Chapter 26 – Simo
When I wake in Luca’s bed I don’t know what time it is.
The light that filters through the blinds grazes his parted lips and tells me that the day started without us.
I slept like Snow White in her glass casket; I might as well have been dead.
Considering this is the first decent sleep I’ve had this week, I’m not surprised.
And judging by Luca’s snores – the lightest snores known to mankind, more like a string of contented sighs – he hadn’t fared differently.
His hair is endearingly unkempt; it sticks to his temples and stands up in all directions.
I comb my fingers through it, because I don’t have to resist any more.
I smush my nose in the crook of his neck, the softest, safest place in the world.
He hums, a sound that vibrates in his chest and wraps his arms around my torso.
‘It tickles,’ he whispers, when I cover the spot below his ear in kisses. ‘Don’t stop.’
It’s exhilarating that I can do this now; scoop him up and kiss him without inhibition. I was stupid not to try it sooner.
Hunger eventually drives us out of bed. I drift into the lounge wearing one of Luca’s hoodies and stop when I spot Maz seated at the table. He’s served up food. I smell fried mushrooms and eggs and fresh toast. Luca is beside me, barefoot and befuddled.
Maz is looking mighty smug. ‘Aw, good morning, boys. Though strictly speaking it hasn’t been morning for hours. How nice of you to finally join me.’
‘You’re not being weird at all,’ Luca says, and drops into a chair. I follow his example.
‘Well, I have the pleasure of informing you that not only have you missed an entire day of school, you also missed a short but delightful visit from your grandparents, who graciously let me know that they’re “not angry, just disappointed”.
They also bestowed some parental advice on me, namely that if I’d raised you better, you’d have known not to bring champagne bottles near a pool. ’
‘So you’re being a pain now, because you had to deal with them on your own?’
‘Correct.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Anything for my son and his best friend. Boyfriend? Or are we so modern that we decry any form of labelling?’
I feel my neck going red, though something in me stirs at the sound of the word boyfriend. Luca’s face shows a range of emotions, panicked at first, then pissed.
‘Not quite. I find some labels incredibly helpful, such as “deranged parent” and “none of your business”.’
‘But the masses want to know! And now that the storm clouds have passed, I want to share all the newspaper clips I’ve saved for the occasion. In fact, I’ve already shared them with Poppy, but I thought you might want a look too.’
Luca groans and sends me a rueful look. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘I’m not.’ Maz grins and slaps a stack of newspapers on the table.
‘Here we go: “The Most Dashing May Couple Yet”, front page in the local newspaper. Look, it comes with a picture of you on the red carpet entering the charity ball, not that you can miss it, considering it takes up the entire page. A day later, the school newspaper drops a think piece on the use of charity balls – “Brandenburg Boys: Budding Activists or PR Props?” Another picture, of you and Simo leaving the ball, holding hands too! And my favourite: “DeLorca Represents: from the Humble Streets of Lombard to the Red Carpet”. A bit of a mouthful, but they coined your official shipping label.’
I run my eyes over the articles in front of me. Now I get what Dad meant by ‘everything that’s going on’. A message on the noticeboard is one thing, but the news coverage is so blatant that I can see how it left my parents no choice but to intervene.
Luca is suspiciously still. He bites his lip and avoids my gaze, until I link my pinkie finger with his.
‘DeLorca,’ I say. ‘I expected worse.’
The renewed attention makes me queasy, I won’t deny it. But the fear that I experienced on that first day of school has reduced to a faint echo, now that my parents are on board, now that Luca and I are on the same page. I was afraid of their reaction, because their reaction is what matters.
‘We look good,’ Luca murmurs, and sends me a shy smile.
‘We do,’ I agree. I want to say that I don’t care what anybody says, but that’s not true.
I do care that what ought to be mine isn’t fully mine any more.
And yes, Luca might have played a part in that, but he didn’t write these headlines.
Also, I’m not completely naive. When I showed up to the charity event with the Brandenburgs, it crossed my mind that people might pay attention.
Especially the busybodies that make up most of Lombard’s population.
But I wasn’t going to let that ruin time spent with Luca.
‘Yes, you look so good that everyone is talking about you, and nobody is talking about my exhibition,’ Maz says.
Luca is the face of disbelief. ‘Your exhibition?’
‘OK, fine, Jacob’s exhibition. But I’m in it.’
‘I’m in it too. And it doesn’t open till tomorrow, so.’
