Another round of cheering, especially as Curtis dragged a small bin of toys onto the middle seat between them, as he shifted around to the back of the car. There were no more than two feet between him and his kids, but it was just enough to provide Camille and himself some cover.
Camille pretended to ring out her ear from the noise. "Ah yes, the sweet sound of children... from afar."
"They're okay when they're your own, you know? You learn to love the noise."
"Whatever you say, Workman. I'm just going to appreciate my silent nights for the time being, playing with my own kind of... toys."
Curtis smiled weakly. He spotted the red gift bag by Camille's side and his eyes grew wide.
"Yes, yes, which reminds me," she said, handing it over to him. "A treat for you. And your change."
Curtis didn't bother to open it up or to count what was left over. He tossed it into the back, under some blankets, and then turned back to Camille. "Thank you so, so much."
"No problem! I hope you enjoy it, but do me a favour and never tell me about it."
Curtis laughed, but the words hurt a little. So maybe friends didn't narrate their sex like he and Adrian did. She's your sister in law, Curtis chastised himself. That's the problem. It's different to hear from Darcy, rather than from you. That's all.
"So how's the party going?"
"Super fun. But now we all want ice cream, so I'm going to go in there and maybe get an ice cream cake for us or something."
"Sounds good. How much longer, do you think?"
"Maybe an hour? Two? D will text you."
"Okay, I figured." Curtis ran a hand through his short hair. He could hear the girls stirring a bit, and not wanting to extend this conversation any longer, Curtis gave a short shrug as he waved. "I guess this is goodbye for now? Enjoy yourself at the party!"
"Oh, I will. Same for you, Workman."
Curtis bit his lip as he slid into the van. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket before he started the car, and flipped it eagerly to see who it was from. When it turned out to be a message from Silas, wondering when they could go over their next presentation, Curtis ignored it. He debated sending Adrian a picture of the sex toy that now lay hidden in the back of his car under some blankets. But he decided against it.
"You girls ready to go for a drive?" he asked as he turned the car on.
"Yeah!" Sierra said. "The beach."
"The beach, huh?" Curtis clucked his tongue. "I guess we could do that."
By the time he pulled into the small parking lot on the Lakeshore, both girls were already asleep. Curtis idled the car, slipping on the low sounds of Surfer Rosa, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He knew right away it was from Adrian.
Does the Family Channel songstress strike again? Oh no! I hope you're holding up all right. I will present you with the wisdom of the Flaming Lips to keep you going. A song lyric followed. Curtis grinned widely and wrote back right away.
Thanks! Needed that. I'm fine now... and I have a story for you.
You do? The kind of story I like?
Curtis shuddered. Of course.
Well, I think I have one for you too. Several, maybe, by the time we meet up again.
Really? What do you mean?
I can tell you more when we see that Radiohead cover band. But... Simone's letting me see other people.
Curtis paused. He stared at the ellipses in Adrian's words and tried to find other meaning. Other people? Did that mean they were getting a divorce? Curtis's heart caught in his throat. He had just seen Adrian and Simone together, and he thought everything was fine. The roar of the cars next to him and the low hum of the turned down CD made Curtis's tension buzz. He didn't know what to say for a long, long time.
What do you mean? Is everything okay?
Yes, everything's fine. Better than fine. I think... she knew how unhappy I've been. About not seeing guys anymore. So we had a long discussion about it the past few days. I just. It's a long story. Should I call you? Where are you?
Curtis glanced up. He saw both of his girls asleep in the backseat. He realized he hadn't cleaned Lacey off as well as he wanted too—there was a stray sprinkle in her hair—and felt his heart pang. They were getting tired and still wanted to go to the beach. He couldn't just let them sleep while he talked to Adrian, especially since Darcy would be done with the party soon. They'd need to go back, get dinner ready, get cleaned off again…. As much as Curtis wanted to hear Adrian's voice, he didn't know if he could handle what was going to be said.
No, don't call. I'm out with the girls, he wrote back. D is hosting a party at the house and I'm going to have to go back soon. I'm on the other side of town...It's impossible.
