Page 37 of Oyster

I asked myself that a hundred times a day. Éti Salvador, the love that came without warning. Dive bombing the emotional wasteland of my heart and shaking it like a maraca. “Fuck knows. She’ll come to her senses soon.”

That earned me another tipsy hug. “Je rigole, mon ami. I’m teasing. She can’t take those beautiful big grey eyes off you. Or her hands. Smitten, smelly boy. The lovely lady is totally smitten.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can hide her from everyone. She’s lively. She has a big personality. She wants to explore everything, try everything.”

“A bit of a handful, non?” Florian shrugged. “Embrace it! She must be the reason God gave you two hands. So, when is she declaring youramourto the world? At the end of the soccer season?”

“Eh?”

“I said,” he repeated, still smiling at me, “when will she be presenting her handsome oyster fisherman to the general public? And coming out as trans? Like you said, she’s a big character—not someone who will be able to keep her happiness to herself.”

I hadn’t ventured out tonight seeking a discussion regarding my future, but a discussion was happening, regardless. As ribbons of anxiety made themselves known in the pit of my fullbelly, my joyous mood cooled somewhat. “She’s managing very well so far,” I replied stiffly.

“Come on, Nico.” Florian tutted. “Don’t be naïve. You can’t sneak around forever, stealing a few hours here and there in her little love nest and hiding her away from everyone—including your family. Cuddling on the sofa and sex is great, when you get around to having it, but, you know, every now and again you’re going to have to leave the house. And what about the media? They’ll discover it eventually. They always do. The narrative needs to come from her, not from some journalist keen on making his name.”

The fucker was right, as usual. With such an emotionally packed present, I hadn’t contemplated the future, and I didn’t know how much Éti had either. Our relationship was brand new. Never mind sex, we’d done nothing more than kiss. It was too fresh to be exposed to the media, and Éti deserved to out herself on her own terms when she was good and ready.

Images tumbled through my mind of cameras flashing, crowds yelling, people hurling abuse at her. Headlines screaming her name. But alongside them were pictures of us holding hands across a table inL’Escale, Éti hidden behind her dark shades, or picking out fruit in the market, even buying makeup in a goddamned beauty store.

“I don’t know what the time ahead holds, Flor. We haven’t discussed it.”

He drew in a long breath. “All I’m saying is that you and Éti need to make sure you dictate it. Not PSG, not the fans, and not social media.”

All of a sudden, I felt remarkably sober.

We strolled back to Éti’s in the dark, cutting through to the beach and along the empty shore. Not a soul to be seen ineither direction. In between Éti chattering, kicking at stuff, and swinging on my arm, we stopped to kiss.

“I demand to be shown this octopus tattoo that Florian teased you about. As soon as we get in the house. I need to count its legs very carefully.”

“Florian has a big mouth,” I grumbled. “I’ve a good mind to pour a gallon of food colouring in his muddy pond and turn all his salt purple.”

“He’s swoony.”

“He is not!”

“Is so! And he’s promised me a private tour of his salt flat.”

Hah! I knew exactly how that invite ended for Charles. Suffice to say, he learned a hell of a lot more than how to harvest sea salt. “I’ll be coming along.”

“He said you can’t. Your smelly oilskins scare away the tourists.”

I made to grab her, and she skipped out of reach. Refusing to subject myself to the indignity of failing to catch her, I stayed put. An impatient soul, she came dancing back soon enough and slid her arms around my neck.

“I have something very important to tell you, Nico.”

“Is it that your boyfriend is the most wonderful Frenchman you have ever laid eyes on?”

“Nope. Although he is, even when he’s a titchy bit grumpy.”

I’d been teasing, not fishing for compliments, but I’d take it. “I’m never grumpy.” Her eyes, the same fathomless grey of the dark ocean behind her, turned solemn.

“I’m in love,” she announced.

“What, with Florian? Hate to break it to you, but that’s not an exclusive club. You should see the ladies gathered around his salt flat in the height of summer.”

“Non, connard. Not with Florian. I’m in love with you. Withyou, Nico.”

With me.My heart thieved an extra beat. “Really?”

---