Twenty-Eight: Emery: A Higher, Less Definable Price

That Emery's hands didn't shake as he retrieved his jacket was a minor miracle. He'd just been contemplating the very real possibility of having lost Josh in his life in any capacity, and here Josh was, right in front of him, telling him he'd rather have Emery stay, and it... It would have made him happy, if only it weren't contingent on how vulnerable Josh must be feeling.

Emery wished he knew for sure if he was allowed to go to him, to wrap Josh in his arms, no matter for how short a time. To give back some of the comfort Josh had offered him in spades. But he wouldn't be the one to initiate touch, not even something as harmless as a hug; not after how spectacularly he'd ruined things last time.

Whatever had happened with this latest client must have been devastating. Emery felt grateful for the opportunity to be the one to help soothe that, somehow. He'd find a way. "Have you eaten?"

Josh shrugged. "I'm not really hungry."

Emery had been saving every cent he earned, to be able to both afford therapy and leave Josh's house as quickly as possible while still living up to the standards Josh expected of his departure. Taking Josh out would mean dipping into that fund, but leaving Josh to dwell on whatever had happened was out of the question. He'd work harder, find more students to tutor, more people who needed help with their taxes, more small businesses as well. He'd do whatever needed to be done but, for now, Josh was his priority.

He waved to the hallway, closing the door behind them. "That tells me you haven't. We'll start with lunch."

They could have ordered in, or gone somewhere closer to home, but Emery made it a point to choose a pizzeria that would let them walk for at least fifteen minutes before getting there. Josh looked like he needed to clear his head. Their walk was filled with idle chatter, with talk of daily nonsense and the occasional anecdote involving the mathematically-challenged, among which Josh counted himself. It was neither particularly interesting nor particularly funny, but Emery felt Josh needed him to keep talking, and he understood the sentiment well.

Silence had a multitude of meanings. People mistook it for a simple thing but it was layered, complex. While it tended to be comfortable between the two of them, it made it too easy to get lost in one's mind, and Josh wouldn't welcome the inner stroll at the moment.

There were barely any patrons at that hour, which suited them just fine. Sitting at a small table close to the massive stone oven, they might as well have been the only two people in the world. It wasn't until they were halfway through their pizza that Emery thought to offer Josh's words back to him. "I feel the need to point out that — as you so memorably put it — just because I won't ask, it doesn't mean I'm not interested."

It still sent a shiver down his spine, the memory of Josh saying that very same thing to him. How, for the barest of moments, Emery had thought there might be a fraction of a chance between them, a sliver of hope. Fanciful thinking, that he'd do well to put behind him, especially if he wanted to become something of a friend to Josh.

"I'd like to log a protest," Josh said,"that your memory is too good. You're not supposed to turn my words against me."

Emery snorted. "I'd hardly class them as being against you if I'm attempting to lend an ear. Shall I play at forgetfulness in the future?"

The hand that Josh wasn't using to hold his slice of pizza opened and closed on the table, as if he weren't quite sure what to do with it. Emery's eyes were drawn to the unexpected movement, his own hand stilling, his body anticipating what his mind hadn't conceived yet.

He held his breath when Josh chose to reach across the table to clap said hand on top of Emery's, warm fingers curling over his. It was all Emery could do, to curl his own in response and hold it there. Not too tightly, in case Josh wanted to pull away, but not so loosely Josh would mistake it for disinterest. A gentle smile eased Josh's handsome features, light playing in his captivating gray eyes.

"No. Don't. You keep me accountable with that memory of yours."

Emery allowed himself to release his breath in increments, before his lungs protested too much. "I'll keep remembering for the both of us, then."

Josh hadn't taken his hand away yet. His thumb moved over the back of Emery's hand in slow circles, making him wonder if any of it was truly happening, or if he'd taken leave of his senses and was having a delusional episode. He kept his eyes trained on their joined hands, afraid of what he might find, were he to look into Josh's. His fingers tightened fractionally of their own accord.

Emery couldn't tell how long it had been when Josh spoke again. Josh was still... caressing his hand, for lack of a better word. "It wasn't even... My client passed away this morning. Alone. Well, with me there, but you know what I mean."

Emery wasn't going to mention there was no one he'd rather have at his bedside if he were dying. It didn't seem like the kind of knowledge that there'd be a right moment to impart, but if there were, this one wasn't it. He struggled to find a useful reply that didn't revolve around himself. "Is that an uncommon occurrence? That you're the only one present?"

Josh's words were tinged with sadness. "Not that uncommon, no. But he had two sons, two grandkids... He wanted to see the kids last night. They wouldn't come — it was a school night, and his son said they'd come on the weekend. It made sense. But then it was morning and he was gone, and he never got to see them again—" His voice cracked. Emery could tell he was fighting tears.

