“How’s the project coming along? I know you and Penelope have been putting in long hours.” His genuine interest in my work has gone a long way in ramping up my own excitement for the project. I tell him how we’re moving a lot quickeron the new campaign than originally expected. He hums in acknowledgement in all the right places, asking questions about the design process throughout the conversation.
Having Penelope in London is exactly the cure I needed. She calls me out on my bullshit, and she pushes and challenges me at work, which has reignited my passion for Lust & Lace. We run together every day now, despite her incessant whining. More than anything, my weekly therapy sessions with Megan have been life changing. We’ve worked on how I deal with stress, grief, and anxiety. I have an entire toolkit of healthy coping mechanisms, and I try hard to use them when needed. I wasn’t entirely sold on counseling when I started it, but looking back on the last eight months since arriving in London, I can see a huge difference. More than that, though, I canfeelthe difference.
“Are you able to get away for Fourth of July?” Oliver’s question has nerves settling in my belly. He invited me to stay with him for the holiday, and it occurs to me that it’s the following weekend. I can take the time, but I’ve been hesitant to commit. “I was hoping with the progress you’ve made, it wouldn’t be hard for you to get the time, but if you’re not sure, there really is no pressure.”
“I can come. I’ll book my flights tonight,” I tell him, making a snap decision. “I’m excited to see you, Oli.” I feel the truth of that when I say it, and it eases some of the anxiety I’ve been carrying about going back to the States. It’s a trip, not a proposal. Oliver has been more than patient with me, not pushing for more than I’m able to give. While we haven’t talked a lot about it, he’s aware of the impact my breakup with Dare has had on me.
“Perfect, text me the details so I know when to get you from the airport. I know we talked about you staying with me, and I’d love that, but if you’re more comfortable staying in a hotel, I can book one for you,” he says. There’s no manipulation or attemptat making me feel guilty. In a lot of ways, it feels like he treats me with kid gloves, which is sometimes frustrating.
“I’ll stay with you,” I say, appreciating the consideration he extends to me. “We don’t see each other often, and I love falling asleep next to you.”
“Me too, sweetheart. I have to run, but text me with your flight details. Sleep well, Harlan.” I smile even though he can’t see it, because despite the time difference, he always makes time for me before bed.
“Sweet dreams, Oliver.” I disconnect the call and pull up a browser on my phone to book my flights. Cringing at the cost, I confirm the details. Let this be a lesson in not waiting until the last minute.
A gentle hand on my shoulder startles me awake, and I meet the soft gaze of the flight attendant. “Sorry to alarm you, Mr. Bishop. We’ll be landing in San Francisco soon, so if you could adjust your seat and buckle your seatbelt, I would really appreciate it.” It’s nice to put my miles to use from all my travel to upgrade to first class. The seats are infinitely better, and so are the snacks.
Shaking off the sleep haze, I do as I was asked and thank her softly. The sky is pitch black when I turn my sight to the window next to me. I don’t normally sleep when I fly, but the wine I had with dinner hit me harder than expected. I stretch my arms above my head, eager to get off the plane and actually move.
Navigating customs takes less time than expected, so I quickly grab my luggage from baggage reclaim. I see Oliver by the doors, and his face breaks out in a huge smile. He engulfs me in a hug, and I yawn against his shoulder. “Tired, baby?” Hekisses the top of my head before gripping my chin and ghosts his lips over mine in a chaste kiss.
“I’m not sure why since I slept for most of the flight,” I say apologetically. It feels as though I haven’t slept in days. The time difference between England and California is tough.
“Travel is a different type of exhaustion. Let me take your suitcase, and we can go home and get some sleep.” He smiles before letting me go. I suppose I didn’t need to check a bag for an extended weekend, but Oliver didn’t tell me what he had planned, so I packed for a variety of occasions. He teases me about my neon luggage, but it makes it easy to find after a long flight.
When we arrive at his condo in the Marina District, I don’t even take in my surroundings as he leads me inside. My eyes are burning with exhaustion. “I’m sorry I’m terrible company tonight,” I apologize through another yawn. Leaning heavily into Oliver’s side, I close my eyes when he stops in the entryway to take off his shoes. “I have a present for you,” I remember, suddenly. I loaded up my bag with Galaxy chocolate bars for Oli at the airport. They’re his favorite, and he can’t get them in America.
“No apologies. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed. You’ll get the grand tour after you’ve slept. You can give me my gift in the morning when you’re able to keep your eyes open.” It’s after midnight in California, which means it’s 8 a.m. in London. I would have already started my day, so I guess I should be grateful that I’m tired in the middle of the night.
