I Have Lost My Way(61)

But even a coward has his limits. Even a defective heart knows right from wrong.

I moved my hands to the sides of his face, drawing him to me the way he had done that first time we’d kissed. “I have to tell you a secret,” I whispered.

And for that one beautiful moment, before I spoke again, there was James’s face, exquisite, expectant, all heat and warmth and optimism that the spring will return, that the sun will shine on all of us, waiting to receive my secret as he’d received me.





9





BROKEN HEARTS



Harun has always known where to find James. When he hopped from one couch to another, from cousin to aunt, Harun found out the location of the latest crash pad, committing it to memory. It made him feel better, knowing where to find him in case he lost him.

He could’ve gone to James’s aunt’s apartment anytime. He could’ve made some excuse for where he was going and taken the PATH to Manhattan, then transferred to the subway uptown all the way to the last stop, end of the line, James said, and walked the five blocks and knocked on the door and surprised James for no good reason except that he loved him.

But he didn’t.

Until now.

His hand trembles as he rings the buzzer. There is so much he has to say to James.

That he has told his family, and it was every bit as bad as he thought it would be, but that he finally understands, maybe a little, what James meant when he said coming out to his father was worth the fallout. He’ll never live down the terrible thing he made Nathaniel do for him. But the shame that has ridden atop his shoulders, an invisible and heavy stowaway since he was nine years old, has begun to, if not disembark entirely, at least pack its bags.

And that, as James might say, ain’t nothing.

And he wants to tell him about Freya. About this astonishing day. Maybe he won’t believe him, but Harun will play him the song that’s tucked into his keychain, and when he hears that voice, he’ll believe.

But mostly he wants to tell James that he’s sorry. And he loves him.

He’s buzzed through, and he climbs the stairs to apartment 3C. He knocks.

An older woman dressed in nurse’s scrubs, wearing a lanyard from Presbyterian Hospital, answers the door. “Help you?” she says.

“Is James here?” he asks.

The woman, who must be James’s aunt Colette, looks directly at Harun. Her eyes, Harun sees, are the same eyes as James’s, brown and gold and warm—at least until she seems to understand who he is, and the suspicion rolls in like a cloud and removes all the warmth.

“You?” Colette says. “You him?”

Harun nods.

Colette walks over to the couch on which James is sleeping. “J,” she calls. “Someone here to see you.”

There’s a split second when James wakes—pillow creases on his beautiful face, puffy circles under his eyes—when he’s still in that hazy limbo between sleep and wakefulness. Harun knows this place from the times they would fall asleep together in the park or in a quiet corner of a Starbucks or even on a subway when James would drift off. It would always take him a minute to emerge from sleep, to remember where he was. In that moment of in-between, Harun can see that James still loves him.

He blinks and it’s gone, and James is awake and cold. “What you doing here?”

“I—I came to see you.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Colette says, touching James on the shoulder.

“I already told you, I don’t wanna see you again.”

“I’m not going to Pakistan. I’m not marrying some girl. I told my family tonight.” The words tumble out in a breathless confession.

There’s a flicker of interest on James’s face, and his expression softens the tiniest bit. He nods. It’s a start. “How’d that go?”

“As expected.”

James nods again like he knows. Because he does.

“And I love you, and I’m sorry.” Harun begins to cry. He takes a tentative step toward James and sinks to his knees. “I’m so, so sorry.”

At first James stands stiff as a board, and Harun thinks it’s over for him, but then he feels James’s tentative touch on his head, hears James’s soft voice say, “It’s okay,” and he thinks maybe it’ll all work out.

James gently lifts Harun to his feet and says the words he needs to hear tonight. “I love you too.” But it sounds different than it used to, mournful, and with a fist to the gut Harun knows there will be a but.

“But I can’t be with you.”

“Why not? I’m not marrying a girl. And I told my family. So I could be with you.”

“Nah, boo. You told your family so you could be with yourself. Live with yourself.”

“I don’t want to live with myself,” Harun cries. “I want to live with you. To be with you. To fly you to Fiji and Brazil and all the places.”

“You’re gonna have to fly there without me.”

“But you just said you loved me.”

“I do. But you almost walked. No coming back from that.”

“There is,” Harun insists. “I’ll earn your trust back.”

James sighs. “You stepping out with some confection, I could handle. Some girl? Even that. But you were planning to leave. Without a word. I keep thinking, if I hadn’t said something in the park, would Harun have even told me? Or would he have ghosted me, same as my mom?”