Damn his earlier resolution that he wouldn't be the one to initiate touch. Damn it to the Ninth Circle of Hell. He set down the slice of pizza he was still holding and placed that hand on top of Josh's, trapping it in between both of his, returning Josh's soothing circles. He was encouraged when Josh didn't pull away, bold enough to look at his face at last. There were lines of pain around his eyes Emery would do anything to ease.

Offering comfort with words wasn't something Emery was good at, but he'd try. For Josh, he'd try. "You'll know better than I do, the importance of those last few moments. But... What about the rest of it? His life?"

Josh attempted a smile, and Emery had the fanciful notion that he'd been the one to place it on his lips. "Good. It was a good life. Full. He lived in different countries, taught so many different people... He was a teacher. And he had a family." His smile grew. "His wife passed away last year, but everyone else visited him. They loved him."

Emery returned a smile of his own. "A good life is the best that any of us can aspire to. The circumstances of his death weren't ideal, but they were far from tragic. You were with him — he wasn't alone — and he had a weekend visit to look forward to. It wasn't a bad death, was it?"

The smile widened, still pained but more genuine now. Josh's tone was fond. "When did you become wise?"

Emery recognized the cue for what it was — the immediacy of Josh's grief had been handled, and he was ready to move on to lighter topics. He removed the hand resting on top of Josh's, but made no attempt to free the one Josh held trapped underneath his own. "I've always been wise. That you're now recognizing it speaks of personal growth. Well done, young man."

A surprised, half-relieved snort from Josh. "You forget, I turned forty-four last month. You still have a couple of months before you can catch up with me."

"Beside the point," Emery continued, mock haughtiness coloring his voice . "And now, if you prove yourself capable of finishing your pizza without it turning into a congealed mess, I'll consider your daily achievement quota fulfilled."

Josh let go of his hand and gave a mock salute, picking up his pizza with a, "Sir, yes, sir!"

They finished their food amid simpler conversation, some of the lines around Josh's eyes having abated. Emery wondered if every loss always affected him this deeply, impressed at the fortitude necessary to continue such a line of work.

It was within his grasp, the ability to return some of the lightness of being Josh had brought him. He could think of nothing better to do with his time. When Josh rose to go to the bathroom, he took the chance to call the mother of the girl he was meant to be tutoring in two hours, asking if there was any hope of rescheduling. As luck would have it, there was a compatible hour the following day. And he wasn't due at the shelter today either; he could be there for Josh the entire day.

While he had nothing in particular planned for after lunch, Emery didn't let that stop him. There would be something Josh would enjoy, no doubt. Something to take his mind off of the weight of losing his client so soon.

Perhaps a play — a comedy to make him laugh. It'd be expensive, but...

Emery's mouth went dry when the solution crossed his mind. Josh was never so distracted from his own needs as when attending to the needs of others. It was a fact of life, one that only became more apparent the more one knew him.

There was another option. Another potential option, that was, and one that wouldn't even cost money. One that would cost Emery a higher, less definable price. And Josh would want to offer support, because that was who he was, and he wouldn't dwell on his current grief. There was no doubt that Emery, himself, would end up benefiting from taking that step, but he didn't particularly want to. Yet he would. For Josh.

He unlocked his phone, to check what was currently playing at Delacorte Theater. There was a chance it wasn't one of the comedies, and the entire point would be moot.

Twelfth Night. He couldn't have asked for a better choice. Of course, there might not even be any last minute tickets, the morning tickets long since distributed, but he wouldn't know that until he tried. And, because whatever deity was in charge of his fate seemed to have a peculiarly dark sense of humor, it looked as though it might rain.

Right, then. Back to Central Park for him.

"Hey. Did anything happen?" Josh, freshly returned from the bathroom, was standing in front of him trying to read his face.

Emery made an effort to smooth his features. "Not at all. Just debating the merits of forcing you to spend hours waiting in line."

"Hmm." Josh sat down, lips curved upwards. "The merits depend on whatever's at the end of that line. What did you have in mind?"

"Shakespeare in the Park. Twelfth Night. There's no guarantee there'll be tickets, but—"

"Are you up for that? Going back there?" Josh cut across him. Emery hadn't even had to bring up the subject, and Josh had already identified the crux of the matter.

"I won't say it would be without hardship, but... I had a history there, before I lost the house and the company. I used to go with Emma, when we were younger. I would... I would reclaim it. I would not have those memories overshadowed by the unpleasant ones, and —"

"I'd love to," Josh interrupted. "Let's give it a shot."