The Way to Joe

by Hollis Shiloh

  "I've thought about it."

  "And you care more about what my children will say than about us." He stared at me, clearly hurt.

  "Not just them. Everybody. For the rest of my life." I glared at him, not wanting him to make me say it. If he died, and someday he would, I'd be alone, and I'd have made money off the deal. And everybody would think that was why I'd loved him. Or even that I hadn't loved him at all, only used him.

  "Seth," he said.

  "No, Joe. Just let it go. The only thing that matters is right now. That's all we have. I'm glad we're together, but no way do I want us making that a legal thing for everybody to judge us about. Not cool, man. Not cool."

  He leaned against the sink. He sighed.

  I sighed, too.

  "Okay. I'll stop asking." He touched my shoulder, then walked quietly from the room, sounding discouraged and defeated.

  I watched him go, the way his shoulders slumped, and I wished I could make it better for him. But I just couldn't.

  #

  We took good care of his health for the next few months, concentrating on good eating, the right levels of exercise, not letting him overdo it, and trying some new natural things.

  I walked dogs and looked after a few houses, although just checking on them and general maintenance, stuff like that; I always lived with Joe now.

  We didn't talk about marriage again.

  By the time the weather was nice, Joe was doing well enough that we could go sailing on his boat.

  It was fun. I liked crewing for him. He taught me a lot, and I enjoyed that. I also enjoyed seeing him so confident and happy, his face alight and yet calm as he looked out over the sea, looking cute in his boating clothes. He was affectionate with me, enjoying sharing this.

  I also loved how giving and unselfish my Joe was in bed. Like, if he wasn't up for something, he'd still do what he could to make sure I enjoyed everything possible. He was smart and kind and clever and had skilled hands. Sometimes he got a little steely-eyed and commanding, and I kind of liked that, too. He was so…contained and measured and hot, and he could say the sexiest things in the most controlled voice that grew gruff just at the edges. And when he was well enough, when he could let himself…the man could slowly come unraveled, losing control in the most beautiful way imaginable. I loved that it was me who did that for him, who got him hot and bothered, who made him come so hard he could fall instantly asleep next to me in our big bed.

  Except, even then, I still sort of thought of it as his bed. And sometimes, if I thought too much and got too sad, I had to go downstairs and sleep on the couch or in a guest room. I didn't like to stay there with him when I started feeling like I didn't belong, all restless and strange.

  I didn't want to wake him up and have him see me like that.

  Fortunately, it didn't happen much except at night.

  Anyway, we enjoyed the nicer weather, his better health, sex whenever we could, and a lot of sailing and surfing. We sailed together; I surfed alone, although sometimes he came and watched from the beach, sitting with a book laid open over one thigh, but his eyes on me as he held a slim, bronzed hand up to shield his face from the sun.

  I went to the beach a lot with Suzie. I took her for runs.

  I had always been pretty fit, aware of my body, fairly confident in my strength. Now, though, with the physical exercise I was getting in, not just surfing but running and boating too, and the really good way we ate to keep Joe healthy, it seemed like my body got stronger and stronger. I didn't think I'd ever been that fit before in my life. I had regular bedtimes, healthy mealtimes, and a lot of exercise. It was different from bumming around, surfing, sleeping on strangers' couches and eating when I could, the best I could, but always making do. With Joe, there was no making do. We ate really healthy, because he needed to and could afford to.

  The difference showed up in my body, too. I felt eyes on me now in different ways; my body was more fit and sculpted. I was about at the perfect mix of youth and strength. I was mature without being at the point of really seeming older yet, just a young, fit guy who was probably never going to get any more fit without some serious effort or 'roids. I would never be younger, fitter, or hotter than I was now.

  Not that I was planning to try to be. I liked muscles you could use, not just there for decoration. But I saw the way people looked at my body now, even when I wasn't trying to show off. And I saw a wistful almost-sadness in Joe sometimes, like he didn't think he could keep me.

  I didn't like him looking like that, would have changed myself if it made him feel better. But he did seem to enjoy the fit me in other ways…

  #

  It was way too extravagant, but he knew me too well. He'd paid in advance, and made sure it wasn't refundable.

  Well, I grumbled a little, but only halfheartedly. It was really the best present ever, and I didn't want to be an asshole about it.

  But still. A two-month surfing tour of Australia.

  Who would look after Joe?

  When I asked him that, he just pursed his lips and looked at me with laughing blue eyes, squinting a little, his sensitive mouth quirked at the edges. "If you really think we're together so you can be my nurse, I'm very concerned," he said in an ironic tone.

  I hugged him then, and kissed him, too. It really was the best present ever. I still felt conflicted about it, and that was weird. But I didn't know how to bring it up without seeming ungrateful, so I tried to keep my doubts to myself.

  The days counted down, and I missed him before I even left.

  On the day I left, he fixed my collar for me—a nice shirt for flying in, one with a collar—and I grimaced and tried not to fidget. I hated shirts, much less fancy shirts.

