Dalton snuggled close, reached out with a gentle hand, and turned Lucas’s cheek so they were seeing each other. “Oh, tiger. We are married. I feel that. Don’t you? I have for a while. But tonight? I couldn’t feel it more.”
That nickname! Dalton rarely used it, but it got him every time when he did.
“You’re inside me right now, Lucas. I am inside you. There’s no one for me except you.”
“There’s no one for me except you, Dalton.” And Lucas’s heart surged and ached at the same time.
“I don’t need a piece of paper, Lucas,” Dalton said. “I am yours forever.”
“You promise?” Lucas asked, felt the ache even deeper—even as his heart soared even higher.
“I do. See? I’m saying it. I do. Do you take me, Lucas?”
Lucas’s eyes filled with tears, and he nodded, allowing himself to push away the hurt and embrace the joy.
2
BUT HIS real soaring point came when Dalton took him to Lucas’s senior prom. When they arrived, Lucas had been quite nervous, especially with what Dalton had done earlier that day. Lucas had been a wreck, sure that something ugly would happen. Thankfully that wasn’t the case, and Dalton had arrived looking dazzling in his tux.
“You got it!” Lucas exclaimed.
“I knew I would. I know the runnings and the schedule of that house as clearly as I know anything”—he leaned in close—“like the shape of your beautiful little ass.”
Lucas had blushed at that. But he’d had another physical reaction. It had delighted Dalton.
“After prom,” he said.
The class for the most part embraced them. There was even clapping when the two of them took to the floor and danced to Shania Twain’s “Forever And For Always.” It was corny, but with its lyrics all about keeping each other and waking up together for all their days, it was enough to make Lucas feel as if he were dancing a foot off the ground.
It was what he had wanted for always.
A perfect evening—until they met Mr. Churchill in the parking lot.
He was leaning against Dalton’s car, arms crossed, the look on his face—well, indescribable. There was just so much there. Anger for sure. Lucas thought he could see hatred, determination. More. So much more.
Assurance. That was what it was, Lucas thought.
Triumph.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Mr. Churchill asked, his voice like stones.
Lucas tried to pull his hand from Dalton’s, but his lover held firmly to his.
“I’m not surprised,” Dalton said, his voice matching his father’s, stone by stone. “Who was your spy?”
Mr. Churchill raised an eyebrow. “Spy?”
“Was it the principal? One of the chaperones?”
“Does it make any difference?” Mr. Churchill’s eyes flashed. “Maybe I just drove down to see if your car was here.”
“Whatever,” Dalton said. “Now, what do you want?”
Mr. Churchill stood up straight. Dropped his arms to his sides, his hands now fists.
Dalton let go of Lucas and stepped half in front of him, his own hands curled into fists.
“I am here to tell you that you are no longer my son. I am no longer paying for your college, and it will be twelve years before you get one cent of your trust fund.”
Which meant that the lawyer Jerry Drake was right. Mr. Churchill didn’t want to fuck with his own money.
Dalton let out a huff of a laugh. “That’s okay, Mr. Churchill,” he said.
He didn’t say “Father,” Lucas heard immediately. Nor Dad. And Lucas didn’t know whether to be sad or not. He’d longed all his life to know his own father. Now Dalton was rejecting his right before Lucas’s eyes.
“It’s okay, is it?” Mr. Churchill asked, eyes now blazing. He raised his fists, not quite before him, and took a step.
“Who’s this old fuck?” came a voice, and to Lucas’s surprise, it was Gabe, one of the stars of the football team. Gabe was a big guy, muscular and tall and broad shouldered. He stepped up so that he too stood in front of Lucas.
“It’s Dalton’s old man,” said John Sanchez, another member of the football team. He joined Dalton at his other side.
Within minutes several more of Lucas’s fellow students, including a few girls, had joined them. Lucas was tingling in surprise. What the hell was going on?
“Yes,” Dalton said. “It’s okay.”
Mr. Churchill seemed suddenly unsure.
“You know you’re not coming back to the house,” he said, his voice not as strong as before.
“I don’t need to,” Dalton stated. “I cleaned out my closet and most of my stuff while you were at work today and Mom was at one of her meetings. I guessed maybe that’s how you knew something was up.”
Mr. Churchill stood taller and puffed out his chest. From the chuckles, Lucas didn’t think he was fooling anyone. “So what’s up, Dalton?”
“I’m not coming home,” he said, then stepped back and took Lucas’s hand again.
Gabe stepped to the side, but it was also clear he wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’ve made a choice. I’ve chosen Lucas.”
Mr. Churchill gave one single tremble before regaining his composure. He clenched his jaw, and his brows turned into one single slash. “You’ve chosen this little faggot over me?”
Dalton put his arm around Lucas’s shoulders, pulled him close. Lucas didn’t know what to do. Part of him wanted to turn and run, part to ask Dalton one more time if this was really what he wanted to do, and part wanted to melt against his man. He chose the last, and his heart surged with love.
“Yes. I’ve chosen the little faggot.”
Another little tremble. Barely suppressed rage. His fists clenched and unclenched at his side. Lucas was sure that if it weren’t for their companions, also known as witnesses, Dalton’s father wouldn’t be holding back.
