"I haven't been here in a long time," I remarked, taking in the scenery around me. It was a cafe we had met up in many times previous, a designated spot if I ever happened to be in the area. "It looks the same."
"People change a lot after five years," Oliver said. "Architecture not so much."
"Not necessarily. You were only seventeen the last time we spoke, you still had growing to do. Once you pass twenty one I think it all starts to slow down a bit."
"You're twenty three." He remarked, rolling his eyes with the smallest of smiles. "Don't try and act so philosophical."
He was continuing to keep his distance, pulling his hand away when I had made an attempt to hold it. It did appear that he was beginning to let his guard down around me, though. There was less anger when he spoke now, even if the hurt still remained. There wasn't much I could do outside of awkward small talk.
"I like your earrings, by the way. Never in a million years would I have guessed you'd have anything pierced, you always said it was tacky."
"It's not like it's my navel," He huffed. "My mother wears earrings; so does my sister."
"Still…"
There was a cautious pause in between our conversations as we tried to get out of being the one to fill the void. I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask; yet none of them seemed to feel appropriate.
"Do your parents know you have a tattoo?" Oliver smirked, not making eye contact.
I couldn't stop myself from laughing, cheeks red at the realization that he had been staring at my chest last night. His own skin was completely bare outside of a few freckles and an average amount of body hair. Not even his nails had seemed to contain a speck of dirt.
"That's what your twenties are for, right? Experimenting?"
"So that's a no?"
"Have you met my mother?"
He looked away further from me as he giggled, draping a hand delicately just to the front of his lips. I couldn't help but wonder if he realized how adorable he was, or if he would possibly be offended by me calling him that. It was true that Oliver seemed to embrace his feminine side but he was still a man at the end of the day, if not an extremely petite one.
"I wouldn't say I found experimenting necessary." He remarked.
I shrugged, my face falling ever so slightly as I wondered whether or not he was mocking me. Experimenting felt like a more polite term to use than saying I had gotten around a lot, which wasn't entirely accurate. I'd had a few flings but nothing that had ended up going anywhere. Not with men and not with women. Based on some of the things he had told me before, it seemed like Oliver had at some point been in the same boat.
"Did you date a lot in college?" I asked.
"Not really. Free time wasn't something I had much of back then, but I had a boyfriend my first year."
So he did have an ex…
"Did it not end well?"
"With Jean Pierre? I wouldn't say I viewed it as a negative experience. We wanted different things."
Wow… I really did seem to be the only one he had negative association toward. I had a few different exes, all women, and I'm pretty sure every single one of the relationships had ended with me being slapped in the face. Of course there were a few times where it was safe to say that I deserved it.
"Do you have anyone right now?"
"Enrique, are you seriously asking me if I cheated on anyone with you? Do you really think you're worth that to me?"
"Ouch." I grinned, "Noted."
He cupped his hands around the warm mug of caffeine, losing himself for a moment as he watched the steam rise. It wasn't hard to tell how awkward he still felt around me, even if he hadn't shut the door in my face after I left the mansion. I hadn't actually expected him to come with me; I also hadn't expected him to know how to drive. It was something we always used to laugh about.
"I'm not seeing anyone." He eventually said. "Not that I won't accept an invitation to go home with someone from time to time, but it isn't ever a goal of mine."
"Are you almost done throwing your sex life in my face?"
He blushed harshly, his face now the same shade it used to get when we were drunk as kids. I don't think he realized how obvious he was being, his reaction showing the realization that he had been caught.
"I'm not-"
"It's okay. I deserve it and besides, I used to do the same thing when we were teenagers." Neither of us spoke for a moment as I watched him slowly sip at his gradually cooling cup of black coffee, pretending not to grimace when it touched his lips. "You know, you don't actually have to drink that if you don't like it." I said. I was honestly surprised at his order, recalling him having more of a sweet tooth than what I was currently observing.
"I'm fine," He sighed, pulling a carton of cigarettes from his pocket and tapping it to his hand. Why did smokers always do that? I couldn't say I was shocked to see that he'd taken up the habit, something that most of his family and honestly most of Paris partook in. It also explained the unusual taste that clung to the inside of his mouth when we kissed.
