had stayed on the fire escape long past sundown, abandoning their post only long enough to buy a cheap bottle of champagne from the liquor store on the corner.

They drank straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth with fingers that brushed with every exchange just because they could.

The bubbles had been cold on his tongue, but they went down warm, a loosening agent that had him melting against the brick wall.

It was reminiscent of the only other time they drank together, every sip bolstering Jonah’s confidence, weakening the fortress he had built around his heart.

Any iteration of Liam within touching distance would have gotten his heart racing, but the details of last night wove the scene into something bordering on a fairytale.

The sunset dancing in Liam’s red hair, the glow of sweat and happiness bright on his skin, the city he had worked so hard to make his home blanked around them .

Each time their hands brushed, they had lingered just a little bit longer. Jonah was almost sure that Liam felt it too; a slow, gnawing hunger like a third presence, urging them closer.

Jonah had wanted to kiss him.

The longing had grown to a peak after the last strips of pink faded from the sky, leaving them to bask in the pale glow of the streetlamps.

It was getting late, but where Jonah should have been exhausted from the long day, his skin had buzzed with undue urgency, as if this one night with Liam was all he had.

Perhaps, he realized, it was muscle memory.

Clinging to Liam and then losing him when morning came was a cycle that had worn him paper-thin once upon a time.

It didn’t need to be like that anymore. They didn’t have to hurry.

So when the moment came like a fork in the road, a pregnant pause that waited for a kiss, a declaration, an invitation to stay, Jonah instead let himself be held by the reassurance that Liam would still be there tomorrow. That something as sacred as what they had shouldn’t be rushed.

Jonah had been the one to provide the out through the excuse of an early shift the next morning. Liam, of course, had accepted without a trace of disappointment. He’d only thanked Jonah again for his help, then pulled him into an embrace that clung to Jonah the whole way home.

“Speaking of,” Bea said. “Loverboy’s a painter, right?”

Jonah pointedly ignored the nickname. “He’s an artist, yeah. ”

“He any good?” Beatriz asked, which made Jonah snort a laugh.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be— your word, not mine—if I said no?”

Bea narrowed her eyes. “Is that your way of saying he sucks?”

Jonah laughed again, nearly choking on his food.

Early on, Liam had specifically told Jonah that painting wasn’t his strong suit, but Jonah had watched him work hard to strengthen his portfolio before he submitted his applications.

They’d spent long nights over silent video calls, Jonah immersed in his books while Liam spun a pallet of colors into something beautiful.

Even if Liam would never admit it himself, Jonah had no qualms about bragging on his behalf.

“He doesn’t suck ,” he said. “He’s really good, actually.” He knew his tone betrayed a little too much affection, so he barreled on before she could comment. “Why do you ask?”

Bea nodded toward the McMansion. “Sal says the Martins are looking to commission someone to do a mural for the nursery. Asked if I knew anybody. It will probably be under-the-table, but a job is a job.”

The fact that her first thought was to ask about Liam, that she’d remembered this offhand detail about someone Jonah cared about at all, was so unexpectedly touching that it took him a moment to form a response.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I’ll ask him. Thank you, Bea.”

His phone buzzed on the truck bed next to him .

“Don’t let me keep you.” Bea smirked, pointing down at the message that illuminated his screen.

Can I call you really quick?

But it was Jonah who called instead.

It was still a miracle to him: the fact that he could dial Liam’s number at any time he wanted and get the instant pleasure of hearing his voice.

There was nothing he could do to hide his smile from Beatriz as he hopped off the ledge of the truck and ambled toward the house.

He claimed a spot on the wooden patio swing and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hi,” Liam answered sheepishly on the first ring.

“We’re switching to carrier pigeon if this is how you’re going to text now.”

A bright laugh crackled through the phone, and Jonah could already breathe a little easier at the sound.

“I can’t promise it would be any better,” Liam said. “It would just take even longer to clear up misunderstandings.”

“For the record, I’m still waiting to clear this one up,” Jonah said. “And by the way, I have something to ask you, too.”

“Oh? You go first.”

“I don’t think so,” Jonah said. “I’m making you wait this time.”

“Seems a fair punishment.” If a smile could be heard over the phone, Liam’s would be radiant. Then he drew in a breath. “Okay. Well. Here goes.”

When that was followed by a long pause, Jonah pinched the bridge of his nose. “Liam,” he groaned .

“Sorry! Okay, listen. I know it would probably be more… romantic, I guess, to ask in person. And I wanted to ask you last night before you left, but we were both exhausted and, frankly, I may have chickened out a little bit. But the point is—” His voice softened around a swallow.

“Would you like to go on a date? With me?”

Jonah didn’t mean to go quiet. In hindsight, he understood how that might have been misconstrued into something panic-inducing for Liam, but for a moment he was rendered breathless. At the simplicity of the question. At the purity of it. At the fact that this was his reality, well within reach.

“Like, a real proper date.” Liam rushed to fill the silence. “I know we’ve already, like… I don’t mean to imply that I don’t consider all of our previous times together real —because I do! I just—”

“Yes.”

There was a quick, stunned pause before Liam said, “Really?”

A surprised laugh tumbled out of Jonah. “Yes, really . Did you actually think I would say no?”

“I don’t know! I at least wanted to be open to the possibility of it.”

“There was never any possibility of me turning you down.” Jonah didn’t necessarily mean for the words to surface so easily, so casually, but they were the truth. Liam must have felt that over the phone, because he went momentarily quiet again.

Soft was the only word he could assign to the beat of silence that passed between them .

“Okay. Good.” Liam recovered, clearing his throat. Then, “Wait. Sorry, what did you want to ask me?”

A smile curled at Jonah’s lips. “I guess you’ll have to wait until our date to find out.”