Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
XAVI ADAIR
The blue twenty-eight-gauge wire wrapping is finished on the pink wire frame as I tuck in the last ends to hide them.
I bring the frame to the larger piece and set it within the side, making sure it’s exactly right.
I’ve brought it here no less than a dozen times as I wrapped the frame to make sure the size was perfect and the shape was what I wanted for the piece.
Satisfied, I set it on the bench and turn to my tray of stones. This particular piece is a base of black eighteen-gauge structural wire and a rainbow pattern of smaller wrapping wire—either twenty-eight- or twenty-four-gauge, depending on which part of the piece I’m working on.
I’m known for my Pride jewelry. I love to create for the many different sexualities and identities, but my favorite is my Pride collection because it simply encompasses all.
This one is my progressive pride. The latticework of wrapped wire is a rainbow, red to purple.
The stone in the middle is a topaz with a purple wire frame—a nod to the intersex flag.
Now I’m working on transgender pink, blue, and white touches.
Last will be the black and brown additions.
I’ve never done this particular pattern before. It’s trial and error. My intent with this frame was to use white stone to complete the triad of colors. One on each side. The soft pastels will stick out against the vibrant rainbow background beautifully.
However, now I need to choose the correct white stone.
“Moonstone or milky quartz?” I wonder out loud, alternating between putting them in the frame.
Then there’s this dolomite with cinnabar, which is basically a white stone with pink flecks in it.
If it also had blue flecks, I’d choose it hands down.
My orange cat jumps onto the bench and sits as he meows at me. I scratch his head. “Hey, Shapi. Want to help me choose?” I place the moonstone in my left hand and the milky quartz in my right before presenting them to Shapiro. “Which do you think works best in the pretty frame?”
I’m not saying my cat understands my words, but I’m pretty sure he understands what I’m saying when I talk to him. He leans forward and presses his nose to the quartz before placing his paw on the moonstone, tapping it once.
He reminds me of the cat online who chooses the card to complete the prompt from his owner and somehow always chooses the most unhinged. Shapiro is like that. Except instead of unhingery, he chooses the perfect stone for my jewelry.
“I agree. Thanks, Shapi,” I say and kiss the top of his head. “I even have two that are nearly identical. We love symmetry, don’t we?”
Shapiro gives me a silent meow. I grin and turn back to get this stone in the frame and weave it closed.
Someday, I want to learn how to solder or whatever it’s called when you put the metal pieces into sand and essentially weld the backs.
But right now, I’ve made a name for myself with wire-wrapped jewelry.
I’ll never earn the kind of money that my family controls, but I’m proud of this little business.
I never have stock. I’ve gone so far as to make my business like one of those elusive food trucks and only announce online right before a sale.
Then I post everything on my website, and it’s first come, it’s yours.
Nothing is less than $80. They may look simple, but they take some damn time. And I’m all about perfection.
“Hey, cherub.”
I jump at my best friend’s voice. “Jeez, Sparrow. Can’t you announce yourself? Or wear bells?”
“Shapi doesn’t wear bells,” he says and scratches my cat under the chin. Shapiro’s loud purr fills the room. He adores Sparrow. I’m pretty sure he has a huge crush on my best friend.
“Yes, but he doesn’t make me nearly pee myself every time he walks into a room,” I complain.
Sparrow grins. He wraps his arms around my chest, trapping my arms in his embrace, and hugs me tightly. “What’re you working on?”
I nod toward the bust that’s currently modeling my work in progress. “This is the transgender addition,” I say, pointing at the piece I was working on. “One goes on either side of the topaz.”
“Beautiful,” he says and kisses my cheek before letting me go. “Then it’s done?”
“No. I still need to put the brown and black bits on. I’m not sure how.”
“You already have black. The entire base is black, and it peeks out beautifully between the colors.”
I hum. “I should have alternated between brown and black.”
Sparrow moves toward the open trays of stones.
He pokes around while I continue to weave the frame closed around the moonstone.
Shapiro’s four paws are tightly together, and he’s crouched, watching Sparrow move around the room, bringing stones with him to the bust and returning.
My cat never stops purring. He’ll likely purr until Sparrow leaves.
