Page 149 of Saving Sparrow
“I said I would wait,” he sniped, grouchy as ever.
“Is that cute, grumpy frown supposed to scare me?”
He sighed. “I need some privacy. I have something to put under the tree.”
“Oh.” I dropped my arms, trying to see what he held behind him. “What is it?”
Sparrow stepped back. “In two days, remember? Your rules, not mine,” he said when I glared at him.
“Right,” I murmured, having to eat my own words and not enjoying the taste of them. I perked up when a mischievous idea came to me. “I’ll, um, get started on lunch and leave you to it.” I ignored his doubtful stare, kicking myself for sounding way too chipper as I slipped into the foyer. I took a couple of loud steps toward the kitchen, then quietly doubled back to the living room.
“I know you’re still there,” Sparrow called out just as I’d pressed my body against the entryway wall. I smiled, hurrying away.
I was stacking the dishes in the sink after lunch, preparing to wash them, when Sparrow sidled up next to me. “I know, I know,” I said before he could speak. “Cups first, plates last.”
“I was actually going to suggest we get some reading done and clean up later.”
“Say what?” The glass cup slipped from my hands and into the sink, but thankfully, it didn’t break. I felt his forehead and cheeks to be sure he wasn’t suffering from a fever.
“Very funny,” he drawled, pulling my hand away. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then looked at the sink full of dishes. “Then again, maybe—”
“Let’s go.” I dragged him by the hand from the kitchen, through the halls, and into the reading room.
Sparrow got a fire going while I browsed the bookcases for something new to read. I went withThe Galaxies Are Upon Us,skipping the cold couch and settling onto the floor in front of the fire.
Sparrow predictably grabbedTales of the Pavilion Sea, but instead of sitting on the couch, or one of the swivel chairs, or even beside me… He satbehindme, tentatively pressing his back to mine.
My body went tight, shock causing me to drop the book in my lap.
“Is this alright?” Sparrow asked, his voice a dangerous whisper.
I stared into the fire, replaying all the times Elliott and I had sat like this while reading. Grief,overwhelminggrief, slammed into my heart and soul, and I brought my hand to my mouth.
“Miguel,” Sparrow breathed, “are you okay?” The pressure on my back eased.
“Um, yeah,” I rasped, my hand moving to my throat as I swallowed down the lump there. “I’m fine. Stay… please.”
Sparrow leaned back again, but he couldn’t relax; neither of us could. I was a creature of touch, of love and affection. I needed it to survive, and having Sparrow give me this… this gift reminded me of that.I miss this.I miss so much more.
Pain and longing and need clawed at me, and a small seed of hope began to inflate my chest, taking up more room than my denial.Maybe I can let myself have this. Maybe I can have what I lost again. Maybe it isn’t lost at all.
I exhaled, my body loosening up, allowing Sparrow to relax too. I watched the flames flicker for a while, listening to him turn the pages of his book, mumbling certain passages out loud. He had a habit of doing that sometimes. I found it endearing.
Eventually, I brought a trembling hand back to my lips, tracing the small smile there before diving back intoThe Galaxies Are Upon Us.
We spent hours reading and keeping warm by the fire. Then Sparrow surprised me for the second time that day. He made us sandwiches fordinner with the leftover chicken and baked bread from last night—and then suggested weeatthem in the reading room.
It wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be, not when he spent the whole time vigilantly watching for dropped crumbs. Still, it was a nice change, and it was nice to watch him try to change.
Afterward, we did what we’d come to do almost every night before bed. We watched the stars from the front yard. I shared stories about my past while he listened, not my past with Elliott and Quentin, but my early years. The years that helped shape me—what I could remember of them anyway.
I told him stories about my mother’s childhood, about how my grandparents made their way to this country, about how they’d died, leaving her to raise me on her own after my father abandoned her. I told him more than I’d ever told Quentin or Elliott because Sparrow had a way of making me dig deep for things long forgotten. He’d never had anyone to talk to before, and now that he wasn’t afraid to show how much he enjoyed our conversations, he was eager for more of them.
Sparrow was nice to me without having to fight himself for it, each act of kindness comparable to him showing me a piece of his heart. I found myself wanting the whole of it.
I’d said I’d do the right thing in the end, but when we came in from the cold, and he led me upstairs instead of to his workout room, I wasn’t so sure I knew right from wrong anymore.
“You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor,” he said from the bedroom doorway.
