First Love, Chapter 12
Chapter 12
His hand is warm in my hand.
Luke couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to break the spell.
He knows I love him. That I’ve always loved him. And my hand is warm in his hand.
The sun was angled but still bright. Luke and Reid walked in silence along the path in a world of their own, a shared sphere of existence generated by their joined hands. They moved as one, an infinite, unit-less entity part of, but apart from the weaving patterns of strolling, running, cycling, roller-skiing mortals enjoying what was left of the afternoon.
Luke’s awareness centered on hand against hand, palm pressed to palm. He noticed that there was more tension in his fingers than necessary to maintain the grip - not an anxious tension so much as exhilarated, alert. Alive. He wanted to hold hands, just like this, for hours, for days. To stay linked to him, at least until morning. To tether him, at least until he believed, really believed. Reid’s grip was firm and steady. If only I had the hands of a surgeon. Luke had no doubt that Reid’s hands were capable of any movement in any position for any length of time. Luke was faintly saddened at the thought of his hand tiring or cramping before Reid’s, of disappointing Reid with weakness. There has been enough weakness already. Done with weakness.
The air of otherworldliness only intensified when the fairy-tale cottage appeared. All dark wood and gables, the rustically romantic building materialized as if conjured.
“Hey…I remember this place.” Luke pulled Reid forward. The sign read “Swedish Cottage Marionette Theater.”
Luke stood with a dreamy look. “Last time I was in New York, it was in the middle of this snowstorm…and I’m walking through Central Park…when, suddenly, I turn the corner, and there’s this…this, magical place…this house, covered in snow. It was like…all soft white and muffled sounds. And there were these amazing icicles hanging under the gables. I felt like I’d taken a wrong turn into what Sweden must look like.”
Reid had been watching Luke, but now he turned to the cottage. “It does look authentic.”
“Yeah, it totally is…I looked it up when I got home and found out that Sweden had shipped this traditional schoolhouse to Philadelphia back in the 1800s for the big centennial. Something to do with showing how good they were at building stuff. Anyway, turns out some New York officials fell in love with it, and the guy who actually designed Central Park suggested they take it apart and rebuild it right here. It’s been used for all sorts of things, but now it’s for marionette performances for kids.” Luke squeezed Reid’s hand. “Man, isn’t it beautiful?”
Reid was looking at Luke again. “Beautiful.”
Luke gazed at the cottage for a few more moments; then, turning to Reid, “Wait, do you mean you’ve seen real Swedish cottages? Have you been to Sweden?”
Reid nodded. “For conferences.”
“So you’ve been more than once.”
Reid shrugged.
“There’s still so much I don’t know about you,” Luke said softly.
Reid turned to Luke, who braced for a cutting response (after all, whose fault is that?). Instead of drawing blood with sharp edges, however, Reid’s gaze was calm, steady. Like his grip. His eyes left Luke’s; they wandered up - to his brow, into his hair. Down - along his cheekbone to where a dimple was momentarily hiding, down further to his chin, to the slight cleft there. Leisurely, his eyes moved up, resting on Luke’s lips. His upper lip.
Luke’s breath had quickened, but he hadn’t moved. His heart was too full. There was a familiar ache there, one usually associated with letting his thoughts settle on Reid at any point during the past three years. This time, though, he was sure that the ache was from his swollen heart pressing against the ribcage from the inside. This time, Reid’s gaze wasn’t sexual or possessive or objectifying or any of the things it had been in the past day. (Twenty-one hours.) This time, Reid wasn’t angling for a kiss, or a fuck, or trying to make a point. A casual observer might have even classified his gaze as approximating indifference. But Luke felt it for what it was: a caress. A meandering journey over a lover’s face. A loved one’s face. A moment of forgetting yourself and becoming lost in another person. Of coming back to yourself and realizing you haven’t resented the detour. It just…was. You were. In him.
Reid’s eyes lifted. His smile was lazy. “Where to now?”
