15. Alexei
15
ALEXEI
D ad couldn’t sleep, and I’m a light sleeper, so he woke me up with all his pacing, and now we’re standing on growing grass with hot paper cups in our hands while the sun comes up.
“Do you miss her?” I ask Dad.
“I don’t know. Not really. I just miss… I regret that her life ended so early.” He stares at Mom’s tiny headstone, small stickers peeling everywhere. I put one there when she first passed away, and I guess it sort of became a thing to stick a weird sticker on her stone every year. Most of them are faded or disintegrated, but the outlines are etched into the stone. “We wouldn’t be together if she was still alive.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we weren’t good for each other. We did one awesome thing together—you. Otherwise, we were bad for each other in all ways possible.” He looks at me. Looks away. “It’s important to know that. To know when two people are good together or not, despite the fun they have together.”
My fingers drum on the paper of my cup, still burning hot from green tea. “Is this your way of giving me dating advice without actually giving me dating advice?”
“Yes.”
I nod, smiling at Mom’s grave. God, I love it when he’s a dad. “Noted.” I pull a sticker from my pocket and show the holographic side to Dad. “This one work?”
“ Fried meats are our friends? ” He squints at it. “Fuck it. Sure.” He’s smiling now, and I like that Gage’s ridiculous sticker is playing a part in our morning. He stuck one to my steering wheel when we left his therapist’s office, and when I looked at my bed later that night, there was one stuck to the headboard, too.
I wipe the dirt and dust off the stone, place the sticker there, and stand back up. It’s right next to a sticker from two years ago that says ‘vegan for the animals’ and I enjoy the hypocrisy of that.
“I’m gonna go walk over there and not eavesdrop,” I tell Dad. “But don’t fuck up like last year.”
“Fuck up how?” he asks.
“You forgot to get out all your guilt, and that shit clung around for a few more months. So take your time and get it all out so we can leave here being happy.” I lean against him in my best attempt at a familial hug and then leave him to it.
We’re going to pick up the light fixtures we dropped off at a restoration shop a few months ago. They’re finally ready, and I can’t wait to put them up. I don’t know how it happened, but my level of pride in this mansion we’re keeping from falling down is soaring at an all-time high.
When I look back at Dad, he’s talking to a headstone, knelt low so nothing can intercept his words. Pressing his finger down to make sure the sticker stays put. I take a deep breath, knowing I have a weird level of attachment to my dad. I mean, he almost died so many times while I was growing up, and my mom really did die, so I don’t think it’s too crazy for me to cling to him. I love my dad, always have, even when I hated him as a kid, and now I finally get to have him as… him. Our relationship has done a lot of mending over the past few years, and now that Gage is around, giving me another perspective on addiction and addicts, it’s mending even more. I smile when Dad looks back at me to make sure I haven’t wandered too far.
Nice Sunday so far.
“Am I allowed now?” Dad asks on our way to the restoration shop.
“Fine.”
“Happy Birthday, Alex,” he says, permitted now that our dire business is out of the way. “Twenty-six and falling for your soulmate.” He laughs, unable to help himself from mocking me. Although, I’m pretty sure I’m being lovingly mocked because he believes in my belief that Gage is my soulmate.
“Thank you. I always knew twenty-six would be my year.” Feels like a lucky number, even though it holds no significance to me. It’s just a feeling.
“I just…” Dad pauses to squint and gather his thoughts. “Uhm, well, Gage’s recovery seems to be a very large portion of your ‘getting to know each other’ phase, and I just don’t want you to feel neglected. You’re allowed to talk about yourself, too. To focus on yourself.”
“I do.” I smile. “And I don’t mind that he takes the cake. He deserves it, and I like helping him feel hopeful. I’m a pretty content person if you don’t count the fact that I’m losing interest in my job and have no plans to ever move away from you.” I shrug. “Not every person has some big traumatic thing to get over. My trauma has to do with you, not Gage, and you and I are working on it, are we not?”
“Of course we are,” Dad says. “And I love you for giving me another chance.”
I’ll give him as many chances as he needs. He’s my dad, and I’ll love him no matter what. “I do miss Mom sometimes,” I admit to him. “And I worry about you dying an unhealthy amount. So don’t… do that. Okay?”
“Okay.” He laughs. “I won’t.”
“Deal.”
“Wanna talk about your job?” he asks.
So, I do. The whole drive to the restoration shop. Basically that I’m just confused about why I’m losing interest in it, but that I’m not too worried about it yet. Soon.
When we get to the shop, the guy who worked on our fixtures is busy, so I snoop around and get… interested. What are all these things? These tools? These trinkets and antique bits of history that are being fixed up and mended to continue thriving in the modern world? There’s junk everywhere, and normally, I’d look at it like it really is junk, but for the first time, I’m seeing a past, craftsmanship, appreciating the hard work and methods of creation that went into building and making these things . I’m appreciating the dedication and the love of the person who spent so much time restoring them.
