Page 88 of Our Own Light

Oliver’s mouth fell open.

“Oh my God,” he said. “No, I hadn’t remembered, but now... wow, I can’t believe I had forgotten.”

“Well, you were young. I can hardly blame you for not being interested in learning who one of your relatives was supposed to marry,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Obviously, that never came to be. I fell in love with Mary, Frederick’s sister. Our families tried to keep us apart. You may remember that I came to New York for a little while. Meanwhile, Frederick was upset with his parents for how they reacted, and he left for West Virginia, taking Mary with him. Mary and I kept writing to each other. I wrote to Frederick, too. It wasn’t long before he felt secure enough in his business to help Mary and I start our life here.”

Oliver took off his hat, raked a hand through his hair, and put his hat back on again. He was so stunned he nearly repeated the nervous tick a second time.

“I can’t believe it,” he said after a moment.

“So, you see, you having a relationship with a man isn’t so scandalous to me.”

“Wow, I...” It felt as though Oliver’s tongue had become knotted in his mouth, preventing him from forming normal sentences. Aunt Betty had fallen for a woman! No wonder she had run from the family. “I’m so sorry you had to run.”

“Yes, well, I have my own little family here. Mary and Frederick and James.”

“And me?”

She smiled warmly. “And you.”

“I wish I could explain how much that means to me.”

“I know how much it means to you,” Aunt Betty said. “Remember, I’m an Astor, too.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Oliver said before heaving a sigh. “I thought I had created a little family, too, but... God, I’m so worried I’ll lose Floyd.”

“Floyd is the name of the man you’re seeing?”

“Right.”

“Did you try to talk to him about how you feel?”

“Not . . . yet.”

“I think that might be a sensible first step, then,” she said with a playful look in her eye, one that suggested that she was teasing him a little. Oliver huffed a laugh. Aunt Betty had teased him! What a strange visit this was.

“Yes, well, I can try, but I haven’t been able to convince him to spend time alone with me for the last week or so. Not that I let him know how important I think it is or anything, but...” Aunt Betty raised an eyebrow in response to what he had said, making Oliver feel a tiny bit foolish. He supposed that maybe he had been too busy catastrophizing to make a real effort to talk to Floyd about the changes he had sensed in their relationship. Maybe Floyd really had only been missing his family. Oliver threw his head back and sighed very loudly. What a nincompoop he was! “Alright, maybe things aren’t that bad. Or maybe they are?”

“But you aren’t sure.”

“No, I’m not. It’s... well, we were spending so much time together and then, suddenly, it stopped. We still see each other in the mines—he’s my butty, which is like a mining partner—and we still talk and laugh and everything, but you know, we’re basically always in public. I can’t kiss him in public. I can’t try to have some kind of lengthy, intimate conversation while we’re shoveling coal. Fuck, I need to try to talk to him. Maybe tomorrow. Once we’re through with work, I’ll... I’ll tell him that it’s important. Maybe everything is fine between us.”

“I hope it’s nothing,” Aunt Betty agreed.

“Do you mind if we chat for a little while longer? Take my mind off everything temporarily?”

“Not in the least,” Aunt Betty said. “But... would you like to meet Mary?”

“Really?” Oliver asked, lifting a hand to his chest. “I’d love to.”

Aunt Betty excused herself and left for the stairs. Oliver picked his nails nervously while he waited for her to return. Glancing around the room, Oliver caught sight of himself in the mirror and his eyes found his beautiful blue fedora—the one Floyd had purchased for him. Even though Oliver was terrified of Floyd’s potential rejection—petrified that the man with whom he had fallen in love would tell him that he simply couldn’t love him back—Oliver knew he had to confront him about the recent changes in their relationship. But, God, how he hoped Floyd loved him, too.

Floyd had awoken something in him, something that he had never felt before, something he hadn’t even thought he was capable of feeling. For years, Oliver had read Shakespeare and Austen and Tolstoy and so many other writers, finishing (or, well, nearly finishing) each love story only to be left wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Love? Romance? What in God’s name were those? He may as well have been reading a foreign language. But Floyd—Floyd was his Goddamned Rosetta Stone. And now Oliver understood love and passion and romance and, fuck, how could he ever live life without them again? He could move one thousand miles away and part of him—maybe even the most important part of him—would still be back in West Virginia with Floyd.

He had to try to make Floyd see that they belonged together. Oliver wasn’t Matt, but...

But maybe he was enough.

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