Page 38 of Exquisite Things

long. Accepted my wrongs. Now I see I also resent him. For holding on to a sixty-year grudge. For allowing his beautiful tenderness

to morph into defeatist weakness. “You’ve spent sixty years blaming me for your fate, haven’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I have, and—”

“And have you ever wondered what your fate might have been had you not met me? Cyril would still have killed himself. Harvard

would still have put all those boys on trial. What would you have done?”

“I—I can’t answer that. No one can.”

“I can. Because I know you. You wouldn’t have dared break your mother’s heart. You would have taken a wife you didn’t love.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t—”

“Doomed her to loneliness. To always wondering why her beautiful husband shudders at her touch. You would have been a distant

father.”

“Stop it!”

“Never able to truly reveal yourself to your own children. A life of secrecy. You would be in a seventy-seven-year-old body

by now. Watching rebels change the world.”

“Why are you being so cruel?”

“Wondering why you couldn’t have played a part in your own people’s liberation. Well, this is your chance.”

“For what exactly? Is being together some form of liberation now?” He cracks his knuckles nervously.

“Isn’t that exactly what it is? To love when you’re told that love is a crime. What else is that but liberation?”

“Greed.” He shakes his head. “Fantasy.”

He shifts his gaze to a man and a woman kissing against the bridge. The ease of their passion stabs me like a blade. Queers

have to learn where we can kiss and where we can’t. We don’t get to be carefree. Part of me likes that we have to fight for

our love. Another part of me is enraged by it. I want to kiss Oliver defiantly and lovingly.

“You could’ve told me what you are.” He holds my gaze. He’s been waiting a long time to say this. “I might have understood.

Perhaps I would have loved you. You never gave me the chance.”

“Loved me?” I’m full with the desire to defend myself. “You told me we couldn’t be together. You were ready to end us.”

“So you cursed me—”

“Because I thought it was what you wanted. Because I thought it was destiny. And yes, because I was greedy and selfish and

stupid. I admitted as much to Liam on the phone, didn’t I? But you’re not Liam. You’re Oliver. I don’t have to be a gentle voice on the other end of a helpline

with you. I can be myself. I must be myself. And I am sorry. And I was greedy. But please hear me when I say I don’t want

fantasy from us.” I put a hand on his cheek affectionately. My fingers tremble on his warm skin. “I want the opposite of fantasy.

I want a life with you. Real life. With fights and laughs. Ups and downs. Sickness and health and all that.”

“There’s no sickness for us though, is there?”

“Listen to me. Please. Don’t shut me out. I want—I want to make mistakes. I’ve made mistakes. Grave ones. And I want to make

more. I want to do stupid things because I’m too passionate to make a sound decision. I want to want things. To need things.

To need you. I want to be full of regrets. But to be the kind of person who tells people I have no regrets and actually makes

them believe it. Don’t you see that a life without regrets is boring? I don’t want to be bored. I want to be us . Alive and unpredictable and exciting.”

He actually smiles. I might be getting through to him.

“I’m not begging you to stay here because the world is perfect. Yes, yes, yes, the world is as fraught and enraging as it

ever was. I’m pleading because my little world is perfect.

And I want to share it with you.” I get down on one knee.

Like I’m proposing. I want to give the moment the weight it deserves.

“I live in a home with enough room for you. I know a community who will welcome you. Where there are more than enough spaces for us. You saw the Blitz. All those freaks. Living freely. And it’s not the only place.

There are bars and shebeens and shops just for us.

We don’t need the whole city. Just a block here.

A bar there. A shop or two that welcome our kind. And each other.”

He tries to pull me up. “Get up. You’re making a scene.”

I resist. Stay on my knee. “Let people look at us. I don’t care. I’m done hiding myself. Done hiding my love for you.”

He looks around. Glimpses disapproving strangers staring at us. “Bram, please.”

“I love you, Oliver. So much that I did the stupidest thing of my life. I don’t know what else to say to make you understand.

I love you and I’m sorry and I love you and I’m sorry and I’ll say the words again and again until I drive you mad.”

“Oh, you’ve already driven me mad.” He says those words evenly. Without anger. Something is shifting in him. I feel it. He’s

traveling back to the Oliver I once knew. The one who didn’t run away from risk. Who didn’t push me away.

“You’re scared. You’re angry. And you have every right to be. I know you’re still holding on to the past. But all I want to

know is if you love me too. Do you?”

He turns his face to the river. It glimmers from the city lights. Then he looks back at me. “I wouldn’t have come back if

I didn’t.”