  "Now, it'll be worth it. You'll see." He smoothed the soft blue cloth over my shoulders, almost tentatively. His expression was oddly hesitant, even a little sad as he looked into my eyes, resting his hands there on my shoulders for a moment. "I want you to have fun, okay? Don't worry about me, about anything. Just…enjoy yourself. You deserve it."

  I hated when he talked like that, like I was some irresponsible kid who needed to be spoiled just because I'd done a couple of things right—as if that was all that could be expected from me.

  Really, he had abominably low standards, I guess because of his kids. And I hated that they were ever in his mind, to compare to me. Maybe I was as selfish as they thought I was, if I just wanted him to not have to think about them and me in the same breath, ever.

  I wanted our lives to be separate, and then I could forget that his kids were almost as old as me, and so mean-hearted. I just wanted him for myself, and maybe that was why this surfing trip was actually a good idea, all told.

  Maybe I had to learn to back off a little.

  Still, he looked wistful as he waved goodbye to me at the airport, watching me go for a long time. Maybe he'd miss me. Maybe he didn't just want a few months without a clingy, overprotective boyfriend.

  Even though I thought I'd been doing pretty good, maybe I hadn't.

  I tried not to think depressing thoughts on the plane ride. This was the best present I'd ever gotten, or probably ever would. What could be better? Anyway, I should enjoy it instead of thinking about all the negatives I was probably completely imagining anyway.

  There were some people on the plane who seemed like they were enjoying their vacation already, excited about seeing Australia, and I felt bad for wasting this trip on someone as sour-hearted and downcast as myself.

  Well, maybe I'd perk up and enjoy it. I could only try. After all, it was a present from Joe. I ought to appreciate it, or at least give it a go.

  #

  I'm the sort of guy people talk to. People talked to me on the plane, on the beach, even when I walked to and from the hotel for surfing. Everywhere, somebody had something to say, or a smile to share, or companionship to offer. And yet I had never felt more alone.

  Joe wasn't answering my emails and texts. I finally had to call him, and then he d
idn't answer. It made me heartsick with worry.

  When I finally got a brief, clipped note about how he was fine and I should turn off my electronic devices and enjoy myself, I wanted to throw my phone into the sea. It was hard enough being away from him for so long without being unable to contact him, too.

  I guess it was harder than I knew to be in love—not the easy, mutual, lustful feelings that are there when you're with a person but gone when you're not, except as fond reminiscences. No, this was all-consuming and too powerful, painful like a sharp kick under my breastbone. Except the hurt just kept on hurting, not getting any better.

  I called him again, curling up on my bed in the hotel, after maybe crying my eyes out. When he finally answered, I had the hiccups and could barely talk past the jagged way my voice had been ruined by tears.

  "Are you okay?" He sounded gentle, like he was talking to one of his kids after they'd had a tantrum.

  "I j-just miss you," I said. "Why didn't you want to email m-me? Or talk? Or a-anything?"

  He was awkward a long moment, silent. "I do want all of that," he said at last. "But I think you should have fun and not worry about me."

  "I miss you. I want to c-come home." I'd gotten myself worked into a state. "Why don't you want me there?"

  "I—I do. I just think you deserve more freedom than I've been giving you." He sounded really awkward, like he'd rather be doing anything other than having this conversation with me. "The more I think about it, the more I think you need to branch out. See other men."

  "N-no! Is…is this because I wouldn't marry y-you? Are you breaking up with m-me?"

  "Of course not." He sounded pained, and far too mature. I hated that right now, hated the age difference that could lead to a communication gap this big. And I also hated how he could do this to me, communication gap or no. "I just think I'm holding you back, and I want you to feel free to spread your wings on this trip, get back the freedom of your youth. You shouldn't have to feel like my caretaker all the time."

  "I d-don't!" I started to cry again.

  We talked a little more, but didn't really get anywhere.

  I was offended that he thought I'd cheat on him, alarmed at the thought he might be trying to ease into breaking up with me (over the phone no less), and a basically wreck emotionally. I could hardly talk, much less think clearly. I was a panicky mess.

  He finally promised that he still loved me, told me to blow my nose and get some rest, said over and over again that he wasn't breaking up with me, and apologized for his stupid idea.

  But I was not relieved. Not for long.

  We talked again the next day, and it went better. I was not in tears, and we could talk more easily. But there was reticence on both sides. He tried to explain to me calmly, without offense, that he'd been thinking he was holding me back and wanted to improve in that area, give me chances for freedom. I tried to explain how hurt I was by the way that message went astray, and how I didn't want to be free from him—I loved him.

  We ended that message by reaffirming that we both loved each other and promising to talk again the next day. We did that every day for the rest of my vacation.

  And it's not like I didn't enjoy the waves. I just really missed him.

  By the time I flew home, I was tired and tanned and really, really ready to go to sleep in his arms again. Two months was a long time for me to be celibate. I didn't realize I'd been such a man-whore before. Or else I hadn't been, and I'd just gotten spoiled by all my regular sex with Joe.

  Joe, the man I loved, the man who, in his own weird way, had been trying to set me free, like a little boy chasing away his dog. Did he think he was going to die soon or something? It didn't make sense to me, and it pissed me off.