Okay, Adrian wrote. It was all he said for a long, long time. Curtis stared at his own words—it's impossible—and wondered how true it all was.
Well. The Tourists play Hard Luck in less than a week, right? Thursday night. Not as bad as Wednesday night concert, but... We can talk then. I promise.
You better, Curtis texted back. He waited for Adrian to say something else, but he realized that nothing else would come. This would be all they would have on the matter for a while, and it made Curtis's heart hurt.
As the music still played and his girls still slept, Curtis wondered what 'other people' really meant. If Adrian could see guys, who was that? Was it men like the guy who had fucked Adrian at a party while he listened to 'Once In a Lifetime'? Was it like the guy who passed him between himself and his girlfriend? Or was it like one of the many guys, with broad shoulders and cigarette smoke in their hair, Adrian had hooked up with at parties? One thing that Curtis knew for sure—those other guys were not like him, with two kids and a healthy marriage.
And a sex toy in the backseat, Curtis thought with a sigh. Sometimes, Curtis forgot how different he and Adrian really were. Curtis was in one place in his life, while Adrian was in another. They both had marriages and stable jobs, but Adrian was always far, far more adventurous than Curtis ever would be. Even when they had been so close together, Adrian had always wanted—and gotten—more. Curtis had to get used to how different they really were, and maybe reap the benefits, like those stories and concerts, every so often.
"Daddy?" Lacey called from the backseat. She rubbed her eyes and caught the sprinkle caught in her hair. She shifted in her car seat, but still kept her voice down. "Daddy, I'm tired."
"I know, Lacey Bear. You were asleep. You're going to be tired for a little while after."
Curtis heard Sierra groan as she woke up and yawned. He felt his stomach sink. Whatever privacy he had just carved out was now gone. Curtis hated the twisting feeling in his guts, especially as Sierra beamed at him once she was awake.
"Are we going home?" Sierra asked.
"Soon," Curtis said, glancing at the clock. He saw the lake around them, but it no longer looked tempting to either one of his girls. He turned the car on completely, the engine roaring to life as a few seagulls touched down by the car. The girls seemed amused by the birds, before they started to play with toys close to hand. Curtis felt bad about not taking them outside to the beach like they wanted, but all the fun had been zapped out of the afternoon.
"You know," Curtis said. "I'm tired too, girls. Let's head home."
Both of them nodded, their heads heavy on their shoulders. By the time Curtis pulled into their neighbourhood, both girls were asleep again. He sat in the car, biding his time until the party's end, and still glancing at the phone. He pulled out an obscure lyric from Radiohead's In Rainbows. Track Four, he thought. Weird Fishes. He typed the words to Adrian—about leaving and never looking back—then thought better of it. He deleted everything and put his phone aside.
"Come on, girls," Curtis said as he saw the party break up. "Let's go inside."
Chapter Eight
Adrian stepped into the bar. It took his eyes a while to adjust to the low light, but as he made his way along the back wall, he tried not to stare at the amount of people in too-tight clothi
ng and skinny jeans that clung to thighs. Why is everyone so young? Adrian wondered. The drinking age in Toronto was nineteen, but was this what nineteen-year-olds looked like now? He shook his head and found a seat at the bar, not the tables where most of the couples or groups of friends were. The bar tender was an older guy, at least. White hair poked out from his beard and in his dark hair. He wore a tight T-shirt that displayed his pecs and slight belly. A definite bear.
"What can I get you?" he asked.
Adrian smiled and gave his order. His Corona came in a matter of moments. The bar tender sauntered to the other side of the bar, took more guys' orders, and cleaned down the counter. There was nothing left for Adrian to do—except actually pick up someone.
