“I saw your reservation, but I’m afraid that room is not available,” the man behind the desk said, and held up his hand.
I knew it. I was sure as soon as he saw two guys checking in together there would be a problem. I was sure Brady would want to fight him on his attitude, but I always thought it was easier to let people think whatever bigoted thoughts they have. You can’t change someone’s mind. That was one of the reasons I was drawn to medicine. It’s easier to heal a physical wound than an emotional one.
“Come on, Brady. Let’s find something else,” I said, and turned to walk out the door.
“Now why on earth would you do that?” the man behind the desk asked dramatically. “I upgraded you to the best room in the place, the honeymoon suite for the night. I know you two haven’t just been married, but Brady, you sent such a nice note with your reservation, and when I told my husband he said give that sweet boy the honeymoon suite. It has a fantastic view of the river, the largest bed in the entire place and it’s a bit away from the other rooms so it’s very private.”
“I’m sorry… I thought… uhm… thank you. It sounds beautiful. Sure do appreciate your kindness.” I reached for Brady’s hand and held it tenderly. It was such a simple thing, holding hands in front of someone in a place I didn’t know. But it felt so big to me. Sure, we had been affectionate at school, but this was the real world, or close to it. My heart swelled and for the first time in my life I felt something I had never felt before – a sense of pride in being myself.
Barcelona Week Ahead Forecast
Summer’s highest temperatures soaring into the upper 90s. Low humidity and a light northern breeze keep the atmosphere comfortable and pleasant. By the end of the week, high humidity returns, making the air feel hotter, stickier and more uncomfortable.
Chapter 17
Barcelona
Brady
I’m holding Hayes’ hand as we stand in front of Gaudí’s masterpiece, the Sagrada Familía. The stunning architectural marvel soars above the Barcelona skyline with an otherworldly combination of Gothic and art nouveau details. I’m trying to focus on the beautiful building and not the fact that Hayes and I have had more skin-to-skin contact since we arrived in Barcelona two days ago than we’ve had in over a year. His palm is damp against mine and I can’t tell if it’s the intense Barcelona heat or something else causing his sweaty stigmata.
“Brady, you looking at the chin of Hayes. Again.” Isabella drops her camera to her waist with an exhausted sigh. She’s been assigned as our babysitter in Barcelona. She’s maybe thirty and a graduate of the Istituto Europeo di Design in Barcelona, with a degree in Mixed Media. A Libra who likes to garden. I’ve been going through my contact list thinking of women to set her up with since we met. The shaved head and pierced septum make her look tough on the outside, but I’ve overheard her on the phone with Aisha and her voice gets squeaky and small. She’s terrified of our boss and worried about disappointing her. “Señora Aisha will not be happy with any of us. Can you look in his for real eyes,por favor?”
I can hold his hand, have his arm around me like I did at three cafes in Las Ramblas, and even let him carry me around piggyback through the vibrant and incredibly photogenic gay neighborhood of Eixample. But I cannot do any of it while looking him in the eyes. That’s impossible.
“Sure,” I say, turning my head to look back at the church as I search for an excuse. The massive building looks like it was turned upside down in wet sand and set to dry in the intense Spanish sun. Parts of the structure are covered in scaffolding and modern cranes that compete for attention. The masterpiece remains unfinished. A giant question mark. I know the feeling.
I look up toward the cloudless blue sky and angle my face so I catch a bright ray of sun intentionally. I wait for a tear to water my eye and then hold up my hand and wince. “Wait, the sun is so bright.” I grab a pair of my darkest, thickest sunglasses out of my cross-body bag and put them on. “Sorry, I’ll be seeing spots for the rest of the day if I don’t wear these.”
But to appease Isabella and our British overlord I move closer to Hayes and rest my head on his shoulder.It’s fake, I remind myself. It’s all fake.I breathe in and hold my breath, not just because it helps my chest look more developed, but also because it stops me from taking in too much of Hayes’ scent. That would push me over the edge.
Hayes feels nothing. I know he hates having his picture taken, but at one point while we were in the Mercat de la Boqueria posing between stalls of freshly harvested fruit and cured meat, he told me he thinks of all this like working with a cadaver. He said, “It’s all just part and pieces,” then shrugged his shoulders. Clearly, he feels nothing toward me. He’s able to remain still and grounded, which might be why he looks so good in every photo. I’m a whirling feverish mess of desire and confusion, even if he does think of me as a dead body.
Isabella bends down on her knee, then peers at the camera screen and uses her hand to wave us even closer. “I need to get the carvings too,” she instructs. Behind us dramatic figures in intense poses emerge from the swirling organic design on the walls.
She snaps a few shots and then rises. Hayes asks, “Do you know what is happening in the scene above the doors?” He turns toward the building and points above as Isabella puts her camera in her bag.
“Each of the entrances depicts different religious scenes, but Gaudí was more interested in the human connection.” She gestures up vaguely. “The one above is the Saint Joseph. It is about how no matter how bad things are the one thing you always have is hope.” She recites the information like she may have been forced to memorize it during a grade school class trip.
“Hope.” Hayes stares up and puts his hands on his hips. The word floats up and disappears in the sunny sky. “I guess Gaudí wants us to know that anything can happen.” He looks down and almost winks at me, but it might be the heat.
“I have to upload the media before Aisha emails me again. I will see you both tonight for the dance class.” Isabella waves goodbye.
“She’s very sweet, but tightly wound,” Hayes says. Although that is also what people said about him at school.
“Could you imagine having Aisha as your boss? She’s so intense.” I shudder thinking about our difficult meeting in London and how Hayes saved the day. I walk toward the park next to the church to find some much needed shade.
“I’ve got news for you Brady. She is our boss.”
“But only for the summer,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “All this is only for the summer.” His voice has a gentleness to it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of battling other tourists out here. The beach at the hotel looks amazing. I could use a swim.”
“There’s a cabana with our name on it. And I mean that literally. Aisha has a cabana reserved for us during our stay and it has both our names on it.” Within minutes we are in a cab driving across Barcelona toward the beach.
Mar Bella Beach in Barcelona is a sunny stretch of sand and endless blue water with a strong gay vibe. A gentle sea breeze makes the emerald and white striped fabric of our cabana ripple like the waves on the ocean. The overcast skies that were our constant companion in London are gone. Only sand, water and clear blue sky are ahead of us now.
Or so it seems.
