Chapter 18
On Monday night, Hunter and I sit quietly at the table eating dinner. I’m so lost in my own thoughts, unable to stop replaying the conversation with Bryce in my head, that I don’t notice Hunter openly staring at me.
“You okay?” he finally presses gently. My eyes flick up to his.
“No,” I admit, dropping my fork. “I saw Bryce yesterday.” I’d long since confessed the full situation to Hunter. It’d be impossible not to, having lived with him the last nine months, as well as working at the same company for most of that time.
“Shit,” he replies.
I chuckle. “Yeah, that about sums it up,” I agree.
“What happened?” he asks simply.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair but decide to just go with it. So I tell him what happened.
“Hmm,” is his only response.
“You’ve got to give me more than that,” I reply drily. Hunter finishes his pasta and pushes his plate away.
As he’s wont to do, he sits silently for a while.
“We’re more alike than you know,” he finally replies, leaning back in his chair and meeting my curious gaze. “I have to protect myself too.”
My brows scrunch together. “I don’t understand,” I admit. Hunter sighs.
“At this point it’s hard to believe Bryce is actually getting better,” Hunter clarifies. “So it’s safest to protect yourself. Because even if he is, he’s still getting married. So I get it. I get why you’re holding back.”
“What do you hold back?” I press curiously. I suddenly realize in the months Hunter has lived with me, he’s never said a word about dating anyone. Perhaps he’s as closed off as I once was. Or, am now, as it were.
An anxious, determined look spreads over Hunter’s face. “You can’t tell Dad.”
I laugh. “Oh, Hunter. You know I can barely stand the man. I’ve only seen him twice since you moved here, and only because he insisted,” I reply. “I hope you know you can trust me.” It kind of stings, thinking he might not, after all this time. And while we haven’t exactly stayed up late talking about life and love and braiding each other’s hair, the quiet bond we’ve shared painting and repainting the condo ad nauseum has been special to me. And so necessary for me to deal with everything. But maybe we’re not as close as I thought we were.
“I know,” he replies quietly. “There are just things I don’t tell anyone. Well, one thing.” My finely honed intuition on when to stay quiet tingles. So I do. And as usual, after a stretch, it pays dividends. “I’m gay, Sera.” He studiously avoids my gaze.
And I find myself unsurprised. I’d thought perhaps he was asexual, but it never really mattered to me one way or the other. I’m certainly the last person to criticize anyone’s love life, or lack thereof.
“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask nonchalantly. Hunter looks at me. And I almost laugh. His expressions are all so similar, but I’ve come to know the subtle changes in his features well. The ever-so-slight arch of his left eyebrow betrays his shock. “Oh, come on. It’s 2019. So you’re gay, who cares?”
“Dad would,” he insists. “And there’s already enough crap between us.” But his protests are a diversion. I don’t miss that he didn’t answer my first question.
“Who is he?” I push. The corners of Hunter’s mouth twitch as he rises and collects our dishes, taking them into the kitchen and loading them into the dishwasher. When he’s done, he starts heading upstairs.
“Good night, Sera,” he calls without turning around.
“I’m gonna find out!” I call after him. I can hear him chuckling as he disappears into his studio. And I can’t help laughing a little myself. And it snaps me out of my funk, if only a bit.
I watch Hunter closely over the week that follows, but he’s either the stealthiest motherfucker on the planet, or he’s really not seeing anyone. I decide to follow him out of the house the following Saturday in one last-ditch effort to catch him at it. Even though I know I shouldn’t. But I just can’t help myself.
As I follow him into a busy coffee shop, I’m distracted out of my pursuit as I run smack into Alessandro.
“Serafina!” he exclaims in surprise, pulling back the lidded cup in his hand to keep it from sloshing. “Ciao. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” He gives me his most charming crooked smile, and I have to laugh.
“Ciao,” I reply. “Come stai?”
“Bene,” he replies. “May I join you for a coffee?”