Oliver’s bedroom is as efficient as he is. Bright white walls, with a king-sized bed situated against a navy blue accent wall. Dark gray bedding covers the mattress, and the stack of pillows has me ready to weep with relief. Oliver doesn’t let me stop at the bed, though. He leads me past a set of doors that must lead to the terrace he sits on most nights when we talk, and into his ensuite. I make quick work of washing up and brushing my teeth. He pokes his head in, handing me a stack of sleep clothes from my bag.
As we settle into bed, I groan at the way the soft mattress sinks under my weight. I’m positive I’ve never felt a more comfortable bed in my life. “You sleep on a cloud every night,” I observe. If I could live here forever, it wouldn’t be the worst thing.
“I do. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a bit of a princess about my mattresses,” Oliver laughs softly, pulling me against his body. “Would you like to go to a baseball game tomorrow night? My company has a suite, and a group of friends planned to go.”
At the mention of baseball, my pulse quickens, and I must stiffen, because I feel Oliver shift to try to see my face in the dark. I haven’t thought much of baseball and avoid any updates on the Scorpions like it’s my job. I unfollowed the team’s official social media accounts and muted the players that I still follow. There are so many memories tied to the sport that even though I enjoy it immensely, it’s been easier to ignore.
“You ok? If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to,” he whispers gently before kissing my temple.
“No, no. It’s ok. That’s fine,” I assure him. Sleep overtakes me before I think to ask who San Francisco is playing. That can be a problem for future Harlan.
I lookup at the San Francisco Grizzlies’ stadium as we make our way from the bus to the players’ entrance. We’re on the last leg of a series of away games, and I’m glad it’s in San Francisco. If I weren’t playing for Brooklyn, this would have been my second choice. I love the city, the weather, and though I’d never admit it out loud, the fans here are on another level. The Grizzlies are the best team in baseball right now, so it’s going to be an intense series. I hate that I can’t help the team, because something about San Francisco is good luck for me at the plate. I’ve hit a homerun six out of the last seven games we’ve played here.
Even though I’m not playing, I’m still present for warm-ups, so I dress with the team and head out to the field. They’re expecting a big crowd tonight with an early Fourth of July fireworks display. There are some fans already in the stands, groups of kids waving at the Grizzlies, who are leaving the field to allow us our time for practice. A few of the guys stop to sign autographs and chat with their fans, and I find myself smiling.Some players don’t take any time to connect with the fans, and it has always pissed me off. We wouldn’t be here without them. Whenever we’re home, I do my best to connect with as many fans as possible. It’s one of the best parts about the job.
“Dare! How are you, bro?” I turn to the familiar voice, coming face-to-face with my best friend, Travis, the Grizzlies’ shortstop. Trav and I hit it off immediately the day we met in the dorms. As far as roommates go, I hit the jackpot. By our junior year, we were renting an apartment together off campus. We were drafted the same year, and despite playing for different teams, we’ve always remained close.
I lift him in a bear hug in greeting, careful not to jostle my stupid hand that’s still in a cast. Apparently, it’s healing a bit more slowly than they would like to see, but overall, progress is progress. “I’ve been better,” I say, holding up my hand when I put him down.
“I saw that hit. That fucking sucks. Looks like you won’t be at All Stars, huh?”
“Definitely not. The doctors are hopeful I’ll be on the field by September, but we’ll see. I’ll probably make the trip for All Stars anyway. It’ll be good to catch up with some of the guys,” I say. All Star week is always fun; especially the homerun derby. Disappointment hits when I realize I’ll miss out.
Someone starts shouting for Travis from the entry to the tunnels that lead to the locker rooms. “Listen, we’re going out after the fireworks tonight. There’s a festival over in Castro. You should come. We can grab a drink and catch up. You can tell me about your new boyfriend.” Trav winks and jogs off.
The mention of Jasper is a knife to my gut. Things with him have been ok since we had dinner. We’ve talked a couple of times a week and have gone out twice, but he has erected walls that seem impenetrable. I understand why he’s doing it, and in a lot of ways, it has eased some of my guilt. Jasper and I make somuch sense on paper, but in reality, I’m too fucked up to fully commit. The irritation at my inability to let Harlan go is close to bubbling over.
Regardless of where my head has been, Harlan and I are done. We’ve been done. He knew that cheating was a hard limit for me. When I found Matt in bed with that guy, I was angry. It stung, and I was hurt for sure. It didn’t feel life-altering. Looking back, I knew, even then, that Matt wasn’t my forever. Listening to Harlan tell me he let some random guy at a club put his hands on him destroyed me in a way that I can’t even put into words. Harlan was supposed to be my forever. I’m still working my way through how I’m expected to overcome that and let someone else in.
