Page 36 of Margins

Elijah takes the bottle and shrugs. “Seems kinda crazy, doesn’t it? To buy them out of their share just to sit in a big house full of memories?”

“Guess you kinda got your fill of memories handwritten into some classic novels, huh?”

“Kinda did, yeah,” Elijah huffs.

They carry everything to the dining room table and get settled there, lifting their glasses of wine to toast something left unsaid before they take a sip and then begin to eat. There’s nothing but small talk for a while—gossip from the bar about people Alex doesn’t know and a quick retelling of the movie Alex and Elena watched on Saturday and a few things in between—but then Alex lets the wine bring him back to the topic that gave them a reason to have a real conversation on that foggy Sunday morning.

“It’s been a week now, since we finished the books,” Alex says. “Any more thoughts about it all?”

Elijah takes a bite, and Alex assumes he’s buying himself more time to answer, though he doesn’t give up much when he does. “Too many, probably.”

“Care to share?”

“This food is incredible,” Elijah tells him. “The wine, too.”

“Sounds like that’s a no.”

“I don’t know what else to say, Alex,” Elijah sighs, putting his fork down with an unnecessary clatter. “I really don’t. What we read was a beautiful and painful story, but there is still so much of it missing, which means I have no goddamn idea how I’m really supposed to feel about it now. I love that they loved each other, but I hate that it made it hard for the rest of my family to do the same. I hate that I didn’t know any of this while my grandpa was alive, and I love that I was able to learn it all with you. I love that so many things inside me finally feel right, and I hate that every time I look at you, it seems like maybe you’re still afraid that nothing ever will.”

“Elijah,” Alex croaks. “It’s not—”

“About me,” he interrupts. “Yeah, that’s what you said after you had my entire body grinding against yours in the middle of the night. And I’m not mad at you. I need you to know that. This isn’t me issuing an ultimatum that you publish an announcement in one of your columns, or else. I’m just sad, and I don't know how much of it is because of my great grandfather and Uncle Edgar’s story, or how much of it is because we seem to be on our way to repeating it now.”

“It’s only been a month for us.”

“All years start that way,” Elijah notes.

“But you said you didn’t think they were cowards for staying quiet all that time.”

“I don’t. I think they looked at the world around them, and at everything they had with each other, and then made what they thought was the best possible decision for them at the time,” Elijah says. “You’re not them, though. We’re not them. And I can’t figure out who you think you’re making decisions for right now, but I’m not convinced it’s you.”

Alex looks up at the ceiling, like there’s any help to be found there, and then lets his head roll until he’s staring at a closed window. “I got everything wrong for twenty fucking years, Elijah. I hurt the people I love, and now I—maybe it’s not about making a decision. Maybe I’m scared shitless that I’ll hurt you and end up being the bad guy all over again.”

“You’ve gotta stop pretending that’s how any of this works,” Elijah hisses. “There didn’t have to be a bad guy or good guy in your separation from Cassidy. It just was. And there doesn’t have to be a bad guy or good guy with us either. We just are.”

Alex chews on his lip. “And Peter and Edgar just were.”

“They just were.”

“Except that we don’t know that for sure,” Alex tells him, tilting his head as he toys with his glass. “We got as far as we could with their story, but we don’t know what happened after that or whether they even stayed together. You have a fuzzy memory of seeing your great grandfather with another old man, way back when the zoo was a much higher priority for you. But that could’ve been anyone—a neighbor or a friend or, hell, maybe Peter fell in love again. I don’t know, but I’m not convinced Elena could tell you much about the adults at get-togethers we had a few years ago, so we’re putting an awful lot of faith in a memory from over 25 years ago now. Maybe we want to believe in a happy ending that never came close.”

Alex can tell Elijah wants to argue that point, but there’s not much he can say. “Fine. But however many times they might have loved and lost, neither one of them ever had to be a villain in those stories. And you can’t keep worrying about being a villain now. It will get you nowhere, and I have no idea where it leaves me.”

In the months since Cassidy moved out, the house has been painfully quiet for more nights than Alex could count, but the silence is so much harder to take when all he wants to do is scream and can’t find any of the strength it would take to be that loud.

“You’re really not mad that I haven’t told Cass and Elena about us? You’re really not mad that I wouldn’t go out on a date with you tonight?” Alex mumbles, the strongest thing he can choke out when he isn’t sure whether he’s hopeful or skeptical.

Elijah finishes his wine and then shakes his head. “No, I’m really, really not.”

“So, what happens now?”

“I don’t know,” Elijah sighs. “Is there any dessert?”

Alex finds it in him to chuckle and forces himself to get up from the table despite all the weight on his shoulders and how difficult it is to shake any of it off. He ducks back into the kitchen and comes back a minute later with the bottle of wine and a handful of fun-size chocolate from the stash Elena gathered on a stupidly successful night of trick-or-treating.

“’Tis the season,” he says as he drops the candy bars between them and refills their glasses. “I’ll apologize to her later, though I’m not convinced she’ll notice anything is missing.”

It’s all just enough for them to let the rest of their conversation slide, and somehow their hands find each other against the table while they drink in mostly silence, though Alex isn’t actually sure which one of them made the first move. They don’t let go, though, not until the bottle is empty, and they take a while longer to move from there, unsure of where to go.

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