I smile. “Then come with me. You’re soaked. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in weeks.”

I start to walk. He pulls me back. “What will we tell people? They’ll ask how we met. Why we both have eyes that glow.”

“I’ve already told Lily about you. I said we met when I was tutoring in Boston. The eyes... We’ll say that’s why we met.

We saw each other in a bar—”

“No, not a bar. A library. We were both reaching for the same book.”

“Wilde!”

“ The Picture of Dorian Gray .” He smiles now. He’s enjoying himself. We’re building a story that will belong to us. A lie we’ll share with each other.

So then, not a lie. A bond of trust.

“We reached for the book. I snatched it away from you.”

“Of course you did.” He laughs. He switches to a thick British accent. You arsehole .” Back to his own voice. “Wait, that shop. R. Soles. It’s meant to sound like arseholes , isn’t it?”

“Brits have a cheeky sense of humor. You might like it here.”

“I might.”

I take his hand. Lead him across the bridge toward the South Bank. We’ll walk to Brixton. The rain has stopped. The wind is

placid. The ever-changing London weather is telling us the storm has passed. “What happened after I snatched the book away

from you?”

He smiles. “I wrestled you to the ground and took it from you.”

“You wrestled me to the ground in a library?” I laugh.

“Okay, fine. No wrestling. I politely asked if I could read the book first?”

“And I said perhaps we could read it together. We sat side by side at a long wooden table and read. You read faster than me,

so I would tell you when I was ready for the page to be flipped.”

“We read it aloud to each other.”

“In a library?”

“Yes, in an empty nook of the library.”

“When we finished, we looked into each other’s eyes.”

“And that’s when we realized we’re both part feline.”

“Part feline, I love that.” I pull him closer. “Nine lives.”

“I’ve lived more than nine lives already.”

“No, you’ve only lived one. So have I. It’s all one journey. And it’s led us here.”

No one is home when we arrive. I give Oliver a quick tour. Then lead him up to my room. I want to shower with him. To scrub

him clean. But I don’t dare move too fast. We’re still a fragile pair. A push or a pull in the wrong direction could break

us again. I offer him some of my clothes when he’s dry. He runs his hand through the rich fabrics in my closet. “These are

all so beautiful.”

“Lily makes it all. She’s a genius. She’d be the next Coco Chanel if there were any justice in the world.” There’s pride in

my voice when I speak of her. My mother who baptized me.

“I met Maud.” He quickly puts on a T-shirt and a pair of baggy wool pants with a drawstring waistband. I love the way his

body elongates as he stretches himself to get the clothes on. “At the bookshop where she works. I didn’t know she was your...

sister?”

“I told you we’re a family.”

“She said she’s only lived here a few weeks. Already family?”

I meet his skeptical gaze. “How long should it take a mother or father to love their child? More than a few weeks? I’m sure

your mother loved you the minute you were born.”

He sits on my bed. “Please don’t bring up Mother again. It’s too painful.”

“I’m sorry.” I sit on the floor. I want to be beneath him. To worship him. I rest my head on his lap. He caresses my face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I want to be all future and no past, but that’s not how it works, is it?”

“It’s all present anyway.” He places a palm on my cheek. It feels warm. He runs his other hand through my hair. “Your haircut

is ridiculous.”

“That’s exactly what I was going for.” We laugh. Our breaths synchronize until they sound like one inhale and one exhale.

His stomach rumbles into my ear. I raise my head from his lap. “You’re starving. Come.”

I lead him to the kitchen. Open the fridge. There are some leftovers of Poppy’s beef stew in the fridge. I empty what’s left

onto a pot on the stove. Throw some leftover rice in. “Poppy’s the best cook. You’ll see.”

“Who’s Poppy?”

The sound of a door closing. Lily and Archie are home. Lily’s voice fills the room. “Poppy is one of my best friends. And

who are you?”

“This is Oliver.” I pull Oliver close to Lily.

She doesn’t look amused. “We were worried. You disappeared. I asked everyone where you went. No one knew. No goodbye. Archie

even walked away from a swarthy man without getting his number.”

“Every word she says is true.” Archie fills a glass with tap water. Drinks it fast. “He was quite gorgeous. Greek accent.

Thighs as thick as the pillars of the Parthenon.”

“I’m sorry you were worried, but Lily, this is Oliver . From Boston .”

Lily’s eyes open wide. “Well, why didn’t you say so, child?” Lily’s entire body language changes quickly. She wraps Oliver

in her arms. Presents him to Archie. “Archiekins, this is Oliver . From Boston .”