Luke took a breath to break the spell. He realized he’d been stroking the back of Reid’s hand with his thumb. He smiled and led Reid along the side of the cottage and up a set of steps flanked by a lattice of roughly hewn wooden logs. At the top was a stone path through a riot of bushes and flowers. They wandered through the controlled chaos of primrose and wormwood, lark’s heel and rue.
Luke’s grin intensified. “I was wondering what this would be like in the summer. This is the Shakespeare Garden…every plant you see was mentioned in one of his plays.”
Reid’s look was indulgent. “Hmm.”
“I wish I knew what everything was. Too bad my mom’s not here.”
“Yes. Too bad…”
Luke ducked out of the path of a butterfly bound for one of the blooms. He pulled Reid by the hand around a trio of women having their picture taken. Luke led Reid on a circuitous path; Reid didn’t seem to mind the extra steps.
The maneuvering became more challenging as they left the garden. Luke and Reid had to thread through an increasing number of people as they approached a large, curved building. A banner read “Much Ado About Nothing.”
Luke squeezed Reid’s hand. “Look…it’s Shakespeare in the Park. I’ve always wanted to do that. The tickets are free…I heard you just have to wait in line for, like, five hours.” He looked at Reid with a crooked grin. “We could’ve done that this morning. ”
“I don’t wait in line. Unless it’s for something important. Like fast food.”
Luke nudged him, still smiling. “Aw, come on…it would be an experience. And to see Shakespeare performed outside…with a backdrop of water and…and a castle, even…as the sun sets…you have to admit, it would be pretty special.”
Reid looked unimpressed. “I prefer the modern masters. Like Stoppard.”
Luke’s tone turned teasing. “Opera, theater…so many hidden depths.”
“You have no idea.”
They walked in silence for a few steps. Luke looked at Reid out of the corner of his eye. “So…then I suppose you wouldn’t want to try for tickets tomorrow morning? We could stay an extra day.”
Reid’s voice was neutral. “I have surgery tomorrow.”
“Oh…sure.” Luke focused on their linked hands.
The path led back to the main road where they continued north. Luke had become more aware of his surroundings now, of the people. He tried to pick out the natives from the tourists, wondered which impression he and Reid gave.
After a few minutes Luke noticed two men walking south across the road. The taller man, with grey-flecked hair, had his arm around the shoulders of what looked to be a man in his thirties. They seemed comfortable. Settled. Their gait was relaxed and matched, despite the height difference. The taller man turned his head slightly to whisper in the other man’s ear and then kissed the side of his head.
“Daddy!”
Both men looked up the road and smiled. A small girl rose from where she’d been stooping a short distance ahead and ran back to them holding out a rock. The shorter man took it and examined it closely as the older man lifted her up and settled her on his hip. They continued walking, the girl leaning over briefly to kiss the shorter man noisily on his ear.
Luke turned to watch as the family disappeared. Reid appeared not to have noticed. Several seconds passed.
“Do you want kids?” Luke had aimed for nonchalance but wasn’t sure he’d achieved it. He knew it didn’t matter anyway. Such a question could never be casual between them.
Reid was quiet. His hand twitched, causing Luke’s grip to tighten reflexively. Nice, Luke. You had to ruin the mood.
Just as Luke was searching for a less charged topic, Reid spoke.
“I doubt I’d be very good at it.”
Luke turned his head sharply. He quickly directed his gaze forward again. “I think you’d be a great dad.”
“I’d never be home.”
Don’t forget to breathe, Luke. Just your everyday conversation. “Well…I’m pretty sure it’s quality, not quantity.”
“I’m sorry, I’d thought you’d met me. I’m allergic to warm and fuzzy. I’m sure any quality time with me would lead to lifelong therapy.”
