As Alex walks over the threshold, he hands me a beautifully hand-tied bunch of flowers. “Oh, thank you. It really wasn’t necessary, my cooking isn’t that good.”
He grins at me and it’s a good feeling.
“I can’t believe I haven’t invited you over before now.”
“Well, I’d wondered if you were ever going to get around to it!” he retorts. A part of me hopes he’s really thinking ‘it’s about time.’
Our pre-dinner chat is easy and we start on the wine. I’d never noticed before, but he has the sexiest wrists I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing an expensive pair of jeans and a white linen shirt, with the sleeves folded back to his elbow. He has this thin, brown leather tie and the knot is pulled loosely so that it hangs mid-chest level. The top two buttons of his shirt are open and his neck looks inviting. I feel shocked at my reaction and I suppose it’s because I’m used to seeing him in work clothes. His hair is immaculate, his skin is smooth. He’s a man who pays attention to detail. I notice that he never comments on what I wear and he doesn’t appear to have noticed the effort I’ve put in tonight on his behalf. But I haven’t asked him here to try to seduce him because I see him as a challenge, although a part of me thinks it’s such a waste of a perfect guy. I want him to know about the other side of me because our friendship is so strong. I trust him.
He picks at a bowl of olives as he sits on the stool by the butcher’s block, watching me prepare the pasta.
“So why did you ask me around? Is this a date?” he muses, and it throws me. There’s a hint of seriousness in his voice and I begin to feel a little embarrassed.
“We never talk much about out of work stuff. I thought it would be nice to share a few things.” My voice is even but the nerves are starting to kick in. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. Why spoil the relationship we have?
“I thought you preferred it that way.” He shrugs off my comment a little too easily. “Unless, of course, you are finally going to share your dark secret with me.” I spin around in surprise at his words and our eyes meet.
“Only if you share yours,” I retort. He looks down at his drink and then pops another olive into his mouth.
“That depends,” his voice is quiet, gentle. I’ve touched a raw nerve.
“On what?”
“On how honest you are going to be with me.”
Suddenly I feel that this is intense and it’s not what I was expecting. I thought we’d laugh and chat like girlfriends. Maybe he’d admit to being gay and we could talk meaningfully about the dates he’s been on since joining the website. Then I could bare my soul about my angels. For some inexplicable reason I think Alex would understand.
As if it was planned, we reach for our wine glasses in unison and raise them towards each other, toasting the evening ahead.
***
After a bottle and a half of California’s finest rosé Grenache we’re both feeling rather mellow. Dinner, thankfully, is much lighter and we talk about our respective childhoods. It feels cathartic, like starting our friendship anew, leaving behind everything connected to work. I wonder how wise it is to take the lid off the box—to look inside each other’s lives with honesty. But in truth I’m in need of a friend I can trust who is around all the time and I feel Alex has a similar need. It strikes me he’s a chameleon: different things to different people. Is that a coincidence? When he’s with Mason he’s more macho, even his tone becomes more assertive and clipped. With me he’s… well, genderless is the way I would describe it. It’s only recently I’ve allowed myself to think of him in any way other than a colleague, simply because I didn’t think he was into women. I wonder if it’s been the same for him because I’ve kept my distance.
“Sorry?” I don’t catch his words; they are obscured by the clatter of plates while I clear the table. I turn around to look at him. I watch as he drops down onto the sofa and stretches out. I think it’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him.
“I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking and I’ve had far too much already,” he repeats.
“Me too! My head is kind of spinning at the moment. Chill and I’ll make two strong cups of coffee.” I half expect him to vault up from the sofa and offer to make it, but he’s content to relax and that makes me feel I’m being a good host. I smile to myself as I take the empty glasses out to the kitchen.
When I return Alex looks very comfortable, his body melting into the cushions. He takes a first sip of his coffee and grimaces. “You’re right.”
I slip off my shoes and sit down, swinging my legs up to chill out. “What’s that?”
“I do make the best coffee.” Positioned at either end of the long sofa and facing each other, we can’t exactly avoid eye contact
“I’m being honest. I thought that was what you wanted.” I’m beginning to see why he said he was a lightweight, alcohol lowers his inhibitions.
“Who’s going to go first?” Our eyes meet and he breaks into that stupid grin of his. “Oh, so that would be me then,” I remark, trying to sound a little put out. He laughs and settles back, wriggling to sink even further into the cushions.
“Where to start… Seb and I are very different. I know we’re non-identical twins and that’s obvious, but I have a gene that he hasn’t inherited, or so it would seem.” I look up at him, but he’s looking away and appears to be listening intently. I take that as a sign he wants me to say my piece.
“He’s the adrenalin junkie, the party animal and anything technical sparks his interest. I inherited the artistic gene and a sort of sensitivity.” I pause, we exchange a quick glance and then he looks away. The silence is a little awkward if I’m honest and I wonder how far I should go. “I have these episodes of déjà vu, a sensation of premonition and I keep a journal of every single incident I experience.”
It’s my turn to stretch out and study him. A few minutes pass in total silence and this time it feels heavy. You could hear a pin drop.
“I see. How long has this been going on?” His voice suddenly sounds very sober and I’m relieved that he’s taking me seriously.
“A long time, maybe forever. An incident is one of my earliest childhood memories.”
“I’m no expert, but I have a mild interest in all things psychic. I’ve read a few books, I see you’ve read some of the same ones.” He points to my groaning bookshelves. “Apparently we are all born with the ability to sense things but we bow to the general opinion that it’s rather flaky.”
I laugh at his choice of word.
“Flaky? I’d say unacceptable, unbelievable maybe—either way, things really do happen around me and it’s not something over which I appear to have any control. And that’s the problem. I simply want to be normal.”
Now it’s Alex’s turn to laugh at me.
“Define normal.” I sense a slightly bitter edge to his voice. Maybe Alex too feels different, only the reasons aren’t the same.
“Well, not seeing angels would be a good start,” my voice wavers slightly. I monitor the reaction on his face.
“Ah, I see. I didn’t realise it was that heavy. I knew there was something and, if I’m honest, I suspected you had a perceptive nature.”
I look at him rather shocked. “Does it show? I try very hard not to bring my personal life to work. Has anyone guessed?”
“Don’t worry,” he waves a hand. “It’s more something I feel when I’m around