I sigh, glancing once more at the little boy and his stuffed animal. It reminds me of the ones I’ve kept over the years, too scared to take off the shelf in case something happened to them. Paul got them for me for special occasions; our first year together, my twenty-fifth birthday, and the night he proposed.
I take a deep breath and will the tears to not fall. I won't cry today. Not in front of people.
The lunch rush goes as expected. We sell out of our food items within twenty minutes and I’m helping Jason keep up with coffee orders the rest of the day. There is no stopping between lunch and the end of the day with clean up and the different checklists to go through. After I’m sure Jason and the other two can handle cleaning up, I head back to the office and sit down in my chair with a huff. The distraction of the rush took my mind off of things for a short while. But now all I have is paperwork and inventory to do. Mindless work; work that won’t stop me from thinking about Paul.
I put my elbows on the edge of the desk and my head in my hands. Two deep breaths and I’m fighting to keep my composure. The guys will be gone in about half an hour. There’s not much to clean up at the end of the day. Just one deep breath at a time.
I’ve missed him for three years. One thousand and ninety-five days. Paul isn’t coming back. When the first tear slips, I turn around and close my door. I don’t do it often, mostly onlywhen I have to take an important phone call or have a meeting. Hopefully the guys will assume so and not bother me.
Tears roll down my cheeks and I try to wipe them before they fall to the paper sitting on the desk between my arms. I miss him so much, though. Five years with the best damn Daddy in the world, the love of my life, my everything, my protector, lover, fighter, healer, kisser of boo-boos, and best storyteller. These are all the things I couldn’t say at his funeral. His mom knew that we had a different dynamic, a more intimate one, but she didn’t know the specifics. She didn’t know that most nights, I would wear my comfy PJs and play with blocks while Paul would cook and then feed me and then read me a bedtime story.
It’s been so long, I can barely hear the different voices he used to do.
A chime on my phone alerts me that I’ve been dwelling on my own stuff for far too long. It’s well past the time the guys have left and I should be leaving in ten minutes myself. I clear my face with one hand and shake my shoulders. It’s hard.
I open the door and, thankfully, everything looks like it’s been done. The lights are all dimmed, the coffee machines are cleaned and off. The hot case for sandwiches is wiped out. Glass is clear of smudges, utensils and napkins all stocked. They really aren’t bad workers; I’m just in a shitty mood. I look out the window to the side street the shop faces. The sun is past set this time of year, but the streets are still going with a bit of traffic, both cars and foot. The coffee shop is set in a busier part of town, near a hospital where most of our customers come from. The street has limited parking out front and it's only one way traffic, but there's a parking lot in the back that has more than enough spaces for our shop and the restaurant to the left.
I move to the table area once more, my section to clean each night. It’s only fair that the chores are split evenly. I grab the sanitizer bucket and refill it with a fresh solution before walking back toward the tables.
A silhouette at the door startles me and I jump, sloshing a bit of the water on the floor beside me. The person isn’t menacing, though, and the light settled under the canopy brightens his features enough for me to see that it’s Remington.
My nerves settle slightly and I reach for the key on my waistband. He hurries in the door and I lock it back behind him. I should have expected him. He’s come to visit each year. And random days in between. Always checking up on me, keeping his promise to Paul, his best friend, to keep me safe and okay.
“Hey Remi,” I say. My voice clearly gives away that I was crying. As I’m sure the red around my eyes does too. They still feel sore.
“Austin.” Remington Higgins, property manager extraordinaire, greets me. He’s been around more than once when I've been in my Little space. He hasn’t brought it up to me since Paul’s passing. “I was in the area and saw the light was still on. Figured I would come see how you were.”
“You don’t have to pretend.” I move back toward the tables and start giving them a good cleaning. “It’s the anniversary of Paul’s death. I honestly should expect your visit by now.”
“If you don’t want me here—” I can hear the hesitance in his voice.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m just on edge today. I couldn’t stop thinking about Paul and then I just sat in the office for god knows how long crying. I’m just ready to get home.”
“You should have taken today off,” Remington says. “For starters, you deserve it because you haven’t taken a break inover a year. I’ve been keeping tabs on you. And two, given the circumstances, I think people would understand.”
I grab the broom and start sweeping under the tables against the wall. They aren’t deep, but from my height, I can’t see what’s under them. When that same stuffed koala skids silently across the floor, I freeze.
That little boy earlier looked so happy with it. How did it end up there? My eyes drift to the table where the little boy had been sitting. It isn’t far away. Looks like maybe it was tossed by accident.
“What’s that?” Remington asks. He scoops down into my view and picks up the stuffie. It’s small in his hands. “Is this yours?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Mine are at home. There was a little boy here earlier that had it. I remember because it reminded me of the ones Paul gave me. The panda one he got me the night he proposed.”
“You still have it?” I watch Remington dust off the koala and set it down on one of the clean tables. “Do you still have all of your stuffies? I remember watching you make up stories with them for hours. It was one of my favorite things when I came over to visit you and Paul.”
“Really?” I don’t mean for the word to come out so defensive but that can’t be the truth. Paul and Remington were best friends and sure, Remington would interact with me from time-to-time, but to openly admit that you liked watching another man act out stories with stuffed animals?
“Yes, really. Austin, you know I’m in the lifestyle too.” Remington moves to stand in front of me so I can't avoid his look. I nod. “I may not have found what you and Paul had, but I do know when a Little needs some Little time. You wentfrom having that whenever you needed to nothing for three years. I came by to see if you wanted to—”
“I can’t,” I cut him off. “I’m sorry, Remi, but I can’t do that. Not with- without him. It just doesn’t feel right. I get all icky and it just feels wrong.” More tears are threatening and I can feel my whole body starting to shake.
“Hey, Austin, it’s okay. Sit down, okay? Here. Let me get you something to drink.”
“No, I’m fine.” Even as the tears start and I know this time I’m not going to be able to stop them. I’ve thrown tantrums in front of Remington before, tears that I tried to use to get my way, but the real ones, the ones of grief and pain, these I haven’t shown anyone.
“Austin.” The sharp tone of his voice has me looking up in surprise. It’s definitely a Daddy voice. I realize now that I never once saw a Little with him. He talked about one or another he met at a club from time-to-time. Paul and I went to the club on certain nights but we were never regulars. Paul was a technician and while he made decent money, he didn’t have the means to pay the dues each month. It was okay though, because he spoiled me in every sense of the word. “Sit down and let me get you something to drink before you start hyperventilating. Have you eaten today?”
“I ate earlier,” I answer meekly. Earlier being sometime before noon and it had to be at least seven, maybe even eight now.
