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The sound of midnight
Echoes through the sated hearts
Of newfound lovers
-#107, In Blue Solitudes, S. Wilson-Osaki
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Seb stood on the upper deck of the Villa Napolitana in the dead of night, listening. The choir of chirping crickets almost drowned out the fainter sounds: the flap of hanging laundry in the faint breeze, the honk of a distant horn, the hum of an air conditioner in one of the lower apartments. He inhaled deep of the sunburned smell of the city. His eyes scanned the panoramic view, from the pockmarked face of the mountainside to the peak-a-boo glimpse of the sea between two aged buildings to the anemone-like fountain in the villa’s courtyard. Seb wanted to engrave every detail of this enchanted place into his mind in case he never saw it again.
His last night in Amalfi. Sleepless like so many others, but not for the same reasons. Something stirred in him he couldn’t put a name to—he suspected it was the thrill of being alive after grieving for so long. It nagged him out of bed, and Andrea’s arms, to commune with the night. It lured him out of doors clad in only his sarong. Made him restless, impatient. Gave him midnight daydreams. Convinced him he missed a place he hadn’t even left yet.
With a final tip of his invisible hat to the moon, Seb crept back into the apartment and up to the loft. His sleeping beauty hadn’t stirred. Still curled around the pillow Seb had slipped in to replace himself, Andrea in slumber murmured to an imaginary menagerie, forever soothing injured beasts. After easing open one of the shutters so he could forgo the lamp, Seb snuck into the bedside armchair and cracked open his journal. He’d kept a makeshift diary over the past few days, jotting down memories and anecdotes he would later spin into verse. He felt too close to his holiday adventures to do more than scrawl down a few initial impressions. Time and distance would fog them over enough to blur the details.
After catching the boat back from Maiori, he and the ladies had toasted their last round of poolside G&Ts. Andrea swung by just in time to watch himself on the evening news, updating everyone on the health of Federica and her twin foals. Seb could practically hear the women of Amalfi’s collective swoon echo through the valley. Not that seeing Andrea look so poised and professional had a different effect on him. If anything he stood taller as he later escorted Andrea down the main street. Every shopkeeper and cab driver stopped to shout their compliments. The waiters at Marina Grande—where Seb treated Andrea to dinner—even sung some Italian ditty as they waltzed in. They took the long way back, strolling through the backstreets hand in hand, their enjoyment of each other’s company a potent brand of foreplay.
Seb left his pen hanging as the night’s passion played out for him again. Andrea’s sinuous frame strung tight as a violin’s bow. Seb, in total command of his instrument, plucked at each of his concerns and trepidations, strummed him into submission with a practiced hand, wrung from him the sweetest moaning music. He’d blanketed Andrea with his body until sleep finally seized him, praying an impression of him molded itself into Seb’s skin. Reminded himself in a weak moment he would see him tomorrow evening, in Sorrento. That only his love affair with Amalfi was coming to an end.
A finger of milky sunlight clung to the bottom of the page. Just as Seb looked to the window, Andrea’s alarm blared. A muffled groan heralded the zombie lurch of a hand out from under the covers. Andrea smashed a fist down on the digital clock, flopped it onto the night table like a dying fish. The flashing-red time: 4:45 a.m.
Andrea groaned, then, with a mouthful of pillow, “Sebastiano?”
“Si.” Seb set his journal aside, dropped his sarong, and eased back into bed. With greedy arms, Andrea pulled him back into his cocoon of warmth. “What time is your first pickup?”
“Too soon.” He shifted Seb on top of him, perhaps as a shield against the encroaching day. “You smell like the ocean.”
“I went outside for a bit.”
“For a swim?”
“Dipped my feet in the pool.”
“Mmm.” Andrea’s body relaxed so much Seb feared he’d fallen back to sleep. “Is it cold now, in Canada?”
“Not really. But the leaves will have started to change.”
“They will burn the fields here soon. You can already see the smoke when you drive over the mountain.”
“That always seemed strange to me. Scorching everything.”
“So it can grow again next year.” His gray-green eyes reflected only Seb in the filmy dawn light. “Will you come back?”
“I’m not gone yet.”
Andrea cupped his face to hold it aloft, fixed his enigmatic gaze on him. “Will you?”
Seb swallowed hard. “I want to. I hope so. But it’s like you said...”
