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His hands were wet, sweaty and relentlessly gripping the stirring wheel. Alex couldn’t understand it. He was the one to reach out, the one to ask, but his nerves were so frayed. He breathed in deep, twisting his grip until he finally convinced his fingers to unravel. “Relax,” he whispered to himself, “He already said yes, you’ve already won half of the battle.”
His ears heard his words but his mind refused to listen. “What a fucking wreck you are,” he chastised. He leaned forward, allowing his eyes to better focus on his features in the rear view mirror. His wide brown eyes were tinged red from countless sleepless nights and endless stress. His raven waves were loose and hung haphazardly around his sunken features. His once round cheeks were now hollow and sharpened by drastic weight loss. He looked sick.
“Well, I kinda am, right,” Alex thought to himself . He then sat back with a sigh. “This isn’t about you,” he said to his car’s roof, “This is for Washington. A favor, a job assignment. I has nothing to do with anything else.” He cracked a self-deprecating smile. He knew a lie when he hear d one. He was a lawyer, sniffing out lies was his specialty, even if they were from his own lips. Hell, even if they were for his own good. Lies were just something he couldn’t ignore.
Beside, he wasn’t doing much to portray this lie. He noticed the way his boss’ eyes widened when the man heard where Alex wanted to meet. The French words caused creases to appear along Washington’s face, worry aging him. “Are you sure you want to,” the man had asked, as protective and fatherly towards Alex as always. He soft ly held Alex’s upper shoulder, “I know how important that place was to the two of you.” Alex only frowned, shoving off the contact and concern, just as always.
Now, Alex wished that h e listened for on ce. “It too late now,” he said as he pulled his key from the ignition and opened his car door. He looked up at the restaurant as he rounded the front of his car, its rooftop littered with fairy lights and enclosed in maroon hedges. He remembered being under those light s , the leaves from the hedges digging into his knee.
“Can I help you?” Alex startled at the voice, wondering when he opened the restaurant door. “Also can you hand your keys to the valet, we can’t allow you r car to stay out front,” the hostess smiled.
“Right,” Alex responded. The woman looked familiar and Alex wondered if she was the hostess all those years ago. No, he now remembered. She was the owner's daughter, just a waitress back then. She was the girl that was just as nervous as he was, the girl that fumbled with the ring that he gave her. Her hands were just as sweaty as his. “Do you,” he began before deciding otherwise. She’s seen so many faces since then. No, the only one that remembered was him. “Do you have a reservation for Alexander Hamilton,” he said instead, “Table for two.”
She smiled brightly again, recognition in her eyes. “Hamilton,” she said cheerfully, as if his name meant something to anyone, “Yes, I have your reservation. Your husband is already here. He’s waiting on the rooftop.” Her words paused him, she remembered after all. “You know,” she continued, as Alex mindlessly handed his Jaguar’s keys to the valet, “That was my first day working here. I was nervous as hell. My mom and I still talk about that night. I almost put your ring in the wrong flute.” She stopped to laugh as she put his menu under her arm. Rounding the podium, she continued on, unknowing of how her word gutted. “But then again, you were nervous too. I still remember, to this day how y’all faces lit up in the end, though. Almost like a fairytale.” She stopped once they reached the top of the stairs to open the French balcony doors before pointing to the only occupied chair there. “Well, there he is,” she said, her voice forcing the other patron to look towards them, “I leave you to it.”
And then he was left alone – alone with
“Thomas.”
Thomas hung up the phone with a sigh. His chest was so heavy that it hurt. That voice, he hadn’t heard it in such a long time. It grabbed him, stilled him. He was busy at first, so much so that he couldn’t answer the phone. He was packing some things away, closing yet another year in Virginia . He was prepared to spend another one there until his mother advised otherwise. She could see the boredom in his eyes, saw how his ideas were growing too big for this small town again. It was time for him to return to the big city, to New York. Yet, he didn’t think that he would be returning under these circumstances. He put his phone to his ear again, calling voicemail so he could hear that voice once more.
