Chapter 22 #2
That's when I miss her the most.
◆◆◆
At sparrow's fart, I search for Jundah on Google Maps.
Zooming in on a satellite image of my old house, I whisper hello.
As if my mum might wander to the mail box and wave back.
But all I see is scorched red earth.
Miles of nothing.
An echo of a painful life, one I’ve tried so hard to forget.
Zooming out again, I cover the town with my hand.
Three little Mark thumbs, the distance on a map between mother and son.
One and a half Marco thumbs, a third of a continent.
I’ve continued to send letters every month without fail.
But I long to hear her voice, today of all days.
“Guess what, Ma?” I imagine telling her. “I did it. I finished my degree.”
I figure there’s a seventy-thirty chance that the phone is even connected.
Has the Telstra bill been paid?
Or has the money disappeared into oblivion?
Standing in the courtyard in my cap and gown, I remember the number by heart.
It rings four times before the click.
“Yeah?” slurs a gruff voice.
The wrong voice.
Not the one I wanted to hear.
That bastard isn’t usually home at this hour.
“Who the fuck is this?” Ray demands.
I disconnect quickly, fingers fumbling on the screen.
I’m angry at him for robbing me of her.
I’m angry at myself for still being afraid, even now.
His voice still holds power over me.
Here I am, a grown confident man. Shaking like a leaf.
Such a stupid idea to call.
What on earth was I thinking?
It takes me a while to calm myself.
Then the phone buzzes in my hand.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
But it isn’t Ray.
It’s Beth.
Probably calling to wish me luck on my big day.
“I'm in the fourth row, love. Wanted to surprise you.”
That’s all it takes to make me sob like a baby.
I wish I could see her before the curtain rises.
I wish I could hold Olsen’s hand.
I can’t though.
But we’ve been instructed to line up in alphabetical order.
It’s almost time.
“Trying to make me cry?” I whisper into the phone, hiding it inside my sleeve.
“Darl, you know I wouldn't miss this for the world. See you after the ceremony.”
My love crosses the stage a few minutes before me.
“Olsen Abbott,” the dean announces.
Abercrombie, Abrams, Ackerman.
My pulse increases.
This is it.
The pinnacle of all those long hours of sacrifice.
“Marco Adams, graduating with honours. Bachelor of Business, majoring in Event Management.”
The second I shake the professor's hand, Olsen sprints back toward the podium without permission.
Sweeping me into his arms, our kiss is tender.
“I adore you,” he says. “I'm so proud to call you mine.”
The crowd goes wild, cheering and whistling.
And yeah… that's how Beth discovers that I’m gay.
Wish I’d told her years ago.
Silly that I ever thought I couldn’t or shouldn’t.
Because she’s elated, naturally.
◆◆◆
Just after midnight, we lay naked in each other's arms.
I hear a buzz on the carpet below me.
One new message from a number I’ve tried to forget.
Happy graduation from someone who doesn't deserve a reply.
I was damn proud of you today. Too shy to say hello though.
Wait, Porter was there?
I hold up my phone to show him.
“Would you feel weird if I replied?”
“Only if you send him a dick pic,” he teases.
Tracing his lips along my neck, Olsen speaks softly in my ear.
“I trust you. As long as you're honest with me, say whatever you need to say.”
It takes me a while to form the words.
I almost feel… neutral toward Porter.
Now that I know how love is supposed to feel, I’ve stopped settling for less.
He barely holds a candle to the sun that I orbit.
And more importantly, the boy I was back then has grown up.
I no longer need or chase.
I desire and choose.
So in the end, I keep it simple.
Cheers, I type. Hope you're well.
The next four years allow plenty of breathing room to rebuild our friendship.
In between event gigs and catering chaos, Porter and I text occasionally.
Eventually, a call here or there.
Online photos of him and Sutton become kind of boring to look at.
Perhaps they would have bothered me when I was younger.
But not anymore.
I never thought I’d say it.
But my feelings for Olsen run far deeper than any one-sided teenage yearning.
With him, there’s nothing to hide and no halfway effort.
Our love is free and unguarded.
It makes me realise how little I was asking for before.
◆◆◆
One lazy Sunday, we share the most glorious climax together in the hallway.
It starts when Olsen comes up behind me to get something out of the linen cupboard.
“Careful with those towels,” he warns.
“Why?”
“The first time you ever wore one, it got you in so much trouble.”
“Remind me,” I dare.
An hour later, we’re surrounded by sheets and linen of every colour.
Now all of them will need to be washed.
He’s such a dirty boy, but so good to me.
And I can’t get enough.
I nudge the boundaries a little.