“Oh, but I don’t want to keep you. It looked like you were leaving,” I offer. In truth, I’m not sure seeing him so often is a great idea. While he didn’t press last time, I know he still holds out hope that he can win me back. It’s admirable, if not a little annoying. And a good reminder why I don’t go out very often. It’s too easy to run into people you aren’t expecting to see.
“Not at all,” he assures me. “I have no plans today, just enjoying the beautiful weather. We must soak it up while we can.” I laugh. That is the Seattle way. We are hermits nine months of the year, sunflowers the other three.
“Okay,” I relent. “Let me get a cappuccino and I’ll meet you outside.” As I approach the counter I also realize I’m starving, so I add a breakfast sandwich onto my order. Once I have my food and coffee, I wander onto the patio, looking for Alessandro. I spot him on the street side, people-watching.
I take him in for a moment as he’s distracted. He really is every bit as handsome as he ever was, his dark brown hair now once again perfectly coifed in that messily styled manner, his beard tamed into a perfectly groomed accent to his sharp jaw and straight nose. Truly, he’s the epitome of the gorgeous Italian man. Stubbornness and borderline narcissism included. Shaking my head, I proceed to the table to join him.
As I sit eating my breakfast, talking shop with him in the warm, sunny morning, I’m reminded though that sometimes it is nice to just enjoy someone’s company on a beautiful day. It’s been a long time since I’ve done something so normal. And, thankfully, he seems settled into the notion that a relationship of any kind is off the table, for now at least.
He’s telling me a story about his new assistant when he stops cold, his eyes narrowing at something in the distance.
“Serafina,” he says with a caution in his voice. “Are you speaking to the giant?” I’m so taken aback by his question that I can’t help but turn and follow his gaze. And I freeze when I see that Bryce is, in fact, approaching, walking hand in hand with Madison, his perfect five-foot-six, slim, blond beauty queen of a fiancée. My breakfast churns uncomfortably in my stomach.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper, whipping my head back around.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Alessandro replies drily. “Maybe if we just …”
“Sera?” Bryce’s voice cuts across Alessandro’s attempted avoidance. I sigh one last silent fuck in my head before plastering a smile on my face and turning around.
“Bryce!” I exclaim with false enthusiasm. “And Madison.” I nod curtly at her. I don’t miss that she wraps her arm possessively around his waist.
Bryce’s eyes shift to Alessandro and his whole countenance changes. He narrows his eyes, his jaw clenched, his hand curling into a fist at his side. Alessandro looks at me confused, and the question in his eyes is clear, as I’m thinking it too. He can’t remember me, can he?
“Bryce, this is my friend Alessandro Giordano,” I say. “Alessandro, this is Bryce Hoyt, and his fiancée Madison Connolly.”
Madison looks smug and well pleased that I know of their betrothal. She extends a hand to Alessandro, batting her eyelashes.
“Piacere,” she says sweetly.
“Piacere,” he replies genially, but uncharacteristically doesn’t offer anything further. He looks to Bryce.
“I’m pretty sure we’ve met before,” Bryce says thinly. Neither man offers a handshake after Bryce’s icy acknowledgement. Madison gives him a stern look, but he ignores her, keeping his eyes fixed angrily on Alessandro.
“Well, it was so nice running into you, but we have to be going,” Madison declares, awkwardly pushing Bryce onward. “Ta!”
I flutter my fingers at their receding backs. “Bye now,” I murmur.
“What the hell was that?” Alessandro asks, voicing my exact thoughts.
I look back at him, bemused. “I have no clue,” I admit. “That was bizarre. He can’t possibly remember you. He doesn’t even remember me.”
Alessandro looks at me appraisingly. “Are you sure about that?” he finally asks. “Hate is a very strong emotion. Sometimes stronger than love. It can be very hard to forget.”
“Oh, please, Bryce never hated you,” I respond reflexively. But suddenly I’m not so sure. “Did he?”
Alessandro laughs mirthlessly. “Yes, undoubtedly,” he replies. “He made that quite clear.” I raise my eyebrows, but I don’t ask.
