by Rhys Everly
They told me they did not want me to be around them anymore, spreading my sickness to their families. So I left, and I had no one.
At the time, your grandma was still not talking to me. I took whatever I had and traveled. It was a wonderful experience. I learned more about being true to myself than that darn church ever taught me. I met people from all walks of life. I learned not to judge, just like I did not want others to judge me. My trips were a revelation.
Being a homosexual, a gay man, is more than the sin those religious idiots I call my children preach about. Being gay means to be happy, yet so many people have tried to make me unhappy. I know now that being gay runs within me and I could not have changed it no matter how many women I slept with, or how many confessions I went through.
Being gay is wonderful. Being part of a loving community. And we do have our community. I made friends I never thought I would. They were there for me in my darkest of moments, and my happiest. I have made some close friendships. I have even found a partner. Who? Me. A 71-year-old bag like me.
His name is Roland, and he is 75. We have both been married, had families, then accepted who we are. The only difference is his family still talks to him. And they have welcomed me into their home. They even call me dad. Huh, would you believe that?
I am a happy man. I am no longer living a lie. Trust me; It’s amazing to live your life truthfully. I only wish it did not mean being away from you.
Now, you might be wondering why I might be telling you all this. Well, the first reason is because I wanted to explain myself, my disappearance. I wanted you to know the truth, in my own words and not the filtered lies you might have heard from your family. I wanted you to know that I love you very much and that I am very proud of you. To me, you are twice my son. I know you loved me too. I hope that did not change when your parents fed you their lies. If you still love your old grandpa, know I am happy.
Pierce wiped a tear from his eye and sniffed in the snot that threatened to come out of his nose.
He hadn’t talked to his grandad for years before he died. When he found out about his death, he had nearly choked. His breath had stopped. The tears he shed were unstoppable. He kept thinking how he’d missed the chance to tell him goodbye and how much he loved him. His parents would tell him that boys don’t cry and that he should stop. But he couldn’t.
It gnawed on him that he hadn’t told his grandpa he loved him. That he would never talk to him again. But now he was talking to Pierce. And he knew. He knew that Pierce loved him and that he didn’t believe anything his parents had told him. He knew.
He wiped his eyes again and continued on the second page of the letter:
The second reason why I am telling you all this, is because I think you might be gay yourself. I have known you since you were a tiny seed in your mother’s stomach, and seeing you grow up I saw so much of myself in you.
You were not like all the other boys. You were not like your father or your uncle had been when they were children. You were a free spirit. You were so creative. So smart. So sweet. So gentle. When you had reached puberty I was sure—well, as sure as you can be—that you were more like me than anybody could tell. So the reason why I told you about my life is so that you know that you can live a normal life if you really are homosexual yourself. You can find happiness like I did. It is not a sin and you do not need to ask for forgiveness from anybody. You hear me?
If it was any indication from the way your parents treated me, I thought you might be struggling with the same feelings, and if you ever find the courage to tell them, know that you will always have a parent in me. That is why I wrote this letter.
Hopefully, your parents change their ways, but in case they do not, know that you are loved and you are free to love whoever you want. And because I never want you to feel alone like I did when they wrote me off, I’ve put something in the envelope for you. That was the other reason I hid the letter, because I did not want your parents getting a hold of it.
With love,
Your gramps Kevan Callahan
Pierce put the letter down and let himself cry. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, and there was no point. Crying hurt his wound, but he couldn’t stop himself. It hurt more not to.
When it was all out, he blew his nose on the napkins they kept by the bed and wiped his face. He took the envelope and the other papers that had been inside it and opened them to see what they were.
He cried again.
Thirty
Rafe
“Bye, Rafe. Tell Pierce he better get back soon, or I’ll kick his ass,” Damian said as he was leaving the bar after close.
“Will do,” Rafe replied.
“Good night, sweetie.” Damian winked at him and made his way down the street.
Rafe had seen Damian almost every day that week. He had first met him when he got a job at Les Fourches and Pierce introduced them. Pierce had only recently told him he had made out with him.
When he’d next seen Damian he wanted to punch his face, but Damian was too sweet to be jealous of him. Damian himself had reassured Rafe he was no competition. Still, Rafe didn’t like the idea of his man with another one, especially one as handsome as Damian.
He grabbed his backpack from the staff room and waved the supervisor good night. Vance had the night off for a date, and Rafe couldn’t wait to hear all about it.
He walked out of the restaurant and was making his way to the subway when his phone rang. When he looked at it, he saw it was Pierce. Some sense of déjà vu hit him and he didn’t like it one bit. Pierce never called him this late, only texted him before going to bed.
“Hello?” he answered it as calmly as possible.
He heard Pierce on the other end. He was in pain. “Rafe. You have to come get me. I’m not feeling very well,” he said.
Rafe rolled his eyes and stomped his foot on the ground. “What? Where are you?”
“I’m at Riverdale. I can text you the address, I think,” he replied.
That was almost out of the city. “What the hell are you doing there, Pierce?”
He wailed before he answered Rafe’s question. “I’m sorry. I—I thought I was doing something good for you.”
