Jilted Page 20

Carter rolls away, onto his back. “I’m gonna come.”

  Link, more winded than they were after a sprint through the rain and tumble through the house, simply says, “Okay.” But then they strip off their shirt and pants and shimmy out of green striped underwear and stretch languorously, all dark eyes and curved mouth and moonlit skin, on Carter’s new flower-print duvet. They are so beautiful Carter’s lungs struggle again for one single breath.

  Carter shifts to his side, curving his body over Link’s. His jaw is sore now, too, his lips are tingly-numb, and the need to come is sharp in his belly. Link hikes a leg over Carter’s hip, their knee rests on the small of Carter’s back and ankle on the back of his thigh, encouraging Carter’s body down, down, and over until he’s lined up just right. Carter cups Link’s face in both hands and moves against them, mouths pressed together but not really kissing, just breathing. He can’t tell who comes first because they’re both shaking and moaning, falling together; the intense bright light in Carter’s chest reaches out to Link until he’s wrung out and panting.

  He sleeps for a while, he thinks, or at least some measure of time has passed without Carter noticing. Body sticky and mouth dry, he retrieves a warm washcloth from the bathroom and two cold sparkling waters from the kitchen, not bothering with a robe as he normally would, even though he now lives alone. Link has the sheet pulled up to their waist when Carter gets back; their eyes and limbs are heavy with sleep as they take a water.

  “Thanks.”

  “Mmhmm.” Carter takes several long, quenching gulps.

  “Carter?” Link takes a sip of theirs and then sets it aside. “I need to tell you something.”

  “All right.” Carter finishes his drink, hiding a burp as he tosses the can aside. He’s usually politer after sex, but then he’s never really had sex quite as brazenly desperate as this. He tucks himself back into bed; the sheet settles around the shapes of both of their bodies.

  Link turns to the side, face pressed into the pillow. “That very first night we met. When we were both a little—”

  “Completely wasted?” Carter fills in. He still hardly remembers anything, which is a shame because it was his first night with Link, his first night in New Orleans. It clearly has had a lasting impact.

  “Right,” Link says. “The night we met and got a little completely wasted.” Link’s nose scrunches; their shoulders wiggle them higher on the bed. “That night we got a tarot reading, and after that… after that, you kissed me.”

  Carter’s head lifts from the pillow. “Oh. Wow, that’s so inappropriate. Link, I’m sorry. I don’t really remember, but I’m sorry. That was crossing the line.”

  “That’s the thing, though.” Link pulls the sheet higher. “I wanted you to. I mean, I did but I didn’t and I was definitely flirting, but just as a fun distraction, I thought, and that was all and then—it was actually amazing. Like, the rest of the world froze, and you were the only thing that existed.” Carter can’t stop a smile at that, but Link shakes their head. “I’m sure you can imagine how much that freaked me out, since I was supposed to be married to someone else that night.”

  “Oh.” Carter’s head flops back onto the pillow. “Yeah.”

  “So when I asked you to stay,” Link continues, “It was partly because I liked you but mostly because I was hoping you’d turn out to be an asshole and I could forget about you. You turned out to be even sweeter and more wonderful than I could have ever anticipated.”

  Carter purses his lips. “Sorry?”

  Link shoves at his chest. “You should be. You made me fall in love with you. Jerk.”

  Carter catches Link’s hand, slips his fingers between Link’s and puts their joined hands on his own stomach. “Even then?” he asks.

  “Even then,” Link says. “I wasn’t trying to be confusing. I just needed some time.”

  “I felt that way too,” Carter confesses. “That must be why I kept that card.”

  Link shifts next to him. “Card?”

  Carter quickly runs downstairs to where the little birdhouse cottage sits on his mantel above his new wood-burning stove. He kept all the souvenirs from his vacation and fake honeymoon inside, including the tarot card.

