Page 52 of A Small Town Spring

“Are you fucking kidding me?He thinks you hung the moon.He clearly wants to have your babies.”

“Stop.”I stand up and start mindlessly tidying the bar, straightening the books and magazines, tossing one of Luna’s cat toys into the living room.I don’t want to hear something that can’t happen be talked about so casually.

“Kingston, listen to me.”The softness in Van’s voice is what makes me face him.“If you like him, you should just tell him.There’s no reason you shouldn’t make a move.”

“I—” I don’t even know what to say.I can’t explain how it’s better if I don’t tell him so that when he leaves to go on to bigger and better things, it won’t hurt as much.

“Look—I fell in love with my roommate, too.I know what I’m talking about.”Van could sound smug or supercilious.But he’s calm.Compassionate, even, which is infuriating.

“Too?”I echo, my final pathetic attempt to deny what he’s saying.

“Yeah,” he says, not letting me get away with it.“And while I’m not privy to inside knowledge, given the way he looks at you, talks about you, I would put money on his being just as gone for you.”

The flare of hope burns bright and hot in my chest for one wonderful, horrible second before dying out into cold, empty nothingness.

“Thanks for stopping by,” I say mechanically.“I have that April date blocked off for your big day.”

“Okay,” he says slowly.He gets to his feet and drops his hand heavily on my shoulder.He lets me get away with closing the books on the subject this time.“Thanks, man.You be good, you hear?”

“Always,” I say.

But later, eating the delicious root vegetable soup Toby’s made for me, our hands glancing off each other as we both reach for slices of the dense sourdough bread he picked up from Stacy in town, I can’t help but feel that flame of hope flare up again, fanned by the warmth in Toby’s eyes, by the cozy domestic scene we can’t help but make, and I wonder if maybe Van is right.Maybe there’s no reason not to make a move.

Except that I don’t really believe him when he says Toby’s gone for me.I would know it, wouldn’t I?There’d be signs.There’d be evidence.

Going to sleep that night, my belly full of the food Toby made, I wonder if the evidence has been here all along, and I’ve just been too scared to catalogue it.

Am I going to keep being scared forever?

Twenty-Six

Kingston

Toby’snot around much in February.In the middle of the month, Galia and Grayson show up with a rented truck and a handful of white-gloved movers to wrap and transport all of the artwork to the gallery for staging.He spends a few nights at my place in the city, but he’s mostly distracted, working at the gallery, doing press, having lunch with people Fernanda tells him he needs to have lunch with.We barely see each other, and I miss him.

The preview of the gallery show is on a Wednesday, the opening night party the next day, and then the hard work will be over for now.I’m invited to the preview, but most of the Rosedale contingent are coming up for the Thursday party, which will have more buyers and fewer critics.

When I asked Toby what he’d decided to do about his dad’s email, he shrugged me off and said he’d taken care of it.I reminded myself it wasn’t my place to press him and let it go.But he seems nervous as the day approaches, a little more so every day.I’m busy with work, too, so I can only hope that he’s getting enough sleep and eating right.He hired a cat sitter to come by and check on Luna when we’re both in the city, and I miss our cozy, relaxed time in Rosedale as the date of the show grows closer.

We have some warm days in early March, presaging the true arrival of spring.Crocuses come up on the walk to work, and the evenings suddenly get longer after the time change.I trade my winter overcoats for spring raincoats just in time for three days in a row of downpours.

And then suddenly the day is here.Toby and I are in my apartment getting ready to go to the preview.I’ve chosen a simple dark gray suit with a paisley shirt and a shiny tie.I take care trimming my beard, rubbing beard oil through it, enjoying the lemon-honey scent.

“Kingston, a little help?”Toby calls from the living room.

I find him struggling with the jacket we picked out together weeks ago.He’s got on his signature sneakers, tight black pants, and a military-style jacket made from a gorgeously decadent embroidered floral pattern, simple black tee underneath.The perfect blend of statement and comfort and very Toby.He’s got a similar outfit for tomorrow’s party.

“Should I do the buttons up?Does this look ridiculous?Am I trying too hard?”

“Calm down,” I say, taking his hands away from the buttons and smoothing the front of his jacket, trying not to accidentally feel him up.“You look great, not trying too hard at all.”I smooth some of the curls tumbling over his forehead.“If anything, you look like you’re trying the perfect amount.”

“It’s going to be fine, I know that,” he says, his panicked tone belying his words.

“It’s going to be so fine,” I agree calmly.“Ready to go?”

He takes a deep breath, clenches his hands into fists by his sides.“Ready.Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

---