“Do you think you could pick me up? My car is still… My car isn’t here and I need to leave.”
“Sure thing, darling girl. Let me get things settled and I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you, Sway. I owe you one.”
“Far as I can see were even, my love.”
Confused at his words, I ask, “How could we possible call it even, Sway?”
He’s silent for a beat. I can hear him moving around, clearly using this time to pick his words. “Everything happens for a reason, Emmy. I know that now. As much as I hated seeing you gone day in and day out, you brought my Davey to me. So, yes…we’re even. If anything, I still owe you,” he laughs.
I heard about Davey, or David, through the gang. He is my replacement at Corps Security. Apparently, according to Melissa, not too long after he started, he and Sway began a relationship that has only grown since. I’m glad that he’s happy—he deserves to be happy.
“I’ll be in the lobby waiting, okay?” I question, ready to get off the phone and on my way.
“Toodles! Sway is on the way to save the day,” he giggles into the phone before disconnecting.
With a heavy heart, I grab a piece of paper and write Maddox a note.
True to his word, Sway didn’t waste any time getting to me. He loaded up my few belongings into his car and we were on our way. He must have come straight from home because he’s dressed in simple—even if they are hot pink—sweats and a tee. His wig is absent, giving me one of those rare glimpses at him without his public persona.
“Sway…uh, do you really, like, sweat glitter or something?” I ask when I notice that his floorboards are sprinkled with golden glitter.
I’ve always thought it was hilarious how obsessed this man is with gold glitter. First, he painted the sidewalk in the complex that his salon and Corps Security are housed completely in it. Then the guys would randomly run into him and his glitter-throwing ways, coming into the office and dusting it off all over the floors. I can’t even remember how many times I had to clean that junk up. Regardless of why, it always seems to make everyone smile.
“I probably should by now,” he laughs.
Not wanting to be alone with my thoughts, I tell him which hotel to take me to and ask, “So what started all of this craziness?” I laugh.
He’s quiet for a moment, so unlike Sway, so I turn my attention back out the window.
“It all started when I was maybe fifteen, sixteen—hell, I don’t know. Back then, I was still begging for my parents to stop calling me Dilbert,” he laughs. “My parents are both preachers,” he says, shocking me. My eyes widen and I jerk my head in his direction. “Oh, that got your attention, didn’t it, sweetness? Yeah, I was a black man born in the Deep South, gay as it gets, with two preachers for parents. It probably couldn’t have gotten worse for me. They ignored me the best they could but refused to let…well, Sway out. I had to be Dilbert when anyone was around.” He pauses and I settle into the silence around me.
“The only time I was really happy was at Sunday school, at school, or drama class. The art supplies—oh, girlfriend. You should have seen how much I could make a simple piece of construction paper shine like a queen! I guess, in a way, between art projects and costumes for drama, the glitter became my lifeline to keeping my happiness about me. We all have that thing, you know? That one thing that is calming for us. The one thing that, even when your world feels hollow, can make you feel whole. So, as silly as it is, mine is gold glitter. It’s my happy.”
I wipe a wayward tear from my cheek and smile softly at him. “You’re pretty awesome. You know that?”
He laughs and shakes his head.
“I mean it! Do you know how many times the guys would be in a terrible mood, go out and meet with a client, only to come back and be on the receiving end of your glitter throwing? Every single time, they would come back into the office and seem lighter. It was almost like a mood cleaner. You toss some of that stuff in the air and it’s like the people around you are helpless to not feel a little of your happy.”
He pulls into the hotel and parks, turning in his seat to look at me. One thick and manicured hand comes up and smooths my hair down. I smile at him and enjoy the lightness of the moment.
Until he speaks.
“And pray tell, my sweet little honey pot, what is your happy?” His hand leaves my head and reaches out to pull one of my cold ones into his hold, enveloping it between his own.
“What?” I ask faintly.
“You heard me. What is it that calms you? Makes your hollow whole again?” His voice is soft, his eyes searching without judgment—even though he knows the answer.
“I don’t have one anymore, Sway.” That’s as honest as I can be. I never had Maddox, as much as I had hoped during our time at the cabin. He’s the uncatchable.
“Oh, you sweet child. You have a happy, and as soon as you both let go of the bullshit, you’ll have that happy together.”