Page 47 of Romeo vs Romeo

Cedric put his hands on the sides of my face and tipped my head up so our gazes locked onto each other. “For Mama Viv,” Cedric said.

“For Mama Viv,” I echoed.

My prince and boyfriend and the heart of my heart leaned in and pressed a kiss on my lips. As easily as that, I was afraid a little less.

Mama Viv

Thomas’ photographs adorned the wall of my sitting room. The square lights beaming off the small disco ball on the distant windowsill landed across the maximalist composition of the memory wall.

Thomas.

It was hard to believe that it had been nearly forty years since he had passed away. Forty glamorous years that he would have loved to see.

The disco ball moved at its slowest setting, bathing my sitting room in red, white, and blue and matching the rhythm of Pet Shop Boys’ “It’s a Sin.” The melody came to me passively. My heart knew each rise and fall, each crescendo, each melancholic cry of the instrumental track. My voice knew how to match them, thanks to years of practice.

I smoothed my velvety dress and fought back the tears that caught me by surprise. How long had it been since I had last cried? You didn’t live as long as me if you let every gut punch melt your mascara. You didn’t survive in this cutthroat world if you showed your weakness.

Sliding my long-nailed forefingers under my eyes with care, I stopped my silliness in its tracks, and not a moment too soon. The knock came just as I sniffed.

“Come in,” I called to my expected visitor.

Roman Cross popped his head through an opening in the door. “We decent, Mama Viv?”

“Oh, will you let me live it down, Roman?” I scoffed. “One time you run into a lady without her wig, and it’s a story for the ages.”

Roman chuckled as he entered my sitting room. “It’s not that lack of the wig that has me nervous, Mama Viv. It was the red lace lingerie.”

“I never took you for a prude,” I said, pointing my pointer fingernail right between his eyes.

He crossed the room and gave me a big kiss on the cheek. “You’re right. Still, you screamed like I’d ripped the pearls right off your neck.”

“Sit,” I invited him, taking my place in my well-worn armchair. A stack of books nearly fell over the arm holder where I had piled them up, unable to rein in my attention on Ocean Vuong’s poetry or Tomasz Jedrowski’sSwimming In The Dark,however much I wished otherwise. “Tell me,” I said, folding my hands in my lap.

Roman took a seat in the middle of the ottoman across the long coffee table, his knees spreading wide and elbows resting on them, hands clasped together. “We have something, it’s true.”

I nodded once.

“But…” Roman hesitated. “I decided to put it into the arsenal instead of pulling the trigger.”

I nodded again. “Nuclear?”

Roman spread his hands in a mimicry of an explosion. “Kha-boom.”

“Nobody wants that,” I said. I’d rather lose Neon Nights than own its ashes together with the burnt husks of everyone who had helped me.

“It wasn’t easy,” Roman said. “But I have to protect him, Mama Viv. He’s too exposed already, and I won’t let him leap off the cliff for us before I’ve tried everything else.”

I agreed unequivocally with that and made him understand as much.

“On the bright side,” Roman continued, “they’re shitting their pants, Mama Viv.”

“Are they?” It was hard to conceal pride from my tone. It was true, I was proud to be the matron of this ragtag band of misfits, but the sort of pride I felt at this very moment was a purer one. Roman was a good kid. He would make me worry until I pulled my wigs apart, but he was never false. Not to his friends and not to himself. Yes, I was proud of Roman Cross.

“I really think we’re getting somewhere with the efforts to have Neon Nights recognized for its cultural significance,” Roman said in a heated, more passionate tone. “I’ll meet Layla Zahran next week to see how soon we can file the motion, but the coverage we’re getting is spectacular. It’s enough to have Harold Langley foaming.”

“And Everett? How is he taking it, darling?” I asked, considering the discussion settled.

Roman nodded, but it was a little more reluctant now. “He’s hurt, Mama Viv. It’s not helped by the fact that he’s watching the aftermath of another young man getting outed in real time. He’s looking into his own future, and he’s terrified. It makes him angry and rash, I think.”

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