  My flight was delayed, so I got in late, and didn't want to call him for a ride. He'd already promised not to wait for me, but only to come when I called so he wouldn't overstress himself by spending too long in the crowded airport. When we landed, I didn't want to wake him, so I called a cab.

  I got home and opened the door quietly with my key, delighting in the familiar notch-click of its steady weight. He had a good lock, a really high quality one, replaced since the break-in.

  Toenails clicked on the floor as Suzie rushed to greet me, panting ecstatically. She was a quiet dog, didn't bark at me. I dropped to my knees and put my arms around her, loving her up, maybe getting just a little wet-eyed. Somebody'd missed me, anyway.

  "Hello? Who's there?" It was an unfamiliar voice, a stranger walking into the kitchen, his hair tousled and his eyes sleepy.

  He wore pajamas and came from the direction of upstairs.

  I froze. He froze, too. His lips parted, but he didn't speak.

  "Who are you?" I rose to my feet, dusting my hands off on my board shorts. I spoke coolly, but inside, I could feel my heart shattering into little pieces.

  I took a deep, shaky breath, and moved past him without waiting for an answer. Because of course, I already knew. Subconsciously, I'd connected the dots from the moment I saw him. He was my Joe's age—not my Joe anymore, but still, Joe, the man I loved—and he was healthy-looking, with a confident, handsome grace about him, like a movie star.

  He was the man Joe had loved once but couldn't have. The man whom he'd apparently wanted all along, and now had another chance with.

  I'd never thought Joe would do something like that. Never.

  But he'd spent years married and in the closet, even when he knew very well he was gay.

  I hadn't asked if he'd ever cheated. I hadn't wanted to know.

  I guess I knew now.

  #

  It didn't take long to pack a few things. This wasn't my home, and I guess I'd always known that. I wanted to take the dog, but I didn't feel like she was mine, either.

  I left the wet suit. I'd never be able to wear it again.

  The taste of bile filled my throat.

  The man followed me to the little room where I kept my things—not really my bedroom, but sort of. I usually slept next to Joe, though.

  Now I packed with the best efficiency I could manage. Salt sting kept glazing my eyes, obscuring my view. Everything hurt; everything. The dog nudged at me, trying to bring my attention back to her, but I couldn't. I just couldn't do this.

  The man Joe loved now stood in the doorway, leaning there, his arms crossed. "You're a pretty young man," he said with amusement. "I can see what he sees in you. But I'm not exactly sure why you're packing in such high dudgeon."

  "Don't you?" I asked, my voice shaky, and then wished I hadn't spoken. It made me feel and sound weaker.

  He snorted softly. "You were gone for two months. Did you really expect he wouldn't see anyone in that time?"

  "Not sexually, no."

  "Well, who said anything—"

  The man's voice still held amusement, but now it was cut off by another.

  "Seth?" Joe asked, bewildered. "You're home! Why didn't you—"

  I turned around, and he stopped in the doorway, next to his "friend," one hand on the man's side with a familiarity that he didn't even seem to notice.

  Then suddenly he did, and moved his hand like it had been burned. He looked at me, gulping a little, his eyes alarmed, filled with a kind of sick dread. "No, Seth. You've got it wrong. I didn't—"

  "Right," I said in a clipped, cold voice. "You could at least have the decency not to lie to me." I felt like I was in a melodrama, but I couldn't hold back the tears. "You wanted me gone for two months so you could sneak around and cheat on me. You're such a liar. I trusted you. I can't believe you would do this to me."

  He looked angry, steely-eyed. "Well, clearly you do believe it, coming up with these wild accusations. Kurt here is my friend. He's been staying here for a few days. Nothing's—"

  I turned back to my packing.

  "Nothing's happened sexually, Seth. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "Yes." I continued to pack.

  "You just don't believe me."

  "No, sir, I
don't."

  For a moment, he stood there in frozen, stunned silence. I didn't look at him. I kept packing the best I could with my hands trembling. The dog let out a little whimper, like she was crying in dog language.

  Kurt didn't say anything. Joe didn't say anything. I didn't say anything.

  Then Joe turned on his heel and marched from the room. His steps sounded loud in the quiet. I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes with the sides of my shaking hands, and threw a few more things into a bag. Then I took the stairs down two at a time and left, slamming the door behind me.

  I didn't have a car of my own, so I'd need to call the cab people again. Or else I could stay in one of the houses I was sitting. That would only be a shortish walk, and I was technically allowed, I just hadn't been taking them up on it because I lived with my boyfriend, Joe.

  Well, not anymore, I wasn't.

  As I walked to the nearest house I had the keys to, I promised myself I was never going to fall in love again. I was never going to trust somebody and let him break my heart again like this. If I ever recovered from Joe's betrayal, if I was ever tempted to fall for somebody, I was going to remember every excruciating second of this pain as I walked in the dark, carrying my bags away from the home of the only man I'd ever really loved.

  #

  "Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic about this?"

  That was Caden, on the phone. I'd been telling him about the situation and how I'd moved out. I really needed somebody to talk to, and he wasn't doing very well in his sympathetic friend role.

  "Are you kidding me?" I asked into the phone, my voice rising high in disbelief. "How can you ask me that?"