7
"What are you trying to say?" Aaron asked, pulling up on the spot as he stopped pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Staring at me now as if he wasn’t able to believe what I was telling him.
It had been a few weeks since I’d first made love to Edward and I was currently embroiled in what was turning into more than just a regular conversation.
"We've known each other our whole lives. Maybe it's a good time to… get some space," I tried to explain, squeezing my hand as I rolled it back and forth.
It was one of the hardest conversations I ever had to have, made even harder by who I was having it with.
"I hardly see you anymore as it is," Aaron frowned. "You're always hanging out with that Andy guy."
"Edward. And that's not why," I told him, though that wasn't exactly true. I was irritated. He knew exactly what his name was and was only trying to push my buttons.
"He's bad news," he warned me, scratching the side of his face. Now I knew he was trying to irritate me. This faux-warning was very unlike Aaron. "Who is this fucking guy anyway?"
He leaned against the kitchen counter, and I couldn't help but think that was the very spot where Edward called my name for the first time as we made love.
"Hello?" Aaron asked, still staring at me.
I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to reality. "I heard you and 'bad news'? Why? 'Cause I want to spend time with my man?"
"With your what?" he asked.
Chills went up and down my spine. Shit, I hadn't meant to come out to Aaron like that, not now. I considered back peddling. I considered trying to revert the conversation and pretend like he had misheard me, but I couldn’t. I could only think about how disrespectful that was to Edward. He deserved better than that.
"Are you gay?"
I sighed, realizing that now was as good a time as any. "You know me; I like whatever looks good."
"So, you're... what are you saying?" he asked, looking confused. I knew he wouldn’t think it was a bad thing or anything like that. Aaron wasn’t built that way. But still, it was most definitely more than a little shocking.
"I'm... yeah, I like dudes, okay? I like bitches. I like whatever, you know?" I answered in an off the cuff manner, still not able to say the words exactly.
Aaron paced back and forth until he stopped and looked at me. Then he laughed. It wasn’t a mean, cynical laugh. It was more based off of shock. "You're not joking, are you?"
"Would I joke about something like this?" I asked him seriously.
"Wow. It's just... I mean, I don't care who you fuck, but dude... What if this gets out? Do you know what this would do to my career?" he asked.
Now I was mad. It was always about him. He didn't even stop to think about what I was going through or how much Edward might mean to me. It was just him.
"It won't get out," I said.
"Dude, you only met him a couple of months ago and now…" he said, his jaw clenching in frustration.
"It's not like we're not going to be best friends anymore, Aaron. It's just that…" I put my hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down, only for him to shrug it off.
"Just that what?" he demanded.
"I'm moving out."
There was a silence between us as the words settled. It was as if it took a moment for those words to register and I could feel them hanging in the air as he did.
He gaped. "You're what?"
"It was bound to happen, and I'm sure you'd like to eventually get a girl to—"
"How am I going to pay the bills?" he asked, his nostrils flaring now.
"I got some money saved up, and I can help you pay for the first three months."
He folded his arms. "And then what?"
"I'll help you put an ad on Craigslist."
"I'm telling you that fucking fag is going to be the end of this band," he said, pacing the floor again.
"Hey! Don't call him that," I said, my eyes narrowing at Aaron. He knew how to push my buttons, and I wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or in the heat of the moment. But either way, what he had said was completely unacceptable.
"Whatever," he said.
I followed him out of the kitchen and down the hall. "Dude, what does me moving in with my boyfriend have to do with the band? I haven't missed a gig, not a single rehearsal."
"For now. I bet he's told you that you should do some other type of music, some other band."
I swallowed hard, careful to control myself. "I make my own decisions."
"So, he has? Forget him. Are you really going to choose this shithead over what we've had—?"
"Hey," I cut him off. "Watch your mouth."
He stopped, looked me up and down as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The worst part was that he knew I was serious and that there wasn’t a thing he could do to change that.
"Just… go… take your stuff and go. I don't care."
His words stung like ice. They were as painful for him to say as they were for me to take. He was my best friend. I didn’t want to leave it like this.
It’s funny how the good often comes with the bad. As happy as I was to be moving in with Edward, I couldn't help but feel I deserved those words.
~~~
"And this was his painting of her," he told me as we stood in front of an oil painting at the museum. "He said that if he couldn't have her, at least he'd have her in his memories. In the end, the artist didn't want to share her with anybody, but he knew by keeping her caged up, neither one of them would really be free."
I looked the painting up and down, trying to seem as interested as I possibly could. The truth was that I didn’t really care about some dude named Jean Claude whatever his name was, but Edward did, so I listened and pretended. Maybe one day I could learn to love it.