“I heard that you were coming back to Manhattan,” it sounded, “Washington got a position for you at the firm. Uh, he wanted me to explain it to you. If you, um, have to the time, I would love to do it over dinner. How does Le Coucou sound ? The one on Howard and Lafayette?” Thomas had to pull the phone from his ear at that point, because Le Coucou sounded painful. It sounded like memories and smiles, a golden band with just the right words written on the inside. It sounded like broken glasses and broken promises, crying on the floor and shattered self-esteem. Even though he pulled the phone away, the voicemail continued. “I remember that we kinda just picked the place because the street it was on had y’all’s last name,” the voice laughed bitterly before breaking into a barely withheld sob. “I’m sorry,” the other said so brokenly it caused Thomas’ eyes to swell as well, “I shouldn’t have even called. I’m sorry. For everything, Thomas. I really am so sorry.” Then it ended, so suddenly, just like everything else.
Thomas was so sick of things ending, so he left a voicemail of his own. He tapped a name he hasn’t touched in years, the contact still saved as ‘Darling ’. He called in the beginning of the work day , the hours that he knew that would be busy and left a one-word message. “Yes,” he had said, “Yes.”
So now he sat, his hand fuddling with his empty wine glass as he waited. He was early, he knew that. It was a full 30 minutes before the time that was uttered in a returned voicemail. He thought that the extra time would settle his nerves. Thomas should have known better. Nothing could prepare him for this.
His husband, his Alexander, appeared behind the French balcony doors, being led by the smiling hostess that still called him Mr. Hamilton. He could see her mouth moving, her unheard words causing Alex to grimace behind her. Then the door opened and that voice that hunted him through a voicemail whispered his name in painful awe, “Thomas.”
Alex eased up to the table, his steps unsure for the first time in a long time. He tried to smile as he pulled out his chair, but the action seemed too difficult, the muscles in his face too heavy. “Hi,” he said instead. He then poured himself a glass of the Pinot that Thomas was enjoying, the wine bringing back memories of Christmas lights and happier times. “It’s been a long time,” he whis pered to the red liquid, “A very long time.
His head rose when he heard Thomas sigh, the sound somehow fond and pained. “It has been, hasn’t it. ” Thomas returned , his voice low and honeyed with his southern twang . Alex watched the other a s he fingered the menu, fascinated by the memories playing across Thomas’ features. The other glowed against the fairy lights, their surroundings creating a halo as they peeked through his cloud-like kinks. His many expressions caused his dimples to move along his full cheeks , his well-manicured beard unable to hide them. “How are ya ,” he asked, his words loosen by his time in Virginia, “Have ya been eatin ’ any?”
Alex smiled. Of course he hasn’t been eating. How could he when his kitchen was full of Thomas. The utensils were Thomas’. The pots and pans, the little box of recipes, the wide wine glasses and heavy bottomed bourbon glasses were all Thomas. The kitchen was Thomas’ space, they had agreed, so how could Alex invade Thomas’ space. “No,” Alex began but he stopped. How could he put those feelings into words? How could he possibly explain that cooking alone felt empty compared to cooking with his husband and in-laws? How could he explain that he would rather starve than replace those memories with the shallow life he’s been leading now? “Been too busy,” he said instead, “Work’s been picking up speed lately. Haven’t really had the time.”
The answer caused Thomas to pause and Alex instantly knew that the other caught him in a lie. Thomas was a lawyer, too. He could smell a lie, too. “Well,” the other said, letting the lie go like he always did, “You should find some time. A hot meal can do ya wonders. ” He then huffed, flipping close the menu. Alex knew what was coming, knew that Thomas was already tired of beating around the bush. “Why are we here,” Thomas asked, “ And tell me the truth.”
“I told you why,” Alex began, but the fire in Thomas’ brown eyes stole the lie from his lips. “I miss you,” he confessed instead. He didn’t even know where that came from, but he knew it was the truth. “I tried so hard not to,” he continued on, his throat closing, his voice failing him, “I don’t deserve to miss you. But I do. I really do. My life is so empty and so bleak without you. I would give up anything to have you again.” When he stopped he noticed that he held the tablecloth in a white-knuckled grip. His breath was heavy, his face burning, but he was telling the truth. He was finally telling the truth. So many times he told his friends that he was fine, that he was moving on, that the date just wasn’t a good match for him, that he was fine staying in their shared home, but he was drowning. He was in a hurricane and this time he didn’t think he would survive it.