When I’m finished closing the first frame, I begin the second.
“What about this?” Sparrow asks. I move beside him. He has small tiger’s eye stones and is holding a couple up. “You can ring some of these around the yellow stone in the middle and wrap them in black wire, so it really brings home the black-and-brown inclusion.”
I grin but turn my attention to my cat. “Shapi? Thoughts?” Shapiro blinks, but otherwise, I may as well be talking to a wall. Laughing, I nod. “I love that. Thanks.”
“Nice. Glad to be of help. Now take a break and feed me.”
Sighing, I set my pliers down and cross my arms. “You cook far better than I do. How about you feed me?”
“Good idea,” Sparrow says and nods toward the paper bag just inside the door. I roll my eyes. Of course, he came prepared. He planned this entire exchange.
“By the pool?” he asks.
“Yeah, fine. Let’s go.”
“You joining us, Shapi?” Sparrow asks.
My cat stands, makes a big show of stretching, and then jumps down from the bench to follow. He doesn’t actually join us outside on the patio by the pool, but he has a huge cat enclosure on the patio that he can access at any time through a door in the wall hidden under a side table.
We choose the lounge chairs by the cat enclosure, and Shapiro sprawls out on a little bench in his enclosure as he watches us. He knows Sparrow is going to give him strips of meat from his sandwich. That’s probably why he has a crush on Sparrow.
“How’s life as a self-made man?” I ask.
Sparrow grins while chewing. I watch him swallow, and his smile widens. “The second patent sold. Made more than the first. I should bring in some royalty checks from that for a while, too, as the technology becomes integrated into communication systems.”
“That’s awesome. I’m jealous.”
“Jealous? Pfft.” He waves his hand. “You have a huge following. Aren’t you in six figures now? If you had a pop-up shop, people would be gouging each other’s eyes out as they fight for each piece.”
I roll my eyes. Exaggeration, much? But I appreciate his confidence in me.
He’s not wrong in that there’s certainly a huge demand.
I don’t take commissions because the demand is too high.
Now I work on pieces when I’m feeling inspired, save them all up until I have a few dozen, and then drop them all at once.
They’re generally sold out within an hour.
I feel fortunate. I’m not sure I could legitimately make a living off this. Each piece takes me a while, and I’d constantly be worried about time, money, and when my next paycheck is coming in. For me at least, this is a rich man’s game. I’m successful because there’s no pressure to be successful.
“So… any news you want to share?”
My stomach flips. “Actually, kind of? My parents think they found a potential pairing for me.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I nod, my stomach flipping. I’ve tried not to think about it much because I’m anxious and excited. “Yeah. He looks really good on paper. The youngest of three. He’s twenty-six. The son of a prominent family who owns a successful chain of luxury resorts. He has two degrees.”
“Okay, his stats are good, but what about him?” Sparrow asks.
I shake my head. “Dunno. That’s not the kind of stuff covered in contracts. But our needs and wants align as far as the contract is concerned, so… we’re compatible at least that much.”
Sparrow shakes his head. He’s never understood the contracts.
The first time we talked about them a decade ago, he was absolutely horrified that my parents would choose my partner.
More than that, over the years, he’s become even more mortified when he’s learned the details that the contracts cover.
“So much control,” he mutters, as he has many, many times over the years.
“It’s not, though. It’s nice to already have the major life decisions out of the way before we even meet.
We know that we’re compatible in the most fundamental life moments.
That’s a big deal. It means we can focus on literally everything else and not wake up one morning when suddenly, we learn that our partner wants to live in Norway to follow his career. ”
“What if he does want to live in Norway? Your contract prevents him from following his dream.”
I shake my head. “The point isn’t to be restrictive. It’s to provide freedom.”
“You’re brainwashed, Xavi.”
“I’m not,” I argue. I’m really not. But as I’ve pointed out many times over the years, this is my lot in life. I can fight it, or I can get excited about it. Quite frankly, I want to be happy. I’m choosing happiness. “It’s about perspective.”
“I know. I’m sorry. The entire idea makes me cringe.”