Rafe raged inside and he wanted to tell Pierce to seriously go fuck himself, but he was in pain, and as much as he wanted to teach him another lesson, he needed to make sure he was okay first. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address Pierce gave him. He told Pierce to stay on the line, but Pierce hung up.
Was he trying to infuriate him? Because it was working. What the hell was he doing all the way across town and in pain? Again? Why hadn’t he called 911? What was wrong with him?
He found it difficult to sit on the backseat, playing with his phone in his hands and rolling the window up and down, getting too hot one moment and too cold the next. It had only been five days since they were back from the damn hospital. Why was he running again?
They made their way through the Upper East Side and entered the Bronx. There wasn’t much traffic. When they continued all the way across the Bronx and entered the street Pierce was supposed to be at, he recognized the neighborhood.
Pierce and he had viewed a house around this area no more than a week ago, two days before Pierce ran off the first time. It was one of the viewings that he had managed to go to with Pierce, and he’d regretted it.
He had fallen in love with the place. It had only been a studio, but it was on the fourth floor, had its own bathroom and kitchen, and, despite the mold on the ceiling, the old wooden cupboards in the kitchen, and the plumbing that needed changing, it was a great flat. It was a bit over their budget, at $1400 before the bills or the city tax, so convincing the agency they were able to afford it was a pain. They had to leave the viewing doubly disappointed.
The taxi stopped in front of number 107, and when the driver announced their arrival, Rafe immediately looked around, searching for Pierce in the shadows. He quickly paid the large fare with half his tips and exited
the car.
He looked around some more, but Pierce was nowhere. He got on the curb and looked on the ground for a body, but as far as his eyes could see there weren’t any. The lights from building 107 were offering a generous amount of luminance, but Pierce was nowhere to be found.
“Rafe.” He heard his voice and turned to look at the building entrance.
He had seen a man standing there when he exited the cab, but he had assumed he was the doorman. The man was tall and well-built, in a black suit with skinny trousers and a red shirt, in his hands a small bouquet of white and red roses.
As he approached the man and his vision cleared from the bright lights, he saw it was Pierce, and he was smiling. He had the audacity to smile. Rafe smacked him in the head.
“What the hell did you do again?”
Pierce laughed.
Then Rafe realized. “Wait. What are you wearing? Where did you get this?”
Pierce leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Shhh.”
He gave him the bouquet, took Rafe’s hand, and walked him to the door. He put his free hand in the coat pocket, took a pair of keys out, and opened the door.
“Where are we going? Where did—”
Pierce shushed him again, resting his finger on Rafe’s lips.
When Rafe quietened, he gave him a kiss.
“I was ready to go and shoot some pictures today when I noticed my gramps’s suitcase had a tear. I found an envelope with a letter from him,” he said as he walked him to the elevator.
Rafe stared at Pierce and how well he cleaned up. Not that he didn’t know that already, but he’d never seen him in a suit before. He loved it, and it made his crotch keen too. His frustration dissipated.
Pierce pressed the elevator button, and when the door opened, he let Rafe enter first before following and pressing number four.
“In it, he told me how proud he was of his coming out and accepting himself and how much he loved me. He also told me he had a feeling I was gay too when I was growing up, and that he didn’t want history to repeat itself,” Pierce continued.
The elevator slowed down and Pierce propped the door open, again letting Rafe get out first. Rafe recognized the doors. He recognized the floor. It was the same building they’d viewed the studio apartment. Pierce led him to the same door they’d walked through six days ago—4D.
“So in the letter he told me he opened a bank account for me and included all the details in the letter. So I visited the bank and asked to access the account.” Pierce put a key in the door and opened it.
It was fully lit with fairy lights. Rafe’s fairy lights that he had put on the ceiling of his room. Pierce asked him to go in first.
He did. He walked through the small hallway that led to the open space kitchen and living room of the apartment. There were no couches, only a table and two chairs. There was Chinese takeaway and two glasses of wine next to a bottle of red laid out on the table, which was dressed with a white tablecloth. A few feet from the table, and against the wall, a pile of books. Pierce’s pile of books. And next to it Rafe’s own stack of sketchbooks.
Then he looked at the bed on the right. It was only a mattress, but it was wrapped with a beige comforter, rose petals lain in a heart shape on top of it. There were tea light candles lit everywhere. Rafe couldn’t understand what was happening. Why were their things here? Even his canvas wardrobe was there next to the bed, next to Pierce’s suitcase.
“What—what’s all this?” he stuttered.
Pierce gave him a kiss on the cheek and took hold of both his hands. “In the bank account there was a bit over fifty grand, Rafe. My grandpa saved money for me so that I could be independent of my parents and their hatred. We are fucking rich, baby,” he exclaimed.
Rafe had never seen him like that. Gone were the brusque facade and the cold eyes that only he could see through. He was like a child who had met Santa and actually got the present he’d asked for. And what a present that was. Fifty thousand wasn’t a small amount of money.
“And how did this happen?” It seemed stupid of Rafe to ask, but he couldn’t believe he had managed to move out in a day without Rafe knowing.
