Chapter 12
TOTE BAG TOWN
Oscar had a boyfriend, and his name was Aaron.
His days became colored in speckles of red, brown, and blue, spots of purple and yellow, dashes of green.
Aaron consumed his thoughts day and night, his phone blowing up when Aaron was on break or in between shifts, the other end of his couch dented with the press of Aaron’s weight while he knitted and watched him race time to get to the final stages of the video game before semester started and he had to shift to simpler projects.
It was an August of farmers’ market Saturdays, going home with bags full of brown, aromatic mushrooms and the smallest portion of chanterelles now they were in season, coffee dates in the afternoon, home-cooked dinner in the evening.
On Sundays, they had movie nights with Anna and Joe.
Anna always chose the goriest bloodiest shit and Aaron encouraged her.
On more than one night, Joe and Oscar decided they were hungry in the middle of whichever macabre sequence was playing and they headed down to the takeout shop on the corner and lingered until enough of the film was over that they could return with food ahead of video gaming into the late hours.
During these moments, Oscar realized that he really liked Joe.
He wished he’d had a friend like him growing up, but late was better than never, he guessed.
Sometimes, while they were waiting, he’d text with Lucas.
He’d told Joe all about Lucas and the games he liked to play.
And he’d told Lucas about Joe and how he was about to start taking the hours Oscar didn’t work during the semester at the beta testing gig.
Life had grown increasingly sweet and not only because of the insane amount of candy and sugar Oscar consumed whenever he spent time with Aaron and his friends.
The coffee-and-pancakes-bookshop dream that had played through his mind in slow motion the morning of their surgeries became their Friday evening.
For the first half of September, Aaron held a steady placement at a cinema, filling in for someone who’d just had a baby until they hired a more permanent replacement to cover her absence.
On the last evening of Aaron’s least temporary temp job, Oscar walked through the wide front doors of the complex, down the aisle to his ticket booth, leaning on his elbows as he bent down to match Aaron’s sitting height.
“I would like a ticket to a hot date with a handsome booth attendant, please,” he said.
This was his favorite film: the fireworks lighting up the sky of Aaron’s eyes through the screen of his glasses, the opening curtains of his splitting lips as his white teeth flashed a grin.
“That’ll cost you a cup of coffee,” Aaron replied, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll offer an entire pot,” Oscar said, winking.
He did that now. He winked. In the time they’d spent together, Aaron had unraveled him, drawing out the strings that had been tightly coiled inside his chest since Papa had died.
In the time they’d spent together, Oscar had laughed with tears streaming down his cheeks, he’d nestled in warm arms, he’d fallen asleep listening to a heartbeat he’d come to know.
“You ready?”
“Indeed, I am.” Aaron put up the Desk Closed sign, waving at the girl who’d just settled into the booth next to his, and then he disappeared through the door behind his chair.
Oscar wondered what kind of qualifications one might need to become a chair Aaron would sit on for eight to ten hours a day.
His wondering was cut short when Aaron appeared from around the stall, already slipping off his vest and undoing the top button of his shirt. Oscar’s eyes darted down to the dip of his throat. He’d kiss it if they weren’t here, in the place Aaron might want to temp at again someday.
Aaron didn’t seem to mind it very much. He leaned in, stretching on his toes, because he was a couple of inches shorter than Oscar when he wasn’t wearing his usual sneakers, which only made him cuter, and then he pressed his lips to Oscar’s—a soft sweet peck announcing pumpkin spice season.
Oscar’s hand no longer went clammy when he slipped it into Aaron’s. Their fingers linked like they’d been built to do it, pieces of the same puzzle, come together at last.
“Tell me about your day,” Oscar said as they walked out to the street, the bright flashing lights of the bars and clubs they passed catching the red of Aaron’s hair.
And Oscar listened, studied the lines of each expression, watched the rise and fall of Aaron’s excitement as he went through his shift, animating it for Oscar, bringing every hour they had spent apart to life for him, making it as though they’d been together then, too.
Around them, the city came alive. People in short skirts and heels, fancy cologne and dress shirts, passed in their couples and groups, laughing, carrying the heavy stench of alcohol as they bounced between the first clubs of their night, others heading to fancy restaurants for their dates or group dinners.