Adrian had never felt more awkward in his life. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and held it like a lifeline. He minimized the Chrome browser window that had the bar's location listed on a list of Gay Friendly Toronto spaces. Adrian knew all about Church Street's friendly atmosphere to LGBT people and he had learned about a few other places from going to Toronto's Pride events some summers ago, but it had been years since Adrian participated in any kind of gay scene. Even when he had been with guys before, it hadn't been... like this. With too young people hanging off of one another and cackling in shrill laughs or already making-out in the corners. Adrian had deliberately not gone to a club so he could avoid the neon colours and techno beat of music. But even without the out-right grinding on the dance floor, this bar felt like a meat market. Adrian's former hook-ups had always been incidental, a secondary priority when going out. The first priority had always been the music. Without a band to lean on, Adrian didn't know what to do. He didn't recognize the songs that were played low over the bar stereo. He didn't even recognize the ringtones he heard from some men's phones. There were some gay punk bands Adrian had liked growing up—like Pansy Division and Limp Wrist—but the real queercore scene had dispersed by the time his little baby gay heart came along.
And I'm not gay, Adrian tried to remember. I'm bisexual. And it was always so, so much harder to navigate spaces as someone who liked both. He had often identified himself as gay to make things easier and so he didn't get rejected just because he liked women, too. Adrian swallowed hard now, wondering if his bisexuality was visible on his skin somehow. He knew he must look awkward, but that could just mean it was his first time in a gay bar. He glanced down at his hand, his wedding ring still there. That probably isn't a good indication, he figured. But he also didn't want to remove the ring. It had been something he and Simone talked about explicitly when they decided to try out this whole arrangement. While she was okay if he took it off—so long as he put it back on—he couldn't do it. He wanted to have that gold band around his finger, just to remind himself of who he was, past and present. He needed to remind himself, and those who he may hook-up with, who he went home to at night. Simone. It was always going to be Simone.
Not that I have to choose, Adrian reminded himself. Simone was adamant about removing the element of choice here. And while Adrian was glad, because it made him feel less guilty, it still was a choice, wasn't it? It had to be. He and Simone had sat down together and talked over all the parameters, what it would mean, and the way in which this arrangement would occur. This was always going to be a choice about what they could tolerate and what they couldn't. Simone had finally hit her boundary of not-okay when discussing long-term relationships with other men. That was a no-go. She was okay with him going out and finding another man to sleep with (so long as protection was used), but to have sex with someone and fall in love with them... that was too much for her to handle. Adrian was glad she could articulate her own boundaries. It would mean less fighting later on. But he thought about that line, between love and desire, and still knew he was making a choice. To fuck men in a gay bar on the other side of Toronto, or to fall in love with Curtis more. That was the choice. It couldn't be any clearer to him than that.
And so he was here, in a bar he hated, hoping it was good enough.
Adrian took a drink of his beer and tried to clear his mind. He flicked down to his old text messages and saw the last one he had sent Curtis. Just about the Radiohead cover band show, and a quick "sure, okay" back from Curtis. Adrian was in the middle of typing up a lyric from Nirvana's "All Apologies" when someone sat down next to him.
"Hey," the man said. He held up a bottle of the same drink and smiled. "I like your shirt."
Adrian glanced down and realized he was wearing his old, worn Killers concert T-shirt underneath a hoodie. Not the best night wear, but it made him feel comfortable. He set his phone back on counter and focused solely on the guy. "You like the Killers?"
"Definitely. I think I may have been at the Toronto show, too."
"At Kool Haus?"
"Yes, that was it! I was there. I knew I should have gotten a concert shirt—I really like the design." A smile trailed his face as his eyes dipped down to study Adrian's shirt again—and probably assessing Adrian's chest underneath. The guy's light brown hair looked almost golden in the light. His teeth were almost unnaturally straight—his parents had definitely splurged on braces. His skin was clear, but there were some wrinkles around his eyes to make Adrian feel okay. He was not some random nineteen-year-old kid. The guy was probably in his late twenties, while Adrian was almost late thirties, but he could take that.
"So what other music do you like?" Adrian asked. He turned towards the guy, relishing the attention and conversation.
As the guy—Dave, as it turned out—listed off a couple more shows he went to, including one of the last Thursday shows before they broke up, Adrian found himself relaxing. Even as Dave put his hand on Adrian's knee, he didn't mind. He wasn't as overwhelmed or as excited as he thought he'd be, either. But that was neither here nor there, Adrian figured. He felt good enough being in a gay bar, being accepted as gay, and talking to someone about music. It was everything he got from Curtis—except for touch. Real, live touch.