“How… can… you?” Mr. Churchill said through gritted teeth.
“Because I’m a faggot too,” Dalton said, stunning Lucas out of any ability to do more than lean against his lover.
The look of shock on Mr. Churchill’s face would have been comical had the situation not been so sad. Dalton having to pick….
“And you?” growled Mr. Churchill, waving at the crowd around Dalton and Lucas. More people were joining. “What do you all think about this? These two?”
“I’m a faggot too,” Gabe said.
Lucas had to fight to keep his mouth from falling open. Gabe? Gay?
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Me too!”
Two girls stepped up, abandoning their dates. They grabbed each other’s hands and raised them high. “And we’re dykes,” said one of them, and the second agreed.
Lucas smiled. He saw it now, saw it as one student after another joined him, mocking Mr. Churchill, each saying they were a homo or a cocksucker or a muff diver. It was like something right out of that movie To Wong Foo. Lucas’s smile spread even wider. Bliss.
“What are you smiling at, you little fairy?” Mr. Churchill snarled.
“Something faggy,” Lucas said. And laughed. God, suddenly this man who had seemed so scary now just seemed pathetic.
He looked up at Dalton, who was looking back at him. And then bending to kiss him.
Lucas kissed back. It wasn’t a long kiss. Nor deep. But when he turned back to Mr. Churchill, he saw abject horror on the man’s face. Dalton’s father ripped his gaze from Lucas’s and scanned each of the people around him.
“You’re all freaks,” he rumbled. Then back to Dalton. “One last chance.”
“No, Mr. Churchill—”
Dalton’s father flinched at that.
“—you have one last chance. Take me the way I am, or go away.”
Mr. Churchill shook his head. “Fuck,” he whispered. Once more he looked at Dalton and Lucas and his classmates. “Freaks.”
“Yeah,” said Gabe. “We’re all freaks. Now get out of here. Now.”
/> Mr. Churchill’s eyes went back to Dalton.
Dalton nodded.
And Mr. Churchill left.
Later, back in the room Dalton had gotten them for the night, after they made love (it was very quiet and sweet and almost sad), Dalton began to cry. It started with one heavy tear that dropped from Dalton’s face to Lucas’s. Then he began to sob, and Lucas held him tight and told him that he loved him and everything would be all right.
Because just like his mother had done for Lucas countless times, that’s what you did for those you loved.
2004—2008
1
DALTON TRANSFERRED from the U of M to Wagner University for his second year. With the residential discounts, he saved quite a bit of money. Of course he had to get a part-time job to pay for his schooling, but with his savings and the scholarships he qualified for, it was all doable.
Lucas could have gone to nearly any college he wanted in the country—even outside the country. He chose to stay in Terra’s Gate.
Lucas’s mother didn’t try to convince him to leave. She told him only once that she thought it might be a good idea, and—in a haunting way that almost echoed the words of Dalton’s father—that a young man needed to leave the nest. To get away from his mother and discover life on his own.
But she softened that with, “Although I’m not sure what I would do without you.”
She made it clear that she just wanted him to stay or go for the right reasons. And as much as she loved Dalton, she really did think they were too young to move in with each other.
But she didn’t stop them.
“I’m not stupid,” she said.
Interestingly enough when it came to a gay son (and one with a lover), her life and her decision on her path were completely different from what Dalton’s parents took—and the parents of some of Lucas’s other friends.
She didn’t use religion to condemn.
She didn’t even use it to find some biblical reason why Lucas wasn’t going to hell.
She turned her back on her Baptist upbringing and instead began to take a two-year nondenominational course to become a minister.
“A minister, Mom?” Lucas asked the morning she told him over a cup of coffee. It was their Saturday morning ritual. Coffee and whatever new recipe for scones or biscuits or muffins he’d found that week on the Internet. He’d had no idea he liked baking until he’d gotten that job at The Sweet Spot, and it turned out he liked cooking as well, which was a good thing since it was easier for him to take on that duty in his and Dalton’s household. Not that he was the only one, but with Dalton fixing things around their apartment (which gave them a break on their rent), it seemed only fair.
She shrugged and gave him one of her funny little smiles. “Why not? There have to be those who make a difference. Those who start building the bridge to a world where people see that God loves my son—almost as much as I do.”
He hugged her tight, and they toasted each other with touched coffee mugs and ate their pecan scones.
2
LUCAS AND Dalton had a small apartment on the edge of town over a garage. Not much. But it didn’t need to be. They were together. It was all that mattered to either of them.
Lucas’s mother made them curtains and a quilt for their bed.
Dalton’s mother didn’t do anything.
It didn’t matter. It was an incredible time. So exciting. Everything Lucas had ever dreamed. Dalton said the same thing, and why shouldn’t Lucas believe him? Dalton had given up everything in the world to be with him. So despite the loss of Dalton’s family’s love, there was still love.
Playing house—but for real.
They didn’t see quite as much of each other as they might have hoped. Conflicting class hours and job shifts cut into that time. But it was better than Dalton living two hundred miles away.
And sometimes Dalton brought him flowers.