In these arms, I feel safe enough to do so.
“Do you really think it's possible for people to be friends when they've...?”
“Showered together?” he guesses. “Shared a pubescent sexual awakening?”
My ears grow warm.
“Uh huh.”
“If both of you are on the same page, why not? It's been more than half a decade.”
“I suppose it has,” I sigh.
Olsen runs a soothing hand across my stomach.
“The way you described it to me, Porter was the first friend you’d had since your childhood mates went off to boarding school. I know you don't like to talk about the past, but whatever happened before you got to the city must have been pretty dark.”
I nod, threading our fingers together.
“He was there for you. He still is. It's important to have people like that in your life.”
“True. And it's not like he and I were official.”
“Mm-hmm. A situationship can feel intense at the time, but… when you find the real thing?”
“Everything pales in comparison.”
I kiss him tenderly on the mouth.
He loves me enough to give me freedom.
“I'd like to think these past five years have shown you how good it can be,” he says.
“Beyond my wildest dreams,” I smile. “And it’s six years, by the way.”
“Six?”
“If you count when we started falling for each other.”
“You were worth every hour of agonising uncertainty,” Olsen sighs dramatically.
He loves to remind me of this.
But his eyes are kind and flirty.
“As for Porter, ask him if he and Sutton want to come over for lunch some time.”
“Might be awkward,” I shrug.
“Doesn’t need to be. No pressure, just a casual barbecue or something.”
Olsen has no idea what he’s in for.
“Porter doesn't do casual when it comes to food. Especially if he's shy around you.”
“Sounds like a win,” he smiles. “Let him woo me with culinary offerings.”
“Oh, he will.” I promise. “You two actually have a tonne in common. Same sense of humour.”
Olsen’s fingers trace across my shoulder.
“If it means a happier you, then I'm down for it.”
In the end, this leap of courage leads to something good.
We start hanging out as a group.
Sutton is such a sweetheart.
I become her yoga buddy.
Even when she and Porter move to Noosa a couple of years later, the four of us stay in touch.
◆◆◆
By now, Olsen and I have gained a wealth of event planning experience.
We’ve worked for some of the best teams in Queensland.
Lately though, both of us are feeling restless.
We want to spread our wings.
I’m ready to branch out on my own.
I started freelancing on the side a couple of years ago.
I’ve already built a very solid portfolio.
Obviously I thrive on lists and charts, order amongst chaos.
But when it comes to creative flair, I love to bend the rules.
And I’m very good at what I do, probably because it gives me so much joy.
Clients rave on social media about my immersive sensory style.
They love the way that Astra Luna transforms any space.
We turn the most boring venue into an unforgettable themed wonderland.
Roz and I have created whimsical bespoke gatherings of all sizes.
Our reputation is growing so fast that I’ve been approached by a magazine.
They want to write a feature about Brisbane’s youngest CEOs.
People who are worth keeping an eye on as we rocket up the ladder of success.
Kind of wanky, perhaps.
But that kind of exposure could take my company to the next level.
The thing is, I don’t want certain eyes on me.
I ask them to photograph me from a distance, or maybe in a group.
Not that my dad is the sort who subscribes to business magazines.
The thought keeps me awake though.
This article will be published nationwide.
What if someone else from Jundah recognises me?
A teacher? An old friend?
What if my dad gets greedy for money and shows up drunk to an event?
My palms begin to sweat at the mere possibility.
“Don't let that asshole rob you of this,” Porter huffs over the phone. “You've earned your place in the spotlight. He can't take that from you.”
“He could if he wanted to,” I reply, trying to slow my breathing.
“Dude, he can't even afford the gas. He drinks and gambles every dime.”
Porter makes a fair point.
Perhaps my dad's addiction and resulting poverty is the very reason I’m safe.
Have I finally outrun the monster?
And if I have, why do I still feel like I need to watch my back?
◆◆◆
I face a shadow of a different kind soon after that.
But before the shadow comes a glimmer of sunlight.
Business has been thriving since the magazine article dropped.
I’ve never been happier.
Money is flowing in abundance.
To crown this achievement, I purchase my first property.
The cabin at the lake.
The one I escape to whenever I need a moment beneath the stars.
Holding the keys in my palm, I return home to share the news with my love.
I discover a trail of rose petals leading from the mail box to the front door.
They continue down the hallway toward the dining table.
Olsen is busy lighting candles.
He wears nothing but an apron.
That's when it dawns on me.
Is he about to propose?
Oh fuck.
“Babe, you're home early,” I sigh.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Olsen smiles. “There’s something big I'd like to ask...”