by L. A. Witt
“I think so.”
“Yeah. Me too.” She smiled, though it bordered on a grimace. “By the way, Lee said to tell you good luck.”
Michael managed a more genuine smile. “I’ll have to tell him thanks later. He’s out?”
She nodded. “He took the baby over to his mom’s house for a bit. Anyway, come on in. I’ll go get Dylan.”
While we went into the living room, she went upstairs. We both sat on the couch and exchanged uneasy glances.
Upstairs, a door opened, and when voices trickled down to us, Michael closed his eyes and took another deep breath.
“You’ll be fine,” I said again, hoping he couldn’t tell that I was nervous to the point of nausea.
“I know.” He sounded about as certain as I was.
Dylan came into the living room, and both his eyes and his father’s lit up. “Hi, Dad!”
“Hey, kiddo.” Though I was sure he was still nervous, Michael beamed as Dylan hugged him.
As he let his dad go, Dylan looked at me. “Hi, Jason!” Then he paused, his brow furrowing exactly the way his father’s often did. “Wait, what’re you doing here?”
“Dylan!” Daina said, scolding gently. “That’s no way to talk to a guest.”
His cheeks colored, and he smiled sheepishly at me. “Sorry.”
I returned the smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Dylan,” his mother said, “why don’t you have a seat? We want to have a little talk before you go with Dad and Jason.”
Dylan’s smile evaporated and his eyes widened. Eyeing us uncertainly, he sat on the armchair, hands tucked under his knees and his feet swinging from side to side behind the coffee table.
Daina sat on the armrest of Dylan’s chair and stroked his hair. The three of us exchanged glances, everyone silently prodding everyone else to break the ice and get this thing rolling. I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it. The longer the silence went on, the more Dylan fidgeted, and the more I had to struggle to keep from squirming myself. Awkward conversations, with or without children, were not my favorite thing in the world.
Finally Daina took a breath and turned toward her son. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to the punch.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, no!” Michael and Daina both said.
Michael moved to the edge of his chair. “Not at all.”
“You’re not in trouble,” Daina said. “Dad and I—” She paused, eyes darting toward me. “—and Jason just want to talk to you about… some things.”
Dylan’s feet stopped swinging. His voice was taut with panic when he said, “Is Lee going away?”
“No, of course not,” Daina said. “This isn’t about Lee and me. He’ll be home when you come back in two weeks, same as always.”
That relaxed the kid a little, but apprehension lingered in his bunched shoulders.
Michael cleared his throat. “There’s nothing bad going on. We just want to… tell you about a few things in case you have any questions or don’t understand. Okay?”
Dylan nodded. His feet swung forward this time, first one, then the other, expending that restless energy that makes it impossible for a seven-year-old, especially a nervous one, to sit still. His heels hit the couch with rhythmic thunks, echoing my uneasy heartbeat.
Michael and Daina exchanged glances again. She nodded slightly, and he turned back to Dylan.
“You remember when Lee and your mom got together, right?” he asked. “When they first met and started dating?”
Dylan nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Okay, well, Jason and I….” Michael paused, slipping his hand into mine. “We’re kind of doing the same thing.”
Dylan’s eyes shifted between his mom, his dad, me, and Michael’s and my joined hands. We adults held our breath, waiting for him to say something.
Brow furrowed, he said, “So you have a….” His head tilted slightly. “Boyfriend?”
Michael nodded slowly. “Yes. I do.”
“Oh.” He was quiet for a moment. I braced against the barrage of questions. How did kids react to this stuff? Michael’s hand twitched in mine, and I offered a reassuring squeeze.
Finally Dylan spoke again. “Can I have a pudding cup?”
All three of us burst out laughing.
“Of course you can.” Daina stood. “I’ll be right back.” She ruffled Dylan’s hair as she walked past him.
While she was in the kitchen, Dylan faced me. “So you’re my dad’s boyfriend?”
I glanced at Michael, who gave me a quick nod. To Dylan, I said, “Yes, I am.”
