I Am Not Your Master; I'm Your Partner Book Three

Two Vertical Lines

"Who did this? Where did all of this come from?" Phil was genuinely touched and equally confused. Then, out of the corner of his right eye, he saw a familiar-looking notecard beside the largest box. Dan had the same notecard tucked in his bedside drawer. Of course. Of course, she did.

Phil waited for his husband to discover the card on his own. In the meantime, he clutched their son close to his chest and watched Dan bury his nose in the jar once more.

This was home.

* * *

Dan's ears perked and twitched. He was completely in love with the warm, cozy scent of the candle. His eyes rolled dramatically, humorously. Phil laughed.

"Phil," Dan looked up and made a cute face, "did you do this?" He shifted his weight to one leg and put a hand on his hip. It would be just like his husband to send gifts ahead.

Phil wished he could take credit; the truth was that he had been thinking only of the move for the last week. There had been no time, nor room in his brain, for such foresight.

"No. I mean, I wish I had," he giggled, "but no, it wasn't me." Noah squirmed in his arms and started to reach for the small notecard, the one Dan still couldn't see.

"Your parents then." Dan decided. He looked all around, expecting to find Michael and Kate watching from a distance. His ears stood erect and his nostrils flared as he stretched his long neck to peek behind archways and through windows. Phil thought he looked particularly Neko. The observation caused a familiar ache in his belly, and he blushed.

Michael and Kate were nowhere to be found. In fact, Dan imagined that they were probably somewhere near the bluff by now. He shook his head with confusion. Dan didn't feel right about opening another gift without knowing to whom they owed their gratitude.

Just then, Noah started to squirm inside of Phil's arms.

"Daddy," Noah chirped, "Daddy, see." He pointed toward the small note card, which had been carefully tucked beneath the edge of a tall, intricately-woven tote – its weaving overtly fragrant of dried seagrass and sisal.

The child had memorized his grandmother's stationary. He knew, for instance, that the cloth-like paper was the color of weak tea and that it smelled of an understated floral perfume. He had memorized the tiny purple watercolor violets at the edges. (Dan hadn't been withholding of her earlier letter, which had been written on the very same paper.) Noah was allowed to inspect it, and he certainly had.

"Oh," Dan whispered when he followed his son's wobbly little hand. "Oh," he repeated. He held the notecard to his face, pressing it lightly against his cheek and then letting it pass under his nose. When he looked up at Phil and Noah, his cheeks were pink and round.

* * *

"She told him? Thomas really knows?" Phil couldn't believe how perfectly things had fallen into place; it was everything that his husband deserved. He cuddled Noah closer to his chest and started to sway his hips from side to side, as if to comfort. It was well past Noah's afternoon nap time, and the boy's small body had become limp against him. Phil thought their son's silken curls smelled of warm sunshine and salted sea air. He sighed.

"She did," Dan smiled, "and he does." He tucked the notecard back inside the perfumed envelope and held it closed with his fingertips. His eyes moved over the myriad of gifts on the kitchen's center island. In addition to the hand-poured candles, there were two bottles of wine: one white and one red, a slender jar of long, wooden matches with darkened charcoal tips, the vase of roses, and a roomy sisal tote that stood upright in the very center of it all. Two crusted loaves of bread breeched its top; the cellophane wrap reflected the natural light that poured in from the skylight above.