Out on a Limb

by Hannah Bonam-Young

“Well, it’s good to meet you, Fred.” “Please don’t call me that,” I say forcibly, half joking. “What? Why not?” He looks comically offended. “It’s not a particularly sexy name,” I say. “Winnifred is bad enough, but Fred? I sound like the creepy uncle you don’t invite to Thanksgiving.” “Agree to disagree.” “Imagine crying out ‘Fred’ in the bedroom.” His smirk grows, and I glare at him, deciding to make my point clear. “Oh, Fred,” I moan. “Yes, Fred!” I cry, probably a bit too loudly, in fake passion. “It’s awful.”

“Win, if you walk out of that room sturdier than me, I won’t be happy.” A leg joke? Be still my beating heart.

“But this”—he points between us—“isn’t particularly fair either. From where I’m standing, you’re doing all the work. I’m like the kid who asks to see the group project the day before the presentation.”

“No geese murder today, my guy. I’m pretty sure it’s Canada’s most sacred law, and I’m not bringing the baby to visit you in prison.”

“Spit it out, man!” “He looked me dead in the fucking eyes and said the words, ‘Not even King Arthur could pull me out of you.’ ”

A deeper part of me realizes, too, that I needed Bo. Someone who, from the moment I stuck out my hand, has understood me at a fundamental level that many people cannot. Someone kind, compassionate, hard-working, who believes in me. That’s enough, I think. To have a friend who believes in me. He doesn’t owe me any more than that.

I’d choose you again. Every other person in the world.

I felt wholly desired with you, Bo. Not just the best bits.” Silently, we pull into a parking lot behind the restaurant. “You deserve to have that in every experience,” he says adamantly,

“Thank you for giving that to me, when no one had given it to you.”

I look away, feeling far too perceived for my liking. And yet a piece of me is grateful for it. It’s so much easier to communicate insecurities when you don’t need to communicate them at all. Isn’t that all we ever want? To be seen and heard? Validated, even when we’re not able to ask for it.

“Do you really think Bo would let it play out that way if he knew? Because, from where I’m standing, that man looks at you like you hung the moon. More than that. The sun too. I’ve never seen anyone look at another person like that.”

Let me in, I want to say amidst the silence. Love me. Trust me. I won’t let you down. I swear it.

He leans against my palm, so I cradle his face, and I feel his jaw trembling. “I love you, Win. I love you so much it makes me feel like I’ve hated everything else in my life up until now. Nothing compares to what I feel for you. Not even close.” “Thank you,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. “Thank you,” he replies.

“When you first told me about the baby, I started thinking a lot more about my mom. Though I didn’t have much in terms of memories, my dad had all these…remnants of her. He kept everything. So every time I needed a piece of my mom, I knew I could go to him, and he’d show me something new.” Bo turns, placing his knee on the couch to face me. “He had this box under his bed filled with photos, jewelry. Things as insignificant as buttons that had fallen off her coat or pennies she’d picked up off the street. All of Mom’s notebooks filled with music she’d written…journals, notes, letters…” Bo says, looking toward the dining room over my shoulder. I reach out my right hand, putting it on his knee and squeezing as best I can. Bo smiles wistfully, taking a deep breath, his eyes turning back toward me. “And through those things, through those little pieces of her, I learned that her story wasn’t just how it ended. I learned about her life. I saw all those scraps of her that Dad kept, and I realized how deeply they had loved each other.”

Because…I always wondered if my mom knew Dad’d kept these things. That he’d been so madly in love with her that she was being memorialized before she was even gone.”

“Remember on the first day, I told you I hid something so that you wouldn’t find it while snooping?” He reaches into the side of the couch. “I stashed it here earlier, for the record. This isn’t where I hid it.” “So mysterious…” I say, my smile faltering into confusion as he pulls out…oh. “This I can’t explain,” he says, holding out the red bandanna I lost on Halloween. “This I kept before I knew anything about the baby. Before I knew how much I was going to love you. Because, clearly, some part of me already did.” I cover my mouth, looking down at his hand, clasped tightly around the bandanna as my brain catches up with my soaring heart. “I think I knew that I needed a piece of you to hold on to. I was walking out of that room and I saw this on the chair next to the door and…I don’t know. I just needed to take a part of that night with me.”