Worth Waiting For

by Wendy Qualls

  “That’s good.” Brandon let go and picked up his controller again. “Another round?”

  He won again, of course, but not by as huge a margin this time. “Second question: Why did you stay at St. Ben’s? Even if you didn’t want to come out to your family, you could have transferred to a different school.”

  “Like you did?” It was a valid question, but with a complicated answer.

  Brandon grimaced. “Not necessarily… I didn’t mean it that way. Not saying you were wrong to stay; I was just curious.”

  It was only natural, Paul supposed. In retrospect, St. Ben’s probably wasn’t the healthiest college environment for a probably-gay-but-very-closeted guy, but it had been the path of least resistance. “I guess I wasn’t ready to change,” he finally said.

  “Wasn’t ready to accept that you were attracted to other men? Or wasn’t ready to deviate from the trajectory you’d already planned out?”

  “Definitely the latter. But it was more than that.” Paul leaned back against the cushions, letting himself stare at the ceiling for a minute while he tried his best to put it into words. “My parents are pretty conservative—not as strict as some, I wasn’t homeschooled or anything, but they always did see the world in black and white. Still do. Even if I never told them why I wanted to transfer, I would have still had to wrestle with the idea that I was giving in to this compulsion for sin inside me. As long as I stayed at St. Benedict’s, as long as I kept all my lustful thoughts to myself and tried very hard to pray myself straight, I wasn’t a failure yet.”

  Brandon made a choked sound, which drew Paul’s attention back down to him. He was sitting very still, his jaw clenched. “Do you think of yourself as a failure now?”

  “Not now, no.” It had taken a long time to get to that point. Years, even before the thing with Christopher. “I did a lot of thinking. A lot of praying. I accept that I’m gay, that I can’t do anything about that and there’s no point in trying. And I can’t…I just can’t believe that God would make me gay, give me this biological drive, and then punish me for it. If you’re going by the Old Testament prohibitions, it’s all a sin: masturbating, thinking lustful thoughts, premarital sex, all of it. But by the same token, so is divorce and birth control and refusing to force your dead brother’s wife to marry you. So why do divorce and masturbation and birth control get a pass from almost everyone, but being gay doesn’t? Even if I keep it hidden? I finally decided that if God loved me, He was going to accept me as I am, imperfect and all, and it was making me miserable to second-guess what He wanted me to do. All I can do is try to be a good person and a good Christian and pray that it’s enough. I do still get this feeling of residual guilt sometimes, but I am gay and that’s not going to change.”

  Brandon swallowed and nodded, closing his eyes. “That’s … That’s good. What you’re doing. That you’ve thought it through. And I can respect that, even if you’re coming at it a bit differently than I did.”

  He looked so concerned. Paul put down the controller and stood up. “Me next—can I request a dare this time?”

  Brandon looked up at him with confusion. He didn’t point out that—according to the rules of their little game—Paul needed to win something first.

  Because he needs this just as much as I do. “Here it is: I dare you to come to bed with me. I want to hold you for a while and think. I need to do some more thinking tonight. A lot of it, I suspect. I’m sick of second-guessing myself, but you deserve better than me floundering with self-doubt. And I do too.”

  Brandon smiled slightly and took Paul’s outstretched hand. They got ready for bed in silence. And when Paul finally fell asleep, it was with Brandon spooned up around him.

  Chapter 15

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  This time around, it was Paul’s turn to blink blearily up at Brandon. Who was awake enough to have gotten out of bed, thrown a bathrobe on, and magically produced two cups of coffee from somewhere in the distant recesses of the kitchen. Paul propped himself up against the headboard and accepted one of the mugs gratefully. “Coffee make awake go,” he joked with a straight face. “Paul un-function no caffeine.”

  “Har har har.” Brandon settled back into bed next to him, careful not to jostle the mattress too much and cause either of them to spill. “Yes, this is my second cup, which is why I’m capable of complete sentences. And I know you’re more of a morning person than I am, but I’ve seen you drink it before so I know you’re not opposed to a little help.”