“I don’t want to know,” I respond. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s all water under the bridge.”
Alessandro shrugs. “If you say so, bella,” he murmurs. He looks at his watch. “In any case, it was lovely seeing you, but I must get going.”
We clean up our table and head out. And with a friendly embrace, we go our separate ways. Though I’m still bewildered and disturbed. But moreover, I’m concerned that we may have upset Bryce, so, against my previous decision, I decide to call Emily and see if she can shed any light on it.
“He what?” she asks incredulously after I’ve explained what happened. “That’s very weird. And very un-Bryce. He’s never rude. To anyone. Even if they deserve it. Especially if they deserve it.”
“Exactly!” I exclaim, satisfied that she’s put to words what I for some reason couldn’t. “I mean, maybe Alessandro is right? Maybe it’s easier to remember someone you hate?”
“That makes no sense,” Emily replies. “But I’ll see if I can find out what it was all about without making it worse.”
“Yes, please,” I respond. “I may not be up for being bosom buddies with Bryce, but I certainly don’t want to upset him, either.”
“I’ll let you know,” she responds. I thank her and hang up, still unable to shake my unease as I return home.
When I get back in the condo, Hunter is waiting for me with a grin.
“Boy, you must have gotten really lost after I ditched you at the coffee shop,” he remarks airily. Snapped out of my reverie, I laugh heartily.
“You’re a sneaky bastard, I’ll give you that,” I reply.
“What were you hoping to find?” he asks.
I shrug. “I’m curious, I guess. I just wanted to know if you’re seeing someone or not. And obviously I’m not as stealthy as I thought I was,” I allow. And I’m silently thankful that Hunter doesn’t seem upset.
“In all fairness, I did dodge a direct question. I was practically begging to be followed,” he responds.
“I take it then that there is a special someone?” I ask. Hunter blushes, confirming my suspicions. “You should bring him around sometime, then. I’d love to meet him.”
“Okay, maybe I will,” he replies cryptically before heading upstairs.
My curiosity about Hunter’s beau fades quickly, the bewilderment at today’s encounter slipping back to the forefront of my mind, despite my best efforts.
I don’t get respite from my concerns until the next day when Emily calls back after lunch.
“Soooo, I talked to Bryce,” she opens.
“And?” I press.
“He doesn’t know why he reacted that way,” she replies, clearly frustrated. “He didn’t really want to talk about it much. All he said was, and I quote, ‘There was just something about the guy that rubbed me the wrong way.’ As if that explains everything.”
“And it doesn’t,” I agree. “Alessandro was just sitting there. He hadn’t even spoken a word before Bryce got his panties in a twist.”
“The doctor talked to us about lingering reflexes,” Emily offers. “Sometimes, they’re just there. And they don’t necessarily mean you’ll remember why you speak or react a certain way.”
If any of Bryce’s behavior had stirred hope in me, it’s crushed completely at her words. It’s been my own mental justification, but to hear that the doctors agree it doesn’t mean anything is a finality I wasn’t prepared for. And it tells me that despite my determination to keep my heart locked away once more, I haven’t been all that successful, because I’m disappointed.
“That’s good to know,” I answer edgily. “Thanks, Em.”
“Sorry, Sera,” she replies softly.
Closing my eyes, I focus on staying calm and logical. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Emily. I just wanted to make sure Bryce is okay,” I say. It’s not untrue. “Take care, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”
“You too,” she responds, sounding wholly unconvinced. “Bye, Sera.”
After I hang up, I realize quickly that it’s going to be nearly impossible for me to turn my brain off. And I don’t feel like painting. So I go to my other standby, and pull a bottle of whiskey out, settling into my favorite chair by the window wall to drown the memories. It takes a lot of alcohol, but eventually I get there. Not the best choice for a Sunday night, but I reason that the alternative is worse.
Later, as I stumble drunkenly to bed, I say a silent prayer that I figure out how to move past this. Before it kills me.