Page 22 of Exquisite Things

We stare at each other in nervous silence. Footsteps. The click of the front door. She’s gone. We’re alone.

I’ve never felt more excited. It’s all I want. To be alone with him.

But all I see when I look in his eyes is anguish.

I pull him gently toward me again. He resists. “Do you want me to leave?”

He shakes his head sadly. “Of course not. But you must leave. You must be gone when she gets here. I can’t see you again.”

“Give me a reason that isn’t based in fear.”

“Fear protects us.” He looks out his window. Lovingly watches his mother cross the street. He keeps his eyes on her until

she turns the corner. “You want to know what I’m most afraid of?”

“I want to know everything about you.”

He turns to face me. “I’m afraid of how easy it is to talk to you.”

“Then talk to me. I’m here.”

“I’m afraid of how myself I feel when we’re together.”

I put a hand on his cheek. Hold it there. “Then be yourself. What other choice do you have in the end?”

He lowers his voice to a hush. “I’m afraid of how much I want to kiss you.”

I smile. “Then kiss me.”

And so he does. He brings his lips to mine.

Passionately at first. And then softly. We kiss like we have all the time in the world.

He finally removes his lips from mine. He smiles as he leans back against his blue wall.

Runs his hand along its chipped paint. “We all painted my room together. Me, Mother, Father, Liam. Mother chose the color. She said it reminded her of the ocean.”

A memory: me and James alone in his room. It was almost two decades ago but I can still see the underwater world painted onto

his walls. Still remember the humiliation of being caught with him. I did see James once again after that horrible night.

But I didn’t speak to him. James has lived a long and prosperous life. Marriage. Children. He never went into bookbinding.

He became a lawyer like his father. Lived someone else’s dream life instead of his own.

Oliver must be haunted by his own remembrances because he suddenly looks away from me. The fear returns to his gaze. “I can’t

break her heart. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe our love won’t break her heart. Maybe, in time, it might even fill her with joy. To know her son is loved.”

“By a man?” His sharp eyes tell me there’s no counterargument to this.

Still, I have to try. “Your mother loves you. Nothing will change that. I’ve looked into her eyes and into her soul. She may

struggle at first, but she’s a good woman.”

“Even good women have their limits.” He’s speaking to the walls he painted with her. Staring at the color she chose. “And

how will I support her if I stay in the life? How will I get into a good school, get the kind of job that will let me care

for her as she has for me?”

“You’re still young. There’s time to figure all that out. I certainly never imagined I’d be a working tutor at seventeen.”

His lips tighten bitterly. “I’m not young anymore. Not since Cyril died and Brendan was expelled.”

“You could make music. You’re talented. Your mother would be proud if you—”

“Music isn’t a job!” He scoffs loudly. He looks at me in confusion. I’m not making any sense to him. “And if you’re so adamant I chase my passions, then what about yours? Is tutoring moneyed children your lifelong dream?”

“No. Once upon a time, I dreamed of being a writer. A poet, perhaps.”

“And?”

“Writing is too dangerous.” I remember how James’s father once described Wilde’s words: menacing text . “Every time I tried to write a poem or any sort of story, it turned into my story. And my story can’t be told.”

“Exactly! Because what we want... who we are... it’s unspeakable.” He throws his arms up into the air in exasperation.

“You think we can be together when writing about our life would be a crime?!”

“I don’t need to be a writer anymore. I don’t need the world’s approval. I don’t even need anyone to know. All I need...

all I desire... is right here in this room.” I take a reverent breath. “My dream is to have the privilege of loving you.”

That seems to stop him cold.

“I’ve scared you.” I hold my hand out for him to shake. “Perhaps I’ve said enough. If you can’t love me back, then let’s part

before things—”

“But I do love you back!” He scratches his head in frustration. I’m afraid he might rip his beautiful hair out. “That’s the

problem. I want this and I’m scared of it all at the same time.”

“What if we could be together forever?” I ask the question without thinking it through.

“No one can be together forever. That’s just fantasy. Just like we are a fantasy. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe we’re not all meant to love and be loved. Being a good son is enough for me. Taking care of Mother and giving her grandchildren she can help raise and—”

“Does your brother share your concerns?”

“I am not my brother. My brother chose to leave. My brother is already engaged to some girl he hasn’t even brought by the

house. He hasn’t introduced her to Mother. It makes me feel sick when I think of how thoughtless that is.”

