52
ROSE COBALT
I cup a mug of coffee in bed with Connor, Jane playing with a picture book between us. We brought a newspaper to the lake house, and I hold one end while Connor holds the other. My eyes glaze over some of the words, the weight of our last day here hanging in the back of my mind.
I have to broach the topic. “I’m going to speak after you at the press conference,” I say. “So if you change your mind at last minute, I’ll just go along with whatever you decide.”
Connor tenses, and Jane taps a button on the book, the speakers letting out a sheep’s baaaa. I hope he doesn’t feel the irony. Fate is cruel. Why couldn’t the book let out a lion’s roar or a wolf’s howl? No, it had to be a sheep.
He lowers his side of the newspaper. I lower mine and cup my mug with two hands.
“That’s more than considerate, Rose,” he says, “but I’m not going to let you go in there blind and be surprised with the rest of the world.” He angles his body against the headboard so he’s more turned towards me.
“So you’ve made a decision?” I take a sip of coffee.
His calm features never waver, even if his mind does. Connor brushes my bottom lip with his thumb, and I see his thoughts spinning.
So I ask, “To strip naked in front of a crowd or to speak a truth where no one understands you—”
“I’d strip naked,” he chooses before I even finish.
I nod, my chest hurting for him.
“I’m leaning towards queer,” he tells me. He plans to define himself then. “It’s an all-encompassing, broad term that has positive connotations. I like how other people proudly identify as queer, and I think it’s a safe middle ground for me.”
Everything out of his mouth sounds practiced, as though he’s been tossing the phrases around in his head for weeks. I hone in on the way he says, people proudly identify. He didn’t say, I identify. He left himself out.
I straighten up. “If that’s what you want, I’d be okay, and I want you to know that you can’t hurt me either way. And you shouldn’t worry about hurting my father or my mother or anyone with your decision.”
He lifts my chin with two fingers. “Believe me, I’ve thought about every possible surface of this choice.” His thumb sweeps my cheek. “I’ve weighed every cost, every benefit, and it’s all pointing to this.”
I stare right at him, my eyes churning hotter than I’d like. I want them to be soft for him. That’s what he needs, isn’t it? My voice isn’t even velvety. It’s harsh and icy. “On what scale do you weigh these?”
“My scale.” He grins.
I roll my eyes. “Well, on my scale, the cost of your soul outweighs everything else.”
“How selfish am I going to be, Rose?” he asks me.
Baaaaa! Jane hits the same button. She giggles, and Connor leans forward and flips the page to a frog on a lily pad.
“Fate says you should be as selfish as you want.”
“I can’t listen to your fate or lambs in children’s books. I just have to listen to the facts.”
“You can’t listen to your heart?” I roll my eyes again at how banal it sounds.
“If I listened to my heart, it would only say to protect my girls, nothing more.”
“If you listened to your heart, it would ask if you’re alive,” I combat. “After the press conference, will you truly be? And I’m not talking literally, Connor, so don’t bring up anatomy and blood vessels.”
A fraction of a smile appears and then falls back into deep contemplation. “I don’t know, Rose.”
I don’t know. It’s a phrase Connor rarely utters. Hearing it now pulls at me.
“Let’s do the crossword,” I say, setting my mug aside and gathering the newspaper. “I’ll let you choose the topic.”
He arches a brow. “You’ll let me?” His grin almost returns, and it’s enough to shove the press conference in the back of my mind, shelving it once more.
53
CONNOR COBALT
I help Lo clean out the lake house’s fridge before we leave. We toss anything that might spoil in a black garbage bag. My mind is always at work, but it’s been spinning faster today, roaming through hundreds of thoughts.
“You okay?” Lo asks again, chucking leftover scrambled eggs.
I wear this faraway look that I can’t quite extinguish. “You remember your wedding?” I put an extra packet of hamburgers in the freezer.
“You’re thinking about my wedding right now?”
I’m thinking about everything. “It’s taking up a portion of my brain,” I say easily. I officiated his wedding, so I had an opening speech prepared. I only shared it with Rose before I spoke that day, and the girl who rarely sheds tears started bawling in our bedroom. I knew it was right, but after everything I’ve personally been through recently, the meaning holds greater power for me.
“I can’t forget my wedding day, not that I would ever try,” he tells me with a smile, opening the trash bag wider as I chuck the milk.
I hold his gaze. “When I said that you and Lily were the strongest people I’ve ever had the honor to meet, I meant every word.” I can’t even imagine, for a moment, battling the type of demons that they have every day of their lives, where it affects the person they love, where it tears them down equally. It’s torture that I can barely experience, and I am in awe that they came out alive, together.
Lo nods a couple times, watching me to find the origin of my thoughts. “You and Rose—you’re pretty much superheroes in my world, you know? If anyone wins in the end, it’s you.”
I have trouble believing words I always thought to be true.
My doubt is new, but it’s lingering softly. I know in a few days, I’ll push it away. It’s just the uncertainty, the gray-washed future with no detectable paths that clouds my usually sound and assured judgment.
“Lo!” Lily calls from the top of the staircase. “Did you already put Moffy’s diaper bag in the car?!”
“Shit,” he curses, hesitating to leave.
“Go,” I tell him, taking his trash bag.
“Thanks, love,” he says. “You always know how to finish strong.”
I smile as he leaves. I spend a couple minutes tossing mostly empty and half-eaten items. We don’t have enough room in the trunk to pack coolers and save perishable food. I grab the quarter-full carton of orange juice.
“Hey, don’t fucking toss that.” Ryke approaches and steals the carton from my hand. He unscrews the cap and chugs the juice. While he drinks, he shoves something hard in my chest.
I take hold of the item…a decent-sized book. The title and part of the cover is obscured by a sticky note. I make out his handwriting that says, Merry fucking Christmas.
I can’t hide my surprise, not today.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I planned to give it to you next Christmas, but I couldn’t wait.” His voice is less rough than usual. He nods to me. “Page two-sixty.”
I’m honestly speechless, but he doesn’t linger for a reply. He trashes the now empty carton of orange juice, leaving me alone.
I peel off the sticky note and skim the cover, orange and yellow hellfire blossomed around gargoyle creatures, like they’re nestled in flowers made of flames.