And when the man finally comes out to show us our restored fixtures, I chat his ear off for a whole hour without Dad complaining. Because… I’m intrigued. With old things. With mending and repairing and restoring old things and making them new again.
Alexei 3 : how do I know when I’m fixating on something? I like old things. Is that a bad sign?
Alexei 3 : Like, I like old things so much that I’m debating trying to fix old things into new things. Is that a fixation? Should I be worried? Gage?
Alexei 3: I’m aware of the double entendre. I know I’m fixing my old relationship with my dad into a new one, and maybe that’s why I suddenly love old things becoming new???? Thots?
Alexei 3: Thoiughts *
Alexei 3” Shit. Thoughts**
Alexei 3 : Okay, I may have done a thing. I bought some tools. Like, tools I have no idea how to use, but the man at the shop said they were a good starting point, and then he just… gifted me some things. Said not enough people cared about the past and told me to stop by anytime I wanted. I’m not even nervous to drive here.
Alexei 3 : Gage? Answer me so I know you’re not in a fried meat coma somewhere.
Gage: I have no idea what you’re rambling about, but please keep going.
So, I do. I tell him about everything I see in the man’s shop. I send him thirty-seven pictures of old shit, and then three more pictures because thirty-seven didn’t seem like enough. Gage replies to every single photo like he cares about old shit as much as I suddenly do. I send him my thoughts in voice notes when typing is too much, and I repeat the man’s advice, and then I’m sending him more photos of the new tools I’m buying, and oh my god. Why do I suddenly love old things and take such pride in our battered mansion?
When we get home and I’m carrying bags of tools and a shrimp cocktail through the front door, I smile at the house I didn’t want to move into. This house is just a part of me now, and… how the fuck am I gonna move out of it when I eventually get the courage to leave Dad on his own?
I put my blood, sweat, tears, and so much time and manual labour into this place. So much so that I am attached to it now. Even though it looks like a crumbling mess from the outside, it’s full of stories with my dad, near kisses with Gage, and happier moments in general. I love things with character, and over the past few years we’ve been living here, we’ve given it character of our own. I’ve basically become a carpenter, and now I’m gonna be a ‘restorer of old things’ on top of that.
I set everything down on the kitchen island, listening to Dad close the front door behind him.
“Get dressed,” Dad says, setting the rest of my new tools on the floor by the stairs.
“For what?”
He pulls out his phone and squints at the screen. “Uh, blue with your black? Whatever that means.”
A heatwave works through me, starting in my chest and radiating all the way to the tips of my toes. “Gage?”
“Yes, Gage. Get moving.” Dad nods upstairs.
I start to rush but slow my pace so I appear to have a bit of chill in front of my dad. On the inside, I’m a sweaty, agitated, neurotic mess of excitement and nerves because I don’t know what this means or what it is. Blue with my black? But how?! Dressy? Casual? Where are we going and what are we doing and does he know it’s my birthday? Is this a date?
When I get to my room, I rip open my closet door and just stare at all the blacks. My whites are folded in a drawer, and my blues are sparse but growing in number. Oh god. Which blue?! What blacks?!
Alexei 3 : I don’t like vague instructions. Be more clear.
Gage: Shut up and wear something or I’ll spend the whole night having to resist your nakedness. Don’t worry, we’ll take it off later. ;) 1 hour, Alexei.
That heatwave picks up lava and I burn alive. But by the time I’ve settled on some blues with my blacks, I feel like a new man. A phoenix from the ashes of my own making.
“Are you wearing a fedora?” I ask Gage, even though it’s obvious he’s definitely wearing a fedora. A black one with a blue ribbon he terribly sewed on. It’s not even straight.
“Yes.” He wrings his hands together on my front porch.
“With an orange hoodie?”
“It’s my favourite colour. And sweatpants,” he confirms. “My nice ones. I put on real shoes, though.”
He did. Slip-ons. Black and baby blue checkered, and I’m wondering if he already owned them or if he bought them for the occasion. He looks unbalanced. A little bit classy, a lot sassy, all paired up nicely with a strong undertone of ‘I tried, but not too hard.’ And my god, it’s charmingly sexy, especially because his tanned skin looks even more tanned in that shade of sunset orange. The fedora suits him so much better than his normal hat, and I can’t even tell why. Maybe because no one wears fedoras around here, so it makes him as unique as he actually is.
I’m standing here gawking at him, not rushing to take him all in. I consume him piece by piece while he stands there and lets me, making me comfortable in my slow perusal. Because Gage is a beautiful man with an unhealthy inside that sometimes shines through but mostly stays hidden. He’s mentioned being a little dark-minded before, but when I look at him, I don’t see darkness. I see nerves and insecurity. I see a man determined to be better without actually knowing what better looks like. I see his sexy self-awareness and how hard he’s trying to make me feel special, not because he has to try, but because he knows I’m special and wants to ensure I know that he knows.
