Page 55 of Our Own Light

“I’d never let you ruin my family.”

“And I’d never want to. But, God, Floyd, what if she starts to resent me?”

“Look, Effie knows about you. About us. She knows where I am right now. And she’s happy for us. Happy for me. She’ll probably ask me all sorts of uncomfortable things later, not because she’s worried or nothing, but because she wants me to be happy. She’s always been like that.”

“Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Alright, then, let me wash up and change. I want to look nice.”

Oliver had to practically pry himself off the cushions. He’d have happily continued to marinate in coal dust and sweat if it meant that he and Floyd could have kept holding hands until their filth-riddled bodies eventually fused with the cushions of his off-putting couch. Though, he supposed, wearing a moderately expensive suit to impress his new hand-holding butty would be fun, too.

While Floyd waited in the living room area, Oliver filled a tin bath with some water from the outdoor water pump and brought it inside to the bedroom. He refused to waste time heating up the water. Since it was summertime, the water wasn’t too cold, though it wasn’t one of Oliver’s more pleasant sponge baths.

Once Oliver finished bathing, he picked out an outfit: a brown tweed suit with undertones of light blue, which he paired with a navy-blue tie and a simple white button-up shirt. He considered whether or not he should wear a hat. He liked hats. It was more proper, more fashionable, to wear one. But no one else in Rock Creek really seemed to wear hats much outside of their work hats. He supposed he’d leave it up to Floyd.

Oliver returned to the living room with a flourish.

“What do you think?” Oliver asked. “Blue and brown.”

Floyd’s eyes widened, a smile stretching across his face. He clicked his tongue once. “Golly, you’re handsome.”

“Alright, well...” Oliver paused and snatched a tan fedora off of the coat rack before placing it atop his head. “Hat or no hat?”

“Either.”

“No, no, you have to pick.”

Floyd pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he came over and removed Oliver’s hat.

“No hat,” Floyd said. He reached up to touch Oliver’s hair, running his fingers through it, and the sensation had Oliver feeling momentarily lightheaded.

“Jeez, Floyd,” Oliver said, letting out a breath. “I like that.”

“Good.”

“Alright, so, no hat.” Oliver took his hat back from Floyd and tossed it aside, sending it over to the God-awful couch. Oliver couldn’t care less that this would probably cause the fabric of his hat to be smudged with coal dust. All he wanted was for Floyd to touch his hair again. “Do you hate my hats? Because if so, I will burn each and every one of them, especially if it means that you’ll keep touching me like that.”

Floyd smirked. “I like your hats. Just not tonight. I want to touch that soft hair of yours whenever I can.”

“Won’t Josephine wonder why you’re fixating on another man’s head?”

“She’ll be in bed at some point.” Floyd reached up and fluffed up Oliver’s hair once more, humming sweetly while his fingers threaded through Oliver’s blond locks. “I been wanting to do that ever since we met.”

“I think we need to leave now or I swear to God I might lose consciousness.”

Floyd burst out laughing. “You say the strangest things, Ollie.”

“I try.” Oliver nodded toward the front door. “Come on. Let’s head out.”

Oliver and Floyd walked through the neighborhood together. Being side by side in public, now that they had confessed their feelings for one another, was turning out to be a uniquely upsetting experience. Halfway to Floyd’s house, Oliver started thinking about how desperately he wished he could hold Floyd’s hand. It occurred to him, then, that even if Floyd hadn’t been married, the two of them still wouldn’t have been able to hold hands in public, even in a cozy little community tucked away in the mountains.

Ruminating on this, hot fury settled in Oliver’s stomach, making his blood boil. It infuriated him to think that most people would have a problem with the fact that he and Floyd had romantic feelings for each other. He hadn’t ever had to think about such travesties before. Which was pretty egotistical of him, wasn’t it? How was it that he had never thought about—really thought about—the hatred society had for men who fancied other men? God, he couldn’t believe how shortsighted he was sometimes, like he was so self-absorbed it was a miracle he could even see past his own nose.

“You look sad,” Floyd said, his brow furrowed with concern. “Do you not want to come over no more?”

“It’s not that,” Oliver said. “I can’t tell you what it is, either. Not out here.”