by Rick R. Reed
They’ve all come out to visit John and me in Palm Springs for the Yuletide holidays. John and I moved here a few years ago when John retired from the fire department, and I got my first book contract for what John calls, “yet another Dystopian thriller.” We have a little condo with its own pool in our private backyard and love the slow ease of the desert as compared to Chicago and its crime and ridiculous pace, not to mention the horrors of winter by Lake Michigan.
This is the first time all of us have been together in years.
I allow myself to sit on a big rock even though it freezes my ass. I lean back now and observe what I’ve always dreamed of having and at times wasn’t sure I ever would—my family.
Looking out at the picture-postcard view from the top of the rise are Violet and her husband, Keith, a fellow stockbroker. The two of them now own an apartment building in the Edgewater neighborhood of Chicago, taking the top floor—and its awesome city and lake views—for themselves. They’ve been together almost as long as John and I have. Three decades. They’re happy too. And it warms me to know that Violet, despite the rocky road we traveled together, eventually found her own happily ever after. It’s a bonus that Keith is a man I like, admire, and respect. Open-minded and compassionate, he’s a great husband to Vi and a great stepfather to Henry.
I couldn’t have asked for better.
Violet turns abruptly and looks up at me. She holds a hand at the level of her forehead to block the intense sun, grins, and begins making her way up to where I stand.
Next to me, she links our arms. “It’s beautiful up here. Thanks for thinking of this.”
“Isn’t it gorgeous? It almost doesn’t seem real.”
Together, we stare out at alpine wilderness, jaw-dropping expanses, and an endless blue sky, dotted with a few clouds that make me think, oddly, of flying saucers.
After a time, I say, quietly, “Thank you.”
I turn to her and look into her pale-blue eyes. I take in how much older she is—the crow’s feet around her eyes, the laugh lines framing her mouth, how her blonde hair is gray at the roots and not as lustrous as it once was. She’s thicker around the middle. But then, who among us isn’t? But even with all this, I still see the young woman I married. A sudden vision comes to me.
We were only married a couple of weeks and taking the subway downtown to get to our respective jobs. It was summer and Violet wore a white gauzy dress, with tiny blue polka dots, belted at the waist. Her blonde hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob. The train was crowded. I noticed how other people, men especially, regarded her. She was lovely, young, innocent. Her hair was a silken gold. I could imagine her tentative smile. In that moment, I’d felt such tenderness for her, such love, even though there was something dark in my psyche, pulling me back, telling me that something was slightly off.
Okay, maybe more than slightly.
The fact remained back then and even now, Violet and I shared a special bond.
“For what?”
“For coming out to Palm Springs so we could have a real family holiday. For being supportive. For being you. But most of all, for sticking up for me all those years ago. For being brave enough to stand for what you knew was right. Not everyone can do that. And you did—selflessly.
“I probably wouldn’t have all those special moments I did with Henry as he grew up if it wasn’t for you and your love and understanding, so thank you.” I swallow back the lump in my throat and laugh as I brush a couple of tears away. “I’m getting sentimental in my old age.”
Violet says nothing, but she positions herself in front of me and takes me in her arms. She gives me a good squeeze. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” I tell her. I laugh. “Finding out I was gay was like putting down the shield and the sword, like removing the mask. It was right. But the fact is I’ve always also loved the company of women, their nurturing ways and their bitchiness.” I chuckle again. “And you most of all.”
She breaks away and eyes me. It looks as though she’s about to say something, but all she does is take my hand and squeezes it for a moment. I watch as she returns to her husband. He smiles when she’s at his side again, puts his arm around her, and points to something in the distance.
John, who’s brought up the rear on the trail, just now catches up. I suppose he’d seen Violet and me together. He knows, far too well, all about the wounds from that terrible time so many years ago, when I was afraid I’d lose everything I held most dear. Old scars.
“Everything okay?” John asks.
And now it’s me putting my arm around John. I squeeze him next to me, almost like I’m trying to make the two of us one. A tall order, because John, always beefy, is now more so. Some might say fat. But I call him my big lovable bear. His hair is still thick, but it’s gone silver, the curls cropped short. He wears a full beard that’s almost white. The lack of color in his hair just makes his eyes shine more brightly.
He’s adorable. He still turns heads when we venture out to the gay bars along Arenas in downtown Palm Springs.
“Everything is fine. Couldn’t be better.” I plant a kiss on his cheek. “In fact, this, right here, might be one of the happiest moments of my life.”
Wisely, he says nothing. He simply lays his head on my shoulder.
I bask in his comforting closeness and the rays of the sun.
“Look at those two,” I say after a while.
We both peer down at Henry, now in his thirties, with his own husband, Phillipe. The two now live much too far away, in Montreal, but it makes my heart sing when I see them together because they’re so suited for each other. Their happiness radiates out of them like the sun above us. They’ve been legally married for almost a decade now and still are the most perfect couple I know.
Henry’s helping Phillipe, who’s tall and gangly with a mop of perfectly straight blond hair, down onto a boulder below us. It looks treacherous, but the views have to be even more stunning the closer one gets to the edge.
I watch them settle in on the boulder, their four legs dangling.
I’m grateful that Henry’s coming from a broken household hasn’t affected his ability to be a good and faithful husband, to make a good marriage. I’ve always tried to instill in him that love is the only thing that matters and that love is never in short supply—it will always replenish itself, as long as we nurture it.
“They’re so cute,” John says. “We should urge them to go out for New Year’s Eve. Us old folks can stay in and watch Anderson Cooper and the ball drop at nine o’clock and then go to bed.”
“You make it sound so dirty,” I say.
“I wish.”
We both laugh, leaning even closer and leaning into our shared history. The right history—the one that’s perfect for us. The one that makes us a family.
About the Author
Real Men. True Love.
Rick R. Reed draws inspiration from the lives of gay men to craft stories that quicken the heartbeat, engage emotions, and keep the pages turning. Although he dabbles in horror, dark suspense, and comedy, his attention always returns to the power of love. He’s the award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction and is forever at work on yet another book. Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” You can find him at www.rickrreed.com or www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA with his beloved husband and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix.
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: www.facebook.com/rickrreedbooks
Twitter: @rickrreed
Coming Soon from Rick R. Reed
Sky Full of Mysteries
What if your first love was abducted and presumed dead—but returned twenty years later?
That’s the dilemma Cole Weston faces. Now happily married to Tommy D’Amico, he’s suddenly thrown into a surreal world when his first love, Rory Schneidmiller, unexpectedly reappears.
Where has Rory been a
ll this time? Has he time traveled? What happened to him two decades ago, when a strange mass appeared in the night sky and lifted him into outer space? Rory has no memory of those years. For him, it’s as though only a day or two has passed.
Rory still loves Cole with the passion unique to young first love. Cole has never forgotten Rory, yet Tommy has been his rock, by his side since Rory disappeared.
Cole is forced to choose between an idealized and passionate first love and the comfort of a long-term marriage. How can he decide? Who faces this kind of quandary, anyway? The answers might lie among the stars…
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