A Few Months Later
CASPIAN
“Here,” Antonio turns my laptop toward me.
I read the first paragraph in an essay called The History of Restorative Justice.
I let out a whistle.
“Wow. Did I really write that?”
Antonio squirms. “The idea is yours.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your argument was solid. So I kept that. But I removed the, uh, words around it.”
“You rewrote the whole thing?” My eyebrows shoot up. “In an hour?”
“I couldn’t resist,” he groans. “I’m sorry.” He puts his head in his hands. “I can put it all back.”
“Please don’t,” I say quickly. “Baby, I’m not upset, I’m grateful. But I feel bad for putting you through this. You wasted an afternoon translating my legalese into English.”
“Wasted an afternoon? Caspian, this has been the most fun I’ve had all week!”
“Fun?” I repeat.
Pulling him into my lap, I add, “I’m so lucky to have a genius boyfriend.”
Antonio squirms. “I’m not a genius. I just read and write a lot.”
“That’s what I said. A genius.”
He starts closing the tabs on my laptop.
“Will you play Uno with me?”
I tilt my head, kissing his jaw. “Will you behave?”
His ears turn pink. “I broke that plate by accident.”
“You broke it because I changed the color to yellow.”
“It was a systemic injustice.”
Antonio shuffles and hands out the cards while I grab us sodas.
He wins the first round by stacking several Draw Twos.
“What happened to that being a punishable act?” I ask mildly.
He pretends he doesn’t hear me.
By round two, the air has shifted.
Antonio has only three cards left. He places down a red eight with reverence.
“One step closer to victory,” he says quietly to himself.
I study my cards. I could pretend I have to draw like I sometimes do with Noah. But Antonio is not four. I lay down my card—Draw Four.
Silence.
Antonio stares at it. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.
“The color is blue,” I add gently.
His eye twitches.
He draws the cards one by one, his jaw set so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding.
“What stands in the way becomes the way,” he mutters. “What stands in the way becomes the way.”
He’s quoting Aurelius. That means he’s going to flip.
“Everything alright?”
He smiles at me. It is the most fragile smile I’ve ever seen.
His lip wobbles in self-pity.
“I just think it’s fascinating how some people choose cruelty instead of kindness.”
I can’t help the smile sneaking on my face. That does it. He lets out a hiss. The cards hit the table.
“I invited you into my HOME!”
“Our home,” I point out.
“That’s irrelevant!”
He pulls the chair back and starts pacing.
“You changed it to blue.” He throws his hands up.
“You changed it to blue when I needed red!”
“What would you have done?”
He spins toward me, curls wild, eyes blazing.
“I would have chosen mercy!”
“Was it mercy that led you to stack all those Draw Twos last round?”
He pauses.
“Self-mercy is important too.”
I laugh. He’s absurd.
“Sit down, baby. It’s just a card game.”
He stops pacing only to glare at me.
“It’s not just a card game if you attack me when I’m at—at my most vulnerable.”
“Why are you feeling vulnerable?”
His shoulders sag in self-pity.
“It cannot be explained.”
“Really? How surprising.”
He crosses his arms.
“You’re an evil Uno shark.”
“You promised to behave, remember?”
“And you promised to love me, but obviously you don’t!”
“Antonio.”
It comes out sharper than I intended, but this is Uno. A card game.
Antonio stands still.
“Come here.”
He hesitates.
“I’m not mad,” I say softly. “I promise.”
He comes instantly then, folding into my lap and hiding his face against my shoulder.
“I know what I did,” he mutters.
“It’s okay to get upset.” I kiss his temple. “But you said I obviously don’t love you.”
“Mhm,” he mumbles, squirming.
“Please don’t use my love for you as a weapon in an argument.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
We start putting the cards away.
“Antonio, I love playing Uno with you, but I’m not going to lose on purpose. So you need to decide if you can handle Draw Fours.”
“I can handle them,” he says hotly. He blows a curl off his face.
“You know I’ll always help you if it gets too much. But I also don’t want to have an argument every time you lose.”
“I get it.”
He puts down the cards he was re-stacking. His eyes flick toward me, and I know what he wants.
“Can we go upstairs?” His fingers curl in my shirt.
“Can I—” He hesitates. “Be on the pillow?”
“Yes, baby, you can.”
His shoulders drop. Some of the tension is already leaving him.
“I want other stuff too. But that first.”
“Other stuff?” I repeat, my lips twitching.
He blushes. “You know what I mean.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He glares at me.
“Is spoken language sufficient, or should I perform a waggle dance?”
“I don’t know what a waggle dance is, but I’m not opposed to it.”
He huffs.
“It’s how bees tell the other bees where the good nectar is.”
“The good nectar? Is that what my good boy is after?” I tease him.
He groans, but he’s laughing too.
“Stop it.”
“I don’t want to. Come on, baby. Let’s go upstairs so you can get the good nectar.”
“Madonna, Caspian.”