  “Any idea how I got this?” Carter says, handing it to Link and turning on his bedside light. The card is yellow, orange, and blue, with a person holding a bag on a stick, standing on a cliff under a golden sun that’s either rising or setting, clearly about to embark on a harebrained journey. The Fool. He doesn’t believe in fortune-telling or tarot cards any more than he believes in ghosts and magical herbs and fate, yet he’s kept it this whole time, as if it had the ability to keep him connected to Link, as if it meant something.

  “I don’t remember you taking it,” Link says. “But the reading… I think it was about a new journey and a new opportunity on the horizon and having faith in it.” Link huffs a laugh. “I do remember you saying how silly that was, that drawing a card is chance, as mystical as flipping a coin.” Yes, that does sound like him.

  Carter takes the card back. Lucky guesses, but some of that did come true. Or he made it come true. Does it matter, choice or fate, if he ended up here? Having faith. He can do that. And he doesn’t need Link to change their dreams or be someone else for him, even if that means keeping faith that he and Link will have to find a way back to each other, eventually. He can’t be afraid of letting Link go, or of loneliness, or of the uncertainty of the rest of this journey with Link going forward. Foolish? Perhaps.

  “Link,” Carter asks. “What was in Seattle?”

  Forty-two

  In the ten weeks since Link left, Carter has been splitting his attention between projects at work, time out with coworkers, regular lunches and manicures with Paige, visiting with neighbors, watching Saints games at Eli’s, and putting some finishing touches on his house: replacing lighting fixtures, adding ornamentation to the outside, installing new window treatments, replacing the handles on cabinets and doors, finally getting the yard in shape. He stays busy enough that he shouldn’t have time to miss Link very much.

  He does.

  On the Saturdays that there aren’t any afternoon football games, Carter revisits some of the places he went with Link on their fake honeymoon: the park with the wind chime tree, Bourbon Street, which is quite a different experience during the day, the French Market, the trolley to the restaurant with po’boys twice, the graveyard tour, and the Garden District tour thrice. He hasn’t gone back to the hotel, though he’s passed nearby. It feels too sacred.

  He even takes a singles cooking class at the school near the river, though he feels a little silly at first. He learns how to make coq au vin blanc and seared duck breast with cherry port reduction, though, which makes him feel fancy. He plans on making both for an upcoming, very romantic dinner date he’s had planned for quite some time.

  Two more weeks.

  Tonight, he’s having a bowl of ramen with seasoning packet reduction after rushing home and changing quickly. The weather has become mild again, and the new energy-saving, storm-impact-resisting windows in the dining room are open to a cool evening breeze as Carter eats in front of his open laptop, detailing the last house project he’s been busy with between scoops of noodles. “I went to the salvage yard like you said, and they did have several vintage doors; you were right. This one needs some patching, but otherwise I just need to take a little steel wool to it and then stain and finish it with a natural oil. Not too much. Really keep the worn, vintage look.”

  On the screen, all the way from Seattle, Link listens, chin propped on one hand, adorably cuddled up in a blanket. “Hmm, what kind of oil?”

  Carter sets the spoon against the bowl to think. “Tung seem to be the recommended one. Maybe I’ll go out on a limb and do walnut, though.”

  Link leans closer to the screen, winking saucily. “Gettin’ wild without me, huh?”

  Carte
r grins. “Anyway, enough about wood staining. What did you learn at school at today?” It’s actually a highly coveted, very competitive artist residency, which Carter and Link agreed was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity Link couldn’t pass up. Not for Carter’s sake. Carter had a fully refundable ticket that he cancelled, using the credits to get Link to Seattle as soon as possible. Carter has faith in Link and faith in this relationship. He’s not afraid of being alone anymore. He doesn’t like it, but he’s not afraid of it. Still, he tucked the tarot card into a pocket on Link’s backpack before they boarded the plane, like a talisman keeping him connected until Link returns. It’s ridiculous, but Link brings out a less pragmatic side of him.

