Page 142 of Saving Sparrow
“There,” Quentin called out, pointing out his window. I scooted closer to Elliott’s side for a better look at the girl strolling along in a Wembly Hawks T-shirt.
“The dog, too,” Elliott said, and sure enough, her bulldog sported a hawk on his doggy shirt, too.
Sliding back over to my seat, I pointed out my own window while calling out, “Hawk’s Bakery.”
Quentin smashed on the brakes, the scent of pastries filling the car. He inhaled, exhaling on the word, “Chocolate.”
A car honked behind us, and cursing, Quentin started moving again. I made a mental note to come back and buy him a brownie or something.
A few blocks up, past the shops and bars, we rode by an urban park with a statue of a hawk at its entrance. “Nice.” Quentin nodded in appreciation of the guys tossing a football around on the lawn. I wondered if they were part of the Wembly football team or just students passing time and having fun. Quentin didn’t recognize them from the bonding-stay, but we weren’t close enough for him to be sure. We kept going, spotting a group of girls sporting spirit wear, chatting on the sidewalk.
We cruised past the sprawling campus next, taking in the school banners hanging between the pillars of Wembly Hall. The campus went on for blocks, each building more impressive than the last, the brickwork beautiful.
Quentin made a right up ahead, following the signs for Housing Row.
“You okay?” I asked Elliott, reaching over to lace my fingers through his again.
“Yeah,” he said, his pearly whites on full display. He’d been nervous about his senior year at Locklier, but he seemed excited about college now.
“This is us,” Quentin said, turning onto a tree-lined street named Poet Lane. Every sandstone walkup had a late poet’s name engraved over the doorway. We’d be living on the fourth floor of the Langston Hughes building.
“That’s ours at the end,” I said, remembering the brownstone from the photos we saw online.
The spring semester was winding down with the official last day of finals at the end of the week. There’d likely be a lot of activity near the dorms with students already moving their stuff out for summer break. Unlike living on campus, we wouldn’t need to switch housing locations every school year, nor would anyone else living on our street, so things were relatively quiet on our block.
Quentin parallel parked in front of our building, and we all gave each other one last goofy smile before hopping out and getting to work.
The bad news about living on the fourth floor of a walkup was that we had towalkup. There were no elevators. Thegoodnews was that we had private access to the small deck on the roof. We could watch the sun rise and set from up there, and we could eat dinner under the stars. All of which were part of our summer plans.
We were a sweaty mess by the time we got the last of the boxes upstairs. That was when we realized we couldn’t unpack—or even sit down. We had no furniture.
“Shit,” Quentin muttered as we surveyed the living room, boxes everywhere. “We probably should’ve brought some folding chairs.”
“Yeah, and maybe we should’ve thought to order furniture before coming here.” I scratched my head, wondering why the heck we hadn’t thought this out better.
“Let’s just go get some furniture.” Elliott shrugged. “It’s still early.”
Quentin swooped in, sweeping Elliott off his feet. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.” He gave him a dramatic peck on the lips. Elliott laughed, wriggling until Quentin set him on his feet again.
We spent hours furniture shopping only to return empty-handed. Well, we got groceries, an air mattress, a fold-up table with chairs, pots, utensils, sheets, and towels. Butapparently, you can’t just take the furniture on display. You pay and then wait weeks for stuff to be slowly delivered.
We did what we could. Inflated the mattress, hung whatever clothes needed hanging in the closets, got the little kitchen set up with the table and chairs, andthenwe ran out two more times. Once for curtains and again for a garbage bin and toilet paper. We refused to go back out once we realized we also needed paper towels, so the toilet paper ended up serving two functions.
I madeLa Banderafor the first time that night. It wasn’t the best, but we were too happy to care. We skipped the table to eat on our temporary bed, huddling in as close as our plates would allow.
“Detergent,” Elliott said. I fed him another spoonful of rice and meat before adding detergent to our growing list of needs. We planned on being smarter tomorrow to avoid ten trips to the same place.
I scooped a forkful of food into my mouth as Quentin fed Elliott his next bite. We’d piled extra food onto our plates so we could take turns feeding him.
“Oh yeah, lube,” Quentin said, leaning in to lick sauce off the corner of my mouth. “Lots of lube.”
“So, theeightbottles you packed aren’t enough?” I asked. It was the one thing he hadn’t forgotten to bring.
“It’s never enough, Guelly.” He set his fork down on his plate, pulling me to him by the nape, kissing me with a little tongue before backing away with a smile.
“Lamps. We didn’t order lamps,” Elliott said, passing me the soda next. I took a sip, setting it down while Quentin nibbled and kissed Elliott’s bare shoulder.
I added lamps to our list, then Elliott leaned forward for a soft kiss. He backed away, his cheeks pink, his smile shy.