“Goddamn, Alexei,” he says on a rushed exhale. “You look fucking awesome.”
I tried—but not too hard—as well, and I feel like I look fucking awesome. I’m wearing real pants, but they’re casual linen ones that are one step up from sweats, a blue hoodie, the only one I own, and a black scarf to balance it out. It’s May 17th and I don’t need a scarf, but I felt fashionable.
“Platonically awesome?” I ask.
He hums low in his throat. “No.” Gage steps forward. Just one step. “Sexy awesome. Cute and handsome and fucking birthday boy awesome.” He reaches forward, grabbing my left hand that says ‘right’ on the top. “Happy birthday, Alexei.” His thumb swipes all the symbols on my knuckles, but his eyes stay on mine.
I’m burning up again. “I should have found something fire retardant to wear.”
He smirks, but his eyes shift down to our hands like he can feel the heat, too. “Just say thank you.”
“For what?”
“I wished you a happy birthday. The proper social protocol would be to show some gratitude.”
“Why do I have to be grateful for something you said on your own?” I ask, flipping his hand in mine, tracing my finger over the lifeline on his palm. “Social protocol is weird.”
Gage snorts. “Never conform, Alexei.” He squeezes my hand. “Ready to go? I planned a thing.”
I hate things. I love things. I don’t want to be the centre of attention. I want to be the centre of Gage’s attention. I want to stand here and stare at each other in awkward silence forever, but I also want to know what thing he planned. When I look past him, there’s no car on the street or in the driveway, and he’s not carrying anything, so… even more intrigued.
“Ready.” I step outside and close the front door.
Gage links his arm through mine, but when I start walking down the steps, he turns me right back around and opens the front door.
“Where are we going?”
“Did you know that your gigantic ass house has three separate doors that lead into the basement from outside?” he asks.
“I’m familiar with the gigantic ass house I live in, yes.”
He grins, leading me towards the basement stairs. “Well, with your dad’s permission, I’ve been slinking in and out of here all day. Real ‘forbidden lover, Romeo and Juliet style’ slinking, too.”
While that surprises me, I’m hooked on one word. “Lover?”
“Yep.” He doesn’t flinch or balk at the word. He opens the door to the stairs, clicks on a flashlight from his pocket, and takes my hand to lead me down.
“Do you have a murder room down here?” I ask once we get to the damp bottom.
This house is ancient, and over the years, many weird families have lived here. The basement is an accumulation of all the shit they never took with them, and now that I’m someone who likes old things, I’m looking at it like a cave of treasure rather than an accumulation of junk. Mixed in with the cobwebs and exposed pipes are… things that can become new again. A rush of adrenaline hits me straight in the chest, making me excited about what I can do with this stuff.
“Sort of,” Gage admits. “But I’m hoping it might be your new murder room. More like a doctor’s lab.” He stops before a closed door that leads to a cluttered and completely dark workshop I never go into because the lights don’t work. “Since your rambling texts today, I… I changed from my original plan and did a thing.”
That adrenaline buzz inside me is amplifying. “What thing?”
“Wanna see?”
I do, but now seems like a good time to stall by abiding by social protocols. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For wishing me a happy birthday.”
Gage smiles, and then he tugs me to his chest. We’ve never hugged, but when he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight against him like he’s wanted to do this for as long as he’s lived, I sink against him and circle my arms around his lower back. Cigarettes. Laundry detergent. The same kind my mom used to use. Gage and the warmth he radiates. God, it’s the best hug of my life. My eyes close and I take the moment in with all the gratitude he told me to have on the porch.
I’m just a little shorter than him, so he rests his cheek against my temple, plays with the hair on the back of my head, and exhales so slowly that it feels like his demons are leaving him to lurk among their new home in my basement.
“Alexei?”
“Shh. Don’t ruin my moment.”
I feel his cheek pull into a smile. He stays silent for long moments, letting me have my moment. Living in it with me because it’s his moment, too.
“Yeah?” I finally ask.
“Will you be my slow-moving boyfriend that I haven’t even kissed and barely know?”
God, he just makes the moment better. He’s starting to believe in soulmates. “Being my slow-moving boyfriend comes with opinions and a bit of attitude,” I tell him, still hugging him in the dank basement.
“Like what?”
“Like I’ll probably scoff at your food choices and get snippy about your lack of regard for your health.”
He nods, like he expected it. “I know.”
“And I’m kind of needy. I like compliments and a lot of reassurance, but don’t lay it on too thick or I’ll assume it’s all fake.”
“I know.” He hugs me tighter.
“And you still won’t have any control over my lifestyle, but I’ll try to control yours. It’s hypocritical, but I’m a hypocritical kind of guy.”
He’s smiling again. “I know.”
There’s more, but maybe that’s enough of a start. “Okay. I’ll be your slow-moving boyfriend.”