My cheeks heated when I remembered just how I relieved those thoughts, and I covered up my arousal with a sip of coffee. Infinitely better than the weak brew they would've offered at the hotel.
After breakfast, he took me to where he grew up in Queens. We strolled around Fort Totten, exploring the grounds before stopping for lunch at a cute cafe. The sun was out despite a distinct coldness in the air. Our cheeks were flushed, and his nose had a cute redness to it.
He pointed out the park he used to play at; the arcade he used to frequent after school, which was now a big furniture store; and the movie theatre he spent a lot of his summers at, which had also been turned into another big business franchise. One I’d also spied a block over.
One of the positive things about New Haven: there were ice cream shops, bookstores and cafes I'd visited my whole life that were still in business and thriving. We were loyal and preferred to support small businesses over bigger companies that had started encroaching on the surrounding towns.
We walked around some more, enjoying each other's company and the stories he told me about his childhood. We ended up in a leafy neighborhood in North Flushing. He showed me his childhood home, which was huge and beautiful. A sadness clouded his face as memories of his past rushed over him. I leaned up and pressed my lips to his cold cheek, his stubble tickling me. His smile was soft, and I watched as the sadness that had crowded him began to disappear the longer we stared at each other. The moment felt heavy, so I tugged at his hand. "C'mon. I wanna see your old school."
We leaned against the chain-linked fence, and I tilted my face to him. The soft breeze blew strands against my cheek, and I pushed them back as his gaze bounced around the grounds.
"What kind of a student were you?"
His mouth curved, and he turned around, leaning against the fence. He smiled down at me, his cheeks flushed against the wind. "I was an average student. I was good at math andanything to do with using my hands." He shrugged. "Everything else I had no interest in."
I grinned as I pictured a stubborn boy expertly building a birdhouse over studying for a test. I glanced around at the middle-class houses. They were all aesthetically pleasing, with neat lawns and shiny mailboxes. I’d lived in one of them once upon a time. I barely had any memories of it, though.
"This is a nice neighborhood. You were lucky to grow up here." There was no envy in my words. It felt right being in Brian's world; picturing his life, the field he used to kick a ball around, and the school where he’d etched his name on a tree. For the first time, I felt included in someone's life instead of remaining on the periphery, using everything in my well-used artillery to claw my way in.
"I'd always hoped to move back," he confessed.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He stared ahead, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "We moved because her dad got sick, which I was more than happy to do. I wanted to do it. But after her dad passed, she didn't want to talk about leaving."
He turned around and stared through the fence again at his former school. "I was pissed. I mean, I wasn't expecting to leave straight away, but she made it clear that she saw us permanently residing in New Haven."
He shot me a rueful grin. "As nice as New Haven is, it's not where I see myself. I'm not a small-town guy. It just doesn't feel like home." I wondered if he realized he was speaking in the present tense.
"And then Hans got sick, and our argument just felt so stupid. I feel guilty that our last moments as a normal, healthy couple were spent arguing." He sounded so agonized that I reached over and clasped his hand in mine, hoping to seep some comfortinto him. He tilted his head to me, giving me a small smile of gratitude. His thumb rubbed against the back of my hand.
"After that, we focused on treatments, and when those failed, we just poured our energy into making happy memories together."
I turned to him fully, keeping our hands entwined. "What's stopping you from moving back?"
The thought of no longer being near Brian hurt like hell, but the alternative was forcing him to stay somewhere he wasn't happy. He’d already compromised for his wife and had butted heads with her about leaving, so as much as it hurt; I couldn't expect him to choose me. Plus, it wasn’t like New York was far away from New Haven.
"I don't have anyone here," he responded. "Apart from a few friends I've lost touch with after Hannah passed. I also didn't want to leave Diane and Sarah on their own. It's also where Hannah is from and buried." He shrugged, dropping my hand and rubbing the back of his neck.
I stared at the old brick building of his high school as I let his words wash over me. A lot of his memories and nostalgic emotions were tied up in Hannah. I had strong feelings for Brian, deeper than I had ever experienced before. But could I be with someone who sacrificed his happiness in order to keep himself tethered to his late wife?
"How about you?" Brian suddenly shifted topics. "What was school like for little Maria?"
I tensed at his innocent question. His wife vanished from my mind as I debated opening that emotional can of worms. We were having a good day, and so I didn't want to bring the mood down. I also wasn't sure if I was ready to make myself vulnerable again for Brian.
But as he turned questioning amber eyes at me, his face so open to receive, I found myself opening a wound that I hoped to never pick at again.
"I didn't have a happy childhood," I softly started. "and that bled into my schooling. My mom left me alone, sometimes refusing to wake up because she was so high or drunk, or she just plain wasn't home." My fingers tightened on the metal fence. I could picture myself struggling to pour stale cereal into a dirty bowl. I usually ate it dry since milk wasn't a necessity anymore.
"I had to get myself up for school and make my own lunch—well, when we had food, of course. I was dirty and often smelled. I rarely had baths or showers because the water was either cut off or we didn't have soap. I was bullied. A lot." My mouth twisted as I remembered my main tormentor. "There was one girl in particular who took extra delight in making fun of me. She would push me in the mud, which, of course, made my clothes even dirtier since I had no way to wash them." I used to go to the creek behind the school to scrub my clothes.
"She pointed out the holes in my clothes or shoes, and she never missed an opportunity to point out how much I smelled."
"What a little shit," Brian thundered, his face clouded in rage.
"Well, she wasn't wrong. I did smell," I laughed awkwardly. "But there was this teacher who took care of me. Miss Finley. She kept soap in her drawer, so I would come early to school to give myself a scrub. She had new packs of underwear she'd give me every week. She eventually moved out of state, but I never forgot her or her kindness."
"I'm sorry. That's fucking horrible. I don't know who I want to strangle more: your mom or your bully."