‘Yes, but you’re stealing all my thunder. Try to keep a low profile until it’s over, yeah? Don’t want another press ambush.’
‘You’re a pest.’
‘Don’t insult your dad when he’s made you breakfast,’ Maz says, and pushes back his chair. ‘Now the pest must return to work. Without a trust fund, I simply can’t afford to laze about all day.’
Luca snorts but obediently reaches for the bread basket and offers me the toast. Instead of leaving, Maz grins down at us.
‘What?’ Luca asks, frowning.
‘You know, I’m really happy for you two. In case I’ve not said that.’
I can feel heat rising up my neck, but for once it’s not shame making my ears burn. Maz’s words feel like a big warm hug.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Luca tries to hold back a smile, but it breaks out and lights up his face.
I want to lean in and kiss it from his lips, but I don’t dare to do it in front of Maz.
He turns mock-serious and points a finger at us. ‘I trust you to behave yourselves when I’m not looking. Keep it PG, yeah?’
‘Says the man who got a girl pregnant at sixteen,’ Luca retorts. He takes a criminally big bite of mushrooms on toast and doesn’t see what I see. Maz’s face slips. For an instant, his expression flickers, but it’s back to normal before I can make anything of it.
‘Don’t try me, or I’ll enforce an open-door policy,’ he grumbles, and walks out.
Luca and I eat in silence. That is, we don’t speak, only shovel food in our mouths, occasionally nicking it from each other’s plate.
It’s almost exactly like before we kissed, only back then Luca wouldn’t have wiped crumbs from the corner of my mouth and licked them from his fingertips.
Something pensive steals into the look he sends me.
‘What?’ I ask, and receive a shake of the head in return. ‘Come on, tell me.’
‘Well . . .’ he says, and hesitates. ‘It’s about what Dad said.’
‘The PG thing?’
‘The decrying-any-form-of-labelling thing.’
‘Ah. The best-friends-slash-boyfriends thing.’
‘Yeah. That.’ Luca looks awkward. He’s kind of cute when he squirms, so I draw out the moment and wait till he can’t take it any more. It takes two seconds until he cracks.
‘Do you have any . . . thoughts on it?’
‘I mean, the being-boys part is true.’
Luca barely holds back an eye roll. ‘Sure.’
‘And we’re friends.’
‘Best friends, some would say.’
‘So that part is also true,’ I confirm, and nudge the scrambled eggs with my fork. When I look up, Luca pouts, and there might be smoke coming out of his ears. I can’t tease him any longer, so I drop the fork, take the seat of his chair, and slide him close.
‘The only thing that matters to me is that you trust me, and I trust you,’ I say.
‘That we tell each other the truth. That we care. And that we’re good.
’ I wind my hands around the back of his knees and pull.
He glides on to my lap, winds his fingers through my hair, makes my heart beat against my ribs.
He gazes down at me, his eyes blue and earnest.
‘And if that’s what they call best friends,’ I continue, ‘so be it. But I also fancy you so damn much, and I think you maybe feel the same way. And if that’s what they call boyfriends . . .’
Luca leans in, almost touches his lips to mine, and stills, leaving a fraction of space. We hold out like that, and his breath dances across my skin, hits the tip of my tongue, mingles with mine.
‘So be it,’ I whisper, and he seals the kiss.
The exhibition is being held at the library.
For the grand opening, Joni has stowed the movable bookshelves away, which creates an open space to mingle.
I’ve saved myself a nook on the first-floor balcony, because I prefer observing to being observed.
And Maz wasn’t completely off; we are pulling attention.
Jacob’s portraits of queer faces in Lombard are good, I must admit.
Not that I know anything about portraits or the technicalities that go into taking them.
But from what I’ve seen, Jacob captured his subjects in a place of their choosing, like Maz in his cafe or Luca baking cookies, so they look at ease, despite the lens pointed at them.
Which, to Jacob’s credit, is no mean feat.
‘I don’t want to say much, because I’m not good at speeches, and I believe that photographs say more than words ever could,’ he explained minutes ago, nervously pushing a strand of ginger hair out of his eyes.
‘Photographs capture queerness without complicated terms. They show our facets but don’t demand an explanation.
I want to thank all of my subjects for letting me take your portraits.
You shared your stories with me, and with the people of this town, and made us come together.
It means a lot to me, especially as someone still new to this community. Thank you.’