  “I think today I mastered my old nemesis, clay pots. I made one that doesn’t look like someone sat on it and then kicked it down some stairs and then sat on it again.” Link moves around their tiny artist’s dorm to show Carter clay pots lined on a shelf. The point of doing the program is to give Link time to focus solely on art, as well as make connections and experiment with new things. Carter had no issue going the whole twelve weeks without seeing Link, letting them be totally immersed in the program, but Link surprised him with a plane ticket to Seattle about five weeks in for a weekend. Carter loves Seattle now.

  “Amazing,” Carter says, because they are. He reaches for the lumpy, sagging clay pot filled with old wilted herbs that lives on the dining room table. “I still like this one best, though.”

  Link’s laugh comes trilling through the speaker. “You do not.”

  “I do so,” Carter defends. “It’s my most prized possession.”

  “More than the table I spent countless sleepless nights getting absolutely perfect?” Link says, expression stern but lips twitching with a smile.

  “Eh, it’s okay.” Carter teases back. “I never told you; I found the flower.”

  Now Link does smile, wide and bright. “I knew you would. I still have it, the flower you gave me on that picnic.” Link sighs happily. “It was incredible.”

  Carter sets his chin on his folded hands and sighs. “I know. Those goat cheese crostini? Life-changing.”

  “I’m hanging up on you,” Link says, and the picture on the screen swoops down as if Link is closing the laptop in indignation.

  “No wait,” Carter calls out, laughing. “Don’t leave me!”

  Link’s smiling face appears back on the screen. “Never.”

  As hard as it has been, being away from Link, Carter hasn’t had a moment of doubt, never worries that Link is in danger of slipping through his fingers like water, running faster the harder he tries to hold on. He never wants Link to feel as if they have to rush things or be afraid of taking time apart. Carter isn’t going anywhere. He and Link have all the time in the world.

  One week before Link is due back in New Orleans, Carter takes the Haunted New Orleans tour again. He has a different tour guide this time: Pierre, who has an impressively bushy mustache and likes to emphasize the history behind each place. That part Carter likes. He finds it easier to pay attention, but that’s probably because last time he was distracted by Link’s arm looped through his and Link’s hip brushing his own, and how desperately he was trying to tamp down his feelings while failing spectacularly.

  The tour starts at a voodoo shop at night, hits the haunted pharmacy and hospital and the same restaurants and bars. Someone claims to see a face in a window and another swears they feel a cold presence. The closest Carter comes to a disturbing encounter is when his stomach rumbles as the tour winds through a dark alleyway where a grisly murder took place hundreds of years ago. “Sorry,” Carter says, when the group turns to look at him. The crawfish étouffée at the last so-called haunted restaurant smelled divine. “Stomach ghost,” he jokes. No one in the group seems to find it funny. When he tells the story later over video chat, Link laughs brightly.

  “I went upstairs at that same bar where you tried to scare me—”

  “Did scare you,” Link corrects. “And it wasn’t me, it was a ghost.”

  Carter’s eyes roll. “Well, your ghost friend wasn’t there.”

  Link is tinkering with something offscreen, using a tiny pair of pliers to shape something that must be rather small. “Must only feel comfortable using me as conduit,” Link comments. “You know, Danielle claims I have the gift.”

  Carter mmhmms skeptically. These days he does believe in the metaphysical more than he used to; he has no other way to explain how he feels about Link and how they found each other, how they keep finding each other. It defies logic because it’s far bigger. It’s still fun to mess with Link about it, though. “Okay, use your gift and tell me what you see.” Carter leans close, closer, so his eyes are level with the little camera circle and his face takes up the entire screen.

  “That’s easy,” Links says. “I see my future.”

  Epilogue

  It’s true what they say about Texas; everything is bigger. In fact, Carter gets lost on his way back from the bathroom, having crossed a vast field of wildflowers to get there, but on the return trip, he’s apparently crossed a different meadow and ended up at an entirely different barn. He’s worried he left the wedding venue altogether, but, when he looks around, Carter can see the other barn at the other end of the property, with the homestead positioned between.

  He should go back. It’s quiet in this barn, though, unlike the other one. And the building is interesting. By the time he makes it back to the correct barn, the ice in his drink has completely melted, and he seems to have missed the cake-cutting.

