He watched Wallace, that quiet smile on his face.
“Don’t make this into a big deal,” Wallace muttered.
“I would never,” Hugo said.
“Thank you,” the old woman said. “My tongue gets swollen and my face balloons up, and I look like quite the fright. No nuts, Hugo! No nuts.”
And after that, Wallace spent most of his days out in front of the tea shop.
Nelson was thrilled. “You can overhear some of the strangest things,” he told Wallace as they walked between the tables. “People aren’t very careful with their secrets, even when they’re out in public. And it’s not eavesdropping, not really.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s true. At all.”
Nelson shrugged. “Gotta get our kicks from somewhere. So long as we don’t interfere, Hugo doesn’t seem to mind.”
“I mind a lot,” Hugo muttered as he walked by them, carrying a tea tray to a couple sitting near the window.
“He says that, but he doesn’t mean it,” Nelson whispered. “Oh, look. Mrs. Benson is here with her girlfriends. They talk about butts all the time. Let’s go listen in.”
They did talk about butts. Including Hugo’s. They giggled amongst themselves as they watched him, batting their eyelashes when he stopped by their table to ask if they needed anything else.
“Oh, the things I’d let him do to me,” one of the women breathed as Hugo reached up to the board above the counter to write down a new special of the day: lemon balm tea. “Such lovely hands.”
One of the other women said, “My mother would’ve called them piano hands.”
“I’d certainly let him play my piano,” Mrs. Benson murmured, twisting her gaudy wedding ring. “And by piano, I mean—”
“Oh, please,” a third woman said. “He’s one of those gays. You’re lacking a few important pieces that would ever make you find out what his fingers could do.”
“Watch this,” Nelson whispered, elbowing Wallace in the stomach. Then, he raised his voice to a shout. “Hey, Hugo! Hugo. They’re talking about your fingers in an inappropriate way again and it’s making Wallace blush!”
The chalk in Hugo’s hand crumbled as he jerked back from the board, clattering teacups on the counter.
Nelson cackled as his grandson glared at the both of them, ignoring the way others in the tea shop were staring at him curiously. “Sorry,” he said. “Slipped a little.”
“I’m not blushing,” Wallace growled at Nelson.
“A bit,” Nelson said. “I didn’t even know you could still do that. Huh. Should I say something else to see how far that blush can go?”
Wallace should have stayed in the kitchen.
* * *
The woman came back. It wasn’t every day, and sometimes it was in the morning, and other times it was late in the afternoon as the sun was beginning to sink in the sky.
It was always the same. She’d sit at the table by the window. Mei would come out front to work the register, and Hugo would carry a tea tray with a single cup and set it on the table. He’d sit across from her, hands folded on the table, and wait.
The woman—Nancy—barely acknowledged his presence, but Wallace could see the tightness around her eyes when Hugo pulled the chair out and sat down.
Some days, she seemed to be filled with rage, her eyes flashing, skin stretching over hollowed cheeks. Other days, her shoulders were slumped and she barely lifted her head. But she always looked exhausted, as if she too were a ghost and could no longer sleep. It caused a strange twist in Wallace’s stomach, and he didn’t know how Hugo could stand it.
He stayed away. Nelson did too.
Nelson watched as the woman stood, the chair scraping against the floor.
Nancy stopped when Hugo said, “I’ll be here. Always. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.” It was the same thing he said every time she left. And every time, she stopped as if she was actually hearing him.
But she never spoke.
Most days, Hugo would sigh and collect the tea tray before carrying it back to the kitchen. He’d stay back there for a little while, Mei watching the doors with a worried look on her face. Eventually, he’d come back out, and it was as if it’d never happened at all.
But today was different.
Today, the door slammed shut, rattling in the frame.
Hugo stared out the window after her, watching as she walked down the road, shoulders hunched, pulling her coat tighter against the cool air.
He stood when she was out of sight, but he didn’t pick up the tray. He went behind the counter, digging around in a drawer until he pulled out a set of keys. “I’ll be back,” he said to Mei.
She nodded. “Take your time. We’ll hold down the fort. I’ll let you know if something happens.”
“Thanks, Mei.”
Wallace was strangely alarmed when Hugo left the shop without so much as another word. He stood at the window and watched as Hugo went to the scooter. He lifted one leg up and over before settling down on the seat. The engine rumbled, and he pulled away, dust kicking up behind the tires.
Wallace wondered what it’d be like to ride with him, Hugo’s back protecting him from the wind, hands gripping Hugo’s waist. It was melancholic, this thought, though it was lost to a strange rising panic.
“He’s leaving?” Wallace asked, voice high and scratchy. The cable stretched and stretched as Hugo disappeared around the corner. “I didn’t think he could…” He swallowed thickly, barely resisting the urge to chase after Hugo. He expected the cable to snap. It didn’t.
“He doesn’t go far,” Nelson said from his chair. “Never does. Just to clear his head. He’ll be back, Wallace. He wouldn’t leave.”
“Because he can’t,” Wallace said dully.
“Because he doesn’t want to,” Nelson said. “There’s a difference.”
With nothing better to do, Wallace waited at the window. He ignored Mei when she turned the sign to CLOSED as the last customer left Charon’s Crossing. He ignored Apollo who sniffed at his fingers. He ignored Nelson sitting in front of the fireplace.
It was dark by the time Hugo returned.
Wallace met him at the door.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” Hugo said. “Sorry about that. I—”
Wallace shook his head. “You don’t have to explain.” Feeling strangely vulnerable, he looked down at his feet. “You’re allowed to go wherever you want.” He winced, because that wasn’t exactly true, was it?
A beat of silence. Then Hugo said, “Come on. Let’s go outside.”
They didn’t talk that night. Instead, they stood almost shoulder to shoulder. Every time Wallace opened his mouth to say something, anything, he stopped himself. It all felt … trivial. Unimportant. And so he said nothing at all, wondering why he felt the constant need to fill the quiet.
Instead, he watched Hugo out of the corner of his eye, hoping against hope that it was enough.
Before they went back inside for the night, Hugo said, “Thank you, Wallace. I needed that.” He tapped his knuckles against the deck railing before heading inside.