Epilogue
ASH
“You off soon, mi amor?” Sam asks me over the phone. “Can I come get you?”
It’s a balmy Friday in early December, and the dealership has never been more packed. So many end of the year deals packaged as Christmas specials, and Mr. Rivero is very, very good at his job. The man nearly got me to think about financing a new Ford Taurus that I can’t even legally drive.
Well, not yet, anyway. I’m on medication now—at Sam’s insistence, I finally saw a doctor—and I’ve been seizure-free ever since. Another few months without and I’ll be able to apply for my license. More independence is a seductive thought indeed.
Not that I want for too much. Sam and his family are pretty good about giving me rides.
Actually, his family has sort’ve accepted me into the fold without much question.
I don’t think his mom’s crazy about what we are—something about mourning the loss of potential grandchildren, I think—but she tolerates it, and his dad, sisters and aunt all seem to love me.
His abuela was the funniest, a tiny slip of a thing with the same sable eyes as her grandson. Upon meeting, she asked me, in very deliberate and accented English, “You have seen—” Here, she gestured around her chest. “You know. Breasts?”
“I have,” I confessed. “Quite a few of them. But they didn’t do much for me.”
She nodded sagely. “You are gay, I’m afraid,” she concluded, and that was that. Decided. I am gay. Well, she’s not wrong.
I haven’t picked up a ton of Spanish yet, though sometimes I can manage a very short, stilted, over-formal conversation with his father. I’m learning.
To Sam, I grumble, “I hope so. Your dad’s a slave driver these days.
” Then I whip my head up to sure he’s not in earshot.
I’m in luck—he’s across the showroom floor, engaged in deep conversation with a couple who are on the cusp of buying the minivan he’s hawking.
He’s dressed to the nines as usual, a bulky new cellphone clipped to his belt.
He really does look like an older, more suave Sam.
“The holidays are always hell,” Sam says cheerfully. “I don’t envy you.”
“You pawned your job off onto me and gave me exactly zero heads up about that.”
“Ah, well…” He’s eating something, answering with his mouth full. An apple, I think. “All jobs are shitty around the holidays.”
“How the heck would I know that?”
“What? Not true in your previous line of work?”
I laugh. “No. The opposite. Most people were too busy with their families to entertain dick on the side.” I glance around surreptitiously as Mr. Rivero’s laugh booms across the room, tapping my pen impatiently against the desk. “How was your final?”
Sam enrolled in a few classes at a local community college when we got back, and he’s been thriving ever since.
He still works the odd day here and there at the dealership, but next semester he wants to go to school full time.
Career plans? He wants to go to nursing school.
I think it’s perfect for him. I’m envious of those who will be on the receiving end of his excellent bedside manner.
He’s not the only one pursuing his dreams, though.
I got myself a computer a few weeks ago, accepting that finally this change in my life might be somewhat permanent, and I’ve been writing every day ever since.
Nothing groundbreaking—the next great American novelist I am not, at least not yet—but writing out the things I’ve experienced, my life to date as it were.
Even that in itself has been kind of liberating.
Sam wants to read it. I told him maybe. I’m not all that confident in my ability to move anyone with my rudimentary wordsmithery just yet.
“Final was easy,” Sam’s saying. “Sleepwalked right through it.”
“Did you see Gabriel today?”
“Yeah, we got lunch. He looked pretty good today. He invited us to his New Year’s party, by the way. It won’t be a huge bash or anything, just something fun with some friends in the community. I said we’d go.”
“That sounds fun. I’m down.”
His keys jingle. “I’m gonna head your way, okay? I’ll bend Dad’s arm a little, get him to fuck you off early.”
“He’s about to close a sale, I think,” I say glumly. “T-minus two minutes until I have a million forms to print.”
“Just print ‘em now.”
“Except they’re torn between trim levels.”
“Fucking of course they are.” He sighs. “Print both?”
“The last time I did that he got on me about wasting paper. Which is like, fair.”
“Well, I’m coming over, anyway. Bored without you.”
I smile in spite of myself. “A million things to do in this city and you’re bored?”
Which I can’t get over, actually. Just how much there is to do in this big, beautiful, vibrant place I call home now. I learned very quickly why Ben liked it so much.
Being in love helps, too.
