Page 44 of From the Ashes

When I talked with him about it afterward, though, he suggested that subconsciously I sensed not only was his friend Preston someone safe, but he himself was ready to take that next step. He said if he’d really wanted to, he could have run with him being a devil in a non-sexual context, so in the end it was still his decision to confirm our relationship and therefore his not-straight status. I’m still not comfortable with what I did, but Colt says it’s all good, so I have to trust him and move on.

And I do trust him, something I thought would never happen again after he left. But he’s worked hard, and he’s earned it, which is a relief because carrying around all that resentment and bitterness for so long was bringing me down.

There’s a lightness in my step now. The guys at work have made comments and are constantly speculating on mine and Colt’s relationship status, but I’ve left it to their imaginations so far. Like with Preston, if Colt has something he wants to share with them, he’ll do so when the time is right.

Even just the thought of introducing them all formally makes my head spin. The idea that I could be with Colt and not have to guard it like a state secret is liberating.

There’s a sensible part of me that knows we’re not out of the woods yet and we’ve still got a long road ahead of us. But no relationship starts off with absolute certainty. In fact, there’s no guarantee how long anyone has with their loved ones, whether that’s because people change or realize they’ve made a mistake about their compatibility or because fate intervenes and pulls them apart whether they like it or not. I see every shift how fickle life can be.

It feels good to finally be taking charge of my own destiny after so long lingering in the background of my own story.

Not just with regards to Colt, either. For the first time in I don’t even know how long, I’ve dug out my little portable paint palette. It only has eight colors, but the other side has space to slot in some cardstock and there’s a loop on the spine to hold a small brush with a lid, and the whole thing folds in half so it can neatly slip in my pocket. My teta got it for me years ago as a birthday present, but I never even considered using it.

Until now.

I’ve set myself up on a bench in the redwood forest the town was named after. Considering these mighty trees aren’t native to southern California, I feel blessed that so much effort was put in several decades ago to man-make and maintain this ecological spectacle. Obviously, they aren’t as tall as the ones you find up north, but they’re still vastly different to chaparral shrublandand palm trees in the rest of the region. There’s something uniquely calming about being surrounded by these giants.

The air is cooler and slightly more moist up here, and the shade offers respite from the beaming sunshine. The forest dampens any sound, too, so it’s a great place to come and unwind. I breathe in deeply.

As I capture simple scenes with my brush, my thoughts drift freely. Naturally, Colt is at the forefront of my mind. I try not to dwell on our more intimate moments because I don’t want to embarrass myself in public. However, it’s tricky not to. We might not be hormone-riddled teenagers anymore, but we’re still having sex every chance we get. I think without saying it, we’re both trying to make up for the years we lost.

It’s not just that, though. It’s the way he sneaks out of bed to make me coffee in the morning. It’s the silly memes he sends me every day. It’s the way he spends more time looking at me when we watch movies together than at the screen.

It’s the way he’s making me believe in a future together.

Of course, my grandma has noticed my change in demeanor, but she suspiciously hasn’t asked any questions about it. She just comments every now and again saying how well I look or how cheerful I am. The fact that she hasn’t asked if I’ve met someone tells me that she knows it’s Colt that’s having this effect on me. But I’m too nervous to ask her outright if she’s okay with it.

Because she probably isn’t.

To her, he’s still the bad boy who broke my young and fragile heart. I’m sure she’s convinced he’ll do it again. Part of me is aware she could have a point. Just because he doesn’t want to, doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. He’s hardwired to please his parents. There’s nothing about me that’s pleasing to them, I know. Even if I was a woman, I’d be a poor social match for their son in more ways than one.

The fact that I am a man is the most glaring objection, but I can’t help but think they’d have less of a problem if grandkids were still a possibility. I’m not sure what Colt thinks about becoming a parent. That feels like a Big Conversation that we’re not ready to have just yet. But I love kids and have I’ve considered adoption a lot over the years. Surrogacy could also be an option. However, there are so many kids out there in the world already in desperate need of loving homes, I can see myself being drawn in that direction.

Who knows if that’s a path I’m destined to take? Insha’Allah. If he wills it, then maybe one day. But for now, it’s enough to content myself with the present, which I’m easily drawn back into as a little face suddenly pops up in my line of sight, as if summoned by my latest thoughts.

“Whatcha doin’?” the small boy asks, pointing at my pocket palette.

I smile at his innocent curiosity. “I’m painting a picture,” I tell him, turning it around to show him my woodland scene. The child’s jaw drops open.

“You did that?” he squeaks in disbelief.

I nod, then glance around, wondering who he’s with as he can’t be all the way up here by himself. He’s got to only be four or five years old. Sure enough, there’s a man sprinting toward us down the path with two brown terriers on leashes scampering excitedly beside him.

“Noah, what are you doing?” he cries in a panic. I smile and give him a wave in what I hope to be a reassuring manner.

“He was just asking about my picture,” I tell the man I assume to be this boy’s father, also showing him what I’ve been up to. “Did he slip away from you?”

The man stops in front of me and puffs as the dogs lick the boy, making him giggle. “Yeah,” says the dad. “I swear he’s going to be a running back when he’s big enough to hold a ball.” Theman ruffles his son’s hair. “Or maybe he’ll be a chef and just run after his kids like he makes his folks do. Who knows.”

I like this guy’s attitude. “I guess that’s the fun with having children. It’s a surprise how they turn out.”

“Every day is a surprise,” the man agrees. “You have any yourself?”

I smile, reflecting on my musings just now. “Not yet, but maybe one day.”

“Well, it’s never a dull moment,” he says with a laugh. “Come on, Noah. Let’s leave the nice man to his painting. It’s awesome, by the way.”

I glance down at the scene I’ve been capturing. It looks quite basic to my eyes, but I smile and accept the compliment the way it was intended. “Thank you.”

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