When the ground was white and the sky obscured by heavy clouds in winter, Papa was a fireplace. And when the seawater called and the sand boiled beneath Oscar’s bare feet in the summer, Papa was the sun.
On the day of Papa’s funeral, Oscar remembered feeling cold, like someone had reached inside his body and put out all the candles, like someone had taken all the softness to pad Papa’s coffin with it.
Oscar hadn’t minded then. He wanted Papa to have a soft, comfortable bed to rest in forever. He wanted to keep him away from the maggots. He wanted him to have candles so he could see in the dark—more than this, so the dark could see his face and learn how to smile.
“He fixed every scrape,” Oscar said, “kissed every scratch I got on my knee from trying to learn how to ride a bike. When I ruined the precious long hair my mother wanted me to keep, he cut it shorter than it needed to be because he saw my growing smile, and he chose not to ignore it.” Oscar sniffled. “Papa saved my life every day he lived and every day after he died.”
“He really sounds amazing,” Aaron said, running his fingers through Oscar’s waves. “Tell me more.”
So Oscar did. He told him about all the early morning drives on Papa’s only day off in the summer so he could take Oscar and Lina to swim. He told Aaron about scrapbooking, because Oscar couldn’t cut a straight line to save his life, so Papa would cut up all the pictures, and Oscar would stick them to his scrapbook, full of hardened glue where it had oozed around the edges. Oscar laughed through his tears when he told Aaron about the time Papa had washed Oscar’s only white dress with the reds and the wink he’d given Oscar after, forcing his mother to accept that Oscar would have to wear pants and a shirt to an all-white-clothes party they’d been invited to with some of their family friends.
“He’s the one who called me Spike,” Oscar said. “Since forever. Since he realized, I think. You know, I don’t think he ever called me by my other name after the first time. Never referred to me without sayingSpike. Spike this and Spike that.”
“I’m sorry, Oscar.” Aaron bent down to kiss him on top of his head. “He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“Papa was everything to me,” Oscar murmured. “For a long time, I was upset that I had to be unlucky enough to have to watch him die.” Oscar cleared his throat, sniffling, his chest swelling as the memory of him on that sidewalk assaulted him again. “I’m glad now that I could be with him, that he was looking at me when he went.”
Oscar’s sniffles turned into sobs, his forehead pressed into Aaron’s bare chest, still curled up naked together on his bed, knees pressing into Aaron’s thigh.
“I’m so sorry.” Aaron pulled him in and let him cry uninterrupted.
Oscar thought about his father and how much he would have loved this man for him.
“He paid for my transition. Papa left me and Lina everything from his small savings account. Mom got the house. We got his savings. He’d been putting away every extra cent, worrying about college for both of us. But I refused to use them for anything other than becoming me. I know he would have wanted that.” Oscar shook his head.
He had never imagined he might grow comfortable enough with another person to tell them about his time jumping from one shelter to the next, begging for a bed or even a mattress on the floor. It moved out of him like air with Aaron, easy, natural, like these were ears meant to hear his story.
“One night, there was nowhere for me to stay. I didn’t want to touch the account. I couldn’t pay for accommodation and Laura was closed. She let me sleep under the stairs more times than any other person would have.” Oscar chewed on his lip. “I swallowed my pride and walked for half the night, knees knocking in the cold. I woke Grandma up at half past three in the morning. And she didn’t even ask.”
“I guess we know where he got his kindness from then. Whereyoudid.” Aaron tilted his head to look into Oscar’s face. “You know you’re just like him, right?”
“I wish,” Oscar replied, but he kept his gaze fixed on Aaron’s as Aaron smiled down at him.
“I’m so lucky,” Aaron whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the tip of Oscar’s nose.
Oscar nestled deeper into his neck, resting his cheek on his shoulder, and drew in a breath. He told him about the time he’d spent with Grandma, all the weeks he’d stayed with her until he managed to find a job and an apartment.
“I started college a little late,” Oscar said. “I had to finish school, and I took night classes to make up for the time I’d lost. And then I had to get into someplace that did ComputerScience.” Oscar traced a line down Aaron’s thigh, circling his knee. Aaron jerked alive, laughing. “You’re ticklish.”
“Very,” Aaron said.
Oscar wanted to learn new things about him every single day for the rest of his life.
“I had to settle for online college. I mean, it’s a physical college, but it’s far away, and I didn’t want to let go of my rent-controlled apartment. Or move too far from Grandma. Or have to stop seeing Lina again.” Oscar shrugged. “It was the only free college that offered all the courses I wanted to take, so I settled. I could have paid for it with Papa’s inheritance, but I wanted to carry Papa’s money with me forever, his final gift. So I became his Spike.” Oscar nibbled on his lip.
“He would be so proud of you,” Aaron said, rubbing his shoulder.
“I know,” Oscar replied. “And he would love you. He’d take you to the beach with us and call you by some other silly name.”
“And I’d love every minute of it.”
Aaron leaned back, legs curling as he turned to face Oscar, nudging him up so he could look into his eyes. For a moment, there was silence. A string sat taut between them. Oscar thought if he plucked it, there would be music, Papa’s guitar in the basement of their house.
“What are you thinking?” Oscar asked.
“I think I want to talk about my family, too,” Aaron replied. “I want to tell you everything.”
“Then tell me,” Oscar said. He brushed Aaron’s cheek, picked at a lock of hair poking out over his ear. “I’ll go make that fancy coffee I promised you, and you find something comfortable to wear. It’s getting a little cold.”