  “Not complaining.” It was pretty good coffee. Brandon had gotten the half-spoonful of sugar and the brief slug of creamer almost perfect. Paul shot a pointed glance at the clock and arched one eyebrow.

  “Fine, so it’s earlier than I’d usually choose to get up on a weekend,” Brandon admitted with an eyeroll. “I wanted to show you something, but we need to get moving sooner rather than later.”

  Paul adopted a dramatically suspicious accusatory look. “It involves getting out of bed? After you kept me up so thoroughly last night?” The languid cuddle at bedtime had been fantastic, but somewhere around two in the morning they both found themselves awake again and the languid cuddle transformed into a silent but heated exchange of kisses and then blissfully slow handjobs. Sleepy-snuggly-sex wound up replacing shower sex as Paul’s favorite erotic memory of Brandon sometime in the last several hours. Which was decidedly wonderful: The more memories to choose from, the better.

  “I only claim half responsibility for that, you know.” Brandon smirked and stretched his free arm over his head, blatantly showing off the triangle of chest currently displayed beneath his bathrobe. “Mmmmm. I call dibs on the first shower, since I doubt you’ll be budging until you’ve finished your coffee.”

  He was right, so Paul didn’t bother with a response. Although he did get sidetracked wondering whether Brandon had boxers on under that robe or whether he was totally nude.

  “We’ve got about forty-five minutes before we need to leave, so I’ll be quick. Wear whatever you’ve brought; it’s fine.” Brandon drained the rest of his mug, leaned over to press a quick kiss to Paul’s stubbly cheek, then hopped off the bed to go put it in the sink.

  * * * *

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see when we get there.” Brandon zipped through the Sunday morning traffic with the ease of someone who was used to driving in Atlanta and taking no prisoners. “It’s a good surprise, I hope.”

  That doesn’t sound promising. “You hope,” Paul echoed.

  Brandon’s confident smile turned a bit fragile. “If you don’t want to go, it’s no big deal, but after last night I thought you might be curious. Here we are.”

  Paul caught a glimpse of a large signboard advertising service times. Then they were pulling into the parking lot of a large church built in some sort of modern style, all sweeping curves and elegant landscaping. Brandon shot him a look and pulled into the nearest parking space.

  “So here’s the thing,” he said, turning off the car and twisting in his seat to face Paul. “You’ve been at St. Ben’s for, what, a decade now? And everyone there has made this big deal about how you must be a bad Christian and a terrible role model if you’re gay. But there are plenty of places you can go that don’t treat you like a second-class citizen for being LGBT, and I wanted to show you mine.” One side of his mouth twitched upward a bit in a tiny self-deprecating smile. “Okay, more accurately it’s my brother’s, but I don’t really have a ‘home church’ and everyone here has always been more than welcoming to me. Even when I was in my glitter-and-musicals phase. I’d love for you to see what it’s like for all of you to be welcomed somewhere, not just the not-gay parts.”

  A gay Christian is a contradiction in terms. Paul’s father’s favorite rant echoed in his head. His parents both had rather strong views about what should or shouldn’t be acceptable for a “good Christian,” and homos
exuality was near the top of the shouldn’t list. Another reason Paul had never really thought about coming out of the closet. Still, though, for Brandon to be willing to share this … “This is the oldest brother, right?”

  “Yep – the married one with two kids. You’ll meet my sister-in-law and niece and nephew today, if they’re here this morning.” Brandon shrugged awkwardly. “I didn’t want to tell them we were coming, in case you decided you’d rather we just go back home, but when I’m here we usually sit together for the service and then do lunch afterward.”

  “Ah.” Even beyond the whole church aspect, this felt like a huge step, something like MEETING THE FAMILY in giant flashing marquis lettering. Brandon was willing to share this, even though it meant he’d undoubtedly be the butt of some serious teasing if and when he and Paul went their separate ways.

