When I start to feel my body waking up, I do as always. I curl my toes and stretch out as far as I can without hitting all surrounding vicinities. I do forget Oliver is right next to me and almost hit him in the head with my fist. The good thing is that he's still asleep, so I can watch him sleep quietly as the sun comes up. He must have really been worn out last night. He hid it well, although my emotional exhaustion wasn't on the low end either. I find it almost impossible that he'd be more stressed that I, but maybe I wouldn't know. After he got engaged, I never spoke to him. It was far too hard to speak to someone you love more than anything and pretend nothing was wrong. He knew that as well and eventually stopped calling. Yet, in spite of all that, here we are; laying in a hotel room in New York City air in our lungs and safety in our bones. Once the sun comes up, that will carry away even more of the pain. I don't usually wake up earlier than sunrise, but I suppose a part of me was eager to be alive. It's not that familiar of a feeling, but I remember feeling it. Last time we were together, we wasted so much time. We flirted, we chased, we hesitated; this time we just love. We've done all the hard parts already.
Something clicks both mentally and physically, when I realize the room door is being unlocked from outside. I hear Anne's voice. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," I say as I pull the covers over my head and bury myself into Oliver in an attempt to camouflage my outline. Then, right before she comes inside, I take a deep breath and try to sync to Oliver.
"Hello?" Anne calls out, in hopes of a response. I can feel my heart beginning to race, and quickly it becomes all I can hear. I can't even tell if she's inside the main chamber yet, but I soon hear footsteps and they stop at the foot of Oliver's bed. "Oliver?" She speaks his name quietly to where even a mouse would ask her to say it again. Then a ghost moves through me, because even though I had a feeling deep down, I never expected to be right.
"Good, he's asleep," a long pause hangs in the air like the stale smell of cooked brussel sprouts. Not good. "I know you're under there." I know she's talking about me, but I wouldn't move if someone yelled about a fire in the building. I couldn't let Oliver down. Then, I suppose I already have. "Elio, I know it's you."
Shit.
How?
Slowly and carefully, I pull the edge of the hotel comforter down to the bridge of my nose. Oliver is still asleep, and I know that if he were to wake right now it would not go over well. A part of me, however, tells me she would remain perfectly calm. Once she sees my messy hair, furrowed eyes, and thin fingers, a small sigh of relief escapes her. She knew already, but how? I imagine a world where Oliver has come out to her already but I know it's unfathomable. Not to mention that he's been avoiding her while we're together. It hasn't bothered me too much because I get it, but now I'm beyond puzzled.
"Anne?" I say behind a thick blanket, making me sound as if I were in the other room.
"Yes, it's me," she turns and begins looking for something in the room. "You know; I had an inkling for a long time. The way Oliver used to speak to me about Roger Taylor's hair was a bit out of left field. I never expected this though, not until I met you."
"Met me?" I'm as dazed as ever. "Also Roger Taylor's hair is essentially impossible to not talk about."
"Before I met you, I knew that in '83 there was a romance. Only Oliver here allowed me to believe it was with a woman," she raises her eyebrows and turns back around, searching through a bag that rests on the television stand. She doesn't seem upset, just neutral. It surprises me considering Oliver's descriptions of her and their childhood. She was always the one who seemed a little crazy according to him.
"So how did you know it was me then? Surely you didn't just look at me and magically know some scrawny kid from nowhere held the key to your brother's desires," I start to laugh a bit so I shift my body carefully, as not to wake Oliver. Now the blanket is at my chest, moving with my breaths. A part of me hopes Oliver will be woken up by the slight movement, but likeliness is fleeting.
