Page 80 of State of Mind

Wilder: All the power is out, ruined my baking, shop flooded. Fuck my entire life.

Luca: Babe.

Wilder: It’s fine. Fitz is putting up sandbags, and I’m upstairs. I miss you.

Luca: Take a bath, get some rest. It’ll be okay. I love you I love you I love you

He felt each I love you like a kiss to his battered emotions, and he closed his eyes, pressing the phone to the center of his forehead as he told himself it was just temporary. He could fix it. He’d be up all night baking if he had to once the power was back on.

Right now, he was powerless, and that wasn’t the end of the world.

He was grateful that his water heater was entirely gas, and he filled the tub as he lined the sink with candles, and the darkness was suddenly comforting as he eased beneath the hot water and let it surround him. His clothes sat on a pile near the toilet, the phone perched so he could see if it lit up, and he leaned his head back and let himself miss the sound of the rain for a brief moment.

Those were the things he shared with Luca and no one else. The quiet mourning of small losses that most people thought they couldn’t live without. There were days he burned for the sound of the wind or for the lyrics to his old favorite songs or even the full-bodied laughter that brightened Luca’s face like the sun.

But nothing about that loss made him regret his life. His regret simmered firmly in the opinion of others.

Living in Savannah was nice, but it didn’t spare him thoughtless comments and assumptions from people who hadn’t grown up around people like him. They were terrified of change, terrified of adjustment—the thought of losing a sense they believed absolutely essential to their lives threatened to crush them with fear.

And it was hard to soothe their worries without pretending like there were never bad days or frustrated moments. The moment he admitted to a weakness or had a moment of bitterness, their opinion on being disabled, or being Deaf, or being sick was vindicated. What life was worth living if the world didn’t hold up to their ideal? So, he was forced to keep those things to himself—forced to lie and say every second of every day was bliss.

But in reality, that fantasy wasn’t too far from the truth. He was content, and most of the time, his life felt like bliss.

Wilder swished his feet through the water, the very tops of his toes making ripples along the surface, and he thought back to his life six months before—to a tired, defeated man sitting on the edge of a bus bench trying to find a plane ticket that would take him far from the city that had done nothing but remind him of how alone he was.

And how different would his life be right then if he hadn’t given in to that urge to leave his shop and offer just a small hand of comfort? He didn’t like thinking about it—how much power he held in that moment, because that was on him. Luca would not have stayed, and his life would have gone on, and he wouldn’t have this one, massive piece that fit so perfectly in his present—and would continue to fit in his future.

Wilder pushed himself up and missed Luca’s physical presence so much, his sternum hurt. He reached for the bar of soap that sat on the edge of the tub—one of the first things Luca had ever given him.

He smiled thinking about it, the nervous way Luca had presented the little gift. It was soap—it was just soap. It was a bit of nothing, and it barely had a smell, and yet it was one of the things Wilder treasured most.

He turned it in his hands, then dipped it in the water to lather up. As he began to scrub it over his fingers, though, he felt something different in the center. It was hard, and a little sharp at the edge, and for a second, he thought maybe it was one of those mini peacocks Will liked to throw in.

Feeling his heart speed up, he cracked the bar in half, and something spilled out onto his hand. Yes, it was a peacock, but nestled next to it was a small jar with a corked top and something sitting inside. His fingers trembled as he tried to pry the cork away, but it stuck with his slippery, wet hands, and he was half-panicked as he climbed out and fumbled for his towel.

He dried off and managed to get the stopper out with his teeth, and the smallest little note toppled into his palm, tied with the barest bit of thread. Six months old—it was six months old, and he could see ink soaking through the back.

Wilder shuffled closer to the candles, squinting in the dim light as he broke the thread and unraveled the parchment.

Wilder,

Will suggested this, and I’m not sure what to say. I don’t have much room, and I barely know you. This might be weird, I know.

I think it’s important that I tell you that whatever happens in the future, wherever we are in life when you get this note, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. When I felt like nothing, you looked at me like I was something, and that made a difference. I hope after you read this I can kiss you, but if I can’t, know that in this moment, right now, I want to.

Always yours, in some way or another,

Luca

Wilder bowed his head and felt his throat get hot. He felt trapped in this fucking bathroom, in this fucking house, with Luca miles away in the storm and washed-out roads and no way to get to him. He wanted to throw his arms around him and maybe drop to his knees and make him understand that every word in that note was something he felt every moment of every day after meeting him.

But he was powerless—again. He was stuck, and he’d just have to let these feelings simmer until Luca walked through the door.

Wilder carefully rolled the note up, then dressed in some sweats and a long sleeve shirt before walking into the room, and he came to a stuttered halt when he saw a man just inside the door. He was wearing expensive jeans and a leather jacket, and his hair was a matted mess, but he was smiling.

Wilder launched himself at Luca, crashing them into the door, their lips meeting in a frenzied kiss like Wilder thought maybe he’d never get this chance again, which was absurd. But it was what it was. His head was spinning, but in Luca’s arms, he was steady.

Pulling away, Luca cupped his cheek, then kissed him softer, slower, pouring every ounce of relief into that gesture before taking a breath and stepping back. ‘I saw the shop. I’m so sorry.’

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