When they had the time and schedules permitted, it was all the little things that made Lucas so happy. Shopping for groceries, cooking, and doing the dishes—one of them washing, the other drying (their little apartment didn’t have a dishwasher)—even going to the Laundromat was like living a dream.
Lucas’s mother kept asking why they didn’t use her washer and dryer. “You could have dinner here, and we could watch a movie.” Comments that flew in the face of her advice about leaving the nest. It was sweetly amusing. And sometimes they took her up on her offer. But Lucas felt that even the ritual of the Laundromat was romantic. Was there anyone there that didn’t know they were a couple? Washing their underwear together. Smiling at each other as they folded sheets (and underwear).
“Wish my husband helped with the sheets,” said one older lady, hair up in curlers, one night.
Sometimes they shared their rare alone time with friends. Friends made their life together even more real, and they had a surprising number of friends. DVDs, potlucks, games—but most assuredly not spin the bottle, and most especially when Diego came over.
But one of Lucas’s favorite times was when they would simply sit at their kitchen table, a small round wooden thing that had needed a few screws for one of the end hang-down leaves. (It was twenty dollars at a garage sale, including three chairs.) That was magic. Lucas would look across at his lover and be happier than anything.
And of course there was making love. In any room, over their fragile little table, up on the kitchen counter—thank goodness Dalton was tall—the shower (and one hurried time in the alley, Dalton fucking him up against the rear wall of the garage, and the excitement of getting caught was fire).
But especially in their bed—not childhood twin beds but a queen they’d found on Craigslist. Making love. Falling asleep in each other’s arms. Waking up and making love again. Lazy weekends when neither had to get up and rush out to go to class.
“You realize how lucky you are?” Sam asked him one evening. They spoke on the phone because she had moved to New York and somehow been one of those rare people who was in the right place at the right time and was now some kind of big-time DJ at a big-deal club. “Because I’m telling you, finding this dyke a real girlfriend and not some crazy freak has been insane. I think I used up my luck getting my gig at the Phaze.”
Lucas smiled. “Yeah. I know.”
“Good.”
“Is it really that hard to find a girlfriend?” he asked.
“Not finding them. The joke is true. When lesbians meet, they’re trying to move in the next day. At least they want to move in with me. I’ve learned to wait after letting one chick move in and discovering she was bringing about a hundred cats—”
Lucas had to fight a laugh. Sam hated cats.
“—and another wanted us to get matching clit piercings to prove our love, and I was like, fuck that shit. Can you imagine how much that would hurt?”
Lucas didn’t have any idea. He wasn’t even sure what a clitoris looked like. “Bad?” he ventured. He certainly wasn’t interested in either him or Dalton getting their dicks pierced.
“You’re fucking-A right! I don’t even like a little nibble down there. Ms. Pierce-My-Clit liked hers bit. Christ!”
Lucas laughed and tried not to picture the images Sam was conjuring.
“God, Sam. I miss you so much. It gets lonely around here.”
“I know, baby,” she replied. “But it’s not forever. I know it seems like it. But it’s not. Remember we thought high school would never end? Can you believe it’s been almost two years?”
Sometimes he could. Sometimes it seemed longer. Especially on long lonely nights. But he told her he didn’t anyway.
They talked a little longer, then had to sign off because she had to get ready to head over to the Phaze, and they made promises that someday he and Dalton would visit her.
3
BUT THE power came when Lucas and Dalton had evenings when time and events allowed them to sit on their couch and watch their little TV and cuddle and eat microwave popcorn.
They wa
tched New Jersey pass its Civil Union law—Dalton scoffed at that, said it might as well be a Holy Union, but Lucas saw hope. He never gave up hope.
They watched Kurt Hummel come out on Glee, and Lucas was both dizzyingly happy… and a little bitter. If only there had been a Kurt Hummel on television for him when he was in high school. What a difference it would have made.
But then he remembered all those kids standing up for him the night of prom. He really, in the great scheme of things, had little to be bitter about. Especially after what they had already survived.
The year Lucas graduated from college, California passed same-sex marriage.
And Lucas’s hope rose ever higher.
I’m going to marry him someday came the echo of a memory that went back as far as he could remember.
It sounded good. And he knew it was true.
One day, somehow, he just knew he would marry Dalton.
But then in November of that same year, the citizens of California voted to constitutionally ban same-sex marriage by 52.2 percent of voters; same-sex marriage was overturned.
It was the second most crushing event of Lucas’s young life.
Lucas asked if he could leave work early, and his boss let him go without hesitation. And as he left the bakery, he stopped him, looked at him with tears in his eyes. “Never give up,” the middle-aged man told him. “Love will win.”
“You believe that?” Lucas asked him, a man who had turned out to be gay and someone Lucas could talk to through the years.
“I do,” he’d said. Despite the fact that he was single himself.
If he can believe, can’t I?
When Lucas got home, he found Dalton sitting in the dark, watching some moronic black-and-white movie. There were five empty beer bottles on the table in front of him. He’d been crying.
Lucas went into their small kitchen. There were seven bottles of Budweiser left. He suddenly felt the overwhelming need to have one. Did Dalton need another?
A More Perfect Union Page 32