Page 7 of A Breath of Life
“What? They were.”
“They looked like embossed silver. The morning coat was definitely wool. Merino, probably. That’s easily another thousand bucks. Now, I’m not sure, but I think those were Christian Louboutin boots. Not technically period-accurate, but they worked with the outfit. Easily eighteen hundred dollars, and—”
“How do you know what all these things cost?”
I didn’t have to see the eye roll to know it happened. “Fashion is my thing, Guns. All eras. Do you know how many hours a day I spend browsing high-end boutiques on the internet? Maybe I can’t afford that shit, but a boy can dream.” He sighed. “That’s what I should have studied in school. Fashion.”
“You hate studying.”
“Not the point.”
“Well, the top hat was ridiculous.”
“This from a man who wears a fedora in the colder months.”
I could have argued, but he was right. “His cane was stupid.”
“Aw”—Tallus used stage-worthy flair and a similar accent to what we’d heard a moment ago—“but without it, good sir, would he have truly been a high-class gentleman?”
My lips twitched, but I fought the smirk. I didn’t know how to respond when Tallus grew performative. I was not a man built for a battle of wit with words, so I continued in unaffected silence.
He chuckled and let it go.
At the restaurant, I gave Tallus my credit card so he could run in and grab the food while Echo and I waited outside. My canine friend sniffed an alcove, an abandoned sleeping bag, and a bike someone had left chained to a post. I watched a streetcar rumble past, its interior lights showing passengers lost in their own worlds, reading, listening to music, sleeping, or engaged on their phones.
Tallus returned ten minutes later, peeking inside the full paper bag with a wide grin. “Gah, it smells amazing. My tummy is growling. I want to sit on the curb and devour it right now. I’m starving.”
“Did you eat anything today?”
He pondered a second, and his eyes lit up. “Yes. Kitty left me pasta in the staff fridge, but I ate it before noon, so it’s been a hundred years.” He returned his attention to the bag’s contents, shifting things around. “I got extra plum sauce. I hope you ordered, like, fifty billion egg rolls. Hey, why is there soup in here? I said, don’t get soup. Never mind. I’ll make room. It’s all good. You’re forgiven.”
“You’re a bottomless pit. I wasn’t worried.”
“I’m a growing boy.” Grinning facetiously, he secured the top of the paper bag and balanced it in one arm so he could take my hand with the other when I offered it. The lovesick look in his eyes told me I’d done well in theinitiating affectioncategory.
When he lifted to his toes and pecked a kiss on my cheek, saying, “Love you, D,” I broke eye contact and encouraged him to walk. My face burned hot with an odd mixture of embarrassment, pride, and shame as my heart swelled with reciprocal feelings I couldn’t always voice.
Love was a powerful emotion I was still processing and learning to articulate. I was a man of few words, but those three,I love you, were important to Tallus, so I did my best to use them, even if they were hard to speak, even if they tied my tongue in knots.
It took a block and a half of silence before I squeezed his fingers and mumbled, “I love you too.”
Rewarded with a contented sigh and dreamy smile, I knew I’d done okay.
We took a different route home so Echo got a full walk. She may not have technically been a puppy anymore, but she still had a lot ofenergy to expel. We veered along several quieter side streets as our food grew cold. The evening did not. A breeze would have been nice, but the air was still.
Tallus leaned against my side as we walked. We didn’t exchange words, and it was those quieter moments between us that stood out the most during times of reflection when Dr. Peterson asked how things were going.Well, I would tell him.Really well.
Tallus and I often took evening walks about the city, and those walks often passed without conversation. Our silences were never uncomfortable, and I never felt the need to fill them with senseless chatter—not that I ever chattered. They were peaceful. I liked to imagine no one else in the world got to see this quieter side of Tallus. The subdued version. I wondered if, as an extrovert, he felt the need to always beon. If he didn’t long for these calmer moments without an audience.
Even with Memphis, his best friend, it was a constant competition of theatrics. I’d watched them together, and it exhausted me.
Two blocks from home, on a familiar backstreet we often took during our evening walks, Echo came to an abrupt halt, spine stiff and body taut as a bowstring. With her sudden alertness, I was instantly on edge and stopped walking, cocking an ear and scanning the street for danger.
“What is it, girl?” I tightened her leash around my wrist, fearing she might bolt. It wasn’t something she did, but instinct had me reacting regardless.
“What’s wrong with her?” Tallus let go of my hand and shuffled the takeout to his other arm as he, too, scanned the street.
“I don’t know. Maybe—”
