Page 103 of Two Marlboros

The script at that point called for him to walk toward the stairs and for me to close the door, but instead I continued to investigate his somewhat sleepy and tired eyes, as ravenous as I had been that afternoon.

Kiss him, the voice in my head suggested.

“Good night,” I told him instead, then said goodbye with a smile and closed the door.

I ran to my room to feel safe, but there I met Oliver’s gaze again, in his tombstone picture in which he really seemed to resent me.

Had I really thought about kissing Nathan? Yes, of course I thought about it. Because that was what I would have done if Oliver had not been there, if his tragedy, mine were not there… and maybe I wouldn’t have limited to do just that.

However, it was enough for me to be alone to realize that the moments together with him were in danger of becoming a minefield, where a misstep would cause a very painful explosion, because all too often I forgot that he had Harvey, and I had Oliver.

I had to be content with his friendship, and that picture on the nightstand served to reaffirm that thought day after day, and to remind me that having certain feelings for Nathan was, moreover, the equivalent of betrayal. I went to sleep with my back to that photo that was giving me more than a little torment, but as I sank into sleep, I began to imagine what turn the evening would have taken if I had dared to follow my instincts.

19

Another Life

(?Lenny Kravitz - Fly away)

“Knock knock, can I come in?”

I entered Nelly’s bookstore with two Starbucks coffees in hand. Her back to me, intent on rearranging a few books on one of the shelves near the cash register, she quickly turned as soon as I approached to greet her.

“Nathan, hi!”

She dropped the books she was holding next to the register, with a big smile grabbed one of the coffees I had brought and thanked me.

“You came all the way to the bookstore,” she continued, motioning me to follow her by the shelf that had kept her busy up to that point. “Is there anything I should know?”

“No, nothing much,” I replied, then sipped some coffee. She drank some of hers, too, until a smirk appeared on her face.

“Let me guess: these days you and your handsome policeman were together, and something happened.”

An embarrassed laugh prevented me from drinking more, so I set my glass down on the counter of the bookstore and thought it would stay there for quite a while, because that comment had closed my stomach.

“So,” I began, and cleared my throat, “yes, I was with Alan, and yes, something happened, but not what you think.”

I told her in broad strokes what had happened, starting with the repetitions, and ending with Alan’s outburst after the phone call he had received.

“Did he tell you who was on the phone?” she asked.

“No, I have no idea. All I know is that when he hung up, he was upset. One minute it seemed like something was going to happen between us, and the next I found him in tears.”

Nelly downed another sip of her coffee, and I remembered my own, which I picked up again, but without the desire to drink it. She grabbed one of the books she had to put away, stroked its hardback cover, and sighed.

“Listen, I was thinking - are you sure this California thing is a good idea?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know I’ve been one of the biggest supporters of this departure,” she said with a bit of hesitation in her voice as her fingers still ran over the cover of that book, “however, I think something can happen between you two, and if you leave you’ll definitely have to give up on each other.”

I giggled. “Wait, weren’t you the one who opposed this?”

“You’re right,” she replied, looking up and finding mine, “but these days I’ve been thinking about it and I changed my mind. I think he really cares, and it seems to me that you do too.”

“Well, it’s not like it happened much between Alan and me. And what you were saying a while ago makes sense. I’d be competing with a dead guy he’d want to marry, and believe me, there’s no competition.”

That last sentence made her look down again. From her face vanished even the slightest trace of enthusiasm, and her fingers wandered back to the cover of that book she had to fix.

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