“No promises.” Andrea sighed, closed his eyes. “Si.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice; he exhaled a shaky breath. He found Seb’s lips by memory, his kisses merciless in their ardor. Andrea gripped into his back until his nails scraped bloody half-moons into his skin. Seb would later notice them in the bathroom mirror, alien footprints on the banks of the Sea of Tranquility.
A few rough gyrations, and Seb felt the stab of Andrea’s cockhead into the still-tender bruises on his abdomen. He reached down to tug him to full stiffness, swallowed a whine as Andrea tongue fucked his mouth. Swinging them round so their jabbing hips locked into alignment, he yanked Andrea’s head back by the hair as they found their rhythm: whip fast, pounding, crazy beautiful.
Andrea clamped his lids shut, squinting, as if to mark every second, every touch, every sizzle of sensation. Andrea smoothed a hand across Seb’s face, reading him, memorizing. Seb loosed his grip on everything save their grinding pricks. Eyes wide, he watched Andrea thrash and gasp as if witnessing a miracle. Which, in a way, it was—the resurrection of Seb’s heart. When his hips began to stutter, Seb gave them a slap, spurring him on.
Wanting more. Wanting everything.
A cry ripped out of him, gut deep and wild. Seb welcomed the hot splash on his stomach, the torrents of pleasure. Andrea pinned him to the mattress as he howled his last, then crashed, dead weight, on top of him. A flutter of lashes against his neck, a savage bite into the base of his throat.
In Italian, a whispered farewell. Seb claimed a last, sensuous kiss, gave in to sleep’s dark undertow.
Seb should have recognized it for the goodbye it was.
He sat on the top step of his nemesis, the staircase at the Villa Napolitana, as he had for the past two hours, watching the sun crawl across the sky. His suitcase stretched out nearby, soaking in the rays, noncommittal. His phone hung limp in one of the lower pockets of his cargo shorts. He’d sealed it in an hour ago, exasperated with catching the sun’s glare on the screen and thinking he’d gotten a text. Or a call. Or any form of communication from Andrea, who never showed up to drive him to Sorrento.
Seb slumped against the stucco wall that lined the apartment-level deck. He knew he should leave, should move on, should shrug Andrea off like a too-heavy layer of clothing. Andrea had cast him off that easily. But his absence crushed into his chest, a pile of rocks to which each passing minute added more weight. Seb kept flashing back to that night three years ago, moved through the same stages of impatience, annoyance, anger, concern to... where? Fear? There would be no telltale knock at the door this time. There was one rational explanation that let Andrea off the hook for ditching him, but his brain couldn’t bring itself to go there. Even Seb’s karma wasn’t that bad.
Was it?
He suppressed the urge to send a third text. In truth, he didn’t have the energy. He stared down the endless flight of stairs, considered pitching forward.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Kath’s ruddy cheeks shined in defiance of her melancholy eyes. “Hon, we have to get going if we’re going to catch the ferry.”
“Mmm.”
“We’ve called a porter to help us down with our bags.”
“Mmm.”
She looked over his head at Maya. Seb could imagine the looks they exchanged but didn’t care. He would never see Andrea again. Just like he would never see Henry again.
His heart shivered like a frightened rabbit. His throat spasmed; his hands shook. Heat leeched out of him until he felt brittle and hollow as a husk. The light hurt, sights and sounds bullying his senses into a corner. His father was gone. Henry was gone. Andrea was gone. Everyone left him, everyone left him, everyone left him...
Seb doubled over, head between his knees. He wheezed in breath after breath, buttressed his hands against something solid: wood and stone. He started the count back from one hundred, concentrated on visualizing the numbers. Focused as many senses as possible on a mundane task. Automatic as opposed to instinctual, overriding his panic. What would his therapist say? Climb back down the ladder rung by rung. Don’t look down.
When he felt ready, he lifted his head. Kath crouched in front of him, holding a glass of water. Maya had replaced her at his side. He murmured his thanks, downed the glass in one go. Measured out several cleansing breaths.
“Is it okay if I come with you?”
“Of course, cher.” Maya pet a hand over his head. “Do you want us to stay an extra day? Gerardo has a contact in Sorrento—”
“No. It’s enough that we’re going there together.” Seb straightened, got his bearings. “Sorry. It’s kind of a sore point, people leaving and never coming back.” His voice broke on the last word, but he soldiered through.
