Page 50 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Jamie

Mardi Gras, Four Months Later

The thing about having Edgar Lovejoy for a boyfriend was that Jamie was constantly getting sneak attacked by things that turned their heart to absolute mush.

Unpredictable tiny things, like when he made Jamie a birthday cake. It had been delicious, and Jamie had said so. What they didn’t find out until later, from Poe, was that Edgar had been over at Allie and Poe’s place five days in a row practicing how to make it.

There was the time he bumped into a bush while they were walking to get coffee and absently murmured, “Oops, sorry,” without breaking stride.

The way he ducked his head when Jamie opened a door for him, surprised and pleased by the courtesy.

How he’d introduced Jamie to his coworker at the cat café by saying, “This is my…Jamie,” and hadn’t noticed.

The time he’d texted Jamie, Do you want to come fuck me, please?

, got immediately self-conscious, and texted the follow-up, Yikes, is that weird?

If so I am totally kidding , and a string of emojis that Jamie could only parse as a pictography of shame.

Edgar’s request and uncertainty had tingled deep in Jamie’s gut, and they’d made sure that Edgar would never doubt himself about sending similar texts in the future.

There was the way he mumbled in his sleep, as if even in dreams, he didn’t want to disturb anyone. The way he sometimes gasped an “Oh!” of surprise at the pleasure Jamie caused him. And how he fell asleep in Jamie’s arms, head heavy on their shoulder like Edgar trusted they could take his weight.

At Jamie’s request, they’d decided not to celebrate Christmas with Jamie’s parents, but Jamie had made plans to meet up with Emma in the new year.

Although Jamie knew their parents were hurt and offended by their decision, it had led to the nicest Christmas they’d had in some time, celebrating Christmas Eve at Allie and Poe’s, quaffing champagne and playing an old version of Trivial Pursuit that Allie took from Magpie Vintage.

Even Edgar had sipped a glass, resulting in an adorable tipsy confidence in his incorrect answers that Jamie wished they’d taken video of.

But that night, in bed, after Edgar’d fallen asleep, Jamie had felt a dislocating sadness that they pulled around themself like a blanket and huddled in.

And Edgar had known. He’d known Jamie would feel bittersweet about their first Christmas without the Wendon-Dales, and he’d planned a new tradition to replace the old.

He had curated a movie marathon of holiday romantic comedies and prepared a cheese plate to go with them.

Jamie had burst into tears on the spot and found themself cuddled under a blanket and a large man who kissed their face and held them close.

When Jamie was ready, Edgar bundled them into the living room, put the cheese plate on the coffee table, pushed Play on the first movie, and cuddled Jamie close. It was two in the morning.

There was the time Jamie had been a guest on a haunting podcast and Edgar had texted everyone they knew to tell them to listen.

Then there was their first fight. It had been a silly nothing of a fight—stress plus exhaustion caused Edgar to snap at Jamie, and Jamie had snapped back. They’d both apologized later, and Edgar had said in a serious but shaky voice, “I don’t like when I’m not at my best for you.”

Jamie wanted to ask Edgar if he wanted to move in together. They loved Edgar and were sick of missing him on nights when they were too tired to drive over. They hated that when they weren’t together, Edgar woke from his nightmares all alone.

They were ready.

But unlike Jamie, who’d been living with five other people when they got the chance to live in Germaine and Carl’s guesthouse, Edgar had always lived alone, by choice.

His home was his sanctuary, and Jamie wasn’t positive he’d want to share it.

So Jamie decided to compose a love letter for Edgar in the form they knew best: a haunt. Only this was no ordinary haunt.

This was an un haunt. The opposite of something that would scare or startle, this would be a place that soothed and comforted, a place that inspired happiness.

It would be Jamie’s way of showing Edgar what their home together could look like if he wanted it.

***

The streets had been teeming with Mardi Gras celebrations all week, and Jamie had picked up extra shifts at Le Corbeau, where they had started working, alongside Poe.

Alaitheia Rondeau was, for Jamie, a revelation.

They knew the Lovejoys found her frustrating, but her stories about the New Orleans of a different time captivated Jamie.

The history of the building, which had been a brothel and a restaurant before it was a jazz club, was palpable in the bootlegging tunnels and storage rooms that she showed them.

In fact, if Jamie didn’t know her ability was seeing ghosts, they might’ve thought she had a bit of other magic in her.

