Swift as a Coursing River (LGBT+) | ✓

32. In the marsh

The TV is buzzing in the background while Edwin cleans up the remains of dinner. He never used to put the TV on during dinner, but it mutes the silence when he's alone. He doesn't really listen because he still eats his meals in the kitchen, but he enjoys the rise and fall of voices, fragments of music. It's not so much that he's lonely, but he's still not used to the emptiness of living on his own. On weekends, he will often sleep over at Vincent's or the other way around and he likes that. It's too fast to move in together, but he's enjoying the relationship, the fact that there's this other person who enjoys his company, who enjoys his silences as much as his words. On days when they don't see each other, they will often still call and Edwin enjoys those calls. In fact, Edwin is expecting Vincent to call any moment.

He washes his hands and picks up his sax case but reconsiders. If he practises now, he might miss the ring tone of his phone. He should wait until after Vincent's call, or play another day, when he's not waiting for a call. He turns down the volume of the TV even more and grabs his book. He reads through an entire chapter and then another one, but Vincent doesn't call. Edwin checks his phone, but there's no text either. Sometimes Vincent has plans and can't call, and sometimes he wants quiet and doesn't want to call, but he always texts Edwin.

Maybe he should call Vincent. Usually, Vincent calls him because Vincent's schedule is occasionally chaotic and he called Vincent one too many times while he was showering or at a meeting or at a bar. Edwin's workout routine and trainings and basketball games and rehearsals and meetings with friends are regular as clockwork.

Edwin reads another chapter, but it's nearing 8:30 pm and he doesn't want to wait much longer. He unlocks his phone and presses the call button. The phone goes over for so long that Edwin fully expects Vincent not to pick up, until he hears: "Edwin? Why are you calling?" Vincent's voice sounds impatient, as if Edwin's call is an annoyance he needs to deal with.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to call. It's late. Did you have plans?"

"You weren't sure if I was going to call," Vincent deadpans. "Because I'm, what, an hour later than usual? Do I owe you a daily call at half past seven, is that it? So you can keep track of me and my plans?"

"No, I just thought ... Did you have a long day? I thought we could go out maybe, but we can keep it short if you're tired."

"I'm fine. Do I need to have plans now just because I'm not spending time with you? You're way too obsessed with what I'm doing tonight. Trying to catch me cheating, darling?"

"No! I was really just calling. As usual." Edwin's head hurts trying to follow Vincent's logic. They always call — why would Edwin have hidden intentions now? Did an ex accuse Vincent of cheating? Sure, he's flirty and often busy and not all that serious about Edwin, but he wouldn't cheat. Edwin's chest feels tight and his thoughts are tumbling over one another.

"And I told you I'm fine. You worry too much. I can take care of myself."

"I know. I was just ... Is it so bad that I worry? You always call or text."

"So now you always need to know what I'm doing and why I'm not talking to you right this moment. I see how it is, girl. Maybe I'm just leading my own life, have you thought about that? We're not attached at the hip. I don't know what you did with Ellen, but I'm not going to turn into one of those straight couples who turn up together everywhere and don't have an identity of their own."

Frustration wells up in Edwin's chest. "You're not understanding anything I'm saying." So what if he and Ellen often went places together? So what if the divorce proved their friends were more Ellen's friends, and his sports friends were little more than homophobic acquaintances?