The ladies nodded, hugged him but didn’t press. Seb let the business of their departure overtake him: the final check of his apartment, the arrival of the porter, the packing of the golf cart that would take them down to the docks, their final moments in the Villa Napolitana. When he woken that morning, he was so certain he would return one day. Now... well.
The ride down Amalfi’s main street passed too quickly. No sooner had he caught his last glimpse of the duomo than they zoomed through the final archway, out to the marina. In the rush to buy tickets and the race for the ferry, Seb didn’t have time to linger over any ambivalent or mournful emotions. As the boat sped away, Amalfi had already begun to disappear in his mind, a series of impressions and—he had to admit—triumphs that would forever be cast in a somber hue.
Seb parked at the back of the boat, staring out at Amalfi until they rounded the cape at Praiano. As he ambled through the aisles to rejoin the ladies, Seb struggled to quell the emotion rising within him, to conclude the too-brief chapter of his stay in paradise. What kind of author was he if he couldn’t write the final lines? Had Seb been so focused on his own character arc that he failed to flesh out Andrea’s? Or maybe that’s what Andrea objected to all along, having a narrative imposed on him. His last act as Seb’s lover was one of self-determination. A cri de coeur.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to deal with Seb’s bullshit anymore.
The clink of glasses guided him toward a bench in the back. Happy hour for the ladies spanned from noon till bedtime, so Seb grabbed his cocktail and nestled between them. He forced as much good cheer as he could muster into a toast since he was glad he had met them and would cherish their friendship. And if a hint of sadness tinged their kind faces when they smiled, he felt only gratitude. At being understood. For their welcome and their encouragement. For finding a pair of surrogate mothers while searching for himself.
“So... to New Year’s in N’Orleans?” Kath raised her glass.
“Am I invited?” Seb asked.
Maya chuckled. “Of course you are, cher. We’ll find you a hot Cajun who needs to practice his English.”
“Operation Acadiens?”
“Ouaille.”
“Sounds...” Seb huffed a breath, unable to rouse to the occasion. “I’ll definitely be there.”
Kath cradled his free arm. “You know the real tragedy in all this would be if you stopped travelling. You get that, right?”
“Please tell me this isn’t a ‘keep it in your pants’ lecture.”
“N-no.” Kath considered her next words. “It’s a ‘keep it in your pants if you can’t handle the fallout’ lecture.”
Seb grumbled. “Point taken.”
“Well, I, for one, don’t think it’s a fair one.” Maya craned her body around to address Kath directly. “None of us expected Andrea to react the way he has. To promise one thing and then run away like a...”
“Coward,” Seb supplied.
“Exactly.” Maya grunted, bullish. “Be a man. If there’s a conversation to be had, have it. Don’t just shirk your professional responsibilities. Wasn’t that his entire point with Bruno?”
Seb smacked his lips, a bitter taste curdling his mouth. “It was.”
“And did you?” Kath inquired. “Did the two of you discuss... possibilities?”
That brought Seb up short. “Possibilities like what?”
“I don’t know... Trying out a long-distance relationship, staying in Amalfi a couple more weeks, getting together in six months to see if the flame’s still there...”
“I invited him to Canada,” Seb admitted. “As a friend, more or less. I said that if he came, we could see where we are... But that I definitely wanted to keep in touch. I didn’t want to lose him.”
Both ladies opened their mouths to speak but ended up shaking their heads.
“Oh, cher.” Maya tapped the hand holding his glass, urging him to drink. “And he still didn’t show up? That’s...”
“We’ve been reading this wrong.” Kath sighed. “Wrong, wrong, wrong.”
A furrow marred Seb’s brow. “Explain.”
“We thought you’d taken Operation Stella a bit too literally,” Maya said.
“I mean, we all know how the real thing turned out,” Kath added. “Not to mention holiday romances in general.”
“And watching the two of you on Sunday... Cher, Andrea was smitten. We could see you not seeing the stars in his eyes.”
“We were afraid for him, weren’t we, M? You even said, ‘That boy is gonna get his heart broke before this is all over.’”
“And he’s a sweep. A giver. We never thought he’d ask for what he wanted, which so clearly was you.”
“Stop.” Seb shut his eyes. Wished he could block his ears as well, but he wasn’t, you know, five. “So what? You think he didn’t show not because he didn’t want me, but because he wanted me too much?”
“That’s just the thing,” Kath said. “We thought he stayed away because he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye. But if you’d already given him hope there could be more...”
