The Son of Every Man

Chapter 7.4

It was after five in the morning by the time they stumbled into Miguel's apartment. Gabe sat on the carpet next to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the harbor. Dim lights fluttered on container ships stationed miles out at sea. Clouds emerged as black wisps, set against the navy backdrop of an early-morning sky. Stars faded into oblivion. Though his childhood home still hadn't sold, he was spending fewer and fewer nights there. The view from here was better.

Miguel cranked open two windowpanes and sat beside him on the floor. Cool air spilled down on them both.

"This whole building could fall in an earthquake."

Gabe looked over. "It could?"

He nodded. "The vertical concrete elements are too thin. Hard enough shaking, and they'd form cracks. Long enough, and they would start to crumble. And then..." Miguel brought both hands down in a smooth, meditative motion.

"Are you worried?"

"No." He stood, lit a cigarette and inhaled, then released the smoke through the wedge-shaped gap in the window. He looked down at Gabe. "Why did you turn that white boy down, anyway?"

"What?"

"I'll admit, he was pretty easy on the eyes. A little pushy, maybe..."

Gabe could hardly believe Miguel was still thinking about it. "You're saying I should have danced with him? Or whatever it was he wanted?"

"Not necessarily. It's just...don't you think he was hot?"

"Sure."

Miguel paused. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, examined it, then stuck it back in. "I can't imagine what was stopping you."

"Us."

Miguel shot him a glance, inhaled again. His gaze returned to the predawn sky. "I didn't ask for anything like that. You're a free man. You can do whatever the fuck you want."

"I know."

"What if I don't return the favor? Say I find myself in tempting situation like that—I'm just saying, what if—and I act on it, instead of turning him down?"

"That's okay."

Miguel was quiet for a minute. "It's okay to fuck around, you know."

"That's exactly what I just said."

"But you don't want to."

"No."

"Why not?"

Gabe was too tired to guess at whatever drop of information Miguel hoped to extract from him. He felt exhausted, in fact, shifting on the carpet, suddenly longing for the cool comfort of the oversized bed one room away. He had lost count of the nights they'd spent together, flashes of which taking up residency in some warm and fuzzy part of his brain he had forgotten existed: their limbs intertwined as they bonded over meals their mothers used to cook; Gabe learning to do a headstand in the living room while Miguel spotted him, broad hand planted firmly against his back, another cupping his thigh; being held until he felt safe after a violent crack of thunder shook the windows; the innumerable moments when one, or the other, or both, became so obviously aroused that it felt to Gabe like the entire universe was screaming at them to fuck...and yet, Miguel had made his position on that crystal clear: another time.

Gabe's life was changing. The entire premise of this change defied logic, and therefore he could not reason it from existence. His mind raced to catalogue memories he hoped to hold onto rather than shed. His mood fluctuated as before, but the peaks were loftier; the lows no longer felt bottomless. He couldn't remember the last time life had been this way. Many months ago, certainly, if not years.