But still, as much as I found this whole thing a bit drab, I did love the sound of Edward's voice as it echoed in the grand hall. It made him sound powerful and intellectual. It was actually a little bit of a turn on.
The Portland Art Museum was a piece of art in itself. With long, grandiose halls framed by high pillars and marble floors; each exhibit adorning the rooms was more prestigious and classy than the next.
But even in the midst of all this, it paled in comparison to Edward. He was a far greater piece of art than anything this museum could offer.
My boyfriend stared at the painting as if there was some deeper meaning below all those layers of paint. He studied every stroke, really taking in the whole thing.
I wasn't paying attention to it. I was paying attention to him. The way the light lit his lips, every curve of his face. There was only one piece of art here, and I was looking at it.
I looked at this man, studying him with the same level of intensity. And I realized that I hoped I would have a family with him one day.
It was a shocking revelation to have as I'd never given any thought to having a family. Most of my days before I'd met Edward were spent trying to make it from one day to the next. I was constantly running from my past, trying to escape and forget it. With Edward, for the first time ever, I was able to look to the future.
But at the same time, I hated looking that far forward. When I was with him, I didn't want the day to end. I wanted each one to go on forever; for our lives to become even more intertwined. Because if there was a future, then there had to be an end. That thought was scarier than anything.
It was also endearing in a way. I wanted nothing more than to spread our love for generations to see it through the eyes of our children.
I wondered, as I watched him leaning forward to look at the artist's signature, if we would adopt or if we would find a surrogate. Would our kids look more like Edward or me?
"This is a copy. The real one is in Paris, at the Louvre," he sighed. "One day... I've always wanted to go, my whole life, just like the movies."
He suddenly elbowed me in the gut.
I grimaced. "Ow."
"Quit looking at my ass," he glared playfully, looking around the museum to make sure no one was looking.
"I'm not," My grin curved.
"You're not?" he asked, his left eyebrow arching in doubt. He even sounded a little upset.
"No, I was looking at your crotch," I said, licking my lips.
"You're something else," he chuckled, his hands behind his back covering his butt as he pressed forward.
"And I was looking at your lips and your arms and your peach fuzz," I went on to say.
"Peach fuzz? These are genuine manly whiskers I'll have you know," he hit me playfully on the arm.
Of course, he didn’t have whiskers, he barely had peach fuzz. Every part of him was so clean and smooth. It was one of the things I loved whenever I slid myself inside of him.
"I love it, though." I teased him, giving him a peck on the lips as I reached around and gave his butt a quick squeeze.
He smiled back. "You really know how to warm a boy's heart."
"I love every part of you," I told him. God, he was gorgeous in that light, the way it filtered through the arch of the museum. I could look at him for hours.
"Stop looking at me like that," he said.
"Like what?"
"Like you want to make love to me right now."
I chuckled. "But I do."
"Well, keep it inside."
"For how long?"
"At least until we get to the men's bathroom," he joked.
"Kinky."
"Well, I’ve got to get as much of it as I can before you become some big rock star one day, touring the world and you leave me," he said.
"Leave you?" I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a corner of the museum where no one could see. Then, his back pressed up against the wall, I caressed his cheek with the back of my hand. "I will never leave you."
His eyes danced as a glint of a smile formed.
I don’t know why, but at that moment I had to ask him, even if it hurt a little. I wanted to know as much about him as possible. Every piece he kept from me made me ache; I wanted all of him. "Baby, what did he do to you?"
"Who?" he asked.
Holding his gaze, I didn't even answer that question. Edward knew exactly what I was talking about. "Babe."
"Five minutes," he said.
"What?"
"That's all he gave me. Five minutes to move out. I was living with him. I'd moved out of my grandmother's and everything to be with him, and I ignored her warnings."
I stepped closer to him, my chest pressed right up to his as I listened to Edward's every word. "She said I was moving too fast and... and anyway, after six months of living together... I thought he was happy. I'd done everything to make him happy, and I guess he saw me as the trophy boy he could take to cocktail parties. I should have known he had a few others on the side."
"Wow," I said in genuine disbelief, sure that he was lying. I mean, he had to have been? "Why would anyone trade you for someone else?"
"I know, right?" he joked. "Anyway, he came home, and he was stressed out. I thought it was from work and I said, ‘Don't worry, I'll make you something to eat. I'll make you feel better.' He had his head down, and when he looked back up, he said he's not ready to commit. That he wants us just to be friends."
"Friends?" I repeated. "After six months?"
"And he wanted me to go. Cody, he gave me five minutes to grab my stuff—all of it. He didn't even have the courtesy to call a taxi for me."
