Page 41 of Best Man
The question is bald and not one I’m prepared to answer. It’ll lead to things that really can’t happen no matter how much I’m growing towant them. I want his hand back in mine, I want to kiss those plump, puffy lips. I want to fuck him. But as he’s my employee, and happier and twenty years younger than me, I’m not going to do any of those things.
“Sometimes habit is not a good thing,” I say. I shake my head. “I was with Patrick for a long time but that doesn’t mean it was good. Max is right. I do feel more alive with you around. I don’t want you to change. I like that you’re inappropriate sometimes. I never got the chance to do that, so it’s nice to listen to.”
“I don’t want to be a clown to you.”
The statement is quiet and firm, and I look at him in amazement. “You could never be that, Jesse.” I hesitate. “I guess the truth is that I admire you.”
“You do?” The astonishment is palpable in his voice.
I sigh. “I do. You’re so full of life. You take chances and throw yourself into things. You care about people.”
“You care about people too. You care about far too many people, if you ask me.”
I shrug, suddenly becoming aware that we’re standing very close to each other. His eyes examine my face and his full lips are so close. I let my hands fall and step back slightly, seeing the faint look of disappointment he can’t hide. Fuck, this is getting into quicksand territory very quickly.
“I do care,” I say slowly. “But sometimes I don’t want to. Sometimes I’m tired of problems and solutions.” I shrug awkwardly. “My father was a bit of a character.” He tries to look surprised, but he’s not a good actor, and I sigh. “Max told you, didn’t he? I saw him talking very intently. Interfering wanker.”
He steps close again, and I inhale the scent of green tea on his skin. “He wasn’t being disloyal.”
“Of course he wasn’t. He’s my family.” I sigh again. “Oh well, at least I don’t have to go into the nitty-gritty.”
“You can though,” he says softly. “I’m sure your nitty-gritty is very different from his.”
I stare at him, wanting suddenly to talk to him, to tell him about my childhood. I wish I could describe the man my father was and howour relationship epitomised confusion, how I’d learnt at an early age that it is possible to love someone very deeply and still want to hit them over the head with a chair.
Instead, I smile and shake my head. “Not now,” I settle for saying, and he smiles with understanding written in his eyes. Over the last few days it’s amazed me how attuned our moods are. He seems to sense mine and steer around or through them in the same way I do his. It’s an astonishing feeling to someone like me who’s led a very self-contained life.
“Okay, then,” he says calmly. “Let’s have a wander.”
“And an ice cream,” I say sternly. He looks at me, and I nod. “Ice cream and when we get back you can burn that fucking outfit and put yourSesame StreetT-shirt back on.”
“That’ll put the cat amongst the pigeons at the formal dinner tonight,” he says demurely.
“Will the cat eat the Nina pigeon?”
“Not unless it wants severe heartburn. That woman has indigestion written all over her.”
My laughter is loud on the quiet street.
JESSE
We eat ice creams and wander the pretty village, following the river, crossing bridges and finding ourselves in little roads filled with gorgeous houses. I spin fantastical stories about who the owners are, becoming bold again under that warm gaze of his that looks at me so attentively.
As we walk, I lean closer, feeling the occasional brush of his hand against my leg and inhaling the scent of oranges and sandalwood on him. It used to epitomise the distant glamorous figure of my boss, but these last few days have given me a different view. Like I’ve shaken up a prism and seen different colours and patterns. Now, he’s still glamorous but he’s not distant anymore. He’s the kind, funny man with tired eyes that still show a faint hint of the self-contained boy he must have been, striving to take care of people in a world filled with ever-shifting priorities.
I still see the perfect good looks and charm but they’re buttressed by the way I now know that he’s secretly a little awkward in social situations. I can see past the shiny exterior to the way his back gets stiff and a faint furrow appears between those pretty eyes when he’s having to make polite conversation. It gives me a heady thrill to have this secret knowledge.
I shake my head as we stop outside an art gallery. I don’t know what to do with this new knowledge of him that I have. I watch him looking at a huge watercolour with lively appreciation. In a month I’ll probably never see him again.
The thought makes me flinch. Where once I couldn’t wait to start the new job and begin my life properly, now I just think of how much of a fucking hole he’ll leave in my life.
“You alright?” he asks, staring at me with a look of concern.
As much as I love that he seems to see me now, I also hate to be yet another person that he has to worry about, so I smile brightly and convincingly, pleased to see the shadow leave his eyes.
“I’m fine. Do you want to go in?”
He shoots a longing glance towards the door. “I’d love to. Would you mind?”
