Flowers for the Gardener

Chapter 2-3

How unfair for Ethan to look so fit in jeans. Would be nice to own a pair. A euphemism existed in Rich’s thinking somewhere. Something to do with the wealth to which Ethan eluded and the expectations often imposed by kin. Stupid of him to assume Ethan worked at a job he liked. No reason not to think Ethan might be following his father’s footsteps, the decision nothing more than parental expectation. Same as George Gardener always expected his son to run the firm. The right to presume he or Ethan were happy was another matter.

“What have you been doing all this time?” Ethan asked.

“Studying. Taking a degree. Travelling less than I wanted but more than my parents liked. You?”

“Been away to do training at an RHS garden. Spent two years at Wisley taking their Practical Horticulture Diploma. Though last I heard, they replaced it with a level 4 certificate. I got to drive a tractor. Didn’t offer me the straw hat or sprig of hay to chew on, though. Didn’t even so much as make me wear braces.”

Ethan’s use of sarcasm might annoy him if not for the fact Rich acknowledged surprise—astonishment laced with a heavy twinge of guilt. He was more of a snob than he realised. The moment called for praise, but what to say? A simple well done might sound patronising. Better to offer congratulations, though the gesture would be little improvement. He replied the only way he knew.

“Did you choose to do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Enjoy it?”

“Yeah.”

There, Rich ran out of things to discuss. He wanted to say Ethan won again, but best to leave things be than to antagonise. To his sad-sounding, “I’m glad,” Ethan narrowed his eyes and gave a strange birdlike tilt of his head.

“I wanna ask if you’re taking the piss but I don’t think you are.”

“I’m not. Please, don’t…” Rich shook his head. “Let’s not do this to each other anymore.” Now he sounded tired, and he was. The nervous energy of marching out of the house, ill-prepared for the sharp morning, leaked away.

“I take it you didn’t choose your course or love it.”

Hard to tell whether Ethan was pleased, but Rich answered. “A big fat you got it right in both cases. Business and finance. Exclusive things of which my parents approved.”

“Your father always wanted you to take over one day.”

“Guess none of us believed it would be so soon.” Impossible to discuss his long-lived hope: by the time the day came along, he would discover a decent justification to back out. “Can we drop this?”

“If you want. What else can we hash out? My work? I need to dig up the remaining potatoes, pick the raspberries, net the pond before the leaves fall.” Ethan hesitated. “Bit late for that.”

True. The leaves fell already. Seemed much had slipped since his father’s death.

“I got to clean out the greenhouse, plant spring bulbs. I don’t think it’s quite your thing.”

No, but Rich welcomed the talk of plants if it kept him here. He didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to stop talking. Better to chat over anything to stay here…away from the house, out from under his mother’s watchful glare. With Ethan.

The gentle thrumming beneath his skin became apparent, having existed possibly from the first moment he saw the other man. Or from the second he noticed the handsome specimen Ethan had become.

Thoughts winged away, flying back in time to the fight when they were…what? Fourteen? Ethan pushing him into the dirt, writhing above him. He could still recall seeing what looked to be tiny white stars until he realised they were small stones in the soil. Back then, it meant little, was torment. Later, when Rich left home and lived outside of what his parents dictated…the recollection brought to mind other fledgling feelings. A lot had happened since, numerous experiences where Rich learned much about himself. On that long ago day, he might have goaded Ethan on purpose.

Ethan awaited an answer on what to talk over, but no safe subject presented itself.

“I care for plants well enough. I love trees.” They were an important part of one of his greatest interests though not his focus. Rich had a great love for ecology and preserving the environment, something he could not discuss on any emotional or intellectual level with his mother.

“Well, there’s something I didn’t know about you this morning. One more thing, anyhow.”

“One…more?” To what did Ethan refer?

“Aside from the fact you’re gay, I mean.”

Speaking of the impossible…H-How could the other man know?

As though he read minds, Ethan’s gaze dropped. “You’re thrilled to see me.”

Rich’s face blazed. The moment he believed Ethan could never humiliate him any worse than by trying to make him eat soil, the man spotted his hard-on. Rich fought to swallow; the action hurt. “You still talk bollocks.”

He expected anger. To his shock, Ethan showed him his teeth, but the display lacked aggression, far from feral.

“There’s only one load of bollocks I want to talk about. Tell me, Rich…” He exaggerated the name. “Have you told your mother you’re gay?”