"Sorry, I guess I'm just not sure what to talk about."
He slipped one of the sticks in between his teeth, wrapping his lips around it and lighting up the end. A small stream of smoke rose up from the glowing surface, the remainder exhaling from his nose as he breathed out. I couldn't help but wonder if smoking was the reason he'd gotten so thin.
"You never told me where you'd gone." Oliver remarked, taking the cigarette from his lips and blowing smoke above his head.
"Where didn't I go?" I sighed. "I started out in the UK, spent some time in North America, stayed in Australia for about a year…"
"You're a spoiled brat."
"You're one to talk."
"I work more in a week than you have in your life."
"At a restaurant your dad owns." I smiled at him playfully, sipping from my own coffee while I watched him continue inhaling on his cigarette. It should have surprised me more that he was a workaholic, but I couldn't say it did. Oliver had always been fidgety when it came to boredom, something that, as kids, it felt like the three of us always ended up paying the price for. "Don't get me wrong, it's great that you have two degrees, you're doing way better than I ever could."
"I own and run a bakery chain, idiot." Oliver explained, leaning forward onto the table. "Not to mention I do art showings monthly."
"Yeah, you're a really good painter. I was impressed."
"I know." He smirked. "What do you do for work?"
There was the Oliver I remembered, never the humble type.
I didn't speak, now suddenly embarrassed that I had no answer for that question. I'd been traveling full time on my parents dime, a luxury I hadn't realized I had begun getting too accustomed to. Given, the sly grin that currently resided on Oliver's face made me wonder if he had already guessed that.
"Do you expect me to be anything other than useless?" I joked.
"I take it you still have a close relationship with your parents, then?"
"Well, yeah."
"Do they know?"
"Know what?"
"That you're bisexual."
It was my turn to try and hide a flushed face, running a hand through my unruly head of blond curls while stuttering my way toward any sort of answer that he wouldn't be offended by.
"Well… I mean-"
"It's okay, Enrique. I'm not going to tell anyone."
I averted my gaze in shame, wondering what he must be thinking of me now. I had never used any sort of label to define my romantic interests, not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't seem to make myself use the word. I'd had sexual relationships with both women and men for years; understood the inner workings of their bodies and of my own. I was not shy anymore about the realization that I enjoyed having sex with other men, and yet, until Oliver, I had never told anyone. I kept my encounters casual and rarely even used my real name, if ever.
None of them had even left enough impact to stick around in the back of my mind, though.
Only one person did that.
"Did you ever think about me that way?" I asked. "When we were young, I mean."
"In what way?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
Had I ever entered his dreams at night the way he had entered mine? For a long time it hadn't even been sexual, it had just been a sudden realization that he always seemed to find his way into my head. Sometimes it would be imaginary conversations I had with myself, sometimes I had even thought about setting him up with girls I knew, even if the back of my brain was already well aware of his budding interest in men once we had begun hitting puberty. The main thing that always seemed to stay the same was always just the fact that it was him.
I had Oliver on the mind and didn't understand why.
It wasn't until he actually came out that the thoughts became more intense.
"So, what? You're asking me if I had a crush on you?" He questioned, cocking an eyebrow in my direction and cracking the tiniest of toothy grins. "What are you, twelve years old?"
My stomach dropped at the realization that he was making fun of me, patting out his finished cigarette in the glass ash tray and leaning his cheek into his hand, elbow propped up on the table in a way he would have yelled at me for back in the day. It was strange seeing him so mellow now, making me wonder if he might be medicated for his obsessive need for perfection.
"Never mind." I sighed. "Forget it."
"I'm just saying, being friends doesn't automatically mean I had a thing for you. I'm friends with Johnny and Robert too and I assure you, I do not want to think about what either of them looks like naked." His cheeky smile widened as he spoke, the sassy attitude I remembered now rising to the surface. "You're cute, though. You always were."
I tried to hide my gaze as heat fluctuated through my face and neck, hands suddenly clammy with sweat. I had never realize he'd thought I was cute.