“Oh, come on. You were great with Jacob. I know he loves you. He refuses to give up that bear you fixed for him, even though it could use a few more major surgeries at this point. And Katie wouldn’t admit it, but I know you must have been the one who sent him that blue stuffed…animal, or bacterium, or whatever.”
A whisper of a smile. “Penicillium. And it’s a fungus.”
“Yeah, well, he loves that too. You’ll be happy to know that he’s well on his way to nerd-dom.”
They had walked a few more steps before Reid spoke again. “Jacob has Katie.”
And our child would have me. But he or she would have you, too.
Luke wished he could let the subject drop, knew it should drop. Knew there had been sufficient progress. “So…you’ve never thought about having kids? Not even after all those months with Jacob?”
This pause was longer.
“There was a time when I’d considered it.”
Luke felt a force strike his stomach and push him backward. He was surprised to find that he was still walking straight, that he seemingly hadn’t lost a step.
He let the subject drop.
They continued to walk in silence until they reached a large pond. Luke stole a look at Reid out of the corner of his eye.
“We’ve been walking for a while…I thought maybe we could sit for a minute.” Luke walked to a bench next to a large tree with long branches that hung like dark-green tinsel, the bottom branches trailing in the water. He tugged on Reid’s hand. Reid raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he sat next to Luke. Luke shifted closer until their sides were touching and their clasped hands were resting on Luke’s thigh.
A line of ducks smoothly cut through the mirrorlike surface of the water in front of them. Luke supposed that some of them were large chicks on the verge of leaving their family. “Wish we had some bread for them.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they’re starving.”
Luke watched as the duck parade joined a larger group under the tree. “I wonder what happens to the parents once the kids leave. Do you think they stay together?”
“Doubt it.”
“Really? I thought most birds were monogamous.”
“Most birds pair up. Doesn’t mean it’s with the same mate every year…and certainly doesn’t mean there’s no screwing around.”
“Gosh, Reid…such a romantic world view you have.”
“There are pretty stories, and then there are facts.” Reid slid a look at Luke. “Still think I’d make a good father?”
Luke turned his face toward Reid. “The best.”
Reid’s head jerked ever-so-slightly back. He broke eye contact after a few breaths. Turned back to the ducks.
They watched as the ducks fussed and dove. Muffled traffic sounds drifted from the west.
“Bet they’re happy when they’re together, though.” Luke watched a male and female circle each other.
“Sure…when the males aren’t too busy raping.”
Luke gasped. “Reid.”
“What? Waterfowl in general are a rape-y little bunch. And mallards in particular…in the water, in mid-air, doesn’t matter. They’ll go after other males, too. Even if they’re dead.”
“OK, now you’re just making things up.”
Reid put his free hand over his heart. “Luke, I do not lie about science.”
Luke squinted at Reid skeptically. Eventually, his attention returned to the ducks.
“Well. Thanks. You’ve officially ruined ‘Make Way for Ducklings.’ Maybe you should skip that particular bedtime story.”
Reid smiled. As Luke continued to watch the ducks, Reid’s gaze drifted up to the tree. He froze. He closed his eyes briefly.
“Luke.”
Yes, say it just like that. “Reid.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
Now Luke froze. “Um…to see the rape-y ducks?”
“Luke.”
Luke sighed. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”
“That we’re sitting next to a weeping willow on the edge of a body of water not unlike the lagoon in the Boston Public Garden?”
Luke cringed slightly. “Well when you put it like that…too sappy?”
Before Luke could stop it, Reid withdrew his hand. The loss was a palpable thing. Luke’s palm tingled. He barely stopped himself from making a sound.
Reid then lifted his arm and wrapped it around Luke’s shoulder, where it lay warm and heavy. It drew Luke closer. Luke’s body suffused with warmth and, before he could react, Reid reached for Luke’s hand with his other hand. Placing Luke’s hand on his thigh, Reid covered it with his own hand.
Luke did the only thing he could do: he rested his head on Reid’s shoulder in the curve of his neck.
