The blue scrawl has become a blur through the tears welling in my eyes. I don’t wipe them away. I just let them feel, let the world blur around me as it all becomes so clear.
And now I’ve messed it all up. I took his grand gesture and made it something selfish and untrue.
Closing my eyes, I lean against the wall again, trying to block out the striped square of light slowly crawling away from me, changing shape as it goes. Instead of seeing, my mind replays a touch: holding his hands at the concert, feeling his breath on my face, the brush of his eyelash against my temple. It sends electricity through me, and I let it flow. I don’t stop it and it becomes fully incandescent, my skin prickling in cold shock.
I love him.
My secret person is Martin. Of course my secret person is Martin. And I’ve been his secret person all along, too.
Suddenly I have the tendril of an idea that makes me sit up straight. It grows into a vine as I climb up from the floor, set my beloved book on the bedside table and grab my phone. I have two phone calls to make: one to let them know I won’t be into work today at all. The other to Martin.
I hold my phone up to my ear, listening to the pattern of ringing. Please answer. Please answer. I can’t talk to voicemail.I know right now the phone in Martin’s hand says my name and has my photo. I’m not sure what that will mean to him, so I’m pleading inside: please answer. I’m pacing through my apartment.
“Liam,” I hear Martin say. “I…”
I cut him off abruptly. “Martin, I just need you to listen. So please don’t say anything, just listen.” I’m breathing hard and my words are flying.
I hear him exhale quietly, then maybe sniffle. He says nothing.
I realize I’m breathing too hard to actually speak. “Hold on,” I huff, trying to catch my breath. My heart is beating in my neck and I think my ears are ringing. I drag in a deep breath, exhale forcefully, and attempt to speak, my voice breaking. “I’ve had some time to think.” I pause, hoping the tornado I’m breathing into the phone will stop, “And I’m lost without you, Martin.” I can’t catch my breath, so I pull the phone away from my ear and switch it onto speakerphone. I hear nothing from the phone. “I’m hoping we can talk in person. I really don’t want to talk to you over the phone.” I deposit myself into the dining room chair, which squeaks on the floor, and set the phone on the table. “Are you okay with that?”
Seconds tick by. I twist the phone around on the table as if that might encourage time to move faster.
“I would like that. A lot,” he says. His words are slow and cautious and, as always, calming. I feel my heart rate slow, my breathing becoming manageable. I think I smile a little, even.
“I have an adventure for you. It’s my turn to send you on an errand.” When I ran this through my head earlier, I had planned for it to sound coy, and fun, and intriguing. Mysterious, even. It comes out flatly, like I’m listing pizza toppings. I carry on, hoping it improves: “I mean, if you are willing. If you want to.”
The phone is silent. I know I’ve asked him just to listen, which he has granted so graciously in his Martin-way, so I’m wondering if I need to ask him to speak. My mind is racing.
“I would love to,” he says, I hear the smile in his voice, his words still slow. “Like a secret adventure?”
I’m smiling so big now, I’m shaking. I lean my whole body over the table, inches from the phone, bracing my arms against the surface. “Yes. A secret adventure.”
There is a long silence between us, but a welcome one.
“Liam,” he starts softly, “Can I say something?”
I sit up in my chair, shaking my head, my hands squeezing the table’s edge. “No. Martin.” I’m humming my words. “No. Let’s talk in person.”
“I’m sorry, Liam,” he says anyway.
I snatch up the phone and hold it close to my face.
“Please don’t be sorry, Martin. Just trust me, instead. I’ll send you instructions and some clues. We can talk then.” I’m looking at the phone in my hand like the screen can read my face.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I repeat.
There’s a short pause and then, “Okay.”
We’re stuck in a loop of time. I really want to hang up and I really want to keep hearing his voice, but instead, I say, “Okay,” and then a “bye.” I can almost see him smile on the other end of the phone.
I press “end,” dig through my texts, and reread the one I’ve drafted for Martin.
“Midnight tonight. Where the Cereus blooms. Be there to witness it.”
I click send.