She probably did have at least a touch of magic to have convinced Poe to work at Le Corbeau now that he was—tentatively, as he kept insisting on reminding everyone—staying in town.

Poe’s presence behind the bar at Le Corbeau drew the attention of many a thirsty patron, and the leather gloves he wore only heightened his sense of mystique.

Jamie knew from long experience that brooding white men could be all kinds of rude, dismissive, and self-centered and still have scads of patrons vying for their attention.

But never had they seen it work to this extent.

People fell over themselves to talk to Poe (he wouldn’t).

They asked him to recommend something (he recommended they look deep within themselves and figure out what they wanted to drink).

They came on to him in every possible way (he ignored it).

Once Jamie even saw an older woman slide a hundred-dollar bill across the bar and give Poe a knowing look.

He’d pocketed the money and said he assumed it was a tip for his exceptional service.

When Jamie asked Poe if he was worried that being dismissive would be bad for Le Corbeau’s business, Poe just snorted, winked at his aunt, and said, “We’re not worried, are we?”

She had raised a knowing eyebrow. “We are not,” she replied.

After that, Jamie decided to stick to pouring drinks.

***

Jamie led Edgar through the fence and around the back of Germaine and Carl’s place, enfolding them in quiet and softly twinkling fairy lights.

They had the place all to themselves, as Germaine and Carl were spending a few days with Muriel, doing their annual Mardi Gras something .

Germaine and Carl would never tell Jamie exactly what they did.

All they knew was that the year before, the couple had been gone for three days, and when they returned, they seemed happy and rejuvenated.

Did they bathe in the blood of virgins? Dance naked in the moonlight?

Get blasted and eat fancy cheese all night? Jamie had no idea.

“What are we doing, baby?” Edgar asked when they got to the glass French doors of Germain and Carl’s parlor.

Suddenly, Jamie was hit with a wave of nerves. They’d donned the suit that had been Emma’s gift, wanting to look as good as possible for Edgar. The fabric was luscious, and it was tailored perfectly. Jamie smoothed their vest.

“So, um, I made you something. It’s an un haunted house.”

At the entrance to the unhaunt stood a balloon arch tall enough to walk through, in terra-cotta and dark gray. The colorful sign that hung above it announced, Unhaunted House—Enter at No Risk to Yourself.

“Wait, what?” Edgar uttered in shock. “You made a haunted house? Just for me?”

“No. I made an un haunted house just for you.”

Edgar took Jamie’s face in his hands and kissed them with the drowning sweetness that had made Jamie fall for him in the beginning.

Edgar took Jamie’s hand and stepped through the balloon arch.

It had been an interesting project: deconstructing the characteristics of a haunt in order to figure out how to create the opposite feeling.

The first unhaunt was a wooden bench like the ones in City Park. It sat on a carpet of moss and greenery and had a view of the live oaks, the lake, and all the animals that could be found there. The fabric drop of the view alone had taken them a full day to paint.

“You can sit on it if you want,” Jamie murmured, not wanting to disturb Edgar’s experience.

Edgar sat on the bench, and Jamie sat beside him. The scents of water and trees came from the oil diffuser they’d hidden among the mosses. A low soundtrack of birdsong, bicycle wheels, and the distant sound of families picnicking played in the background.

“If you open that drawer…” Jamie pointed to the top drawer of a dresser.

Edgar slid it open to reveal a tiny cup of coffee and a beignet.

“You once said that you wished you could be a normal person who could go read on a bench in City Park while you drank coffee on weekend mornings but that you could never relax enough to do it. Because you’re always on the lookout for ghosts. So now you can.”

“You…you made this?” Edgar gaped.

Jamie nodded.

Edgar traced the boughs of the oak trees and put his finger to the beak of a brown pelican Jamie had painted in flight.

“Holy crap. You’re amazing.” Edgar was looking at them with wide eyes. “I mean, I knew you were amazing. But this is amazing . This is a realistic landscape painting. It must’ve taken forever.”

Jamie smiled, blooming under Edgar’s appreciation. “It took a little while. The coffee’s real, if you want some. But I just gave you a little ’cause it’s so late. If you don’t want the beignet, I’ll take it off your hands,” they teased.

Edgar handed them the pastry and inhaled the chicory scent of the coffee. Then he took a tiny sip and closed his eyes.

“It even smells real,” he murmured, expression serene.