“When I saw the amount of money in it, well, I knew we were saved. We could finally get an apartment together and get out of Wang’s way. So I called the agency and asked them if they still had this studio. I know how much you liked it and it was so cheap, compared to the other places, anyway. So I paid them twelves months in advance and voila—a couple taxi rides later, we’re here, and this is all ours,” he explained.
Rafe smiled and hugged Pierce. “Can’t believe you did this in a day’s work. Are you feeling okay? You didn’t lift anything, did you?” he took Pierce’s face in his hands.
Pierce shook his head. “I called Damian and he helped me out. He even bought us a housewarming present,” he replied and let go of Rafe to show him a Star Wars: The Force Awakens clock, already pinned on the wall in the kitchen.
That bastard. He was in on the secret and he had played all innocent. No wonder he’d only come into the restaurant at ten p.m. Rafe had thought that was weird. But what did it matter now? He was with Pierce, they were out of the craphole, and they were happy.
Nothing else mattered. He kissed his boyfriend with a passion he hadn’t before, there in a barren house, waiting for them to fill it.
They were finally free of the stress and the apartment hunts and worry and desperation. They were finally free to be happy. Completely happy.
And he could feel it in the air.
Thirty-One
Pierce
When Pierce woke up the next morning, he was surprised by the bitter smell of coffee beans and a full breakfast waiting for him at the table in the living room. Rafe had already woken up and was busy in the kitchen, but when he saw Pierce get out of bed, he rushed by his side to help him up.
“What’s all this?” he asked when he saw the glorious meal waiting for him on the table.
On one plate were two brioche buns with spinach, tomato, avocado, and melted vegan cheese on top, pita bread with hummus, and tofu frittata.
There was apple juice, orange juice, and in a plate in the middle were pancakes with strawberries, coconut ice cream, and maple syrup. The mixture of the smells made him salivate, and he couldn’t wait to get started on them, but first he wanted to get started on Rafe himself.
“I woke up early and decided to fill up the fridge and make you some breakfast. Although I only take credit for the pancakes and the brioche. The pita bread I bought ready-made,” Rafe said and returned to the kitchen, getting busy with the frying pan over the stove.
Pierce followed him and put his hands on Rafe’s hips and his head on his shoulder. “What are you cooking? Aren’t you going to sit down with me?”
Rafe turned his head and kissed Pierce. Pierce turned him around and deepened the kiss. This guy; he was his everything.
“I’m just finishing up on the mushrooms,” Rafe replied when he resurfaced from the intimacy. “I know how much you love your mushrooms in the morning.”
Pierce hummed and hugged his boyfriend tight. “I love you. Have I told you that?”
“Last night, if I remember right,” Rafe chuckled. “But by all means, don’t stop saying it. Now go eat, before it gets cold.”
Pierce sat down on the table and started on the brioche buns. When he finished his first one, Rafe emptied the mushrooms onto both their plates and sat down with him.
“I thought I’d wake up and find out it was all a bad dream,” Rafe told him.
“Me too. But it’s not. I do have you,” Pierce said and reached out for Rafe’s hands.
“What are you gonna do today? I gotta go to work at five.”
Pierce gazed out of the window that was right in front of the table. The sky was gray and the glass was blurred by the winter frost. It was snowing.
He found, for the first time, that he wasn’t half as mad about it as he would have been once. He still felt bad for all t
he people that couldn’t have the kind of shelter he had. He hadn’t forgotten about them in the least. He had just learned to accept his own happiness without guilt. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to help. And he still wanted to. He just hadn’t found the right way to do so.
“I’m gonna stay in. I thought I might go out and buy a laptop so I don’t have to go out to upload my photos,” he answered to Rafe.
Rafe clapped his hands together like a six-year-old. He was adorable. “How exciting. That sounds fun. Can I come with?”
Pierce laughed. He didn’t believe he even had to ask. Any moment away from Rafe was torture. He wasn’t gonna deny his boyfriend and his heart, the joy of togetherness. Even though they had a whole bunch of lifetime ahead together, he didn’t want to be apart from him unless absolutely necessary.
When they’d finished their breakfast, they got ready and left their house for the nearest market. The snow didn’t look like it was going to settle; it was only a tender but sharp reminder of the closing season giving its finale. There was a month left until spring and Pierce couldn’t wait for it.
But before that, it was Valentine’s, and now that he could afford it he was going to give Rafe a great present. Frankly, all he wanted to spend his newly acquired money on was on his boyfriend. He didn’t much care about himself. He’d rented the house Rafe had loved and had done it for Rafe, so that he wouldn’t stress and worry about anything anymore.
Pierce returned to the flat on his own since Rafe had to leave for work. He had a full evening of exploring his new laptop, and when he finally logged it onto the internet with the help of mobile Wi-Fi the store-person had sold him, he grabbed his camera and decided to upload some of the pictures he had taken.
When he accessed his Facebook homepage he was struck by the red number on the top of his page. He checked the name on the profile to make sure he hadn’t somehow accidentally logged into another man’s account, but naturally that wasn’t the case. He had 2,409 notifications, 45 messages, and 367 friend requests. He was scared to open any of them. But he eventually clicked on the notification button and was taken aback by the content.