I do still live with Sam in Surfside. A concession I made out of pure convenience, of course. I mean, why would I leave? It’s working for us. Financially, sexually…and okay, yeah, romantically. Against all odds. And against reason too, I guess.
Maybe you can fall in love with someone over the course of a week and a few thousand miles. The kind of love that sticks, even. It’s been about four months and we’re still going strong.
I’ve never been so happy in my whole life.
In fact, I don’t think I knew what happiness was before this.
And it’s strange, being happy. There are days when I wait for the other shoe to fall, but for the most part, I’m letting it happen.
I’m letting myself be happy, like Mike said I should back in the summer.
And Sam gives me so much happiness. So much unconditional love. So much fulfillment that I would never have gotten otherwise. That unfettered joy I’ve never known before him, of just being. Of knowing that despite my flaws, even if I trip, he’ll catch me.
He’s got me.
“Look,” Sam says, breaking into my sentimental thoughts, “after twenty-odd years you’ve kinda done it all.”
“Bullshit. You’ve just got a one-track mind.”
“That’s right. There’s exactly one thing I wanna do right now, and he’s sitting at my dad’s dealership, playing desk jockey.”
“Hurry up, then,” I say with a grin.
I hang up with Sam as Mr. Rivero approaches, looking uncharacteristically cranky. “They need to go home and think it over,” he mutters, hands on his hips. “What good is thinking it over, eh? If you want the car, buy it. Ah, I hate wishy-washy buyers.”
“Totally,” I agree mildly. I don’t have the passion Sam’s father does for the business, but I think few of us do. Even the other salespeople can’t hold a candle to him.
He nods and checks his watch. A pricey high-end brand, I think, or at least it looks it. I wouldn’t know myself, but it’s similar to what a certain politico used to wear. “My no-good son coming to pick you up soon?”
“He’s on his way,” I say. “Told him you might need me to stay over, though.”
“Hm.” He casts a look over the crowded showroom as he straightens his sports jacket, not unlike a lion trying to single out something small and weak from the herd. “I’m sure Martina and John can handle anything that comes up.”
“You sure?” I’m halfway out of my chair already, ready to escape to the break room to grab my things. “I’m happy to stick around.”
“Go on.” He’s gruff with his affection. “Sam will just bother me until I let you go anyway. Eh? Nepo hires. Such a pain.”
“Gracias,” I tell him. And then I beat feet before he can change his mind.
Ten minutes later in the parking lot I meet Sam, throwing my things into the back seat before I sit, and he greets me with a brief kiss. “Hiya, butterfly,” he says with a smile. “Guess I don’t need to harass Dad after all.”
“Nope.” I kiss his cheek. “He didn’t want to hear you wheedle.”
“For the best,” he agrees. “I didn’t really wanna get out of the car, anyway.”
“Why? Did you go to the gym?” I peer at him. He’s dressed down, T-shirt and Adidas sweats. He doesn’t smell like he’s been working out, particularly, nor does he seem super fresh from the shower.
“Not today.”
“Final just wear you out that much?”
“No…” His gaze flicks sideways as he pulls out of the dealership. “Seatbelt.”
“Are we playing twenty questions?”
A grin. “Nope.”
“Saaaaam.” I lean across the center console. “Tell me.”
“You’ll find out when we get home.”
Which is a relatively swift fifteen minutes before we’re pulling into the underground garage beneath the condo building.
I leap out of the car and wait impatiently for Sam to follow suit, and he’s, well.
Slow. He eases himself out of the driver’s seat like he’s about eighty years old, his lower lip clamped firmly between his teeth.
Concerned, I go to help him, and he waves me off.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Go call the elevator.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like you threw out your back.”
He laughs, then bites his lip again. “I didn’t.”
“Sam—”
“I’ve got a butt plug in, okay?”
I blink at him in astonishment. “Is that a joke?”
“No.” We’re walking towards the elevator and his normally long stride’s been shortened by about half. He smacks the button and the arrow above our head lights up with a ding. “I was thinking, you know…I could fuck you, then you could fuck me.”
The doors slide open and we step inside. “Really?” I’ve got him cornered in the elevator, hands on either side of the rails as we begin our slow ascent upwards. His cheeks are flushed as he smiles down at me. It’s very becoming. “You’re going to let me fuck you?”
“If you want,” he says coyly. “It’s just an idea.”
I grab his face and kiss him. “I want.”