For Elio

[latermaybe]

With the end of the year closing in, I found myself anxious to close out the semester. I was distracted. I knew my colleagues could sense it, my students restless in classes that had lost focus. My writing had suffered, but it had never been something I was particularly proud of anyway. My heart wasn't in it. I wanted to be home.

I was afraid to go home.

I was compelled to be with Elio whenever possible, but his grief was consuming. I'd watched it whittle away at him, the cracks that Purge Night had left in him shattering the day that Jamie left, leaving behind the raw nerves beneath. Old wounds opened by the loss of his parents. The loss of me, over and over. I wanted to help him, but neither of us knew how I was meant to do that.

I stayed out for a few hours with some friends from the university, playing poker in the basement of their campus housing. I'd left early, guiltily, even though I'd told Elio where I'd be. I brought home a bottle of expensive wine and felt foolish. I loved him so much, and had never been so helpless.

Key in the door, I blew out a breath, braced myself, and stepped inside.

Comments

[speakordie]

I’m grateful to be given tasks, nodding as I head to retrieve the garlic. I turn to give it to him but he’s right there, putting his arm around me and reeling me in, and I smile as he kisses my forehead. I put my hands on his waist, garlic clutched between two fingers, and then lift my head to give him a soft kiss on the mouth.

“I’m glad,” I tell him, resisting the urge to argue. I don’t feel like a very good husband right now, but I want to be.

“What next?” I ask as I pull away, setting the garlic down and rubbing my hands together. “I can set the table.”

We haven’t eaten a proper meal at the table since everything happened. It would be hard to tell that anything happened at all, if not for the brand new rug covering the floor. I want to take our home back.

[latermaybe]

Chuckling, I said, "Alright, bello. You can set the table." It felt good to tease him, just a little. Shooing him out of the way, I set the oven on my way to grab a small bag of new potatoes and a baking sheet. On it, I scattered the vegetables, seasoned with whole garlic cloves, a drizzle of olive oil, a few sprigs of fresh herbs and set the pan on the rack to roast.

Salting the steak, I let it rest at room temperature for a bit, washing my hands and claiming my glass of wine.

"How would you feel about looking for a bigger place?" I asked him in the quiet between moments, the words spoken carefully as I nursed my glass.

[speakordie]

Sometimes it still stuns me that we’ve found ourselves here, as a married couple sharing such domesticity, but at the same time nothing has ever felt so right. Setting my fingers on piano keys, and setting my sights on him. Those are the two greatest things I have ever done in my life.

As I set the table, I even start to hum a little without realizing it. I haven’t done anything musical in days, maybe in weeks. Here I am, unthawing.

Oliver comes over as I set down the last of the silverware, and his question stills me for a moment. But then I smile a little to myself and nod, turning to look at him.

“It does feel like we’ve outgrown this place,” I say as I pick up my own glass. “I want to keep the store, but—“ I glance around and swallow hard, nodding a few times and smiling at him, soft but genuine. “Yeah. I’d feel good about it.”

[latermaybe]

"It's a little cramped," I agreed, pulling the pan from the oven and giving it a bit of stir. "You need more room to write. I need more room to avoid writing," I added wryly, grimacing as I shut the oven door. I'd had a bit of a lull in my publications, and I was sure it hadn't gone unnoticed in the department.

"We can start looking in the new year, after the holidays die down?"

[speakordie]

“Maybe you’ll be able to write more if we’re not tripping over each other for desk space,” I say with a warm smile, though my brow furrows in slight concern. Oliver has such talent, but I know he struggles sometimes to get the words out. I think he puts too much pressure on himself, but I get why.

“New year, new house,” I say with a nod, setting my glass down so I can come up behind him at the stove and wrap my arms around him, burying my face against the back of his neck.

“I’d like to look near the water,” I murmur against his skin. “We both do better near the water, don’t we?”

[latermaybe]

"Maybe," I said, matching his smile. I could see that moment of concern flickering across his face, but left it unacknowledged. I could pretend that I wanted to do what I could to keep the moment light, but was I really anything more than a coward?

"You'll be closer to Neil," I said offhandedly, turning my back on him to hide my smile. Neither of them seemed willing to admit to how close they'd somehow become, but in Jamie's absence, it was a relief to know that he still had people who loved him.

