A More Than Perfect Union
By B.G. Thomas, J. Scott Coatsworth, Jamie Fessenden, Michael Murphy
On June 26, 2015, the Supreme Court of the United States made a monumental decision, and at long last, marriage equality became the law of the land. That ruling made history, and now gay and lesbian Americans will grow up in a country where they will never be denied the right to marry the person they love.
But what about the gay men who waited and wondered all of their lives if the day would ever come when they could stand beside the person they love and say “I do”?
Here, four accomplished authors—married gay men—offer their take on that question as they explore same-sex relationships, love, and matrimony. Men who thought legal marriage was a right they would never have. Men who, unbelievably, now stand legally joined with the men they love. With this book, they share the magic and excitement of dreams that came true—in tales of fantasy and romance with a dose of their personal experiences in the mix.
To commemorate the anniversary of full marriage equality in the US, this anthology celebrates the idea of marriage itself—and the universal truth of it that applies to us all, gay or straight.
This morning, the Supreme Court recognized that the Constitution guarantees marriage equality. In doing so, they’ve reaffirmed that all Americans are entitled to the equal protection of the law. That all people should be treated equally, regardless of who they are or who they love. … This ruling will strengthen all of our communities by offering to all loving same-sex couples the dignity of marriage across this great land. … It’s a victory for gay and lesbian couples who have fought so long for their basic civil rights…. This decision affirms what millions of Americans already believe in their hearts: When all Americans are treated as equal we are all more free…. There’s so much more work to be done to extend the full promise of America to every American. But today, we can say in no uncertain terms that we’ve made our union a little more perfect.
~~ President Barak Obama on the Supreme Court decision for marriage equality
More Than Just a Piece of Paper
ON JUNE 30, 2014, my husband and I became legally married. We had to go to Baltimore to do it, but ironically, even though we couldn’t get married in Missouri, we lived in a state that chose to recognize same-sex marriages from other states.
A few weeks later, same-sex marriage was legalized in Kansas. People asked me, “Don’t you wish you had just waited?”
All I could do was stare at them and say, “Are you kidding?”
Take a half-hour drive, get married, be home an hour or so later…
…or take an amazing romantic trip to Baltimore, a gorgeous historical city, and get married in a wonderful, beautiful way? A marriage that was mostly paid for by my fans and fellow writers. A wedding that I would always remember.
Two years later, I look down at my hand, and I see my wedding band, and I still can’t believe it. Still can’t fathom it. I am married! I am legally married! It’s not a Holy Union or a so-called Civil Union. It is a legal marriage.
Ten years ago the love of my life and I had our own ceremony. Two hundred some people came, and it was beautiful, and we jumped both the sword and the broom and were married in our hearts—the way it was done for thousands of years. That was when we were really married. After all, wasn’t the legal thing just a piece of paper?
And yet….
And yet I have found it wasn’t “just” a piece of paper.
When we got legally married on that June day, when two friends came down from Washington, DC, to be our witnesses, when that representative of the court stood before us under that tacky arch and gave us our vows, when we repeated them, when he declared us married…
…and when we were handed that “piece of paper”?
In that moment I discovered something.
That piece of paper was far more than just a piece of paper!
For now, in my fifties, I finally had been given the same basic human right as every heterosexual person I knew. I was flying! I felt high! I couldn’t believe how different I felt.
Story ideas began to take wing.
I got home, and straight married people said to me, “So after all these years of you two being together, being married doesn’t feel any different, does it?”
But it did!
And gay people? Gay people said, “So don’t you feel different? We feel so different. So amazingly different!”
They agreed with me.
We began to talk about it. And we came to a conclusion.
When someone is straight, they grow up knowing several things. They know they will go to high school and go to the prom and go to college and get married. They know it. It is taken for granted. Their whole culture tells them that. They expect it.
But gay people? We grow up reinterpreting everything. Adapting. We fantasize that maybe we will be brave enough to try and take a same-sex partner to the prom. Most don’t. We certainly didn’t when I went to high school. Or that we’ll find a neighborhood where the neighbors won’t mind that a same-sex couple has moved in next door. Or somehow find a job where our spouse is welcome at the company Christmas party.
We grew up knowing we would never get married. That the best we could hope for is some ceremony we made up, or a Holy Union, and maybe—just maybe—a Civil Union.
Never in my life did I ever expect that I would be legally married to another man!
And I am.
I think that is why I feel different.
I think that is why now, as I type this two years later, when I look down at my hand and see that ring, I am still flying. Because now when I say “husband,” it is more than husband of my heart—he is my legal husband! And oh, the joy!
And that joy has come out of me as pure inspiration. Inspiration in the form of stories. The stories still want to pour out of me.
So I began to plan them and plot them.
And then it hit me.
What about other gay men? Other gay authors who grew up in my world, thinking we could never get married? Other gay authors who are now legally married?