Thomas stared wide-eyed as the man he loved broke in front of him. His face was splotchy and swollen, poorly imitating the roundness and color that Thomas remembered on Alex’s face. His hair was a greasy mess around his angular features, his once free waves weighed down and stringy. This was n’t the Alexander that he knew . He was no longer t he man that once rubbed his soft face between Thomas’ shoulders as they cooked together. He wasn’t the confident self-assured asshole with the devilish smirk and golden heart. He wasn’t even the sly and conniving cheater that ruined their marriage. He was just a shell – empty – broken in a way that Thomas wasn't sure if he couldn’t fix this time.
“Shit,” the hollowed man murmured, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Alex sat back and ran his fingers through his heavy hair, pushing the stringy locks away from his forehead. “I really didn’t want to do that to you,” he explained, “I wanted to come here so you can feel comfortable coming back to New York and the firm.” He paused to look upwards, a habit that Thomas remembered from their time together. He was gathering his massive thoughts, forcing them from his lips. It was how Thomas knew that he was telling the truth. “I thought,” he began, “That if I showed you that I was comfortable that you would be comfortable too. I’m not so arrogant to think that I’m the sole reason that you left New York, but I know that was a reason. I wanted to eliminate that reason. I feel like I’ve burdened you enough.” He then laughed bitterly, his voice so like the voicemail that compelled Thomas to travel the many hours here. “But I just fucked up again,” he blamed, “Like always. Look, Thomas, don’t worry about me or what I said. George has this really good Foreign Affairs position that he wants to create for you and Laf. It’ll be good –“
“I miss you, too,” Thomas softly declared. He stopped to let the words sink in, to let Alexander’s mind wrap around the reality of his statement and what it entails. He watched as the wheels churned in Alex’s head, the other’s eyes widening and his head a bit tilted . “I miss you deeply,” Thomas continued. He couldn’t help the amusement that colored his face. It wasn’t that often that Alexander was speechless. “I’m also still angry with you,” he said, “ I’m so damn livid. You ruined something good, Alex, but my anger hasn’t diminished my love and now I don’t know what to do.” Alex began to speak again, most likely to apologize, but Thomas stopped him. “No more apologies, Alex,” he softly commanded, “No more promises.” The man then paused, his eyes lost as he fiddled with his silverware. “I don’t want you back,” Thomas declared, uncaring of how his words hurt, “Not right now, but I could.”
The words were like ice water thrown onto Alex’s face. After everything he did, after all the pain he caused, “You still want to try?” The idea never even occurred to Alex. He never thought that he could ever have what they had again. He thought his life would forever be drenched in loneliness and heartbreak, forever chasing a long loss dream. He thought that he would pay for his betrayal for the rest of his days. “You want to do this again?”
“Do this again?” Thomas laughed, a harsh bark roughly pulling from his lungs. “No 'Lex, I don’t want to do this again,” he clarified, “Whatever this has been, I don’t want to do that ever again.” He then reached across the table and tucked a greasy strand behind Alex’s ear. “But you, us," he continued, "I might want to do that again." He then sat back again, his face contemplative as he thought of the implications, consequences of his words. "What we had, we may never get back," he said,"But I miss my friend. I miss my verbal fighting partner. I miss my companion. Though, I'm not sure if I miss my husband." His face then softened, the sharpness of logic easing to so the tenderness of his heart, "B ut I love you and that gotta count for something. So, be my friend for now and we can see just how much further this can go.”
A tentative smile blossomed on Alex's face. It stretched slowly, show the wrinkles of wasted time, but also so the line of good times to come. This was more than what he could ever hope for. "Thank you," he said, "I would love to be your friend." Thomas smiled as well, his dimples finally settled as he reached for his wine glass again. Alex filled it with the other's favorite as he eyes wondered the rooftop. He began a new chapter here years ago, a chapter that ended in ruin. Now, he's began a new chapter, at this same place. "Should I tell Washington that you're staying?"
Thomas paused with the glass to his lips, "Yes, for now."