“Not up for debate, X.” Your hands work at the back of my neck, fixing the clasp. You step back. “There.”
I turn, and you smile. Nod.
“Why?” I ask.
You shrug, and there’s that smirk, that insouciant grin. “’Cause I can. Because I want to. It looks perfect on you.”
“Why did you buy it, Jonathan? Not for me, surely.”
That shrug again, less easy this time. “Because Dad was there. To make a point.”
“You spent a quarter million dollars to spite your father, to show him that you could, just because?”
“Yeah, basically.”
“That’s childish.” I reach up to unclasp the necklace.
“Maybe, yeah. But it’s my childish decision to make. Keep it, X. My gift to you.” Something in your voice, something in your eyes convinces me.
I lower my hands. Lift up on my toes, hug you briefly, platonically. “All right, Jonathan. In that case... thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” You salute me, index and middle fingers together, touched to your forehead. “See ya.”
And you’re gone.
I won’t see you again. I feel more sadness at this than I’d expected to.
Alone, finally, I stand at my favorite window. Watch the taxis and the delivery trucks pass, watch the nearest stoplight cyclegreen-amber-red, feeling the memory of free air in my lungs, the sound of horns and sirens and voices, the smell of the city.
Indigo eyes.
Thumb on my cheekbone, lips on mine, some inexplicable knowledge of a secret forever passed in stolen moments in a men’s room, the feel of breath on my breath, a warm voice and strong gentle hands, the scent of cinnamon and cigarettes.
I want to cry for what I lost when I left that men’s room.
But I cannot, for I do not know what it was I lost, only that it is gone, and that it meant everything to me.
Chapter 11
Iwake suddenly and completely, sensing a presence. “Caleb.”
“X.”
It is black, totally. But I smell signature spicy cologne, hear a slight breath inhaled, exhaled. The shuffle of a foot on wood.
“What time is it, Caleb?”
“Three forty-six in the morning.”
I don’t sit up. I remain on my right side, facing away. I allow myself a touch of venom in my voice. “What do you want, Caleb?”
“I’ve had enough of your attitude. I said I was sorry. It’s over.” My bed dips. A hand on my hip, over the blanket.
“Am I not allowed my own anger, Caleb? You hurt me. You frightened me. And over what?”
“You don’t speak to me that way. You don’t question me.”
“Or you’ll strangle me? Like William did?”