Dylan’s gaze shifted from me to his father and back.
Michael cleared his throat. “So, do you have any… questions? Anything? About this?”
The kid shook his head. A moment later Daina returned with a chocolate pudding cup and a spoon. Michael scowled as she handed it to Dylan, but he didn’t say anything.
Dylan shoved the spoon into the pudding and resumed kicking his feet back and forth. After a couple of bites, he said, “Are you guys like Mom and Lee?”
“What do you mean?” Michael asked. “Like, are we married?”
“I guess.” Dylan shrugged.
Michael glanced at me. Then he smiled and put his other hand over mine. “Not quite, but we’ll see what happens.”
“Okay.” Dylan looked at me and said matter-of-factly, “My dad’s smart. Boyfriends are way better than girlfriends.”
“Oh really?” I said. “And why is that?”
The kid wrinkled his nose. “Because girls are gross.”
I couldn’t stop myself from snorting. Neither could Michael.
“What?” Daina scoffed. “They are not.”
“Yes, they are!” Dylan giggled.
“Your mom’s not gross,” I said.
“She doesn’t count. She’s Mom.”
“A seven-year-old’s logic.” Daina shrugged. “Guess you can’t argue with it, right?”
I chuckled. “No, I guess you can’t.”
“Well,” she said with mock indignation, “one day, Dylan, you will realize girls aren’t nearly as gross as you think.”
Dylan just wrinkled his nose again, and his parents and I laughed. None of us spoke as he continued with his snack, supremely unconcerned by the worries of the adult world.
“All right, kiddo,” Daina said when he’d finished with his pudding cup. “Go put that in the trash, and then grab your things so you guys can go.”
Dylan pushed himself off the couch and trotted up the stairs.
As soon as the kid was gone, Michael blew out a breath, closing his eyes and leaning back against the couch.
Daina shook her head. “Michael, I think our parents could learn a lot from him.”
“No kidding,” he said. “That’s assuming they ever stop shitting kittens over us not teaching him how evil ‘the gay’ is.”
She made a quiet noise of agreement. “Do they know yet? Your parents?”
“Not yet.” He met her gaze. “I think I’ll wait on that one for a while. Kind of seems like a ‘need to know’ thing right now.”
“Good point,” she said. “How do you think they’ll take it?”
“Well, better than Seth’s parents, that’s for sure.”
Daina snorted. “That doesn’t take much.”
Michael exhaled hard. “Either way, I’ll deal with that eventually. I mostly needed you and Dylan to know.”
“I’m glad you told us,” she said softly.
“Me too.” Michael pushed himself to his feet and stepped around the coffee table. He hugged his ex-wife, and for a long moment, he held on to her, eyes closed and pure relief written all over his face.
As Dylan came downstairs, Michael let Daina go, and I stood.
“Ready to go?” Michael asked.
Dylan nodded.
As we headed out to the car, Michael took a breath. “Well, that wasn’t so bad. Now I need to talk to Seth.”
&
nbsp; I cringed.
Michael put his arm around me and kissed my cheek. “I’ll sort it out with him. Don’t worry about it.”
Don’t worry about it.
Yeah, right.
Chapter 21
THE FOLLOWING afternoon, we waited for Seth in the patio seating of a pub in the Light District. Nerves coiled in the pit of my stomach, and Michael fidgeted in the chair across from me. I tried to focus on our surroundings, on the gorgeous day we were having, instead of watching the cobbled walkway for Seth.
Summer had definitely arrived in Tucker Springs. The heat wasn’t oppressive yet, but it was here, warming my shoulders as I lounged in a metal chair in front of the pub. A couple of bikes whizzed past us. Kids played between the bronze sculpture of jumping salmon and the abstract art fountain.
Apparently oblivious to his surroundings, Michael thumbed the label on his barely touched beer. He wasn’t agitated like he’d been on the way to explain things to Dylan, but he was definitely nervous. So much for “don’t worry about it.”
