Page 55 of Crossing the Line
Sleep well,PG.
I pressmy device against my heart and then text,You too.
Immediately, three animated dots show that he’s typing a response. It’s exciting to know that Hercules is somewhere in this dense metropolis, engaging with me. They dots go away and then come back again. I wait a few moments longer.
Thank you,he simply replies.
Sighingagainst the darkness in my room, I consider writing,You’re welcome. But I know what I really want to say to him. But we can’t meet up. We can’t share a bed. We can’t make love. That’s why I put my phone on the nightstand, flip onto my side, and close my eyes.
* * *
I wakeup on Sunday morning and feel so good that I go for a run. As I stand in front of my parents’ luxury apartment building, a weird feeling comes over me. Something’s off. There’s too much silence on a Sunday morning. My mom usually calls me at seven thirty on the dot, right before I suit up and go for a run. She likes checking in to ask whether I’m okay. “How’s work? How’s Max?” She never asks if I’m seeing anyone because she knows I’m not, and she never asks if I have any plans for the evening because, generally, she knows that I don’t.
However, this morning, she hasn’t called. That bothers me. I have to get the hell out of my parents’ penthouse before they come knocking. Because the only time she doesn’t call is when she shows up unannounced.
* * *
I don’t even showerfirst. I must leave, and fast. So I pack my things in two big rolling suitcases. I don’t have much. I call a cab, but I think Hercules is right—now thatTop Rag Magis writing alerts about me, I should try to be safer about whose car I get into. Maybe I’ll buy my own car. I haven’t driven since after I graduated from college, when I worked as lead team member for product development for GIT in Palo Alto. Then I found the letters, my illusions about Grandfather were shattered, and I quit my job.
As I roll my suitcases into the private elevator and ride down to the lobby exit, I recall how I spent the next year with my grandmother on the wildlife preserve in Botswana.Why didn’t I tell her about the letters?I’ve been trying to figure that out for a very long time. Regardless, within that year were some of the best days of my life—well, at least until now.
Being with Hercules feels like pure bliss. Swimming with him at his home in the Hamptons was thrilling. Dancing with him last night, playing games with him, and experiencing the sort of fun I should have experienced during my childhood feels revitalizing.
My cellphone rings just as the taxi stops in front of the valet station. I slide into the back seat, squinting at the screen. The call is from Max. I don’t send him straight to voicemail because then he’ll know that I’ve seen that he called. But I don’t answer.
When I reach my new apartment building, I receive a second phone call. It’s my dad. He must know that I bought an apartment. I don’t answer his call either.
Before sliding out and heading into my new apartment, I break into a tiny smile. I feel truly free, even though I know that pretty soon all hell is about to break loose.
* * *
I standin my new living room, taking it all in. I bought everything in here.
The coffee table and the end tables resemble twisted silver licorice bites…
The sofa and chairs resemble large white marshmallows…
The large square black metallic coffee table…
I go closer and see that the top is an LCD screen with a small on-off square on edge. I tap it on. Blue lights that resemble lava swim through the tabletop. Smiling, I breathe in through my nose and blow out. All of this belongs to me.
The doorbell rings.
“I’m coming,” I sing jubilantly and trot over to answer it.
The caller can only be one person, so I tug open the door, ready to explore more of the coffee table with Lake. But instead, I’m rendered wordless when I see who is there.
