-- With great apologies for the delay and thanks for all the comments --
"Sebastian?"
"I think so, Rory," I laughed. Half-laughed, I guess. Rory was staring at me in total shock and bewilderment, as if he'd somehow fallen asleep on his own life and woken up in a scene he didn't recognize.
His silence lasted for another few seconds and his eyes were almost dancing with surprise. Big brown eyes, just like I remembered but which no memory, and no photograph, could ever quite prepare you for seeing again in the flesh.
"Hi!" he finally said, with a laugh of his own. His own half-laugh.
"Hi," I replied and went into hug him. As my arms circle half-way between his waist and his torso, I felt him go rigid, although he returned the hug. Nerves at seeing me? Surprise at the hug? Concerns about his weight? "I was just thinking about you."
Well, that was probably the single most uncool thing I could have said.
"What are you doing here?" Rory asked. "Why are you in Edinburgh?"
"Why are you?" I rebutted.
"Mummy's come up to visit me; we're staying in that hotel," he said, pointing to the Balmoral behind us. He was still smiling, hesitantly. Those eyes. "Why are you here?"
"I'm up with a friend from college," I replied. I saw him smile that I still used the American word rather than the English. "He's hungover, so I came out to see the sights on my own. And then I ran into you. Talk about seeing history."
I meant it as a joke, but there was a slightly stung look that flashed across Rory's face, just for a second. I felt bad and hastened to correct myself, but didn't. After all, it had been his decision that we were history.
I felt mean-spirited thinking that.
"I'm just looking round for somewhere to get a cup of coffee," I explained, by way of breaking the tension.
"Do you ...?"
He was going to invite me to come with him. I knew it. I could recognize instinctively the tone of his voice when he wanted to invite someone somewhere but was unsure they'd said yes.
"Yes?" I prompted.
"We could grab coffee at the hotel? It's right over there."
"Yeah, that'd be awesome," I said, with my brightest, most reassuring, most forced smile. This was already running the risk of becoming awkward and I didn't know how or why; all I knew was that I couldn't leave him. This was bad. All of it, everything I'd felt for him, was rushing back very, very quickly.
The hotel itself reeked of a kind of old world opulence, like a modernized version of the Edwardians. It was nice; beautiful even. Rory has always possessed a kind of haze of old-world charm and the environs suited him. It was as if he belonged in rooms like this -- in cavernous reception rooms with roaring fireplaces. I don't know if I was entirely aware of it at the time, but it somehow made him stand out in even greater focus from men like Harry Martyn and even Dan. Dan, who I'd only ever seen in a student house, a dingy bar or a cheap restaurant; what chance did he, or anyone have for that matter, in a game of comparisons to Rory as he sat, perfectly dressed, slightly too thin, his eyes sparkling in his face and looking, for all the world, like a prince, a younger son of a royal family, ensconced in a world of understated splendor and sophistication? As he sat down in one of the chairs across a small table and turned to look at me, I was struck again by his unique and inimitable grace. A kind of unconscious charm of his movements, which I always associate with how I felt about him the day I first properly "noticed" him -- fixing his tie in the wind above the sports fields at school.
"Is this alright?" he asked, in the polished tones I'd half-forgotten. "We can go somewhere else if you like?"
"No, it's beautiful, Rory," I smiled. Saying his name sounded strange, like something from long ago. It was almost taboo to say it and I felt bizarre, but not uncomfortable, sitting so close to him after so long apart.
"I'm so glad you like it," he replied.
The waiter came over and we ordered a coffee for me and tea for him. I ordered a scone as well, to tide me over. He ordered nothing and my thoughts must have shown on my face, because he smiled knowingly and said, "I had lunch earlier," as the waiter left.
"How are your family?"
"Good," I answered truthfully. "Very good, actually. Evan and Sarah are still together."
"That's lovely. They're so well-suited to each other."
For the first time, a slight stab of annoyance struck me. For over a year I had occasionally wondered at Rory's rationale in ending our relationship. At times, I could certainly understand why he did, but at others I was furious with him -- hurt and/or confused that he had made no gesture, no display of kindness in the eighteen months since we'd last been together. His silence, his deafening silence, had often seemed to be a subtle and vindictive form of cruelty. A vicious form of long-term attrition, telling me that what we had experienced together had still not been enough to cancel out one moment of drunken, and possibly non-consensual, stupidity on my part.
"Yeah, they are," I said, a trifle tersely. I saw him purse his lips slightly, with a touch more emphasis on the center of his bottom lip. He had noticed my reaction -- of course he did, he always noticed. His skill at noticing everything around him and then choosing what to acknowledge had been one of the most interesting, and often frustrating, features of his personality.
Instantly, he brightened to ease the tension. "And how's London?"
"Great. The course is a lot of work, but I really like the course and I've made a good group of friends."