“You hate love,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He huffs. “I don’t hate love. I just know that finding someone I feel as strongly about as my parents do for each other is…
unrealistic. I’m surrounded by the most wholesome love, deep passion, acceptance, understanding, encouragement.
” Sparrow shakes his head. “The odds of finding that are just… not big.”
“So you’d rather close down the possibility than put yourself out there, huh?”
“I don’t know.”
I watch as he rips off a little piece of ham and offers it to Shapiro through the fence keeping my baby cat contained and safe. He gladly and gratefully accepts his treat, his purring becoming the hum of an amp waiting for input.
“Maybe I’m sparing myself from disappointment,” he says.
“Being alone is better than being disappointed,” I agree.
He meets my eyes, his narrowed. I try not to smirk.
“Look. I agree that I wouldn’t choose this avenue for my romantic life. It seems invasive to have your parents choosing your sexual partner.”
Sparrow snorts.
“I get it. I don’t disagree. And yeah, I hate some of the points in the contract that are non-negotiable from my family—like kids and shit.
But my choices are to follow through and have a chance at happiness, or I don’t, and risk being banished from my family.
They already conceded that they’d wait a while after…
” I pause and then continue without finishing that thought.
“...a leniency that most of my siblings weren’t allowed.
They accepted my sexuality—yes, perhaps not with fireworks and joy—but they accepted it, and I’m not being forced to marry a woman. ”
He scowls at me.
I wave off his annoyance. “Like it or not, that was the state of the world not long ago. In some places, it’s still the state of the world. But my point is, my parents have taken me into consideration. I’m sure that they took me into account when they were considering my partner.”
“I’m glad you have confidence in that.”
“You don’t?”
Sparrow hesitates and then he shakes his head.
Not in answer to my question but to disregard it.
“It honestly doesn’t matter what I think because everything in me rejects this idea, and I can’t fathom that they’re truly thinking about your best interest when they’re forcing things on you that you don’t want—like kids. ”
“I’m not worried about my figure; for obvious biological reasons, it’s not like I have to carry them. And I’ll hire a full-time nanny.” I shrug.
Sparrow stares at me.
“Yeah, yeah. I know you don’t like that, but that’s what I have to do. It’s not like I’ll abuse my kids.”
“You’ll just neglect them and let someone else raise them.”
“Sparrow,” I say warily.
“Sorry.” He grips my hand and doesn’t let go for several minutes. “I’m inclined to say you might change your mind if they’re yours, but… I accept that some people just don’t want to be parents. Your parents should accept that.”
“Sparrow!”
He grins. “Sorry.”
“Just because you say sorry doesn’t mean it’s an apology.”
Sparrow laughs. “You’re right. I’m being passive aggressive. I am sorry because we’ve had this conversation a lot, and… it is what it is. I admire you. You’re a lot stronger than I am because I’d tell them to fuck off and walk away.”
“I’m choosing to believe that my parents do have my best interests in mind.
I choose to believe that they’re choosing the best possible match for me and keeping my future happiness in mind.
I’m also choosing to believe that we’re going to fall madly in love and have a happy life, regardless of the aspects that maybe we both don’t like.
That’s the difference between choosing happiness and choosing to be alone.
I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life, Sparrow. ”
He meets my gaze with a hooded expression.
We both know he doesn’t want to be alone either.
He just doesn’t want to settle for something less than the love he’s grown up surrounded by.
In a world that seems to thrive on ugliness, I understand why he believes finding that kind of love seems impossible.
Deep down, that’s one of the reasons I’m choosing to be optimistic about my future.
My partner grew up like me—aware of this contract marriage and what comes with it for most of their life.
That means they’re coming into this ready.
It means that we’re on the same page and we will both be prepared to begin our lives together.
If I had to find my own way, find a man in a sea of negativity, I think I’d be a lot like Sparrow. It’s too big. Too intimidating. The promise of disappointment is inevitable, and I don’t think I want to live through that.
I’m lucky. I don’t have that in my future. Maybe the guy my parents told me about won’t be the final candidate, but I’m sure that whoever it is, we will be happy, and we will fall in love, and we’ll live a happy, full, complete life.
No disappointment. No heartbreak. Nothing but happiness awaits, and I’m excited for it.