"Not hot?" I smiled shyly, scratching at the back of my head in a nervous tic.
"You're starting over from scratch, Tornatore, we aren't even friends right now so don't push your luck, got it?"
I nodded, uncertain how to proceed. Was I supposed to make an attempt to woo him? There wasn't really anything I could give him that he couldn't get for himself, a disadvantage when interested in someone who also came from wealth. Even if he hadn't, Oliver wasn't easy to impress. If anyone wanted to peak his interest, it would take more than a carriage ride through the park.
"How did your ex manage to reel you in?" I asked, twiddling my thumbs awkwardly. "Some sort of grand gesture?"
"It was really sweet, actually." He grinned widely, "I had just published my first book of recipes maybe two months before. We weren't dating yet or anything, just spending some time together. Anyway, he tried making a souffle, one of my own, and it ended in absolute disaster by the time I got to his apartment, so I spent the night teaching him some techniques. By morning he had made one without my help and we had it for breakfast with a burgundy chardonnay."
Okay, I had to admit that the whole thing sounded extremely romantic, if not a bit silly. Even though I was distracted at the realization that Oliver had published a cook book before he even began working toward a culinary degree, which I suppose explained how he managed to get a masters in only five years. I was extremely confident that he wouldn't eat anything I tried to cook, seeing as I also would never eat anything I tried to cook.
"Why did you break up?" I asked.
"Are you under the impression that's any of your business?"
"No, but it wasn't my business how you got together, either. Didn't stop you from telling me."
He sighed, watching the walkers move up and down the sidewalk. I was pretty sure he had told me how they started dating in order to brag, something that wasn't going to work very well if he also had to tell me what led to them breaking up.
"It's like I said earlier," He began, accepting that he looked worse if he didn't tell me. "We wanted different things in life. I was eighteen and not interested in the idea of settling down or discussing marriage. We talked a bit about moving in together and it was just too much pressure. So I broke things off."
Now that he explained it, it made more sense as to why he seemed to avoid the dating scene. For as long as I had known him, Oliver had always been extremely independent; it didn't surprise me that the idea of someone wanting to change aspects of his life plans had caused him to pull away.
"Harsh." I remarked.
"Not really. I at least said goodbye."
Shamefully, I let my head drop. He was opening up, but it was becoming more and more clear that he wasn't doing so for me. What I viewed as reconnecting, he saw as a reminder of everything I had missed.
"Do you wanna go anywhere or do anything?" I asked, breaking the silence once more.
"I think it would be best if we parted ways."
"Is your number still the same?"
"You mean the one that you blocked?"
I avoided his gaze, which was suddenly on me, nails tapping on the table with a sound that made my skin crawl.
"Yeah…" I confessed.
"It's still the same, yes."
He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping across the bricks that tiled the ground around us. I suddenly realized that I should have stood up before him; offered my hand or moved the chair myself so that he didn't need to, but I guess it was too late now.
"Could I call you sometime?" I asked, brushing my fingers across the bare skin of his slender arm and causing him to pull back the same way he had when I made an attempt to rest my hand on his.
"I can't exactly stop you, now can I?"
He truly was impossible to read, shoving his tongue down my throat one minute and making it seem like he never wanted to speak to me again the next. The more time that went by the more I questioned whether or not sleeping together had been a smart move, even if it was something I'd spent years fantasizing about. It wasn't a good look for me… like I had just been using him in order to check something off of a perverted bucket list.
"Maybe let me know if you're in my neck of the woods?" I asked hopefully. "Or maybe I could come to your next art show?"
"Maybe." He shrugged, hands stuffed in his pockets. You could see the outline of his cigarette carton as he twirled it in his hand, fidgeting with clear discomfort. I wanted to hug him, but I was fairly confident he didn't want to be touched. All I could do was give a sad smile.
"Okay." I mumbled. "Well… let me know."
Saying nothing in response, he turned away from me, walking back toward the direction we had come and soon out of my rein of vision.
Just like I had all those years ago, he didn't say goodbye…
…..