  “Hey, did you wander off?” Eli greets him first, loudly over the music, with his arm resting around Paige’s waist.

  Paige, even louder, says, “Remember how Mom got you a backpack with a leash on it?” She turns to Eli. “He had to use it until he was like, seven.” She laughs. Carter scowls. He was five when he stopped using that stupid thing. Maybe six.

  “Where did you go?” Link hands him a fresh drink: a mint julep. Carter takes a sip and smiles over the rim, ignoring Paige.

  “Well, there’s another barn. I think it was a horse stable, actually, given the shape and structure of the building and its positioning on the property.” He gestures excitedly; a little of his drink splashes out. “It looks as if the stone walls on the perimeter are original; they have to be a least a hundred years old if I’m recognizing the stonework accurately.”

  Link pecks Carter’s cheek. “Ugh, you could not be cuter if you tried.”

  Carter’s cheek tingles when Link moves away. He agonized over whether this wedding was a good idea, though he is glad for the excuse to spend so much uninterrupted time with Link, who is looking at him with their eyes cast low and mouth quirked up. How soon is too soon to politely leave a reception?

  Paige interrupts, directing an eye-roll at Link. “You find the strangest things charming about him.” And in her blunt but loving Paige way, she adds with an approving nod, “I’m glad someone does.”

  The slow, romantic song that was Jamie and Matthew’s first dance as a married couple switches to something upbeat enough to groove to, and Eli drags Link off to dance, leaving Paige and Carter to sit at the white-linen-covered table with two of Jamie’s coworkers. So far it’s mostly been folksy piano music intercut with folksy guitar music at the reception. Matthew never listened to folk music, so he no doubt let Jamie pick their wedding soundtrack. Carter feels strange knowing that and stranger still being here and watching them say their vows and promise each other a forever.

  “It’s weird for you, right?” Paige says, never one to leave things alone.

  “It’s fine,” Carter says without thinking, which makes Paige give him a sharp sidelong glance. Carter tries again, replying honestly, “Yeah, it’s weird.”

  Paige, who is watching Eli dance and sipping an appletini, nods. She netted an invitation to the wedding by becoming fast friends with Jamie over social media
, as only Paige can do. “Is it, like, closure, at least?”

  “Nah,” Carter says. Paige gives him a look again, but he’s not being dishonest. “I got closure a long time ago. I’m okay, really.” Carter’s left thumb moves to touch his ring finger on the same hand in what has become a habitual gesture in the last few months since he’s had a ring there, one Link designed and crafted in Seattle. It has a tiny intricate filigree design, like the wrought iron gates back home that Carter loves so much. Link restaged their first picnic together, with the same carriage ride, same blanket, and same food; Carter was so delighted he didn’t even notice Link had gone to one knee. A year or so officially together, not on a specific date or under a certain timeline, beneath the wind chime tree, Carter said yes. Link confessed that they had been waiting in agony to ask him for months, though it seemed a tad soon to Carter, so in that way it was perfect timing for both of them.

  After three up-tempo songs, another slow one cues up. Much of the crowd gathers at the far end of the barn, where fairy lights are strung in a circle. Eli comes to Paige for a dance and Carter finds himself tugged into Link’s longer frame, tucked in close with his face buried in Link’s neck.

  “Having fun?” Link’s arms hold Carter snug around the shoulders.

  “Sure,” Carter says.

  “You want to go look at that old barn again, don’t you?”

  Carter’s smile curves against Link’s skin. “Yes.”

  He and Link sneak out, running across the fields of wildflowers while holding hands. A warm Texas breeze lifts Carter’s sport coat and musses his hair, while Link’s gray kilt lifts too high, exposing their strong thighs. Inside the stable, Carter doesn’t look around at all, but turns immediately to the only thing he cares about doing right now: cupping Link’s face in both hands and kissing them soundly.

  Link says, blinking slowly, “That is not what I had in mind, but I do like the way you think, Carter Jacob.”