He glanced at his watch, then exhaled sharply and went back to peeling the label. “You’re sure he’ll be here?”
I nodded. “You know he will. Assuming he doesn’t get tied up with a walk-in client.”
“Yeah, that sounds like him.”
It took everything I had not to reach for his arm. He was still getting the hang of being anywhere close to out, and knowing our luck, I’d have my hand on him right when Seth showed up. So I kept my fingers wrapped around the base of my beer, which I hadn’t touched much either.
Maybe five minutes later, Seth emerged from the thin afternoon crowd. Hands in his pockets, an expression that rivaled Michael’s for nerves, he approached slowly, almost cautiously.
None of us spoke until Seth eased himself into the empty third chair with a noncommittal “Hey.”
“Hey.” Michael kept his gaze down, swallowing hard.
Seth got a waiter’s attention and ordered a beer. The silence lingered as the waiter returned and handed Seth a brown bottle.
Once the three of us were alone again, Michael cleared his throat. “So. I guess you already know. About….” He gestured at himself and me.
“Yeah, I do.” Seth held Michael’s gaze, seeming to search his eyes. “I… I’m curious, though. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Michael took a deep breath. “Because I wasn’t completely sure myself until….” He glanced at me before turning back to Seth. “Until recently.”
“But did you think you might be?” Seth asked. “I mean, did this just come out of the blue?” He inclined his head. “Or did you think about it earlier on?”
“Um, well….” Michael swallowed hard. “To be honest? I had some idea before you came out to me.”
Seth exhaled. “I figured.”
“You did?”
Nodding, Seth said, “About the time Charlie Turner joined us in band? Hell yeah.”
Michael’s mouth fell open and his face colored. “You knew about that?”
Seth laughed softly. “Come on. You weren’t exactly subtle.”
Michael laughed too. “Man, I didn’t think anyone knew.”
“Well, I don’t think Charlie ever caught on.”
“Thank God for that.” Michael set his shoulders back and looked Seth in the eye. “So we’re clear, I wasn’t out to hide anything from you. I thought about telling you. God, I don’t even know how many times I thought about that.”
“So why didn’t you?” Seth’s tone was gentler than I’d ever heard it before. “What did you think I would do?”
“It wasn’t you. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to accept it myself.” Michael reached for my hand. “And I didn’t fully accept it until recently.”
Seth stared at our hands for a long moment. “I can respect that. I really can, because coming out….” He whistled. “Not an easy thing to do. And it was a bit of a surprise, but hey, if you guys are happy together, then I’m happy for you.”
“You’re not upset that I never told you?”
Seth’s normal response would have been made of snark, but there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm when he spoke. “Michael, if you weren’t ready to tell anyone, who am I to hold that against you? I, of all people, know how hard it is to come out.”
“I know,” Michael said, “which is what worried me. You trusted me enough to tell me, but I couldn’t return the favor?”
“It’s not a favor.” Seth leaned forward, folding his arms behind his beer. “You didn’t owe me anything. Yeah, I hope you can trust me with things like this, but did you trust yourself with it?”
Michael straightened, lowering his gaze. “I…. Maybe that’s it.”
“Course it is.” Seth picked up his beer. “I’m never wrong, you know that.”
Michael laughed again. “Oh, how could I ever forget?”
“No doubt.” Smirking, Seth brought his beer up to his lips. After he’d taken a drink, the seriousness returned to his tone. “I mean it, Mike. Honestly. You had to figure it out on your own, and when you were ready, I would have listened.” His gaze slid toward me. “Or when your boyfriend was ready, as it were.”
My face burned, but Michael squeezed my arm, and I relaxed.
Then, to Seth, he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I needed a few years to really get it through my head.”
“Well, no one ever accused you of being a fast learner.” Beat. They both laughed, and Seth said, “Don’t worry about it, man. Seriously.”
“Thanks,” Michael said. “I think.”
Seth chuckled. “I’m not all that surprised you’re gay, to be quite honest. I’m really not. But there is one thing I really, really do not get.”