A/N: That stuffed Penicillium? Totally real:
His hand is warm in my hand.
Luke couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to break the spell.
He knows I love him. That I’ve always loved him. And my hand is warm in his hand.
The sun was angled but still bright. Luke and Reid walked in silence along the path in a world of their own, a shared sphere of existence generated by their joined hands. They moved as one, an infinite, unit-less entity part of, but apart from the weaving patterns of strolling, running, cycling, roller-skiing mortals enjoying what was left of the afternoon.
Luke’s awareness centered on hand against hand, palm pressed to palm. He noticed that there was more tension in his fingers than necessary to maintain the grip - not an anxious tension so much as exhilarated, alert. Alive. He wanted to hold hands, just like this, for hours, for days. To stay linked to him, at least until morning. To tether him, at least until he believed, really believed. Reid’s grip was firm and steady. If only I had the hands of a surgeon. Luke had no doubt that Reid’s hands were capable of any movement in any position for any length of time. Luke was faintly saddened at the thought of his hand tiring or cramping before Reid’s, of disappointing Reid with weakness. There has been enough weakness already. Done with weakness.
The air of otherworldliness only intensified when the fairy-tale cottage appeared. All dark wood and gables, the rustically romantic building materialized as if conjured.
“Hey…I remember this place.” Luke pulled Reid forward. The sign read “Swedish Cottage Marionette Theater.”
Luke stood with a dreamy look. “Last time I was in New York, it was in the middle of this snowstorm…and I’m walking through Central Park…when, suddenly, I turn the corner, and there’s this…this, magical place…this house, covered in snow. It was like…all soft white and muffled sounds. And there were these amazing icicles hanging under the gables. I felt like I’d taken a wrong turn into what Sweden must look like.”
Reid had been watching Luke, but now he turned to the cottage. “It does look authentic.”
“Yeah, it totally is…I looked it up when I got home and found out that Sweden had shipped this traditional schoolhouse to Philadelphia back in the 1800s for the big centennial. Something to do with showing how good they were at building stuff. Anyway, turns out some New York officials fell in love with it, and the guy who actually designed Central Park suggested they take it apart and rebuild it right here. It’s been used for all sorts of things, but now it’s for marionette performances for kids.” Luke squeezed Reid’s hand. “Man, isn’t it beautiful?”
Reid was looking at Luke again. “Beautiful.”
Luke gazed at the cottage for a few more moments; then, turning to Reid, “Wait, do you mean you’ve seen real Swedish cottages? Have you been to Sweden?”
Reid nodded. “For conferences.”
“So you’ve been more than once.”
Reid shrugged.
“There’s still so much I don’t know about you,” Luke said softly.
Reid turned to Luke, who braced for a cutting response (after all, whose fault is that?). Instead of drawing blood with sharp edges, however, Reid’s gaze was calm, steady. Like his grip. His eyes left Luke’s; they wandered up - to his brow, into his hair. Down - along his cheekbone to where a dimple was momentarily hiding, down further to his chin, to the slight cleft there. Leisurely, his eyes moved up, resting on Luke’s lips. His upper lip.
Luke’s breath had quickened, but he hadn’t moved. His heart was too full. There was a familiar ache there, one usually associated with letting his thoughts settle on Reid at any point during the past three years. This time, though, he was sure that the ache was from his swollen heart pressing against the ribcage from the inside. This time, Reid’s gaze wasn’t sexual or possessive or objectifying or any of the things it had been in the past day. (Twenty-one hours.) This time, Reid wasn’t angling for a kiss, or a fuck, or trying to make a point. A casual observer might have even classified his gaze as approximating indifference. But Luke felt it for what it was: a caress. A meandering journey over a lover’s face. A loved one’s face. A moment of forgetting yourself and becoming lost in another person. Of coming back to yourself and realizing you haven’t resented the detour. It just…was. You were. In him.
Reid’s eyes lifted. His smile was lazy. “Where to now?”
