Ace
Now that Phoenix said it, it made sense. The way he lost track of time, the fact that he couldn’t look Ace in the eye, and above all else, that he was a recluse. Ace was surprised he hadn’t seen it before. The way Phoenix said it was almost defiant—as though he expected Ace to laugh at him or mock him in some way. That hurt, not because Phoenix thought it of him, but because the fact that he expected it at all meant people had done it in the past. He wanted to comfort Phoenix in some way, but more than likely, it wouldn’t be well-received.
“Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say. For some reason, his mind went to ‘I’m sorry,’ but that most certainly wouldn’t be appropriate. “I guess that makes sense.”
Phoenix blinked, looking almost surprised that he hadn’t made a disparaging remark. It made Ace’s chest ache to think about how many people would have responded differently.
“I… yes. Everything gets overwhelming sometimes and I can’t think. Out here, it’s quiet and I don’t have to be around people if I don’t want to be. I don’t mind having you here, though.”
That was a relief. For a moment, Ace had wondered if perhaps he had done the wrong thing by interviewing him. He worried Phoenix would see him as an intruder. It was good to know that wasn’t the case.
“Now it’s my turn.” Phoenix sat up a bit straighter and pursed his lips. Ace wanted nothing more in that moment than to lean across the table and kiss him. “How did you get your nickname?”
That wasn’t what Ace was expecting, though to be honest, he hadn’t known what to expect from Phoenix. He grinned a little, remembering it.
“When I was in middle school, I tried to start up a newsletter. I knew then I wanted to be a journalist, and there were stories that needed to be told—poor cafeteria food, the computers that were installed in the library, the class pet that got routinely abused by the boys in class.
“Anyway, I spent my own money copying this thing out on legal paper and stapling it all together. I think I made ten bucks, selling it for fifty cents. My English teacher—did you have Mr. Dowdy?”
Phoenix shook his head.
“Well, there was this teacher named Mr. Dowdy, and he was one of my favorites. He said I was an ace reporter, and a couple of the older kids took the compliment and twisted it around to make fun of me. I went and told my mom, and she told me the best way to get back at them was to claim it for myself. So I did.”
And he’d been called Ace ever since then by his peers. He hardly recognized himself as ‘Arin’ anymore.
“Your mom sounds like she was a reasonable woman,” Phoenix said.
It still hurt to think of her, even fifteen years after her death, but Ace managed a smile. “She was. She was one of the wisest people I’ve ever met.”
He could have used her help when his dad had died, and when he’d been let go. It struck him not for the first time that he was an orphan, in the most literal sense of the word. He most certainly was not going to think about that right now.
Instead, he looked up at Phoenix, who was nibbling another snickerdoodle. Cinnamon sugar dusted his lips, and he darted his tongue out to swipe them clean. Ace clenched his hands underneath the table. That line of thinking wouldn’t do, either.
“So. Next question. Um… How did you get started working with charcoal?”
That had to be a fairly innocent question, although after their conversation about frottage earlier, Ace was starting to think nothing was safe.
“Third grade art class.”
“Really?” Yet again, Phoenix defied his expectations.
Phoenix nodded and broke off another bit of cookie, popping it in his mouth. “We were learning about different media—acrylics, watercolors, crayons—and my teacher pulled out a set of charcoals. Her name was Miss Anna. I don’t actually know her last name.”
“King. She went to church at St. Jerome.”
“Oh. Well, I asked if I could use one, and she let me, and I fell in love with it. There was something about the way it felt in my hand, and then the way it looked on the paper that was so satisfying.” He stopped himself and frowned. “I know that has to sound strange.”
Ace shook his head quickly. “No, not at all. I’m the same way about Aikido. I started it when I moved to Boston, and ever since, I’ve loved it. The way it makes me feel, the way my body moves… I would imagine it’s a similar feeling.”
The expression on Phoenix’s face was something like fascination. Had no one ever tried to connect with him before?
“Sorry, you were saying…” Ace prompted.
“The rest of the week, all I wanted to do was draw. I didn’t have any charcoals at home, so I tried practicing with graphite. It wasn’t the same. After that week, my parents gave in and bought me a charcoal set and a book that taught you how to draw using them. Two months later, I was making my own stuff.”
The thought of little Phoenix with his charcoals made Ace happy for reasons he wasn’t quite sure of. He wondered if Phoenix had worn his hair that long as a kid, or if he’d grown it out later.
“It’s kind of cool that you were able to take something you’re passionate about and turn it into your living,” he said.
“Didn’t you?”
The question stung, though Ace knew he didn’t intend it to. His fall from grace was still a little too fresh. “I did, yeah.” And he would again. It was only a matter of time before someone got back to him.
They fell silent again for a few minutes, before Phoenix asked, “Why did you come back home?”
Shame and embarrassment flooded Ace’s veins. He didn’t want to talk about why he was here. He could have easily lied and said he’d come home after his dad died, but that wasn’t it at all, and Phoenix deserved better than a lie. After all, he had shared something incredibly personal with Ace.
He pinched his nose and took a deep breath, then let it out. “I was laid off from my job in Boston. I was a reporter there, and I didn’t have anything else lined up. I didn’t have a savings account, nothing to fall back on. So I sublet my apartment and came back to Wilmingson, because I had a house I didn’t have to pay for. Bud was willing to give me a job, so I took it.”
For the time being.
“I’m sorry you lost your job,” Phoenix said.
There was something about the sincerity in Phoenix’s tone that made him feel the slightest bit better.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Phoenix frowned. “I know it wasn’t. But I’m still sorry.”
Ace laughed, though it was more of a huff than a laugh. “Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”
“I don’t know why you’d want to live in a place like that, though.”
“What, you wouldn’t want to live in a city? Maybe hang your art in a bigger gallery so more people could see it?”
“Nope.” Phoenix shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. Too many people and noises and smells.”
“Smells?” Ace had never given thought to the way the city smelled. To him, it was always in the background. Unless it was something obnoxious, he didn’t normally pay attention to it.
“Have you never noticed how cities smell? I went to New York City once and it was the worst experience of my life. Food vendors, car exhaust, people wearing perfume and cologne, not to mention those godawful beauty product stores.”
“Huh. I guess I never thought of it like that.”
“Most people don’t. I just have problems with sensory processing.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it was normal. Ace realized, though, that to him, it probably was normal. Something he’d had to live with his entire life, just like a blind person adapted to being without their vision.
“Remind me never to take you to a city, then.”
Phoenix smiled wryly. “You would never have taken me to a city.”
“You’re probably right, but you never know. I might have offered.”
Ace didn’t miss the way Phoenix’s smile grew, despite the fact he tried to hide it behind another bite of cookie. Reaching down, Ace ran his hand through Lucy’s fur. He was oddly content, sitting here in Phoenix’s kitchen, just the two of them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been one-on-one with someone he wasn’t interviewing. And while technically this was an interview, Ace was fairly sure it had ended a good ten minutes ago.
It was the kind of feeling he could get used to. But Ace wasn’t going to give himself the chance. If he did, he would ruin everything he’d worked to achieve, and there was no way he was going to let that happen, no matter how much Phoenix intrigued him.