“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I want to. I do.” He snuggled close to Sam, looking up at him from under his long lashes. “I wish you could put me in your pocket and take me home.”
Sam felt his heart expanding, like one of those thin discs of sponge when you put it in the water. He knew that repeat engagements weren’t necessarily a thing when two men hooked up; knew, too, that being needy was rarely a turn-on, for either men or women, but he couldn’t help himself. The last hours had been the most tender, romantic, sweetest time of his life, and he knew that if he didn’t ask he would spend the rest of his life regretting it.
“Maybe tomorrow?” Sam said, trying to keep his voice light, trying to sound like he didn’t feel his entire life balanced on a precipice, waiting to tilt toward sorrow or joy. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
He felt the boy still against him, could feel him gather himself. Then, all in a rush, Anthony blurted, “The thing is, the girl I just broke up with. I’m staying with her, and her family.”
“Ah,” Sam said, and tried to hide his disappointment. He mulled it over. “I see where that could be complicated. Does your ex know that, ah…”
“That I’m bi? Yeah. That I’m here?” Sam sensed, more than heard, the boy’s sigh. “No.”
“She wouldn’t be happy,” Sam guessed.
“There are probably some conversations I need to have,” Anthony said carefully. “But…” He reached up to cup Sam’s cheek. When he smiled, his eyes were dazzling dark stars. “You don’t have a curfew or anything like that, right?”
Sam shook his head. His heart and belly both felt like they were fizzing with fireworks; his veins felt shot full of unadulterated joy. How did I get so lucky? he wondered.
Anthony rolled onto his back, pulling Sam down against him until they were chest to chest, belly to belly.
“Kiss me,” Anthony whispered. Sam wrapped both of his arms around him, drawing him close, never wanting to let go.
Annette
Annette and Ruby drove for hours, up and down the length of Cape Cod; down to the Bourne Bridge and back again, sometimes talking, mostly silent. Finally, Annette brought Ruby back to her room at a hotel at the very end of Provincetown. Ruby sat on the edge of the bed, and Annette untied her daughter’s shoes, the way she never had when Ruby was little. She put Ruby to bed, and tucked her in gently, and said, “Get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.” Ruby had looked up at her, with trembling lips and tear-glazed eyes, and said, “Will they? I don’t think they will.”
“I promise.” Annette considered. “And even if they don’t, there’s always hot coffee and doughnuts.”
Ruby managed a smile. “I’m here,” said Annette, and touched her daughter’s cheek. Ruby closed her eyes and, just as Annette guessed, was sound asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
Annette moved around the room as quietly as she could. She set Ruby’s shoes by the door. She unpacked her toiletries and hung up the dress she’d bought, telling the saleswoman she was going to a wedding without saying she was the mother of the bride. She was shopping for a mother-of-the-bride dress, but she probably wouldn’t have wanted a traditional mother-of-the-bride dress anyway, something floor-length, covered in sequins, with a bolero-style jacket, in some muted noncolor with a name like “greige” or “eggshell” or “horn.” She was very happy with the dress she’d gotten, which was indigo-colored cotton, simply cut, with colorful embroidery at the neckline.
When there was nothing left to unpack or arrange, Annette sat in an armchair in the corner of the room with her legs curled underneath her and regarded her daughter. Another runaway bride, she thought, and wondered if it was genetic; if all of the women in her family got itchy feet at the notion of being wives and mothers. Her own mother had done, at best, an indifferent job. Vivian Morgan had always been more interested in her tennis games and her clothes and the parties she threw and attended than in her three children. When, in the midst of an argument, Annette had flung the eternal teenage-girl accusation at Vivian—I don’t know why you even had kids!—her mother had rolled her eyes, taken a drag from her cigarette, and said, Do you think I had a lot of options?
Annette had had options—at least, more than her own mother. She could have defied Eli’s wishes and gone through with the abortion. But then, no Ruby. And she couldn’t bring herself to wish Ruby away. Not even with the misery that had followed Ruby’s birth; not even with how that shame had dogged her, recurring every time she’d had to explain herself to a new lover who’d noticed her Cesarean scar, or to a friend who’d become close enough to deserve the truth. Ruby was an adult now, an actual person. A person whose company Annette enjoyed. And if Annette’s unhappiness had been the price of that, the price of Ruby being and becoming who she was, happy and loved, with a family around her, Annette was not sorry she’d paid it.