Were they being hit with these wondrous feelings? This amazing power? Did they feel grateful like me? Were they high? Were they flying? Were they being inspired to write stories from this energy as well?
Might they want to join me in writing some stories about men getting legally married? Might they want to take this soaring feeling and write from that energy?
I checked.
They did.
I asked J. Scott Coatsworth, a young author who I like to think I discovered. I bought his first story for my anthology A Taste of Honey.
I asked Jamie Fessenden, a writer whose work I am crazy about and from whom I have yet to find a story that I don’t love.
I asked Michael Murphy, whose novel Little Squirrels Can Climb Tall Trees is one of my favorites. He is also, by the way, one of the two witnesses for my marriage, and he took amazing photographs to forever commemorate our wedding day.
They all said yes.
So here it is. An anthology of novellas, written by gay male authors who are legally married and who all thought it would never happen in our lifetime. Four authors who took that stupefied, grateful, excited energy and wrote stories from that magical place in their hearts.
I think you will love them.
I know I did.
“I do.”
Namasté,
B.G. Thomas
Flames
By J. Scott Coatsworth
Alex and Gio had a big fight, and Alex ran away. Then a fire at home destroyed the life they had built together, and threatened to take Gio away from him.
Alex had always thought love was enough to
keep them together. Why did they need wedding rings or legal certificates? But now, with Gio lost in a coma, his mother has banished Alex from his side.
What if Alex’s voice is the only thing that can bring Gio back from the brink? Their memories are all Gio has left, and the urge to just let go is getting stronger.
Still, nothing can keep Alex from Gio’s side. If it’s against the rules, he’ll break them. In stolen moments alone together, Alex fights to bring him back, one memory at a time.
To Mark.
The one I knew I’d spend the rest of my life with, even if we couldn’t get married.
The one who fought next to me for all those years to help make it happen.
And the one who stood by my side on that rainy afternoon in November in San Francisco, looked into my eyes, and said “I do” without reservation.
I couldn’t do this without you. And I wouldn’t want to.
Prologue
Monday, September 28
THERE WAS only this moment. This place. Alex holding Gio’s hand, gently because of the burns on the back of Gio’s arm. The sounds of the breathing machine came in regular soft sighs.
The little green box held in Alex’s other hand—and all it symbolized between them.
All their life together had shrunk down to this moment, this place, this plea. “Please wake up, Gio. Amore mio, svegliati.”
Chapter One
Saturday, September 12. Two weeks earlier
ALEX WAS late getting home, and he was in a foul mood from the long, difficult day at work. One of the properties he’d made a bid on had fallen through, and another client had all but called him a bald-faced liar.
He was looking forward to getting home, taking a long hot shower, then crawling into bed.
Alex was startled to find a huge meal, complete with wine and candles, laid out on their dining room table. Gio must have spent the whole day cooking.
Alex was late. He’d been delayed with his angry client, and to make matters worse, his phone had up and died halfway through the afternoon and he’d been without his car charger.
He was already annoyed when he walked in the door.
“Welcome home, amore,” Gio called from the kitchen.
“I had a hell of a day….” He caught a whiff of whatever Gio was cooking.
“Come sit down. I’ve got everything ready.”
The dining room looked like a Martha Stewart production of a telenovella Thanksgiving. “I’m sorry. I’m not really hungry. Things were the shits at work today.”
“Sorry to hear that. Have a seat.” Gio grabbed his elbow and urged him toward his chair. “Food makes everything better.”
Alex was starting to get annoyed. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not hungry. I just want to wash up—”
“That’s just the job talking.” Gio took his arm again.
“Knock it off! I’m not in the mood tonight.”
Gio looked hurt, but Alex plowed on, too incensed to stop.
“This isn’t some kind of June and Ward Cleaver thing.”
“I just—”
“You have to let go of your stupid, unrealistic expectations of me and this relationship.”
Gio frowned. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Just because you had a bad day at work, there’s no reason to take it out on me.”
He was right. But Alex couldn’t admit it. “Just leave me the fuck alone,” he said, grabbing his phone charger and storming out. He’d find somewhere else to sleep tonight.
ALEX WOKE, still groggy from the immense amount of alcohol he’d consumed the night before.
Where am I? Memory slowly returned through his aching brain. The Super 8 Motel. It had been close and cheap, and he hadn’t wanted to go back home after the binge he’d gone on.
He sat up and pulled back the motel sheets and bedspread from his naked form. If Gio had been mad at him before, he’d be livid now. And he had the right to be.
The cow skull in the watercolor painting on the wall glared down at him as if in judgment.
God, his head was pounding. He stumbled into the bathroom and ran the water until it was hot. Then somehow he managed to get himself into the shower. He breathed in the steam deeply, and the pressure in his head abated a little, enough that he could start to think.