  Wait, when did that “if” sneak in there?

  This was about more than just reconnecting with an old friend and enjoying some consequence-free sex. Brandon was offering him this, an unexpected solution to his ongoing identity crisis. And Paul would be the biggest jerk in the world if he turned it down.

  He met Brandon’s slightly nervous gaze, nodded, and got out of the car.

  * * * *

  “You said this wasn’t your church,” Paul murmured to Brandon as yet another sharp-eyed older woman spied them from across the communal gathering area and descended with the clear intention of acquiring a hug. “So how does everyone know you?”

  “I’m Eric’s prodigal brother, who shows up on occasion when not traveling for work,” Brandon murmured back. “And who is perpetually single. I swear half the church has tried to set me up with friends and coworkers and recently-out grandsons at some point. People hear ‘gay’ and immediately start matchmaking. It’s their way of showing their queer friends and family that they’re supportive, I suspect.”

  Paul thought about his parents’ own church. And his mother’s attempts to set him up with the daughters and nieces of all her friends. “It’s not that you’re gay,” he said. “They’d be equally bad if you were straight. You’re just a darn good catch.”

  Brandon shot him a private little look—one which was way too hot to be appropriate for a church hallway—but then they were swept up with the social niceties of Brandon introducing his “friend” Paul once again. The little old lady currently in front of them reacted as if Brandon had just announced they were engaged—“We’re all so glad to see you back, and with a friend!”—and practically rubbed her palms together in excitement. “We’re always happy to have you here, you know. Eric and Anita’s pew looks so empty when you’re gone.” She shot a glance over Paul’s shoulder. “Speaking of whom—Eric, you didn’t tell us your brother was bringing a friend this morning!”

  Paul turned around and found himself face-to-face with a slightly older, clean-shaven version of Brandon. Eric looked at Paul, then Brandon, then Paul again, then finally remembered his manners and offered his hand. “Eric Mercer. And my little brother never tells me anything, so I apologize we didn’t come over to say hi when we first came in. Anita!” He waved over a short woman carrying a toddler and casually transferred the little boy to his own hip. “My wife, Anita. This is Liam and the girl spinning in circles over there near the bulletin boards is our daughter, Kimberly. It’s really nice to meet you.”

  Anita was a gorgeous woman of indeterminate ethnicity, with a long black braid almost down to her waist and beautiful brown eyes. Liam had her eyes, but his shock of dark hair was almost a mirror of how Brandon’s looked when he first woke up in the morning. A thought Paul was very careful to keep to himself. “Paul Dunham,” he answered, shaking hands with Eric and Anita and tapping Liam’s tiny shoe with one finger. “Brandon’s told me all about you, of course.” He didn’t miss the slight widening of Brandon’s eyes—a clear oh hell I’m going to get crap for this from my brother later aren’t I look. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting the brother who features so heavily in all Brandon’s embarrassing stories.”

  Eric threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, I definitely like you. You two coming to the house for lunch afterward? I’ve got tons more embarrassing stories I’m sure Brandon hasn’t told you yet. There was this one time—”

  “Yes, okay, thank you,” Brandon interrupted. “Gosh, we better get moving, shouldn’t we? Wouldn’t want to miss the prelude.”

  Anita flashed Paul a silent smile, but it was a sign of welcome. They split, the friendly old lady to go take her place in the back pew “before someone else claims it” and Anita to shuttle Liam to the nursery and Kimberly to the children’s service. Eric led Brandon and Paul to the sanctuary and to what Paul assumed was their semi-regular place.

  “It’s pretty relaxed here,” Brandon whispered as they got settled. “The pastor’s new—well, she was new last year—but I doubt there will be anything really different than what you’re used to.”

  “Pretty sure even the fact that there’s a female pastor would be enough to upset some of my parents’ church friends,” Paul whispered back. “This is beautiful, though. I don’t know what I was expecting, seeing the church from the outside, but this wasn’t it.”