“And yet your mother has met me.” I smile impishly. “So if ever we become engaged—”

“That’s a fantasy for another world. A better one.”

“And who creates this world we live in?” I take a hold of his shoulders. I feel dizzy as I gaze into his eyes. “We do. We

make the world. Men and women. People. We make the rules.”

“You see, this is why you have to leave. You put these ideas in my head...” He closes his eyes.

“The ideas were already there in your head before me. I first began to fall for you before we officially met. Do you know

why?”

“Why?” He opens his eyes. Dares me to give him a good answer.

“You were with your cousin and his friends. They were doing what boys do, turning the sincere into the frivolous, having fun.

And you were brave enough to say that you wanted more than a little fun. That you wanted—”

“Love.” He smiles. Remembering that moment. Those more innocent times.

“You didn’t let Jack’s quips stop you from expressing your truest self. You said you had love to give. You said you wanted

your life to feel like music and poetry, like an endless concerto. You were brave. And clear. You were—you are... magnificent.”

He blinks rapidly. “How do you remember all that?”

“Because I’ve always wanted the same thing. You made me feel seen. Understood. Not alone. I wasn’t sure I would love you then, but I’m sure now. I love you. I want to give you a life that feels like the endless concerto of your dreams.”

“I want the same thing.” He shakes his head. “But it’s impossible. Wrong place. Wrong time. If we just lived in some better

future—”

“Is that what you want?”

“Of course it is. But we don’t. This has to be goodbye.”

He pulls me close. Kisses me. Our tongues throb with desperation. With need. I’m breathless as I pull away. I want more of

him. All of him. I kiss him again. It feels like we’re enveloped by steam.

I pull away and take in the glory of his face. “That felt more like hello than goodbye.”

“I love you. So much. But please go before Mother comes home.”

“You hadn’t said you love me before today.”

“Well, I do.” He fixes his gaze on me. “Now will you leave?”

“If that’s what you want. I guess this is goodbye, then?” I turn around, slowly, giving him time to change his mind.

The birds keep singing outside. He calls out to me. “Wait!”

I turn to face him. “What is it?”

“What do you imagine they’re saying?” His eyes wander to the window. “The birds.”

“You beg me to leave, and when I do, you ask me what the birds are saying.” I can’t help but smile. I love that he can’t seem

to let me go. To let us go. “I think they’re telling you to kiss me one last time.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” He practically lunges on me. Pins me onto the bed with feverish anxiety.

“Whoa there. This is love, not wrestling.” I remember James again. The way he asked me to tie him up. The aggression he craved from me. I want that sometimes too. But not right now. I kiss Oliver’s long neck tenderly. Little kisses as I travel back to his lips.

He sighs. “That feels nice.”

I keep kissing him. I try to put James out of my mind. To be in the moment. The last time I saw James was a few years after

that fateful night when my life changed. I was asleep on the street outside one of the brothels where Wilde liked to find

his young boys. I watched as James walked toward the brothel alone. His hat worn low to cover the top of his face. His scarf

wrapped over his mouth. He had grown even taller. Thicker. Hairier. He sported a bushy beard that didn’t suit his face at

all. He had changed. I had not. He didn’t see me. I could feel the shame in his every step as he entered the brothel. Off

to bugger some lad before going home to the woman he would marry someday. That was when I realized I had to leave London.

James wasn’t the only person I knew there. There were others. Students. Professors. Deans. I couldn’t risk being found out.

I began my life of escape.

Oliver takes my face in his hands. “What are you thinking about?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

“I wish I understood you the way I understand the piano. But maybe that’s the whole point of love, that it’s not an instrument

that can be mastered. It’s meant to leave you guessing, isn’t it?” He smiles. “You leave me guessing.” He tries to take my

shirt off.

I pull it back down. I want a lifetime of love from him. Not a frenzied night. “Your mother will be back very soon. This might

not be a good idea.”

The tables seem to have turned now. I’m pressing the brakes. He’s the one pleading to speed ahead. “But this really is goodbye.

If we don’t do it now—”

“Stop pretending you know the future.” I walk to the door and open it. “You’re the one who wished we lived in a better place and time. Anything could happen.”

I walk out of his bedroom and down the stairs. Descend the staircase. My eyes on all those images of Oliver’s past. The boys