Maya growled, mostly to herself. “The boy’s just greedy. And unrealistic. What does he expect, for you to rearrange your life on a whim? You’ve just emerged from your grief, you’ve only known him for a little over a week—”
“He’s a Matt, though,” Kath interjected.
“A Michael, cher.” At her confusion, Maya elaborated: “Queer references, not straight ones.”
“I personally think of myself as more of a Miranda,” Seb quipped, to the ladies’ delight. “At least now that Henry is gone. And you, my dear, with your Gerardo-shagging ways, are a proud Samantha. And you...” He playfully considered Kath. “Would you be insulted if I said Charlotte?”
“Gosh, no. So long as I’m not a Carrie, any of the others is good.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Seb pecked them on the cheek. “Now that we’ve covered all the pop culture bases, do you think I could continue drowning my sorrows?”
“Only if you promise not to let this get you down for good.” Maya slouched down again so he could rest his head on her shoulder. “Remember, the point of Stella getting her groove back wasn’t that she found herself a man. It was that she found herself.”
“Amen to that,” Kath concurred, raising her glass for a final toast.
“Do you think I should have discussed it more openly with him? Do you think I should have offered him more?”
“Good morning to you too,” Maya deadpanned from her hotel room in Assisi.
Through the phone, but Seb could tell by the tone of her voice. She didn’t sound groggy, so he hadn’t woken her up. Probably. He’d waited till nearly ten to call, five hours after he snapped awake in his Sorrento hotel room, pert as the mechanical, lederhosen-clad figures in a cuckoo clock. That someone forgot to wind. His movements as sluggish as his pulse, Seb hadn’t quite managed to drag himself out of bed. Or stop thinking.
“Should I have made it clearer how I was feeling? How I’m not ready for... I don’t know.” He stared up at the stucco ceiling as if a pattern could be deciphered from its swipes and squiggles. “I feel like I’ve just learned to breathe again.”
“Do you want me to put him on speakerphone?” A cranky background mutter from Kath put an end to that notion. “All right. I’ve got fifteen minutes, cher.”
“Sorry. I should... I’ll let you go.”
“Under no circumstances.” She sipped something, which made him think of coffee. He should have called room service first. “Why the retread? Has Andrea contacted you?”
“No.” Seb exhaled a long, shaky breath. “I just wanted to make sure that I haven’t been unfair to him somehow.”
“Andrea is a grown-ass man. If he wanted something more with you or didn’t like the way you were treating him, he should have said something about it. He did the opposite of that.”
“I know...”
A pause. He could hear Maya and Kath trading looks over the silence.
“Where is this coming from?”
Seb had an answer, he really did. He hadn’t just lain there, alternating between ache, befuddlement, and fury, for five hours. At least not the full five hours.
“I got used to it again. Waking up to someone. Knowing that they’re there through the night.”
“Oh, cher.”
“I can’t tell if this is actually about Andrea or just me wanting that again. Or missing it... I don’t know.” He starfished his legs and arms out to shoo away any ghosts haunting his space. “Am I clinging to this idea of him because I really felt something for him, or because he was around when I was feeling vulnerable?”
“Only you can answer that.” Another sip. “Andrea seems to have made his feelings clear.”
Seb swallowed hard, nodded into the receiver. “He did.”
“It’s important to think these things through, don’t get me wrong. And I know you feel... robbed of something. But would you feel that way if you’d gotten your goodbye? Would you be questioning it if things had gone your way?”
The Rorschach-test ceiling mocked him with its impenetrability, same as his own wants, needs, desires.
“Point.”
“You need to stop chasing down the ones who are already gone, cher, and find someone who’ll stick around.”
“Game, set, and match.”
“I thought we used soccer metaphors. Don’t confuse me. I’m geeky, not sporty.”
“You’re stellar. Not to mention an angel for putting up with me.” Seb wished he could hug her. “Go have an amazing day. You’re officially disinvited from my pity party.”
“You go out and have some fun, Agent Seb.” Her drill sergeant’s voice didn’t have enough bark to make him piddle himself, but he still shook in his boots. “Operation Stella is done. Welcome to Operation Shirley Valentine.”
“Uh, I think I missed that one?”
“Rent it. When you get home. Because from now on, you’ll be too busy to sulk in your hotel room.”
Despite himself, Seb felt a smile creep across his face. “Thanks, Maya. Meeting you has made this trip worth it.”
“Stop trying to butter me up and go get yourself an espresso. You’re going to have a busy day.”