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Behind him he hears just the whisper of the door opening and soft shuffle of footsteps. Pran approaches with a quiet reverence that pays respect for Pat’s endeavor. Pat doesn’t change position from where he bends forward, eyes on the screen of the camera, peering at what the telephoto lens has framed. He doesn’t feel so much as sense Pran behind him, the soft movement of his clothes, his warmth, the subtle scent of tea.
“They’re in a good mood today,” Pat says softly.
Pran carefully sets two mugs of tea on the railing of the porch. Herbal tea, of course. Caffeine after noon invites difficulty sleeping. He leans toward Pat, into his space, and looks at the screen. A pair of birds, a bonded pair, curve into each other and share a branch. To the naked eye, they are just flecks of color in the tree. Through the screen, Pran can see the iridescence on their feathers. He imagines he can see their little bird expressions as they appear to be content. One always appears to be calmer while the other likes to bob and shake its head.
Last year, in a fit of sentimentality, Pat nicknamed them Beloved and Yearning. Pran wondered at the names, but never remarked on it. It was three months after Ming’s passing, and Pat’s melancholy was just settling into a susurration of wistful acceptance. Pat had taken a skilled but also very lucky shot of the pair, and Pran had painted them. It is a great fortune to see that they are still around a year later.
Pat takes a couple of shots and then stands to grab the tea. He hands one to Pran and then lifts his own in an unconscious toast. They smile at each other in comfortable silence and then turn to look out at the scenery.
The cabin is small but has a large wrap around porch. It’s a small vacation home far from the bustle of Bangkok. Plenty of greenery, birds, and natural light to accommodate some relaxed painting. Pran still sketches regularly, but he only paints while on vacation. Now in the hour before sunset, it feels a world apart from the loud and hectic city.
Pran takes a sip of tea, and as he tilts his head, a wisp of hair slides in front of his forehead. He shakes his head to flick it back. It’s a youthful gesture despite that his hair is now more steel grey than black. Pat reaches forward to brush it back for him.
They both move to the deck chairs and sit. Pran stretches a leg to rest his foot on top of Pat’s.
“We should probably get some hammocks and more propane for the grill,” Pran remarks. Their niece, Bokeh, is graduating soon, and would like to bring some friends to the cabin for a celebratory trip. It’s a bit small for more than two people, but young people seem not to mind living on top of each other in the pursuit of camaraderie and fun. Given her personality, they thought the cabin would be too sedate a location for celebration, but she is enthusiastic. She was undeterred even when they warned that there is no wifi.
“Mm,” Pat agrees. “We should buy a couple more flashlights just in case.” The electricity does like to go out after heavy rains.
“I can cook, if you are feeling hungry,” Pran offers. They were up early and drove most of the day, stopping for groceries in the nearest town. Other than showers, making the bed and setting up the camera, they haven’t done much else.
Pat shakes his head. “Not hungry yet. I just want to enjoy this for awhile.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Pran scoffs, but his eyes are twinkling. “I’m old.”
Pat lays a hand on his knee. “You’re old and beautiful. Maturity is sexy. I mean, look at me. I’m older than you, and I’m sexy as hell.”
Pran grins and winks. It’s Pat’s move, but their quirks have long since combined.
“Speedy quizzes?” Pran asks.
Pat nods. “Hit me.”
“What’s your favorite bird?”
“Painted stork. Even though you don’t see any around here. What’s your favorite of Pa’s movies?”
“Infinite Heart.” It was her first producer gig, and there had been a dedication to Pat in the credits. “Do you ever regret leaving corporate life?”
Pat is quick to shake his head no. A few years ago, he’d left his corporate job to work as an engineer for a sustainable rural development non-profit. After Pran, Uncle Tong was the first person with whom Pat had shared the news. The money is somewhat less, but they don’t really need it, and the work gives Pat deeper satisfaction than he had ever thought possible. It was in his work travels that he had discovered his fondness for bird watching and convinced Pran to get the cabin. They had long talked about getting something small near the beach, but this cabin close to the wilderness brings the same feel of honeymoon seclusion.
Pat pauses. “Do you ever wish we’d had kids?”
Pran is silent for a long time, but his face is serene. He takes a last sip of tea and sets the mug on the floor beside his chair. “I don’t regret,” he says softly. “I think about it sometimes. What it would have been like. I realize now we would have been good parents. But for so long I was scared that I would just pass on, you know, too much.” He can’t say it out loud, because even now he can’t be disloyal. But he had feared the part of him that would parent with rigidity, demands for excellence…too much expectation. He never wanted another person to feel his love was conditional on performance. But he can’t really admit that, even to himself. He turns to Pat. “This isn’t an accusation. Don’t take this the wrong way. The entire space of my heart is filled with you. I wasn’t sure there was room for another.”
Pat blinks and his nose starts to sting a little bit. It’s nothing they haven’t really said before. They’ve said everything. It’s been 35 years. But the sentiment still overwhelms him. He’d said something similar to Pa many years ago. She’d assured him that the heart is an ever-expanding space. One never needs to share. “Hia,” she’d said. “When you have a child, a new room opens up. The heart is infinite.” Pat and Pran had talked about kids. They weren’t opposed, but it had never been a compulsion strong enough to commit to it. Bokeh had given them an outlet for some of their paternal instincts, as well as Korn’s children and Wai’s. And oddly, Junior, while he was still a young man.
“My turn,” Pran says. “What do you want to do when we retire?”
This is also a well-worn topic. I can be anywhere as long as it’s with you. Pat has joked that he wants to go to the Americas and find the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker. Believed extinct, it’s the holy grail of bird watchers. “Travel,” he says. “See the pyramids. The terra cotta warriors. Go to Tomorrowland and blow our ears out listening to music. Have sex before lunch.” He quirks a brow at Pran’s bark of laughter. “Maybe pick up an old man hobby like doing puzzles.” He smirks. Pran likes puzzles.
Pran snorts. “I hate to break it to you, my dear, but bird watching is an old man hobby.”
“Fair. Okay. Last question.” He sets his own mug down on the floor. Pran’s eyes turn soft. This is always the last question, no matter whose turn. “Would you do it again?”
They both grasp each other’s hand and squeeze three times. I love you. “Always,” Pran says. They smile at each other as the golden light around them deepens and takes on a feeling of weight.
“Last last question,” Pran says brightly, and he stands up. “What would you like for dinner?”
“Curry. And you.”
“Okay, Romeo. Grab the mugs.”
Pran enters the cabin, and Pat follows. Beloved and Yearning vocalize at the setting sun.