  And honestly, it really was gorgeous. The sanctuary was an irregular shape, wide curves along the back and obtuse angles in the front, but it worked. The stained glass windows were modern and abstract and colorful in the morning sunlight. The friendly pre-service milling about was familiar. Anita slid into the pew between Brandon and Eric just as the prelude started, and Paul lost himself in the music.

  It was a lovely service. Nothing political—about homosexuality or otherwise. The pastor was funny and the choir was very good and even though Paul really wasn’t used to the whole “slideshow of song lyrics” method of presentation, it wasn’t as odd as he thought it would be when he first saw the projector. It helped that Brandon had a gorgeous voice—it was easy to get lost in the experience, listening to Brandon singing on one side of him and the rest of the congregation on the other and everyone so astoundingly relaxed about being there together to worship God. It felt like they were all a comfortable family and were happy to welcome him into their midst.

  The sunshine was pleasantly warm as they exited the church afterward, a beautiful spring day. Paul and Brandon were stopped a few more times on their way out the door—more people coming to say hi and to subtly or not-so-subtly tell Brandon they were excited to see him “with someone.” But then Eric and Anita reappeared with the kids and somehow there were confirmed lunch plans. Brandon extricated the two of them from everyone else wanting to wish him well, and they escaped to the car.

  “So what did you think?”

  “It was wonderful.” Paul wasn’t entirely sure how to verbalize how eye-opening the morning had been—wasn’t sure he was able to parse it all yet. He’d known more liberal churches existed, in theory, but being in one, being a part of the worship community … Paul leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been feeling trapped, honestly. I don’t want to have to give up being a Christian, but I’ve never been terribly good at toeing the line. It always felt like if I failed to keep myself away from this big temptation, I was failing God.”

  Brandon nodded, but stayed silent while he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward the highway. The radio was off, the sun was warm and bright through the windows, and St. Benedict’s was a long way away. Paul watched the traffic outside and smiled quietly to himself for the rest of the drive.

  Chapter 16

  “So how do you know Brandon, then?” Eric poured four glasses of lemonade and started handing them around while Anita sliced some French bread and fiddled with whatever was in the Crock-Pot. “I hope it’s not too awkward if I mention that he doesn’t often bring guys to church.”

  “We reconnected recently.” Paul smiled politely, hedging a bit. Brandon really hadn’t said whether it w
as okay to allude to their… Well, it was hard to call it anything other than a relationship between them at this point, but Paul was still a bit vague on whether “fuck buddies” or “exceedingly persistent one-night stand” was the most accurate. And with Brandon in the living room with the kids, there wasn’t really a frame of reference for how he was supposed to answer.

  “You’ve known each other long?” Anita asked, looking up. She caught Eric’s expression and shrugged. “I’m always interested to hear what your brothers were like before I met you; you know that. Especially Brandon, he’s changed so much even since we were married.”

  “He did mention a bit about that,” Paul said. “We hadn’t seen each other for almost ten years before last week—we were in the same hall at St. Benedict’s, freshman year. Brandon transferred out that summer, so we were only friends for a semester or two, but—”

  Eric sputtered and choked on his lemonade. “Holy crap, you’re that Paul? My God, that’s…wow.”

  “You don’t have to make it sound so dramatic,” Brandon announced from the doorway. He had Liam on one hip and Kimberly twined around his other leg, practically sitting on his shoe. “But yes, he’s that Paul.”

  “Holy crap,” Eric repeated.

  Paul looked back and forth between the two brothers. They really did look very similar—slightly different build, and Eric lacked Brandon’s beard, but they both had the same dark-brown-almost-black hair with a hint of curl, although Eric’s was longer. Same shaped nose, same eyes, and they were shooting each other identical expressions of sibling affront Paul knew very well from seeing it on his own sister’s face so many times. “Should I be worried?” he asked.