For the next few minutes he continued to talk, pouring out what had clearly been bottled up inside of him; threatening to erupt at any moment. All he needed was someone to talk to, so rather than saying anything, I listen.
He didn’t want my advice. He didn’t want my instructions on what he should do or how he should act. All he wanted was for me to listen, and that’s just what I did. I loved being there for him, healing him in any way I could. That was all I ever wanted, and now he was finally letting me do just that.
I didn't interrupt, not once. Only when I was sure he'd told me everything he needed to, did I tell him what I thought.
"He was a jackass. I'm so sorry you went through that babe," I said, embracing him and kissing him on top of his head, letting him know that I meant what I said.
He sighed as if all his stress and weight was suddenly lifted from him. "He said I was too fat, that I'd never be good enough for him. That he wanted someone else. Someone who had accomplished something. Someone in shape. I was too ashamed to go back to my grandmother and live, so I left. Going as far as I could think of. If I was going to be somebody, The Portland Academy of Fashion is one of the best in the country, so that led me here."
"No one should have treated you like that. No one." Anger rumbled through me that someone had hurt my baby. I couldn’t believe that I felt this way over someone that I had never met. All I knew was that this guy didn’t deserve someone as great as my Edward. "I love the way you are. You're perfect. I'm sorry you went through that, but I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you picked me."
He smiled, his eyes watering. "What if I never become successful like you're going to be?"
"Baby, you'll be more successful than me. You want to be a fashion designer. You'll be bigger than J. Lo. Doesn't she have her shit in K-Mart? You'll have it in flippin' Neiman Marcus."
"J. Lo? Really?" he said, arching an eyebrow.
"Well, Chanez then."
"Chanel," he corrected.
"Same thing."
"And what if I just want to stay home and be a stay-at-home dad and get fat and eat bonbons?"
I laughed hard at this quip. "More of you to love. I'll even buy you a Hershey's shop. Can I just say one thing about that bastard ex-boyfriend of yours?"
"Yeah."
"If I ever see him, I'll beat the crap out of him until he's unrecognizable," I told him. I meant every word too. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever been so serious about something before.
He smiled at this, taking my arm and leaning against me. "You're funny... well, it's settled then."
"What's settled?"
"I'm your man, and you can't get rid of me."
"Can't get rid of you like a bad itch," I joked.
"Something like that, yes."
"Edward Lohan, sometimes you make me wanna…."
"Wanna what?" He glared, trying to act serious for a change, but it didn’t work. There was no way he could hide that grin of his anymore.
"Marry you. Edward Curtis Lohan, will you marry me?" I was sick of just thinking it. Since our first date I had thought about it, and since our second, I knew it was what I wanted. And now, well now there was no point in tip-toeing around it any longer. I wanted to solidify what I'd felt all along. He was the only one for me, and I needed him to know that.
He was damaged, and so was I, but together, I thought somehow we could make it through. We were each other’s rocks; together nothing could defeat us.
"Are you serious?"
He started to walk away, but I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. "I'm dead serious. What do I need to do to make you say 'yes'?"
"Sing to me."
"What? Sing to you?" I blushed. "Right here?"
"I'm out of here," he said, turning until I belted out a song.
"Love me tender..." I hated singing in front of people. But Edward wasn’t people; he was so much more. So, I began singing Elvis' classic. The words came from my heart and soul; each one just for him and him alone. His eyes filled with tears as I finished the song.
"What? Didn't like it? Would you prefer Hit Me Baby One More Time?"
He laughed. "Shut up. That was the most amazing thing I've ever heard in my life."
"Really?" It was something I'd never done for anyone before. Even Aaron had only ever heard me sing backup.
He nodded with absolute sincerity. "Thank you, but where's the ring?" He stamped his feet.
I laughed. "I'll get you one."
"Why aren't you on one knee?" he demanded.
Without wasting any time, I did exactly that. I knelt down and looked up at my king; the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I then took his hands in mine, enveloping them. My eyes looked into his deep blue, letting him know that I was his and he was mine. He was all I ever wanted in the world, and I would have done anything for him to accept my proposal.
"Get me a ring, and we'll talk." Edward snatched his hand back playfully and pranced off. "Make sure it's Tiffany's or Cartier. I don't do cheap."
"Baby, if that's what it takes to make me the happiest man alive, I'll do it."
For the first time, he stopped joking around; he stopped playing and teasing. Instead, he looked down at me, meeting my eyes, the sincerity dripping from them as he said the most beautiful thing that I had ever heard in my life. "Cody, I'd marry you with a dried toilet paper ring around my finger."