Summer, 1983 (I'll call you by mine)

I'll call you by mine

(Authors note: I'm doing an editing overhaul, it was driving me nuts. So enjoy it all over again if you want, some things might look a little different if you've read this more than once. Thank you loves for enjoying my little piece of this world!)

Oliver had left the next morning after breakfast. Elio's mother Annella ate in her room these days so Mafalda sat with her. Oliver and Elio had little time to talk.

"Where are you going after Rome and Menton?" Elio asked him as he took a drink of his coffee.

"I dunno go back home I suppose, things are a little different at home these days, teenagers and all. Honestly, teenagers now are different than what you and I were." He just glanced toward the door. Mafalda shuffled out. They knew his car was here she didn't have to say it. Oliver grabbed his bags by the door and walked out handing them to the cab driver. He turned and gave Mafalda a hug and she patted his face, whispering to him before she turned to shuffle back into the house. Elio stood with both hands behind his back, Oliver walked up to him and Elio didn't move. It was like standing on the train platform twenty years before.

"Do you mind?" Oliver asks with his arms open waiting for Elio to respond. He couldn't hide the truth from Oliver, he would see past it. Elio hugged him like he was afraid to let go, just as he had always done.

"Elio," He whispered in Oliver's ear. He could feel Oliver tighten his grip on the back of his neck. He soon pulled away, kissing Elio's cheek––lingering. Elio didn't know what he was after. When Oliver smiled and turned, getting into the car. Elio knew he would not say it.

Turning to walk back into the house and up to his old room. Opening the door, nothing had been moved out of place except a slip of paper on his old desk. Slowly walked over, it was folded in half. Opening the note, Elio could hear him speak the words that he had written.

Oliver,

I will go to our spot in Rome and live like it was yesterday. The silence is killing me, No more. I waste no more time in my life.

-Elio

Oliver remembered everything. He was going to their place in Rome, all Elio could do was smile and put the paper to his nose, taking in a deep inhale. It smelled of his aftershave and pen ink. While thinking back on that summer, the house phone began to ring. Rushing downstairs to answer the phone. It was Marzia, she was reminding Elio not to forget their plans for dinner. They had standing reservations every Sunday evening so that she could get away from her husband and children. Elio and Marzia had done what they said years ago and stayed friends.

He told her some years later what had happened. She just laughed and told Elio she knew. Elio was always worried that she would be upset with him but he really did love Marzia. He would have married her if she would have had him.

With the passing weeks, Elio received no word from Oliver while he was in Rome and then the memory of him was being to be filed away. Every time he saw Oliver, Elio would quickly file his memory away. He had a life back home and Elio was not part of that life. Elio always wondered what life would have been like if he told Oliver not to get married. Would he have come back to Elio? Could they have been happy? Then, Elio thinks about Oliver's boys. He would have never known the joys of fatherhood. He would never take anything from Oliver.

Marzia's daughter, who was 17, asked Elio why he wasn't married. He thought about it and told her the truth.

"To be with my love would not result in marriage. We would talk of Bach and argue about how I would play my own version of each song. We would do as we did when we were young, ride bikes, swim, steal kisses in passing. Being married is not what I want. I just want my soulmate to share my life, share laughter and wine. Take trips to Rome, Paris, and lye in bed until noon without worry of the time." She just stared at him and smiled. Elio was not sure what she thought of him these days, but when he looked at her, he saw her mother. It was scary how much she looked like Marzia, except for subtle things that she did not inherit from her mother. Then he thought of Oliver's sons, do they resemble their father?