I can feel myself go beet red.
“Oh, we’re not—” Ash starts. “I mean, I am gay. We both are.”
“We met yesterday,” I say, my own cheeks burning, but there’s a smile I can’t quite tamp down. “Ash was going to a finance camp, and—I’m sure he’ll tell you, so I’ll fess up—I was there because I thought it was an art retreat.”
“You’re kidding!” Sharon cackles, the wine and the relief loosening her into a full-body laugh.
“Yeah, Kael, it’s a joke, right?” Ash teases.
“I heard about this new art movement called Futurist Illusionism,” I explain. “When I looked online, there was a whole retreat about FI at Philbrook the next day. So I booked it.”
“What’s the movement?” Sharon asks, genuinely curious.
“Wait.That’swhat you want to know more about?” Ash says, tilting his head.
“I’m with Ash on this one,” Walt says. “Didn’t you read anything about it?”
“I like figuring out new stuff.” The wine gives me enough courage to add, “Like chainsaws.”
Walt chuckles, thankfully.
“Futurist Illusionism blends technology with tradition,” I say. “But I don’t know much more than that yet.”
“I’d like to see that,” Sharon says. “Much more interesting than a finance bootcamp.”
“You’re probably right,” Ash admits.
“Oh, come on.” I lean toward Sharon and stage-whisper, “This is his favorite topic.”
“It’s not my favorite topic,” he protests. “Okay, it might be, but only for right now.”
“Well, what is it?” Sharon asks.
“The FI retreat was really for people following Financial Independence, Retire Early,” he tells his wineglass while his shoulders inch up. “It’s for anyone who wants to use money to buy their time back from work.”
“Ash works for Query,” I offer, trying to ease him away from the embarrassment he clearly feels about talking money.
His posture opens a little as he describes the job. There’s something funny about how easily he talks about helping other people make money and how carefully he tiptoes around the fact that he’s good at it for himself too. It’s generous, considering how much he has, but also a little absurd where acceptable conversation lies when it comes to money.
Alistair flaunts his wealth like it’s a costume he never takes off. Ash keeps his tucked away under layers of kindness and modesty. It’s his Escher effect, making him appear simple until I look long enough for him to twist, and a few glasses of wine in, it feels as sweet and dizzying as the buzz behind my eyes.
At some point, the sun slides low enough that orange light streams in through the big back windows. The sight of it catches in my throat. Flames and sunsets are too close together now to feel uncomplicated.
Ash says Jenny’s picking us up tomorrow. She booked an early trip home and insists it’s no trouble.
Tonight, it’s just us and Sharon and Walt. After the second pizza and a lot more laughing than I’d have thought possible this morning, they suggest we enjoy their backyard while they head to bed.
“It’s cold,” Sharon says, “but we’ve got a little fire table that’s warm enough and verycontrolled.” She rests a hand briefly over her heart. “Nothing like up there today.”
My fingers brush the river rock in my pocket. I’m not sure I need any more fire, big or small. “We don’t want to keep you up.”
“Please,” Sharon insists. “He sleeps like a rock, and after today, there’s nothing that could keep us up.”
“Sounds nice,” Ash says softly. “If you’re sure you’re up for it.”
“Help yourself to the wine,” Sharon says. “Now, come give me a hug, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ash hugs her first, murmuring thank-yous and apologies into her shoulder. Then she turns to me with her arms open.
