Page 89 of Wants and Needs
When he lies down on the couch I still don’t feel even slightly ready for bed, so naturally thoughts of Liam are the only thing in my mind.
The issues only surfaced because we don’t know each other well enough, not in a real, how-do-you-communicate way.
There’s no way around that—we’ve barely known each other for five weeks, it’ll take time—but since Liam is clearly experiencing something difficult, I can’t just not try to move everything along a bit faster now, can I?
I understand it’s a very real possibility that he might really need to be alone, that it might be the best course of action for him to feel better, and if that’s the case, then I’ll have to learn to accept it and offer it to him whenever he needs it in the future.
But . . .
He didn’t seem like he wanted to be alone.
And again, I’m well aware I’ve known him for very little time, but I think I know enough.
For fuck’s sake, I know enough about him—like him enough—to completely change what I think about my own sexuality.
I could be lying to myself, that’s a real possibility, but the slight chance that Liam is suffering more tonight because he’s alone pains me enough to do something about it.
So now, alone and with a notebook and a laptop right in front of me, I decide to do some research of my own.
And tomorrow, when my home is finally not full of people again, I’ll do everything I can to find out whether my gut feeling is right or wrong.
Normally,I don’t come to MP on my days off.
The bakery being right between the two galleries means I don’t come anywhere close to this part of the city when I don’t have to, but today is not like any other day.
Today, I buy a dozen cinnamon rolls—only possible since it’s early on a Saturday—and then order a car to take me to Liam’s apartment building.
But when I walk over to the doorman, I don’t say I’m there to see Liam. No, I give Sam and Ed’s name instead.
He calls up and I’m allowed into the elevator promptly. All the way up to the top floor I wonder if this is the right thing to do, and in the end, I believe it is.
This isn’t asking Sam to talk to her son, or even to tell me how to “handle” Liam.
I don’t need to handle Liam, and he’s never needed tobehandled. All I want is an opinion on my next move.
Even so, I’m nervous when Sam opens the door with a confused smile on her face.
“Carter, so nice to see you again,” she says gracefully.
“I’m sorry for stopping by without any invitation, but I’ve brought cinnamon rolls.” I hold the box up like an offering.
“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart. Come on in.” She leads me to the kitchen where I set the box on the big table. “You want some coffee?”
“Actually, I’m here to ask you something about Liam, if that’s okay? And I’m hoping to go down to his place after.”
Her face transforms multiple times—first another frown, this one with clear displeasure, then an uncertain grimace, and lastly a mostly blank look with a hint of annoyance.
I can’t blame her.
“You can ask whatever you want, but that doesn't mean I’ll answer,” she tells me eventually, her southern accent coming through unmistakably.
“That’s fair,” I admit, and get right to it. “I could tell yesterday that Liam was having a tough time with Mrs. Blackwell’s decision not to invest, and I wanted to support him, be there for him and comfort him however I could, but?—”
“She told him no?” Sam asks with a dramatic gasp.
“He hadn’t told you,” I realize as I say it.
“No, he didn’t,” she whispers.