“And that is?”
Seth picked up his beer and gestured toward me with it. “What the fuck is up with your taste in men?”
Michael snorted, and I laughed aloud.
“Love you too, Seth,” I said.
“I’m just saying.” He shrugged. “If you were worth dating, I’d have gone after you myself a long time ago.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. We’ve been over this before. You’re not my type and I’m not yours.”
“Exactly.” He raised his beer in a mock toast. “Hence my assessment you’re not worth dating.”
“You’re a real pal, you know that?”
“Don’t take it personally,” Michael said with a smirk. Winking at me, he added, “He’d change his tune if he knew some of the things I know.”
Seth stared at him, speechless for once. Then he shuddered. “God. I don’t even want to know.”
“Liar,” I said into my beer bottle.
He flipped me the bird, and Michael and I snickered.
“So how does Daina feel about all this?” Seth asked. “With Dylan living with you two and all?” He paused. “Did she know you were gay?”
“She didn’t know.” Michael shook his head. “But she does now, and she’s cool with it.”
I chuckled. “And Dylan sure approves.”
Seth’s eyebrows jumped. “Does he, now?”
“Yeah. Boyfriends are better than girlfriends.”
Seth blinked.
“Because according to him,” Michael deadpanned, “girls are gross.”
Seth threw his head back and laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Hand to God,” I said. “I witnessed the whole thing.”
“Well, shit.” Seth set his beer on the table. “He could write the marketing slogans for that mythical gay agenda.” He made a sweeping gesture in the air as if he were outlining an imaginary sign. “Go gay, because girls are gross.”
Michael choked on his beer.
“I think I should tattoo that on both of you,” Seth said. “Banners across your chests. On the house.”
“I’ll pass, thanks,” I said.
“Me too.” Michael smirked. “No tattoos for me anyway. I hate needles.”
Seth and I both eyed him incredulous
ly.
He showed his palms. “What?”
The three of us laughed, and then Michael held up his beer bottle. “To supportive, understanding friends.”
Seth raised his. “Even when those friends have god-awful taste in men.”
“And even worse taste in tattoo artist friends,” I said, clinking the neck of my bottle against theirs.
“Hey, fuck you.” Seth took a drink, and as he sat back in his chair, he gestured down the road leading toward his shop. “You know, Mike, that office space across from Ink Springs is still available.”
“Is it?” Michael tapped his beer bottle against the edge of the table, his gaze drifting toward the same road. “Hmm. I might have to check it out.” Then he looked at me, and the corner of his mouth rose. “It would give me a shorter commute.”
I smiled. “That’s true, it would.”
“And,” Seth said with a grin, “I wouldn’t have to drive clear across town for my appointments, since you’d be right across the street.”
“Aha!” Michael smacked his arm. “I knew there was something Seth-serving in this.”
“Well, yeah.” Seth shrugged. “What’d you expect? Altruism?”
“From you? Please.”
I nodded. “What he said.”
Seth waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, fuck you both.”
“So, about that office space,” Michael said. “As long as we’re down here, why don’t we go have a look?”
We finished our beers, paid our tabs, and left the pub’s patio.
And as we strolled across the busy town square toward the place that could one day become the new Tucker Springs Acupuncture clinic, Michael laced his fingers between mine.
I glanced at him and smiled, curling my fingers around the back of his hand. It was hard to say where this would go. We’d done things completely out of order: moving in together, then sleeping together, then figuring out that what we had was worth all the headache such an arrangement could bring. But I’d never been one to do things the easy way, and Michael seemed content to wander down this unbeaten path with me, crooked as it was.
It was too soon to call it something as complex as love, too late to call it something as simple as lust. But as we walked hand in hand from the town square toward Seth’s shop in the heart of the Light District, I was happy. Life wasn’t perfect. My shoulder wasn’t completely fixed. All my stress hadn’t magically evaporated. My club wasn’t miraculously a profitable, well-oiled machine.