Here it felt like Nathan in the chair next to mine with his book and his hat. It felt like something I had been moving too fast to notice was available and had finally, accidentally, stopped moving long enough to find.
I had been still fordays.
I was, improbably, completely fine.
Nathan was getting there.
On day one I caught him reorganizing the minibar. He looked at me with the expression of a man who had been caught and was not going to apologize.
Eventually he left his books inside and just looked at the water with me.
Three days left.
I was aware of the three days the way you were aware of a timer running. Not anxious, I wasn't anxious, I was in love and the sun was warm and Nathan was always next to me.
But I was aware. Three days of this and then Boston and the facility and whatever came next. I wanted to use all three of them correctly, which was a new experience for me because I had never previously had something I wanted to be careful with.
That afternoon we walked along the waterfront. Not going anywhere, just walking, the warm afternoon doing its thing.
I didn't say anything. I just stayed next to him and looked at the water too and thought aboutobviouslyand the corner of his mouth and the hand on the armrest on the plane and all of it, all of it, sitting warm and settled in my chest like something that had finally found where it was supposed to be.
There was a family ahead of us. Two adults, one kid, maybe eight, in a Wardens hoodie of all things.
I saw the hoodie before I saw anything else.
Then the kid turned around and did the freeze and the recalibration and the confirmation and grabbed the nearest adult at full volume.
The parent approached with the apologetic expression of a reasonable person who could see I wasn't working.
"Sorry to bother you," the parent said. "He's a huge fan."
"No problem," I said, smiling. "Hey, buddy. You want to show me the roar?"
The kid did the Morr Roar. Arms wide, paws up, the sound coming from the chest the way I'd taught it. The kid had been practicing. You could tell.
I did it back.
The kid lost his mind.
Photo. Thanks. The parent started to move away. Then the kid looked at Nathan, who had been standing slightly to the side.
"Is that your dad?" the kid said. To me.
I opened my mouth.
Nathan opened his mouth.
We looked at each other for approximately one second.
“He’s—” I started to say.
"I'm his boyfriend."
Nathan said it with the complete certainty he brought to everything. Like it was just information. Like the word had always been available and the child had simply asked for it and Nathan had provided it. No corridor check. No managed expression. Justboyfriend, out loud, to a stranger, in a warm place that wasn't Boston.
The kid nodded once and followed his parent.
I stood in the sand.
