Page 45 of Familiar Things New

“Sorry,” Andrew said again, and then he laughed, too.

Edwin bumped him with his shoulder, and the gesture made Andrew’s stomach flutter. He turned his head to look out the window, hoping that he could conceal how much he enjoyed Edwin’s playfulness. Their train was moving over the Hudson now, the water sparkling in the sunlight.

“It’s hard to believe it’ll take so long for us to reach the city when we’re moving so fast,” Andrew said.

“It is.” Edwin lifted his chin and gestured over at William, who had very clearly fallen asleep already. “William seems to have the right idea.”

“He took the only sofa long enough to lie on, though,” Andrew pointed out. He shimmied lower in his seat, resting his head on the back cushion. “But, uhm, this is nice, too, I think. Not that I’d ever be able to sleep like this. I can barely sleep in my own bed.”

Edwin copied his positioning, folding his hands and resting them atop his midsection.

“Have you always had difficulty sleeping?” he asked.

“Ever since I was little,” Andrew confirmed. “It became worse, though, once I . . .” He paused to consider how much he should divulge. He didn’t want to make Edwin uncomfortable. “Once I left home.”

Edwin arched an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“I, uhm, well, I sort of lost my family. And losing them . . . it’s been . . . hard.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Edwin spluttered, his face contorting into a pained expression. “I, myself, have only ever lost my father, but—”

“I-I meant lost as in, they’re not, uhm, in my life anymore,” Andrew clarified. “Because of . . . the way that I am.”

Grief settled Andrew’s chest as heat crept up the back of his neck. Edwin’s face fell. He stayed frozen for a few seconds while Andrew continued to fiddle with the brim of his hat. Unease slithered up Andrew’s throat. He’d never told anyone that before.

Soon, Andrew began to bounce his leg to expel some of his nervous energy as his thoughts spiraled. Surely he’d said too much. It was clumsy of him to have been so blunt about something like that. Good old Andrew Thompson. Never not socially clumsy. Andrew cringed harder from the thought. Hopefully Edwin wouldn’t fault him for being so honest.

Seconds passed without either of them speaking. And then Edwin’s hand came to rest atop Andrew’s thigh. The weight of Edwin’s hand prompted Andrew to stop bouncing his leg.

“Oh, Andrew, I’m so incredibly sorry,” Edwin said, his hushed voice filled with an unbridled sympathy that brought tears to Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew was still struggling not to cry as Edwin’s hand found his. When their fingers touched, Andrew stilled. His heart stuttered from the rush of fear and longing. Slowly, Edwin laced their fingers together.

“You won’t lose me because of it. I can promise you that,” he said.

Andrew smiled through his unshed tears and nodded with a sniffle.

“I miss them,” he managed to say after a moment more. “I miss my mother. And my siblings. I was never close with my father. He was, uhm, he was a bookkeeper for one of the lumber companies close to our home. He was never very present. Or kind, even. My mother and siblings, though . . . I miss them so much. Every day.”

Edwin squeezed his hand. Andrew squeezed back. After a moment, both men let go at the same time.

“Let’s talk about something happier, maybe?” Edwin suggested. “I’d love to hear more about your business. Didn’t you tell me once that you offer tintypes too?”

Andrew inhaled a trembling breath to try to rein in his emotions. It took several seconds before he could find his words.

Finally, he said, “Yes, I, uhm, I try to offer them, at least, though they aren’t particularly popular anymore.” He paused to sniffle and blinked away the rest of his tears. “I still love them, though. Actually, I think they might be my favorite kind of photograph.”

“Really? Why?”

Shrugging, Andrew looked down at his hat. “A lot of reasons, maybe. I like how the image looks. It’s not as clear, in some respects, but it has more personality. It’s richer, I think. More vibrant than a print, in my opinion.”

“Hm. I hadn’t ever thought about the personality of a photograph before. I’ll have to keep that in mind the next time I see a tintype.” Edwin picked at his cuticles a little more, his brow creasing like he was maybe thinking up another question. “What, uhm, what made you want to be a photographer?”

Andrew thought it over for a couple of seconds. Soon, Edwin looked up, and the men locked eyes. Andrew’s breath caught as he internalized the absolute perfection that was Edwin Beasley.

Between Edwin’s eyebrows, there was a little vertical line—a crease that would likely settle and become a wrinkle when he was older. He had some redness on his cheeks and his nose as well. Not a blush, but something more muted. Just a slight unevenness in his skin tone that was really very lovely to look at. Goodness, he was something. Andrew couldn’t remember the last time he’d found someone so handsome.

Arching an eyebrow, Edwin huffed a light laugh. “Andrew?”