[speakordie]

"That is my number one priority when it comes to real estate," I say dryly, though it would be nice to be near a friend. But then I think about how Neil is one of the few on a dwindling list, and I feel a stab of anxiety. The thought of losing anyone else is terrifying, and I wonder how I'm meant to make new friends. I clutch at Oliver's hips and sort of zone out for a second, and then force myself to take a breath and shake my head. I can't get into that spiral right now.

"Maybe we could rent this place out," I say after a moment, nosing at the back of his neck to calm myself. He always smells so good, like home, and it calms me. "To a student or something. We'd have to give them a good deal." My head falls forward to rest between his shoulder blades. "On account of the murder."

[latermaybe]

"I thought it might be," I said, chuckling softly as I pat the steaks dry and seasoned them. I could hear the slight edge in his voice, and was unsurprised when he reached for me, his hand at my hip, his nose pressed into the back of my neck.

"No we won't, on account of no one ever finding out about that," I countered, gently nudging my head back against his, since my hands were busy.

[speakordie]

"Right," I breathe out, pressing my head against his when it tips back to find me. It's such a sweet moment, blissful in its domesticity, and I take a deep, steadying breath. It's our secret, and there is no one I trust more than him.

"God, that smells good," I say with my nose pressed to the base of his skull, inhaling deeply and hooking my chin over his shoulder, hands sliding up under his sweater to rest against his stomach. "The steaks smell fine too, I guess."

[latermaybe]

Chuckling as I tested the heat in the skillet before laying the steaks down onto it to sear.

"You're playing a dangerous game, bello," I teased him, reaching up to turn on the exhaust fan when the steaks began to smoke. While they cooked, I rest a hand atop his, threading our fingers together.

[speakordie]

“I don’t know what you mean,” I murmur with a smile, tucking my nose behind his ear. He smells like books, like sunshine, and I sigh contentedly before pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

“I’m just standing here,” I add, pulling him tighter against me. Warmth flares in my belly and it’s almost a surprise. I haven’t felt it in weeks, too consumed by guilt and grief, and I squeeze Oliver’s hand, sliding our joined fingers up under his sweater. “You’re just very handsome when you feed me.”

[latermaybe]

"I'll have to keep that in mind," I teased him, as if I hadn't already known the power cooking for someone you loved. Both for him, and for me. There was little in the world that made me feel more useful.

Reaching for the tongs, I turned the steaks, glad that I was familiar enough with this process to be able to do it one-handed with ease.

While the second side seared, I twisted in his arms to kiss him, mouth smudging clumsily against his.

[speakordie]

I’m probably getting in the way but if I am, he isn’t saying so. He works around me, flipping the steaks with one hand while I sniff at his hair like a creep.

He turns to kiss me and I smile into it, shifting from behind him so I can cup his face in my hand and kiss him properly, deepening the kiss and licking at the inside of his bottom lip. The warmth in my belly grows, bright but unhurried, and I pull back to nudge our noses together as the meat hisses in the pan.

“Don’t let them burn, pesca,” I tease in a low voice, kissing him again before pulling away entirely and picking up my wine, smiling against the rim of my glass.

[latermaybe]

"Brat," I said affectionately, leaving the steaks on for a few more moments before transferring them to a plate to rest.

Grabbing a potholder, I took out the vegetables, setting the pan on a trivet and turning off the oven. My eyes met his, and another knot of tension in my chest unlocked. He looked, for the moment, content. It wouldn't last– couldn't, with everything that had happened, but it was enough to remind me that eventually, everything would be okay.

"Bring me your plate?"

[speakordie]

Oliver looks at me with something like relief in his eyes, and I smile back at him. It’s a good moment. It’s hard not to have a good moment with him, and I tell myself to take it one moment at a time. I want to linger here, to bask in it for as long as I can.

Nodding, I finish off my wine and then bring him both plates from the table. While he fills them, I refill our wine glasses and bring them over, and also get us two glasses of water. I push my chair closer to his before sitting down, so that we’re side by side instead of across from each other, and smile up at him as he sets the plates down.

“Grazie, pesca,” I tell him, tipping my head back to rest against his hip for a moment. “This looks amazing.”

[latermaybe]

"You're welcome," I answered back in Italian, bending to press a kiss to his forehead. Slipping my hand through his hair, I let the moment linger, before pulling away and sliding into my seat.

