Photographs of Graves

Zoe dropped me off about a block from the coffee shop and I walked the rest of the way. I was beginning to understand some Polish, and quietly murmured “excuse me” to some people as I broke through their crowd. I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand.

The sun beat on the horizon line, turning a deep red as it fell in the sky. Shadows became long, my own shadow extending far ahead of me with phantom steps. I followed it up to the coffee shop door and opened it with the soft chiming of bells. Something cool with a saxophone and piano played overhead.

Graves was sitting at a corner table, already holding two steaming mugs of something in his hands. He gestured me over, indicating the second one was for me. I took the seat across from him and accepted the mug.

“Thank you,” I murmured softly, taking a sip.

His blue eyes searched my face seriously for a moment before he spoke.

“Don't even think about breaking things off with me. That'd be stupid,” he said matter-of-factly, taking a long pull of his own drink.

“What?”

“It'd be stupid. Don't try it.”

I blinked, but a little flash of anger flared in my stomach. It was my choice. Mine.

“Hey,” I snapped, my lips drawing into a frown and putting down my coffee mug a little too hard, “Don't tell me what to do.”

“I was just saying.”

“Maybe we should end things.”

“No.”

I blinked again. I think I'd just been denied. How the hell do you react to that?

“What?”

“No.”

He didn't raise his voice. He wasn't angry. He calmly sipped at his coffee, leaning back in his chair. The cool jazz continued to play in the background.

“But-”

“No.”

I chewed on the inside of my lip, staring him down. He didn't bat an eyelash, regarding me with calm blue eyes.

“You're cute, Murph.”

“You're an asshole.”

“I know.”

“This conversation still isn't over.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it's not.”

“I love you.”

I stopped, my anger fizzing down. I sighed heavily and took another long pull of my coffee. It was cooling fast, hovering just above lukewarm.

I didn't want to back down. I really didn't. I didn't like having the power snatched from my hands, and his tone frustrated me to all hell. But I just didn't have the momentum today to fight him.

He continued to watch me with those blue eyes, gaze tracing my face like an artist's pen around the contours of his model. He looked... Sad. Maybe not sad, but that was the closest thing to it that I could put my finger on.

“What?”

“Why didn't you tell me about Oliver?”

If I had been drinking at the time I would have choked. Instead I just choked on my spit. And my thoughts. Graves gauged my reaction with an unreadable expression, not a hint of a smile lingering on his face. Something cold emanated from him.

“So it's true, then,” he muttered darkly.

How the hell?

“How did you... What the hell?” I asked once I regained control of my tongue. It was so long ago...

He raised an eyebrow.

“Accidentally,” his voice became terse, short. “Your phone went off a couple nights ago while you were sleeping. He messaged, telling me he wanted to tell Caroline about the two of you. I happened to pick it up.”

“That was a long time ago,” I averted my gaze. I felt defensive, verging on angry. I folded my arms over my chest.

“But you never told me that you had seen anyone.”

“It never came up.”

Graves fell silent. I didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see the way he was looking at me. What the hell did it matter, anyway? It didn't. It was a long time ago, we hadn't been together... Hell, I thought at the time I'd never see Graves again and I was trying to move on. So why had he looked so angry?

“Murphy.”

“Yes.”

“You're doing it again.”

“Doing what.”

“Shutting me out.”

“Well what the hell do you want from me?” I snapped at him, turning with a fierce gaze. The anger in his face had dissipated, replaced simply by a proud hurt. I froze, mouth still hanging open for a tirade. He stared me down until I settled back into my chair, hands resting in my lap.

“I just needed to know. I'm starting to lose my naivety.”

“What?”

I blinked. Being - what, five years-ish younger? - than him I had always viewed myself as the stupid one. Honestly, I was. I also was less mature in a lot of ways. I could be a damned idiot with a temper problem. Like right now, for instance. I'd never even considered the idea that he might consider himself naïve, too.

“I had this unrealistic perspective that together we, after sorting out our initial problems, would be perfect. I don't mean perfect for each other, that's a side part to it, but perfect as a whole. You generally seem so honest that I never considered the fact that you might have things you'd rather keep secret. Especially big things that could get between us,” he rested back in his chair, running a hand through his mess of wavy hair.

“But that was stupid of me. There are obviously things that you'd rather not talk about. We all have our own skeletons in our closets. I just never applied that law of the mortal world to you. To us.”

I stared at him for a moment. He seemed so sincere, so mature and matter-of-fact, but his words held a childishness innocence that I didn't realize he had. The idea of a perfect, honest, loving relationship had been stamped out of me so long ago that I hadn't even considered that the people around me held that belief. People, no matter how in love, fought. They had secrets. Nothing was perfect.

“Nothing is perfect,” I said slowly, drumming my fingers on the table. My coffee had lost its steam, all but cold next to my palm. “It's just how you make it work.”

“I know that in my head. I just hadn't gotten it into my heart yet.”

He sighed. He looked very tired, overworked, taxed. His face looked drawn, palms open upon the table with brittle fingers that were ink-stained. He gently took my hand in one of his, twining those inked hands with mine. A small, rueful smile turned up the corners of his lips.

“We're mortal, aren't we?” he asked. He reminded me of a small child, his blue eyes staring longingly at his mother after she told him Santa wasn't real.

“Yeah,” I laughed, “Very much so. We've got our faults.”

We lapsed into a thoughtful silence. A soft piano played on the overhead speaker, the murmur of people and clinking coffee cups humming in the air. Graves squeezed my hand with a soft pressure.

“Hey Murph?”

“Yeah Graves?”

“Could you tell me what's been eating you lately? I know it's big, whatever it is, but it's messing up this thing we've got going for us.”

I sighed. I knew I'd been won over, and the time had come to come clean. It probably had come a while ago, I was just too obstinate to see it. I swallowed.

“Yeah. Just... Not here. Somewhere where we could be alone.”

“Naked and alone?”

I smiled and laughed. “That too.”

He smiled back. We got up together, placing our mugs in a dirty dishes compartment and leaving hand in hand. It was a bittersweet happiness, but there was happiness there nonetheless.

“Hey, Murph?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Graves.”

The sun was kissing the horizon, sinking behind the tall buildings with its last golden and red rays before the coming of the night. Cars and people moved calmly, a serene feel hovering in the air. Or maybe that was just how I was feeling, and I was projecting it onto everything around me.

My cellphone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled a face at Graves as I pulled it out. He snorted in laughter.

“Oh hey, it's dad,” I smiled, glancing at the caller ID before clicking on the receiver. “Hey dad, what's up?”

“Ari, we need to talk,” his voice cut through the static like grating gravel under car tires, a hint of panic coloring his words. “It's your mother. Something's gone horribly wrong.”

Hell no.