Meanwhile, Oscar and Aaron walked away from all the fuss, turning towards the quainter streets of the older part of town, walking on until the spires of the cathedral loomed in the distance.
The bookshop welcomed them like old friends, the rainbow painted on its glass reminding Oscar of his hardest afternoons, the hours he had spent in here, leafing through books he couldn’t afford, drinking the cups of water Laura brought him again and again.
“There they are! I thought you weren’t coming,” she said as she spied them now, getting off her stool behind the desk and walking around to pat Oscar on the cheek.
Laura was older than his mother but younger than Grandma.
She was fat and warm and lovely, with a round face and thin metal-framed glasses over eyes as brown as Oscar’s.
The purple shirt she wore today reminded Oscar of Aaron’s favorite hoodie, hanging on a hook in his own apartment.
He’d worn it all day long, controller in hand, testing each corner of a level without breaking focus so he could pick Aaron up for their quiet date night.
“And miss seeing you?” Oscar jerked his head back, eyebrows rising.
“Hi, Laura,” Aaron said, giving her a wave.
“Have some new ones in,” Laura replied. “And help yourselves.”
She headed behind her desk again, pushing a plate of cookies in their direction as she returned to her chair to read. Aaron picked one, splitting it in two and handing Oscar half, and then they zapped in the direction of the New Additions shelf.
Laura’s was the only all-queer bookshop in town, and Aaron had never been before he started hanging out with Oscar. The first time Oscar had brought him, he’d marveled at each shelf, eyeing the BL manga, the sapphic sci-fi, the large wall of aroace and demi indie books Laura had collected.
When Oscar asked how come he’d never visited, Aaron had explained that ever since he’d moved here, all of his money had gone to rent or his surgery savings. There hadn’t been space in his account to buy books, too. The library had been his salvation. And Oscar understood.
For a while, Laura’s had been his library.
She’d let him read so many of her books on his worst days and afternoons, and he’d promised to treat them with enough care they’d seem untouched straight after.
Once, he’d accidentally bent a cover and quite nearly lost it.
Oscar had already pictured himself begging on the street for money to pay her for the paperback when Laura had approached and taken the book, smoothing the cover and handing it to him.
“Happy birthday,” she’d said.
“My birthday’s in November,” Oscar had replied.
“Happy birthday,” Laura had repeated. It had been September then, just like it was now. Oscar still had that copy of Maurice on his shelf, among the rainbow-colored volumes he’d later amassed.
“You like that?” he murmured, coming up behind Aaron and resting his chin on his shoulder to read the title.
Aaron turned the book over in his hand, thumb grazing the illustration on the front. Oscar had seen a million video edits of the characters in this book, the man in the red robes and the one in white, the demon king and the prince.
“I’ve been meaning to read it,” Aaron said, shrugging. He flipped it again, reaching to put it on the shelf. “Some other time.”
“I thought you were meaning to read it.”
Oscar pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and Aaron leaned into it, his soft hair brushing Oscar’s cheek. He hadn’t cut it again since they’d started dating, and now it was overgrown and felt like silk. Oscar played with a strand, trailing it with his fingers, tugging on the short end at Aaron’s neck.
“Get it.”
“Next time.” Aaron set it down, running a thumb down the jacket, then walked away.
He was a sight in his day-old shirt untucked, black boxy pants sitting on his body like they’d been made for him.
Oscar watched him from behind the glass door, showered in yellow streetlight, the main act in Oscar’s story.
And Oscar would gladly be relegated to the role of Man Number 2 if it meant Aaron was the main character of his film forever.
Although if he had it his way, it would be their film and their love story, and now every time he thought about Jonathan Bailey, his face rounded out a little, and his eyes turned blue; his hair had that reddish tinge to it, and his name was Aaron.
Aaron Aaron Aaron Aaron Aaron
The director in Oscar’s mind yelled Action as the bell on the shop door tinkled and Aaron turned, twisting in the light catching him just so, lips curving, eyes finding Oscar’s immediately.
And if this wasn’t love, Oscar didn’t know what was.
“Did you say goodbye?” Aaron asked.
Oscar nodded, looking for the words he could say to present him with his gift, the confession lumping in his throat. Oscar had never had anyone to give gifts to before. Nobody other than Grandma and Lina beyond his childhood.