“I think we’d have found each other either way,” he said, convinced. “I think we needed to find each other.”
Yes, Abe could get behind that. They needed each other. There was no Gavin Aberlour without Oliver Darling. He could agree with him on that.
He started to say something. A confession that had never graced his consciousness before now, but he quickly restrained the impulse. Instead, he said, “Lots of wood. Small, two bedrooms, with a porch swing. Red door, like your house. Couple of dogs, maybe a German Shepherd—I always loved those—and on Halloween we’d scare the neighbourhood kids, and in the summer, we’d teach them how to shoot cans like Marines.”
“By the ocean?”
“By water, at least,” Aberlour assured him.
“No kids?” Oliver asked, looking at Abe’s profile.
“Don’t think I’d make a very good dad,” he replied.
“Hm,” Oliver hummed thoughtfully, not at all convinced. “One kid, I think.”
Abe shook his head and snorted, but as he started to argue, he caught a glimpse of Oliver’s profile, his hair mussed by the wind, his eyes big and blue, and his smile—hopeful, daring, carefree, and heartbreakingly gorgeous.
“Alright, one or two kids running amuck,” Aberlour conceded, because whatever Oliver wanted, Abe would give him.
Anything.
“JD and his girlfriend would probably move right next door.”
“For free babysitting,” Aberlour agreed, rolling his eyes.
“And Marcus would come crashing through the door every month or so with some ridiculous project to make Sabine smile,” Oliver continued.
“He loves that woman,” Aberlour agreed with a nod.
Oliver turned to him, his smile sunny as always. He squeezed Abe’s hand a little tighter and nodded.
“We’re all in love,” he said, because apparently, he didn’t know when to shut up.
“Ghost too,” Abe said, trying to sidetrack the conversation. “They’d move right next door. Ghost wouldn’t miss the party.”
Oliver chuckled and shook his head.
“Carlos would be the only one not around, but every time he’d show up, we’d have to drop everything and go on a five-day bender with him and his flavor-of-the-month-missus,” Oliver nodded like Aberlour might have said, “Hallelujah!” He could see the joy on his face. The dream he dared to dream. Too often perhaps, or too rarely that it was still exciting to dream about.
“And then there would be us.”
A period of silence, nothing but the purr of Aberlour’s old truck.
“When everyone would go home, there would be just us—and our kids—in a small house on the water, and we’d be—” he chuckled and shrugged, like he didn’t have the words.
“Darling and Dumber,” Aberlour finished for him.
“Darling and Dumber,” Oliver echoed, his voice thick with emotion.
“In the house at the end of the street,” Aberlour added, mostly to himself.
“What if it’s not on the end of a street?”
“Don’t care,” Aberlour said. “Home’s always gonna be the house at the end of the street. That’s what we’ll call it.”
Oliver chuckled, obviously amused by Aberlour’s weird logic, but didn’t disagree and simply tightened his hold.
They were both aware this was crazy talk. The kind of optimistic discussions weddings and births pulled out of even the most cynical of men. It only dawned on Aberlour many years later that their level of optimism had varied wildly when ifs were no longer enough to keep the dream afloat.