Luke took a breath to break the spell. He realized he’d been stroking the back of Reid’s hand with his thumb. He smiled and led Reid along the side of the cottage and up a set of steps flanked by a lattice of roughly hewn wooden logs. At the top was a stone path through a riot of bushes and flowers. They wandered through the controlled chaos of primrose and wormwood, lark’s heel and rue.
Luke’s grin intensified. “I was wondering what this would be like in the summer. This is the Shakespeare Garden…every plant you see was mentioned in one of his plays.”
Reid’s look was indulgent. “Hmm.”
“I wish I knew what everything was. Too bad my mom’s not here.”
“Yes. Too bad…”
Luke ducked out of the path of a butterfly bound for one of the blooms. He pulled Reid by the hand around a trio of women having their picture taken. Luke led Reid on a circuitous path; Reid didn’t seem to mind the extra steps.
The maneuvering became more challenging as they left the garden. Luke and Reid had to thread through an increasing number of people as they approached a large, curved building. A banner read “Much Ado About Nothing.”
Luke squeezed Reid’s hand. “Look…it’s Shakespeare in the Park. I’ve always wanted to do that. The tickets are free…I heard you just have to wait in line for, like, five hours.” He looked at Reid with a crooked grin. “We could’ve done that this morning. ”
“I don’t wait in line. Unless it’s for something important. Like fast food.”
Luke nudged him, still smiling. “Aw, come on…it would be an experience. And to see Shakespeare performed outside…with a backdrop of water and…and a castle, even…as the sun sets…you have to admit, it would be pretty special.”
Reid looked unimpressed. “I prefer the modern masters. Like Stoppard.”
Luke’s tone turned teasing. “Opera, theater…so many hidden depths.”
“You have no idea.”
They walked in silence for a few steps. Luke looked at Reid out of the corner of his eye. “So…then I suppose you wouldn’t want to try for tickets tomorrow morning? We could stay an extra day.”
Reid’s voice was neutral. “I have surgery tomorrow.”
“Oh…sure.” Luke focused on their linked hands.
The path led back to the main road where they continued north. Luke had become more aware of his surroundings now, of the people. He tried to pick out the natives from the tourists, wondered which impression he and Reid gave.
After a few minutes Luke noticed two men walking south across the road. The taller man, with grey-flecked hair, had his arm around the shoulders of what looked to be a man in his thirties. They seemed comfortable. Settled. Their gait was relaxed and matched, despite the height difference. The taller man turned his head slightly to whisper in the other man’s ear and then kissed the side of his head.
“Daddy!”
Both men looked up the road and smiled. A small girl rose from where she’d been stooping a short distance ahead and ran back to them holding out a rock. The shorter man took it and examined it closely as the older man lifted her up and settled her on his hip. They continued walking, the girl leaning over briefly to kiss the shorter man noisily on his ear.
Luke turned to watch as the family disappeared. Reid appeared not to have noticed. Several seconds passed.
“Do you want kids?” Luke had aimed for nonchalance but wasn’t sure he’d achieved it. He knew it didn’t matter anyway. Such a question could never be casual between them.
Reid was quiet. His hand twitched, causing Luke’s grip to tighten reflexively. Nice, Luke. You had to ruin the mood.
Just as Luke was searching for a less charged topic, Reid spoke.
“I doubt I’d be very good at it.”
Luke turned his head sharply. He quickly directed his gaze forward again. “I think you’d be a great dad.”
“I’d never be home.”
Don’t forget to breathe, Luke. Just your everyday conversation. “Well…I’m pretty sure it’s quality, not quantity.”
“I’m sorry, I’d thought you’d met me. I’m allergic to warm and fuzzy. I’m sure any quality time with me would lead to lifelong therapy.”
“Oh, come on. You were great with Jacob. I know he loves you. He refuses to give up that bear you fixed for him, even though it could use a few more major surgeries at this point. And Katie wouldn’t admit it, but I know you must have been the one who sent him that blue stuffed…animal, or bacterium, or whatever.”
