Page 101 of Lotus

All four of us laugh, candid, without constraint, and I know this moment will stand out in my mind for the rest of my life. Me and my boys—my sweet, beautiful men, smiling and alive,together, vibrating with genuine joy. The last two decades wash away like a message in a bottle; the one that housed a desperate plea from inside my heart, a letter to the man in the sky, holding my wishes in his capable hands.

Wishes that all boiled down toonewish, written a thousand different ways.

When Oliver’s arms encircle me, boldly pulling me to his chest, I lose the fight I had no intention of winning. I collapse against him, my own happiness invading every little piece I’ve purposely left empty and hollow for far too many years. Those pieces were left for him.

Only him.

I hug him fiercely, hands linking behind his back as I inhale his woodsy, cedar cologne and the soap on his skin, clean and invigorating. Everyone is dancing around us, flailing and laughing to the upbeat song, and we are sinking, swaying, slow-sailing, swallowed up in the mere existence of one another.

I glance up at him, chin to his chest, already knowing I’d find him staring down at me with those chestnut-spun eyes. “Oliver…”

“Don’t, Syd.” Oliver threads his fingers through my hair, his nails lightly skimming my scalp. We undulate to the music, but it’s our own kind of music—the kind we make together. The smile he casts down on me is the beautiful crescendo. “Just let me hold you.”

A whispery breath leaves me on unsteady legs, my arms and heart clinging tighter than ever before. “I’m hard to hold,” I confess, my words pulled from the coil of fear inside of me.

But Oliver’s smile only swells as he lowers my cheek to his chest, his palm still cradling the back of my head like I am cherished—like I amhismissing piece. “Nothing worth holding is ever too hard.”

It’s not long before we’re stumbling through Oliver’s front door, both buzzing—him on Daiquiris, me onhim—peeling off our snow-covered coats and making our way upstairs. I know we won’t be able to talk tonight. It’s late, we’re tired, and Oliver is tipsy, having spent the entire drive home educating me with random, useless facts, such as:“Did you know the word ‘set’ contains the most definitions in the English dictionary?”

He then began to list them all. I had to stop him at one-hundred-something.

Oliver collapses onto his bed when we find our way to his room, and I linger in the doorway, wondering if I should leave or lie down with him. In the one minute it takes for me to decide to stay, Oliver already looks fast asleep, resting peacefully beneath his comforter.

I take the liberty of changing into one of his t-shirts for comfort purposes, folding my clubwear into a neat pile on his dresser, plucking off my earrings, and cautiously climbing into bed beside him. He doesn’t flinch when I scoot closer, my back to his chest, curled into him with my knees drawn up. His steady breaths and the heat from his skin warms me as I drift away.

Before sleep fully takes me over, I feel his arm encircle my waist, tugging me towards him until we’re shamelessly spooning. Oliver’s mouth meets the nape of my neck, the shivers running rampant as he whispers goodnight, snuggling me closer.

Holding me.

I’m not sure what wakes me, but it sounds an awful lot like Gabe’s voice. Blinking away my dreamland, it takes a moment for me to process the fact that I’m not in my own bed—I’m in Oliver’s bed, and itwasGabe I heard.

His voice trails off down the hallway on the opposite side of the door, seemingly having just returned home from the club. Then I realize that a reassuring weight has been removed from me, and I jerk around, looking for Oliver.

Our eyes meet through the hazy cloak of darkness. He’s sitting up, his back against the headboard. “Oliver?” My voice is raspy, groggy, curious, as I pull myself up on my haunches. “You’re awake?”

I can just make out his smile. “Yes. A dream startled me, and I wasn’t able to fall back to sleep. I decided to sit here and think, instead.”

Glancing at my cell phone through squinted eyes, I note that it’s almost two A.M. Oliver’s t-shirt is riding up my hips, so I tug it down, turning back towards him. “What were you thinking about?”

“Athena,” he answers easily.

I’m charmed. “You miss her, huh?”

“Yes. She was a good friend to me.”

Sliding further across the bed, I sit up along with him, so we’re eye-to-eye. My glasses are discarded on his nightstand, but the closer I get, the better I can see him. His smile still lingers, his body stiffening slightly as I lessen our gap. “Thank you for coming to see me tonight. I know large crowds and noise make you anxious, so it means a lot that you were there.”

A pause before he nods, gaze drifting away from me. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me after…” His Adam’s apple bobs with worry. “After my behavior last week.”

“Oliver, I’m not upset with you. I was just startled because I knew that wasn’tyou,” I tell him with urgency, moving in even closer, my hand reaching for his. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to change—not for me, not for anyone. You’re perfect the way you are.”

His fingers curl around mine, and I think I’m being drawn to him, pulled in closer, either by him or myself or an invisible force that turned us into magnets. Oliver grazes a hand up my arm, so delicately, causing goosebumps to flourish.

“For so long, I was just a name carved into a stone wall. I was a picture on paper, created by my own muddled mind,” he confesses, and there’s anguish woven into his words, evidence of his years of loneliness. But then his eyes find their way back to mine, and I see a shift. I see hope. “You make me feel like I’m…someone.”

“Youaresomeone, Oliver. You always have been.” The tears hit hard, and there is no shame in them. Only love, so much goddamn love, a love I’ve been holding inside me for nearly all of my life. I choke on the words that spill out of me. “When I was five-years-old, I gave you my heart on your front porch, and you gave me an oatmeal cookie, and I’ve thought about that moment every single day for over two decades. Even when you were gone, you still held my heart.”

“I’m not gone anymore, Syd.” His palms find my face, clasping my cheeks, tears slipping through his fingers. “I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding onto your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.”

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