"We were both due for a decent meal," I said, taking his hand and giving it a brief squeeze.

[speakordie]

“Definitely,” I breathe out, feeling a rush of hunger as I look down at the plate. Oliver is such a good cook, always casually setting restaurant style meals in front of me, and I am so, so lucky.

I lift our joined hands and press a kiss to his knuckles before letting go to pick up my fork. Once I start eating, I realize just how hungry I am and set upon my meal with gusto, humming my compliments as I scarf it down. Eventually I pause to take a breath, cheeks flushing as I look over at him with a bashful smile.

“You and Mafalda would have made magic together,” I tell him, which is perhaps the highest compliment that I could give his food.

[latermaybe]

Warmed to see him eating with such passion, I picked up my own cutlery and dug in, the two of us hunched over our plates like ravenous wolves.

"I would've driven her crazy, and gotten kicked out of the kitchen in record time," I countered once I'd come up for air, despite taking the compliment for what it was. I missed Mafalda's expertise, which could only mean that he was desperate for it. I tried, now and then, to give him little tastes of home, but I was far from a matronly Italian cook.

[speakordie]

“She had a soft spot for you. She was so much nicer to you than she was to me,” I say fondly, and there’s a small ache in my chest because I can so easily picture them in the kitchen together. He would have been a worthy pupil for all the knowledge she had to give.

“Trust me. I know how good I’ve got it,” I tell him, pointing my fork at my nearly cleared plate before setting it down so I can lift the wine bottle. I finish it off between our glasses and then turn in until our knees are pressed together under the table. “In so many ways.”

[latermaybe]

"I think that was only because she expected me to be gone soon," I pointed out, my smile briefly regretful. Lifting my wine glass to my lips, I set a hand on his knee, squeezing it gently.

"Both of us do," I said, gently clinking my glass against his. I knew it wouldn't take away the hurt he felt, or the horror of what we'd gone through, but it was good to remind ourselves of it, as often as we could.

[speakordie]

“No, she usually had even less patience for our annual guests than she did for me,” I say with a wry smile. I drove Mafalda up the wall, but I know she loved me as if I were her own. I should have treated her better, looking back.

Oliver taps our glasses together and I smile at him, taking a long sip and leaning in closer, reaching out to brush a stray piece of piece of hair away from his forehead.

“What are you thinking for dessert?” I ask in a low voice, one that might be a little suggestive if he’d like to take it that way. I think I’d like very much to curl up on the sofa and be kissed by him. There are few things in life better, if anything at all.

[latermaybe]

Sitting back from my plate, I slipped an arm around his shoulders as I nursed my wine, smiling softly as his fingertips brushed my forehead.

"I'm sure we have some fruit in the crisper," I teased him, reading the warm, playful look on his face for what it was. Finishing off my wine, I reached for him, my touch delicate at the curve of his jaw, and pulled him into a kiss.

[speakordie]

“Wrong season for stone fruit,” I joke back, smirking a little and nuzzling into his palm as he guides me closer. Our mouths meet and I let my eyes fall shut as I relax against him.

Grief has clouded so much of my thoughts that I had almost forgotten just how good it feels to kiss him, to let his sunshine chase away the gray.

My fingers curl in the front of his shirt and I deepen the kiss, licking into his mouth like that day on the berm, like I’m discovering just how good it feels all over again.

[latermaybe]

"We could always branch out," I suggested, murmured against his mouth, my lips parting as his tongue swept out to taste my own.

Fingers slipping into his hair, I pulled him closer, my other hand gentle at the slight dip of his waist. After a moment, I pushed my chair back with a creak and urge him to his feet without breaking our kiss.

[speakordie]

I’ve been holding myself so rigid and now I can feel myself loosening, crackling like thawing ice, and I let out an almost startled whimper as Oliver guides me to my feet. He holds me and everything feels okay.

It isn’t. I know it isn’t and maybe it won’t be for a long time, but there’s a relief in knowing that there will be good moments. I can let the man I love chase it all away for a little bit. I can still feel good things.

I grab at his waist, hands sliding to the small of his back as I pull him in closer, one hand lifting to his jaw as we kiss each other like nothing else matters.

Because for right now, nothing else does.