A whisper of a smile. “Penicillium. And it’s a fungus.”
“Yeah, well, he loves that too. You’ll be happy to know that he’s well on his way to nerd-dom.”
They had walked a few more steps before Reid spoke again. “Jacob has Katie.”
And our child would have me. But he or she would have you, too.
Luke wished he could let the subject drop, knew it should drop. Knew there had been sufficient progress. “So…you’ve never thought about having kids? Not even after all those months with Jacob?”
This pause was longer.
“There was a time when I’d considered it.”
Luke felt a force strike his stomach and push him backward. He was surprised to find that he was still walking straight, that he seemingly hadn’t lost a step.
He let the subject drop.
They continued to walk in silence until they reached a large pond. Luke stole a look at Reid out of the corner of his eye.
“We’ve been walking for a while…I thought maybe we could sit for a minute.” Luke walked to a bench next to a large tree with long branches that hung like dark-green tinsel, the bottom branches trailing in the water. He tugged on Reid’s hand. Reid raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he sat next to Luke. Luke shifted closer until their sides were touching and their clasped hands were resting on Luke’s thigh.
A line of ducks smoothly cut through the mirrorlike surface of the water in front of them. Luke supposed that some of them were large chicks on the verge of leaving their family. “Wish we had some bread for them.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they’re starving.”
Luke watched as the duck parade joined a larger group under the tree. “I wonder what happens to the parents once the kids leave. Do you think they stay together?”
“Doubt it.”
“Really? I thought most birds were monogamous.”
“Most birds pair up. Doesn’t mean it’s with the same mate every year…and certainly doesn’t mean there’s no screwing around.”
“Gosh, Reid…such a romantic world view you have.”
“There are pretty stories, and then there are facts.” Reid slid a look at Luke. “Still think I’d make a good father?”
Luke turned his face toward Reid. “The best.”
Reid’s head jerked ever-so-slightly back. He broke eye contact after a few breaths. Turned back to the ducks.
They watched as the ducks fussed and dove. Muffled traffic sounds drifted from the west.
“Bet they’re happy when they’re together, though.” Luke watched a male and female circle each other.
“Sure…when the males aren’t too busy raping.”
Luke gasped. “Reid.”
“What? Waterfowl in general are a rape-y little bunch. And mallards in particular…in the water, in mid-air, doesn’t matter. They’ll go after other males, too. Even if they’re dead.”
“OK, now you’re just making things up.”
Reid put his free hand over his heart. “Luke, I do not lie about science.”
Luke squinted at Reid skeptically. Eventually, his attention returned to the ducks.
“Well. Thanks. You’ve officially ruined ‘Make Way for Ducklings.’ Maybe you should skip that particular bedtime story.”
Reid smiled. As Luke continued to watch the ducks, Reid’s gaze drifted up to the tree. He froze. He closed his eyes briefly.
“Luke.”
Yes, say it just like that. “Reid.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
Now Luke froze. “Um…to see the rape-y ducks?”
“Luke.”
Luke sighed. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”
“That we’re sitting next to a weeping willow on the edge of a body of water not unlike the lagoon in the Boston Public Garden?”
Luke cringed slightly. “Well when you put it like that…too sappy?”
Before Luke could stop it, Reid withdrew his hand. The loss was a palpable thing. Luke’s palm tingled. He barely stopped himself from making a sound.
Reid then lifted his arm and wrapped it around Luke’s shoulder, where it lay warm and heavy. It drew Luke closer. Luke’s body suffused with warmth and, before he could react, Reid reached for Luke’s hand with his other hand. Placing Luke’s hand on his thigh, Reid covered it with his own hand.
Luke did the only thing he could do: he rested his head on Reid’s shoulder in the curve of his neck.
A/N: That stuffed Penicillium? Totally real: