Page 62 of Rhett & Moses
Morning came too soon, sunlight streaming through the windows I’d neglected to cover the night before. For a disorienting moment, I expected to see the hotel room in Gomillion, to find Moses beside me. The empty space in my bed was a sharp reminder of reality, I was back in Boston, alone.
Not alone, I corrected myself. Physically separated, but connected in all the ways that mattered.
The next few days passed in a blur of catching up at work, sorting through mail and messages, reestablishing the rhythms of my Boston life. My colleagues noticed the change in me immediately, the lightness in my step, the increased frequency of my smiles. Meredith, my assistant of nearly seven years, took one look at me and declared, “You met someone in that little hometown of yours.”
“Not exactly met,” I corrected her, unable to keep the smile from my face. “Reconnected.”
“Well, whoever they are, I approve,” she decided, handing me a stack of messages and project updates. “You look happier than I’ve seen you in years.”
She wasn’t wrong. Despite the ache of separation, I felt more complete, more fully myself than I had in decades. The knowledge that Moses and I were working toward a shared future, that Wednesday would bring him to Boston, to my home, filled me with a quiet joy that permeated everything.
I threw myself into preparations for his visit with perhaps excessive enthusiasm. Fresh linens for the guest room, though I doubted he’d use it, stocking the refrigerator with his favoritefoods, which I learned through careful questioning during our nightly phone calls and researched the best gin bars in Boston to take him to. I mean it was a professional courtesy, I told myself, though really just an excuse to see him in his element.
By Wednesday morning, nervous energy had me awake before dawn, pacing my apartment, double-checking arrangements, adjusting and readjusting the placement of furniture. Moses’s flight wasn’t due until late afternoon, giving me an entire day to anticipate, to imagine, to second-guess my preparations.
I forced myself to go into the office, hoping work would distract me from the clock’s seemingly glacial movement. It was partially successful, a crisis with a commercial project in Providence requiring immediate attention, a potential new client needing conceptual sketches by the end of the week. But underlying every conversation, every decision, was the awareness that Moses was on his way to me.
By four o’clock, I could no longer pretend to focus. I made my excuses to Meredith, who shooed me out with a knowing smile, and headed to the airport an hour earlier than necessary. The traffic was mercifully light, allowing me to arrive with plenty of time to spare.
I waited near the arrivals gate, checking the flight tracker obsessively. On time. Each minute that passed brought him closer, the anticipation building in my chest until it was almost difficult to breathe normally.
And then, suddenly, there he was, emerging from the security area with a small weekend bag slung over his shoulder, scanning the crowd with an intensity that matched my own. When our eyes met, his entire face transformed, lighting up with a smile that hit me like a physical force.
I moved toward him, weaving through the crowd with single-minded purpose. We met halfway, coming together in anembrace that felt like coming home. The solid reality of him in my arms, his scent, his warmth, the sound of his breathing, grounded me in the moment, dissolving the strange unreality that had colored the days since our separation.
“Hi,” he said when we finally pulled apart, his voice slightly rough with emotion.
“Hi yourself,” I replied, taking his bag despite his protests. “Welcome to Boston.”
We made our way through the bustling airport, our hands finding each other naturally, fingers interlacing as if they’d been designed specifically for that purpose. In the car, Moses looked out at the city with curious eyes, taking in the distinctive architecture, the blend of historical and modern that characterized Boston.
“It suits you,” he commented as we drove through the Back Bay area toward my apartment. “This city. The balance of tradition and innovation, history and progress.”
I glanced at him, struck once again by how completely he saw me, understood me. “I’ve always felt at home here,” I admitted. “Though lately, I’ve been thinking home might be more about who rather than where.”
Moses’s hand found mine across the console, squeezing gently in silent agreement.
My apartment building came into view; a modern glass and steel structure nestled among more traditional brownstones; another example of the blending Moses had noted.
“Definitely you,” he observed with a small smile as we parked in the underground garage. “Respectful of context while asserting its own identity.”
I laughed, oddly touched by his architectural assessment. “Are you analyzing my building or me?”
“Both,” he admitted with a grin. “They seem appropriately aligned.”
The domesticity of bringing Moses into my home, showing him where to hang his coat, giving him the quick tour of rooms I’d lived in alone for years, it felt both novel and utterly natural. I watched him move through my space, noting his reactions to the art I’d collected, the furniture I’d chosen, the views from my windows.
“This is exactly how I imagined your place,” he said, running his hand along the back of my sofa, a custom piece I’d designed myself, balancing comfort and aesthetics. “Clean lines, thoughtful details, nothing superfluous but nothing cold either.”
“High praise from a man who curates artisanal gins,” I teased, though his approval meant more to me than I cared to admit.
We settled into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing naturally as I prepared dinner, a simple pasta dish I’d perfected over years of entertaining clients. Moses leaned against the kitchen counter, glass of wine in hand, watching me cook with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.
“What?” I finally asked, catching his gaze for the third time.
“Nothing,” he said, then reconsidered. “Everything. Being here, with you, in your space. It’s just... right. In a way I wasn’t sure anything would ever feel again.”
The simple honesty of his statement caught me off guard, hitting me squarely in the chest with its emotional weight. I set down the knife I’d been using, moving around the counter to stand before him.