"So, I have to ask," Dave went on. He kept his hand on Adrian's leg even as he eyed Adrian's fingers suspiciously. "The wedding ring. What's with it?"
"Uhh..." Adrian trailed off. "Long story."
"I have some time. I don't have to be anywhere. Do you?"
Adrian bit his lip. He glanced down at his phone, his message to Curtis still unfinished. It was only eleven. He still had some time. "I'm good, then. If you don't mind listening..."
"I don't. But how about you come to my place and tell me your story? Maybe you could put me to bed?"
Adrian took a deep breath in. Dave's hand moved back and forth, his touch electric. He wasn't the best, most perfect person. The sex wouldn't be that amazing either. But the touch was something he wanted more than he'd ever thought possible.
He drained the last of his beer and tossed a couple bills on the table. "Sure. Lead the way."
*~*~*
The sudden thrum of the Friends theme song sounded in from the kitchen. Curtis slipped his headphones completely off his ears, pausing his sweeping, as he fought the urge to clap along with the theme song's beat. He finished fixing up the kitchen, taking out the garbage by the garage, before he popped his head around the corner to see Darcy in the living room. Netflix was hooked up to the flat screen TV and the next episode was already rolling by.
"Really?" Curtis asked. He glanced at the clock by the living room, noting it was nearly midnight. "Friends so late?"
"Shhh. It's addictive. But is it too loud? Will this wake the girls?"
"Nah, they're out like a light." Curtis watched as she lowered the volume anyway, his gaze lingering. "Actually. I was wondering if I could join you?"
"Yes, of course!" She cleared space on the couch for him. As he flopped down, she pulled out the spare blanket and draped it over the two of them. They fell into the episode easily, picking up the storyline right away. Curtis noted the set design in the episode and soon realized that Darcy had already sped through most of the Netflix queue and was already on season
eight. Which was still early 2000s, Curtis had to remember. On the screen, Ross and Rachel were still bickering about VHS tapes.
"I can't believe this was over ten years ago," Curtis remarked. "It seems so bizarre."
"It does. I'm sad not all of the jokes were able to carry over from the time gap. But it's still kind of fun." She nudged his side with her toe. "I've missed watching TV with you."
"Yeah, same here, actually."
Over the winter months, they had cooped up together like this on the couch and watched Last Week Tonight, The Daily Show, The Nightly Show, and whatever other satirical news show had been on. But the comedy of that kind never really lasted; all the episodes blurred together. This winter had been the first time they discovered how much spare time they had now with their kids in school, and they were still figuring out how to fill it with TV. Curtis supposed they could watch Game of Thrones. Everyone at work surely talked about it enough. And it was somehow better than Friends right? He wasn't sure. At least with Friends he could remember where he was and when he first heard all of this. Like a film soundtrack.
She squeezed his feet. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he said. "Just tired, I think."
"Well, if you fall asleep, I'll cover you up."
"Well, thank you. I appreciate it."
"Anytime."
When she grinned at him again, he cuddled over to her more and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tenting them further under the blankets. He watched as Ross and Rachel (predictably) continued to fight, and still felt the sting of tension beneath his own skin. If he really thought about it, he was still bummed about Adrian. A few days had passed since he heard the news, but there had been no resolve. He would be seeing Adrian on Thursday, and that still made him anxious. It wasn't like he could tell any of this to Darcy, though. What would he say? She would probably think his sadness meant he wanted an open relationship too. When no, that wasn't quite it. What Curtis really wanted he still kept away from himself, not ready to look at it yet.
He turned his attention back to the episode. After Ross and Rachel fought, it switched to Phoebe and Joey discussing something, which ended in a chorus of canned laughter as Phoebe questioned if Joey should be wearing a dress. The remark sent tiny pinpricks through Curtis's skin. Gender was always a quick joke, especially for the men. It was all that Curtis had heard growing up in elementary school playgrounds—surely TV had better writers at their disposal? When there was a gay joke, Curtis shifted uncomfortably. When Darcy laughed at the next gay joke, Curtis sighed.
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