Page 3 of Pride High 3: Yellow

“Something special to both of us,” Diego repeated, not feeling any closer to finding an answer.

“You’ll do fine.” Ami handed the index card to him. “A gesture is nice. But spending time together is all that really matters.”

Diego hoped that was true. Sooner or later, most people wanted more from him, and he never seemed capable of giving it.

“Call if you have any questions,” Ami said, nodding at the recipe.

“Thanks. Depending on how it goes, it’ll either be you or the fire department I call.”

He said goodbye, went outside, and got into his car. Diego started the Trans Am, intending to drive home so he could catch up on some repairs. Then he looked down at the index card, thought of the excited expectation he’d seen in Ricky’s eyes, and decided to stop by the grocery store along the way.

— — —

From the passenger seat of a station wagon, Anthony alternated between peering through the windshield and shooting accusing glances at his boyfriend. He grew increasingly tense as they passed Main Street and continued to the southwest side of town, where there wasn’t much of interest. Not for two teenagers anyway.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Cameron’s response was infuriatingly calm. “You’ll see.”

“I hope it isn’t a surprise,” Anthony said, analyzing every lip twitch and nervous darting eye for a clue. He continued to stare at his boyfriend’s face, even after he was certain he wouldn’t find the answer there. Anthony loved the kindness in his blue eyes, the helmet of chestnut brown hair, and the gentleness of his smile, which never wavered, even when Anthony scowled. “And it better not be romantic!”

“God forbid,” Cameron said easily. “What do youreallyhave against Valentine’s Day? Did you not get enough cards when we used to build mailboxes back in grade school? Hey, is that done here in Kansas? Or was that unique to Maine?”

“You mean for cards?” Anthony remembered decorating an old shoe box before cutting a slit in it. “We did that too. It was fun.” He still had every single valentine Omar had given him, although he decided not to mention that fact. “It’s the grown-up version I can’t stand.”

“I know,” Cameron said hurriedly. “We talked about that already.”

“Love shouldn’t be commercialized,” Anthony continued regardless. “I hate the pressure and expectation. Like if you don’t buy someone a box of chocolates on this one particular day, somehow it means you don’t love them. Doesn’t matter how good you are to each other up to that point, or how long you’ve been together. My parents still celebrate Valentine’s Day and they’ve been together for ages!”

“Maybe that’s their secret,” Cameron murmured.

Anthony shook his head. “No way. It only proves that you can get married, have kids, and do everything right but still feel pressured to buy overpriced junk for your partner once a year. And don’t even get me started on flowers!”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Cameron said.

Anthony barely heard him. “I can’t think of a more depressing symbol of love than chopping off a bunch of roses so someone else can watch them slowly die.”

“You’ve got me there,” Cameron said. “It is a strange tradition.”

“Exactly! I refuse to be part of it.”

Cameron pulled into a parking space. “So I shouldn’t have gotten you flowers?”

“Definitely not!” Anthony said, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d been relieved, when Cameron picked him up from home, to see that he hadn’t been carrying a bouquet.

“Too bad,” Cameron said as he turned off the engine. He nodded through the windshield. “Because I got you flowers.”

Anthony blinked and looked around. He saw a sprawling park dotted with buildings made of glass that shimmered in the afternoon sun. Greenhouses, but not the kind used to grow flowers for misguided holidays. A wooden sign confirmed his suspicions: Lily Fae Botanic Garden.

“No flowers were harmed in the making of this Valentine’s Day date,” Cameron said. “Have you ever been here?”

“No,” Anthony admitted.

“I swung by the other day to make sure we’d like it,” Cameron said. “And I think you will. If you’ll give it a try?”

Anthony realized he was being ridiculous and finally relaxed. Nobody was forcing him to participate in anything against his will. As he stepped out of the car, he made himself recognize that it was a beautiful blue-skied day, the weather mild with the promise of spring. He could either rage against exploitative capitalism or focus on how much he loved his boyfriend. Easy choice.

They approached the first and largest of the greenhouses. Cameron insisted on paying for tickets, which was appreciated. Anthony didn’t have a source of income. His boyfriend restored and sold antique furniture, a money-making venture that he found incredibly hot to envision. Anthony often imagined him shirtless and sweating while sanding a table, Cameron’s tight muscles slowly becoming coated with a thin layer of dust that would need to be washed off. While he watched. Or helped.