There was no choice other than to go home and face the music. This whole thing was his mess—he’d made it, and he’d have to live with it. But he could delay his hour of reckoning, at least for a little while longer. He stayed under the warm spray, letting himself forget what waited for him at home.
Eventually the water ran cold and he had to leave the shower.
Alex dried off and checked himself in the mirror. He didn’t look too bad, considering. The eyes were a little red, but they’d have to do. He rubbed his temples with his thumbs, willing the pain to go away.
Alex didn’t have a fresh change of clothing with him, so he pulled his old ones back on. He could change when he got home.
Then he noticed his phone where he’d plugged it in to charge upon reaching his room. At least he’d remembered to grab his charger on his way out of the house.
He had it on Do Not Disturb because he hadn’t wanted to talk with Gio last night, not in the condition Alex had been in. He unplugged the phone from the wall charger. It was fully juiced up now, so he activated it, and a flood of texts and messages arrived.
Jesus, had the Paxton deal gone south? He’d hate to lose that commission.
The thought fled his mind as he scanned the texts. Most were from their friend Oscar.
Alex, they’re calling me. Something happened to Gio. Where are you?
On my way to the U of A Medical Center. Hope to see you there.
At the hospital with Gio. It’s bad…. Alex, where are you?
By the time Alex read the last one, he was at the car, fumbling to find his keys in his briefcase. He fished them out and hopped inside, not bothering with checkout. He threw the case in the passenger seat and peeled out of the motel parking lot.
“Hold on, Gio, hold on,” he whispered to himself. “I’m coming.”
He reached the University of Arizona Medical Center in record time, thanking the traffic gods when he didn’t have an accident and wasn’t stopped for a ticket. He parked his car in the first visible spot in the garage and jumped out, not even bothering to lock it, and ran toward the hospital lobby. A couple walking past shot him a sympathetic glance, but he ignored them.
There was only Gio.
He reached the front desk, panting, hands outstretched on the cool surface as he fought to catch his breath. “I’m looking… for… Giovanni.”
The woman at the desk put her hand on his. “Calm down, sir. Catch your breath.”
He closed his eyes for a second, willing himself to be calm. “Better?” His eyes threatened violence if she didn’t say yes.
She seemed to sense his urgency. “Giovanni, you said?”
Alex swallowed hard and nodded. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried again. “I need to find Giovanni Montanari.”
“Let me look,” she said, her voice full of sympathy. “When was he brought in?”
He checked the messages on his phone. “I don’t know. Late last night, maybe?”
She nodded. “Okay, I found him.”
“How is he?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t tell you that. You’ll have to talk to the doctor.”
“He’s still alive?”
She nodded again. “Yes, sir. He’s in the burn ward. Take the elevator down that hall”—she pointed—“up to the third floor. Then follow the signs.”
He ran down the hall toward the elevator. Burn ward?
THE DOORS opened, and Alex sprinted out of the elevator, pausing only a second to see which way the burn ward was. He almost knocked down a nurse carrying a tray of urine samples.
“Sorry,” he called back.
He ran headfirst into a bear of a man.
“Hey there, slow down,”
the man said, catching him before he could fall.
It was Oscar. His friend helped him back up and guided him to a bank of chairs along one wall.
“Where is he?” Alex was on the verge of panic.
“He’s okay for the moment.” Oscar rubbed his eyes. “They brought him in last night after the fire.”
“Fire? Oh God, what fire?”
Oscar shook his head, narrowing his eyes. “Where the hell were you, man? The fire that burned your house down.”
If Alex hadn’t already been sitting, he would have collapsed then and there. “We had a fight last night,” he said softly, looking down at the tile floor. Then he couldn’t sit any longer. “I need to see him. Where is he?”
“I’ll take you to him, but Alex”—Oscar put his big paw on his friend’s shoulder—“he looks pretty bad.” He led Alex down the hall to Gio’s room and opened the door quietly.
Alex pushed past him and stopped dead.
There he was, the love of Alex’s life. Gio lay in the hospital bed, looking small and forlorn, with a breathing mask attached to his face. The machine made soft sounds as air flowed in and out of Gio’s lungs. The outsides of his arms were covered with burns and some kind of salve, and an IV dripped fluids into his veins. His face was battered and bruised.
Alex stood at the end of Gio’s hospital bed, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him. “How bad are they?”
“Mostly first degree—it looks worse than it is. They think he’ll heal just fine.”
Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “Has he been awake at all?”
Oscar shook his head. “From what they tell me, which isn’t much, he’s in a coma. His brain shut down from the trauma.” He put an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “They pulled him out of the house after it had partially collapsed.”
Alex pulled up a plastic chair next to the bed, searching for a part of Gio’s body that wasn’t damaged. He finally took his right hand and said gently, “Gio, can you feel this? It’s me, Alex. I’m so sorry we fought. That I didn’t come home last night. Maybe if I had….”
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