Natsby

Chapter Thirteen

((Shoutout to Brisded, who voted on every single chapter this evening. This one is for you.))

The next few days had float on like a dream, Gatsby and I were more open to our issues, making our thoughts and problems known. At first it hurt to hear his criticism towards me, but I also felt better knowing what I could do to make life better.
We assumed the role of a domestic lifestyle; Gatsby would leave in the morning and wearily attempt to get a job in the city so we could stop using our money for the move, and I stayed home, writing whatever came to my mind. It was sadly too late in the year to begin a garden, and so I selected instead to read books upon it, so that wherever I was in the Spring, I could start one.
Gatsby had noticed the ring on my finger one day, and he had asked me about it. “I found it in the study,” I said, setting down the dinner I had prepared. I settled myself into the chair across from his own, and he held out his hand. I lightly placed my own onto his, and he examined the ring. “Do you want it back?” I asked gingerly. He chuckled, and lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “It suits you well. Besides, it would be my honor to see you bear my crest on your hand,” He replied. I blushed slightly as I took my hand back.
“Well, thank you then. It is my honor to wear your name with pride,” I chortled. We settled into our meal and all was well.
After we finished, I stood to clear the table, but Gatsby had other plans. “Come on,” He said, taking the plates out of my hand and setting them aside, before guiding me to the living area. He waltzed over and turned on the gramophone, a device I rarely used. He chose a soft song, one that I forgotten long ago. It was smooth and slow, a sharp contrast from the jumping jazz that had paraded Gatsby’s parties once.
I hardly noticed when he came back to my side, but my focus was all on him as soon as he moved my arms up and around his neck. I felt his hands tighten around my waist as I stared deeply into his adoring gaze. I was floating.
I never quite realized how small of a gentleman I was until that day. Gatsby and I had danced many times before, but never as close or as sober as we were then. Perhaps it was that Gatsby was simply more of a man than I was, but I felt more and more fragile as we swayed to the piano that played it’s lullaby. Our heights weren’t that great of a difference, and yet I saw myself having to crane my head upwards so that I could bathe in his sweetening gaze. He leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips to my forehead and allowed it to rest for a few moments before pulling away.
I moved in closer until I was resting my head on his shoulder. We were essentially hugging more than we were dancing. I wanted to move us to rest on the couch, but it seemed evident who was leading. And so, I stayed.
The next morning was uneventful, mostly just Gatsby and I cleaning the dinner mess from the night before and relaxing in the living room. However, by noon Gatsby was becoming restless, and it showed.
His toes tapped with impatience as he glanced around the room. I took notice and lightly shut my novel after marking the page. “What's wrong, Jay?” I asked. “I want to take you on a date,” He replied, standing up. I shook my head at the random statement. “We could go on a date whenever we want Jay. You can even call this a date if you so wished,” I replied, watching as he took up pacing.
“No, a real one. Where you and I go to a speakeasy and dance and kiss and do all the things a real couple does,” He said. He froze once he noticed that I threw him a disapproving look, folding my arms. “And we are not a real couple already?” I pushed. He hastily moved to my side and sat, bringing my stiff body into his. “We are a real couple, Nicky,” I softened at the nickname. “I just wish we could show it just like everyone else,” He added on. I sighed. “I do too, Jay. I do too,” I said.
We laid for a bit, silently wishing we could go out in public together. Eventually I caved on the feelings of unproductivity, and went to prepare a lunch for us two. Shortly after we finished eating, Gatsby stood and waltzed to the door, grabbing his jacket on the way. “Where are you going?” I asked, trailing behind. “I am going job hunting some more” was all he said. I read from my personal library for the rest of the afternoon, only stopping once I noticed the sun setting. I furrowed my brows in concern. Where was Gatsby?
My answer came with a bang as Gatsby rushed inside, his face flushed and his breath holding a slight pant. “Nick,” he spoke, “You need to come outside.” I leapt from my place of newfound concern and followed him back out, to where I was met with a scene so intensely kind, I felt my heart pause in its work just to admire it all. The entire lawn was lit in a soft glow of various candles, from which I wondered how I did not notice from the windows. They illuminated a table set up for two, where a cloth covered the top, and what rested above the cover was two plates and a single rose in the center. A gramophone was nearby, playing gentle sounds that kept up with the feelings of romance and love and seemed to enhance it all. “Do you like it?” Gatsby spoke from my side. He had taken his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves.
“I love it,” I replied, leaning in to seal my gratitude with a kiss. He crept one arm around my waist as he guided me to the table. “How did you do all this?” I asked. “Our friend Ms. Baker was in town, and she was more than happy to help me set all of this up,” He replied. We stopped at one of the chairs and he pulled it out for me, and pushed it in after I took a seat. “I will have to thank her tomorrow,” I said, watching Gatsby move around to his own place at the table. “Why not now?” He suggested, and seemingly on cue, Ms. Baker came around the corner with a small dish in her hands. She set it down between us and lifted the lid to reveal a succulent roast beef, my mouth watering.
“Ms. Baker,” I began, my eyes shifting to the slender woman on my side. “Thank you so much,” I crooned gently. “Of course Nicky,” she replied. “Come have tea with me sometime, Nick. I know you may like the gentle adventure I can provide,” she said, before turning and walking away. “Of course, Ms. Baker!” I hollered after her. She twisted around to face Gatsby and I, keeping up her pace. “Jordan, Nicky! Jordan!” She shouted back in return.
Gatsby and I stole a look at each other, bursting into laughter. We enjoyed our evening together, swept up in idle words and wondering glances. Once we finished, we set our plates aside and just basked in the glow of the candles in the gentle evening.
“Jay?”
“Hm?”
“When did you begin to like me?”
“I, I don’t know, in honesty.”
“Do you know when I began to like you?”
He watched me closely, eyes squinting. “No?”
“Good.”
I began to fall into my mind, but not before I was dragged back out. “Can you tell me?” I was asked. I smiled. “I don’t know,” I replied. Gatsby froze, before laughing heartily. “We truly do not know what we are doing, do we?” He boistered. “Not in the slightest. At least we have a chance of figuring it out, unlike our dear friends, the Buchanan's.” Neither of us could form a word in the midst of our laughter.
It was cut off by a gunshot.