Boot(s)

47 - Boot

Bobby O'Callahan

You could smell the fresh coats of paint that covered the walls. I had chosen a light blue for the kitchen, a light gray for the living room, beige for our bedroom. I let my fingers fall down to his. His hand struggled to grip mine, it was shaking so furiously.

"Kitchen is to the right here," I stepped into the room, pulling him along with me. "We'll get the appliances in next week, I think. But we've got a full pantry, and right back through here," I paused, waiting until we stepped through the doorway to reveal what came next. "Formal dining room. We've got some built-in shelves there... That door there leads to the bathroom. That hallway wraps around to the other side of the staircase, let's go through..."

Wordlessly he followed me. Every so often I peeked around at him to see his head moving slowly on a swivel, like he was at a museum, or an art gallery, graciously taking it all in. "So, here's the study, the laundry room..." He let go of my fingers for the first time since we stepped inside, pulling the sliding barn door to the study open. I held my breath, counting the seconds of his silence. A voice in the back of my mind started to eat at me. He's paralyzed. You're moving way too fast. He's overwhelmed. You've only been dating a few months.

"Wow." With only one breathy syllable, he shot through every last one of the thoughts kicking around in my head. "It's huge." He popped back through the sliding barn door and reached out for my hand again. "Show me more."

I pulled his forehead to my lips quickly, lightly, silently thanking God this wasn't the train wreck I had anticipated in his stunned silence.

"Living room's here," we walked back toward the front of the house. "Laundry room has a door to the side of the house with the garage, and it'll have a path that will wrap around to the back... and now the grand reveal," I led him back behind the staircase, toward the back of the house. I reached down and pulled open one of the double doors that lead to our master. Peter sighed. He squeezed my hand tighter.

It was massive, of course. A fireplace and large wooden ceiling beams gave it the warmth and comfort I imagined Pete would appreciate. Grand windows and skylights helped brighten up the space. Our master bath, which Pete had gravitated toward, had just been fitted with a clawfoot tub and one of Pete's favorite things: a waterfall shower.

We had taken a look into the closet and had come back around to the door when a tug on my arm let me know Pete had stopped following me. I turned around. He was standing there, an arm's length away, his commanding form a stark contrast to the bare room. His eyebrows were knitted together, his lips rolled into his teeth. "I don't want to leave."

I laughed, pulling him into my chest. "We'll be back soon enough."

Back in the main entrance, we climbed the stairs for the final reveal of a few guest suites.

"A lot of space up here, Bobby." Pete's voice was accusatory. Like he wanted me to offer up some sort of explanation. My heart leaped in my chest. It took two deep breaths for me to respond.

"Well yeah, for Pop. He won't be alright on his own much longer. And there's space for Bella too. A visit from your friend Jack, maybe." I had been walking around one of the guest rooms, my body no longer attached to Pete's, my eye staring at the floorboards. He didn't offer a response. I heard him start heading downstairs, indicating the conversation was over.

I caught him on the last step, rewinding my fingers through his own. He didn't pull away, letting me lead him to the back door. I pulled the sliding door back and stepped outside. Pete let go of my hand, choosing to take it all in from the doorway.

It took him a few seconds. "A court, Bobby? You don't even play anymore."

Two deep breaths. Hands shoved in pockets.

"Yeah, well, I thought you could offer lessons or something. You're a great coach, Pete."

His stare had been on the court, but once the last words left my lips, his eyes shot to my own. His brows raised a bit like they always did when he was challenging me. I could practically hear him say that's bullshit, Bobby. But he didn't.

We walked back through the backyard and onto the driveway heading back to the front. I could feel the air around us getting heavier. Despite all the wind, we were in our own little vortex, and all I could feel see and hear was the fact that Peter was two paces ahead of me, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. My footsteps suddenly slowed. There was a conversation at the end of this walk. I knew it. I felt it in that stare, in his voice, in his two steps ahead. There was a conversation at the end of this walk that no man should ever have to endure. Not on Christmas.

He had stopped on the walkway and was staring up at the house. There was nothing in his face. Absolutely nothing.

When I reached him, I mirrored his stance, staring up at the home that had taken up every piece of my heart the past two months. Every inch of that house was made only with him in mind. With us in mind. Our family.

He turned toward me. I couldn't bring myself to do the same.

"So much space, Bobby," he said it as a fact. "But you've stopped mentioning kids." I sucked my cheek into my teeth. God not now. "A basketball court, Bo. We're not going to use that. Not at all." He stopped. I could hear him swallow. When he spoke, his voice broke on every word. "So, who did you build that for?"

The hurt in his voice was the only thing that could have brought me to look at him. "Peter..."

"You're sick, aren't you?" He could barely get the words out. All I could do was bite my lip. I shook my head no. Not no, but not now. Please. I couldn't speak. "We're never having kids, right? And I'm gonna end up in this massive house alone, right, Bobby?" I could hardly understand him through his sobs. His fingers had balled my shirt into fists. The only thing I could do was wrap my arms around him.

He collapsed into my chest. "It's going to be okay, Pete." I could barely hear myself over the sound of his wails. "I'm not going anywhere," I whispered into his hair. "I'm going to beat this, Peter. I promise you that. Do you hear me?"

His grip on my shirt tightened. I could feel him nod into my chest. "I promise."