Page 29 of Wish We Were There

Chapter Eleven

Taylor

He never should have said anything.

The thought must have echoed in Taylor’s mind at least a thousand times after their disastrous kiss. He had been so confident, so sure that Parker had wanted him back—but he had been wrong. He’d even finally admitted the truth that had been gnawing at his insides for months, and somehow that had made things worse.

He didn’t understand it, but he regretted ever offering a drink to Parker that night. Why hadn’t he just said goodnight and let the other man go home, the way he had every other time they’d worked on the Caesura Room together?

He had been afraid Parker would still turn up for his appointment; and sure enough, Parker texted him, called him, even came knocking at his door. But Taylor had been completely immobilized with… he wasn’t quite sure what. A bitter mix of embarrassment and regret and a grief that cut to the bone—completely different from the deep muscle ache of mourning for Zach and everything that had happened between them. No, this was sharp and acrid bile that he couldn’t swallow down.

He barely got out of bed for days. He should have had his cast off—had planned to do some work around the venue that the cast had proved too unwieldy to work around—but instead he curled up under his blankets, listened to music, and watched TV. One day, maybe, he might be able to someday face Parker again without wanting to be swallowed up into the center of the earth.

Then Parker texted him again, begging to talk, and Taylor’s heart tumbled right out of his chest. Why? Why did Parker string him along like this? What more was there to tell? There was nothing that could take back what had happened, so why did it matter?

And that small, stupid, pathetic part of him he’d never been able to tamp down was so starved for Parker’s attention that he could barely muster a deflection until Friday, when they’d planned to meet, anyway. Now that he knew his feelings weren’t reciprocated, why did he still want to be around the other man? And why did Parker want to be around him now, pathetic as he was, knowing that Taylor wanted him that way? Did he get off on seeing Taylor pining after him? He didn’t think that was the case; but even if it was, it somehow didn’t bother Taylor enough to cut him out of his life forever. No, they still planned on meeting on Friday.

What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t like suffering this way, so why was he still so drawn to Parker, so eager to see him again? It made him feel like an idiot, but he still couldn’t say no when Parker asked if they were still on for Friday.

So, miserably, he dragged himself out of bed. Once he showered, and washed his hair, and shaved his face, he did a load of laundry and ate something that wasn’t takeout. The stupid cast still on his arm meant everything took twice as long to do. He thought about calling the clinic himself to schedule a new appointment, but froze with fear every time he pulled the number up. No, getting himself presentable was about all he could manage for now.

When Zach had died, one of the first things Taylor had done was take down all the pictures on the walls. A lot of the pictures of them together had been taken down long before, when they had first decided to part ways, but a few still remained—family photos, mostly, and an occasional photo of one or the other alone. Taylor packed them away a few days after the funeral, hating how much it made the house feel haunted, like Zach was still there somehow, watching him.

The feeling came creeping back now, as he painstakingly folded laundry in the living room, even though there were no pictures on the walls. This had been their house, Zach’s house, and the memory of him still lingered in every corner. Taylor scowled, keeping his eyes down at the pile of laundry—if he looked up, he would certainly catch sight of Zach’s ghost staring at him from across the room. He wasn’t sure if Zach would be laughing at him, or looking at him with pity; he wasn’t sure what would be worse.

Somehow, this would be so much less complicated if Zach was still alive. They would have been actually divorced by now, not just talking about it—if not now, then soon—and whatever he had going on with Parker might have felt weird in a different way, but it wouldn’t have been like this.

But Zach was gone. His ghost wasn’t there; if there was a ghost, Taylor was sure Zach wouldn’t be haunting him. So he kept his eyes downturned, ignoring that feeling of being watched as he worked.

When he finally raised his head to bring his laundry up the stairs, the walls were just as bare, the room just as empty.

Taylor left his house early the next day, far earlier than usual to meet Parker, but he wanted some time in the Caesura Room to himself. He hadn’t so much as thought about the venue since their last meeting and wanted to look things over before deciding what they would do together—the more he could get done on his own, the less time he had to spend with Parker. It should have been a relief, but his stomach twisted in knots.

The stage still needed to be finished. He’d scheduled a contractor to come in and replace the carpets and the wood floors, as well as a repairman to fix various small things in the kitchen, mostly tuning up the appliances. The only things left for him and Parker were odd jobs here and there, before repainting the walls and doing one last deep clean once everything was fixed. The air and heat worked, and he had the forms filled out for the liquor permit... After that he could focus on staffing and then finally opening the venue. It was coming together so much faster than he’d anticipated.

Because of Parker. He would always think of Parker now when he was in the venue; his handiwork was all over it. The realization should have turned his stomach, but he couldn’t truly bring himself to be upset about it. Maybe he did like suffering.

Taylor set to work slowly sweeping the main floor; it still had some debris and sawdust from their earlier work on the stage. He’d only just finished when he heard the front door rattle open, and he froze, grip tightening over the broom in his one good hand.

Parker appeared in the entryway, his steps coming to a stop as his eyes landed on Taylor across the room. Normally so put-together, now he looked almost as disheveled as Taylor felt, his hair messy and his facial hair scruffy. Something in his expression was hungry, starving, and the whole world froze around them.

Even in those few seconds, something about being with Parker, seeing him, made everything Taylor thought he knew turn on its head. His understanding of what had happened between them, which had made so much sense when he was alone, was entirely wrong. The things he couldn’t comprehend on his own now inexplicably clicked into place.

Parker’s expression was so blatantly full of want that Taylor couldn’t believe he’d truly thought Parker wasn’t interested in him. Sure, he had freaked out, but maybe that was understandable, all things considered. He was scared—more scared than Taylor was—about what this all meant for their relationship. Of course he hadn’t been acting rationally—neither had Taylor.

He wanted to kick himself. Why did he get so in his head about this? Why hadn’t he just listened when Parker tried to talk to him?

“Um,” Parker finally stammered, color rising in his cheeks. Taylor shook himself out of his stupor, wondering how long they’d stood there staring at each other in silence. “Hi.”

Despite himself, Taylor’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Hey,” he said, looking away self-consciously. “Uh, thanks for coming.”

Parker was silent for a long moment; then he took a slow, cautious step further into the room, as Taylor busied himself with putting the broom away. “Yeah, no problem. So, uh... What are we working on today?”

From the cover of the broom closet, Taylor scrubbed an anxious hand over his face, then turned back to face Parker again. “Let’s get those last baseboards on the stage, and then we can put the new varnish on.”

Parker nodded. Taylor’s eyes landed on him again, and he responded with a slow, hesitant smile. “Alright, sounds good. I’ll get started.”

Taylor helped him gather up the pieces of wood along with the drill and other equipment he’d need, then went to prep everything for the new varnish as Parker set to work. They worked silently for a while, the sound of the electric drill the only noise between them as Parker installed the boards, and Taylor painted the varnish on the opposite end of the stage. Taylor tried to focus on what he was doing, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess. What was he going to say to Parker? What should he say? Did Parker even want to talk to him now? Was it already too late?

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