And It Came to Pass

by Laura Stone

  Adam laughed softly and held Brandon’s hand, took in how neatly their hands fit together, allowed himself to just be happy. He squeezed Brandon’s hand and murmured, “My turn.” He gave a quick blessing over the food, and they both dug in. After a few bites, he asked, “Wouldn’t it be great if it could always be like this?”

  Brandon swallowed, “I’d prefer something not from cans, myself.”

  Adam kicked Brandon’s shoe under the table. “You know what I mean, you jerk.”

  “Yeah.” Brandon smiled; his cheeks were tinged pink. “I do. And yeah. It really would be.”

  They both looked at each other for a long time. Adam was the first to break eye contact, almost overwhelmed by how easy it was, by how easy it could be, if only they weren’t trapped by a system of rules that wanted to turn what they shared into something hateful and wrong, something ugly and shameful.

  There was nothing ugly about Brandon, not to Adam. There was nothing shameful in the way they looked out for each other, cared for one another. Nothing hateful in their easy manner with one another, nothing wrong about them and what they felt, nothing.

  Soon enough after coming home from their missions, they’d be pressured by their church leaders and parents into getting married, starting their own families and moving on to the next stage of life. Adam could see himself happily following that prescribed path if only he could have Brandon by his side. If only.

  He pushed the food around on his plate. “I don’t know what to do about this, Brandon. I don’t want to tell him, tell them anything. They won’t understand and they’ll make it something sinful. But…”

  Brandon leaned his head against the wall, closed his eyes and nodded. “But I don’t want to act like this isn’t who I am, Adam, that this isn’t what I want. That you aren’t what I want.”

  Adam held his breath. “I am?”

  “Yeah, you nerd.” Brandon gently kicked Adam’s foot. “I mean, I already know you snore—”

  “I do not!’

  “You do; it’s hilarious that you think you don’t. And I know that you change your socks three times a day—”

  “I only have wool socks. We’re by the ocean, Brandon.”

  “And you think no one sees how good you are, how good you’re trying to be—”

  “I’m not— I’m just—”

  “But I do. I see you. I see who you are, who you want to be. I know you. The real you, Adam. Not the person you were told you had to be, but who you really are.”

  Adam was laid bare, stripped of all pretense and carefully chosen mannerisms under Brandon’s unwavering but thoughtful gaze. Instead of feeling exposed and scared by that laser focus, he was exhilarated. Someone knew who he was, who he really was. And they still wanted him.

  “You’re always putting other people first,” Brandon said. “You always do things for other people instead of yourself. But I like that you let me take care of you. I like that you let me in.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched, but Adam managed to fight down the dopey grin he knew was trying to come out.

  “And if I’m doing it just right,” Brandon said, eyes mischievous as he put his weight on his elbows, leaning in to say softly, “your eyes roll back, you start breathing heavily, and your stomach muscles tighten up right before you—”

  “Okay, there! That’s enough of that, huh?” Adam, blushing furiously over bedroom talk not being restricted to the bedroom, pointed at his mostly empty plate. “I mean, tuna noodles, am I right? Some good stuff, right there.”

  Brandon laughed, squeezing Adam’s arm.

  “Baby steps, okay?” Adam said, his cheeks hot. He’d never seen his parents hug with both arms. A person couldn’t talk about… about orgasms in the light of day. At the dang dinner table. He still had on his missionary tag, for crying out loud. “I mean, it’s not like…” He coughed to clear his throat, aware that he was starting to get aroused by the way Brandon was sitting back in his chair, with his hands looped together behind his head and staring at him with a dirty grin. “It’s not like I don’t like that stuff. It’s just, you know.”

  Brandon sucked on his teeth, clearly fighting back a laugh. “It’s just, well, tuna noodles. Right.”

  “Jerk,” Adam said, but there wasn’t any heat to it. He was so new to this, and that left him wrong-footed and prone to feeling stupid and prudish. He was stupid and prudish, even he could admit it. That just added to the whole embarrassment thing—how obvious his immaturity was.

  He gathered the dirty dishes and turned on the water. Before he could get started on the cleanup, Brandon was there with his hands on Adam’s hips and his mouth at Adam’s neck. Adam dropped the soapy scrub brush into the sink and gripped the edge of the countertop; he pushed back into the warmth and comfort of Brandon’s body as Brandon pressed forward against him.

  Adam sighed as Brandon held him close and his mouth whispered into Adam’s skin, “You have to know how much I want you, Adam. But not just that, the physical stuff. It’s how much you mean to me.”

  “That’s how it is for me, too. Brandon, you have to know that, too.”

  “I do. It’s just cute how flustered you get.”

  “I’ll show you cute,” Adam said, turning in Brandon’s hold and surging forward to kiss him. If he stopped all the embarrassing and wonderful things coming out of Brandon’s mouth by doing so, that was just a side benefit.

  They got as far as ties off and dress shirts unbuttoned before the phone rang. Adam jumped back from Brandon as if he’d been hit with a cattle prod. Brandon sighed and grabbed the phone as Adam got his clothes back to rights. A phone call on a Sunday night could only mean the Missionary President or their Zone Leader with new instructions.

  “Mm hmm. No, that’s an honor, sir, thank you. We’ll go over the particulars tomorrow, right. See you then. Hasta mañana.”

  Brandon hung up the phone, stared at it and calmly reported, “I’ve been made the new Zone Leader. We meet with the new Mish-Pres tomorrow.” He looked up, and his face was void of all color. “Looks like I get to meet your parents right away.”

  Zone Leader. It was considered a huge honor, one that came with a lot of responsibilities. It meant that he and Brandon would almost always be saddled with another missionary to help handle all the extra tasks Brandon would now have, that Brandon would be the point man for the other missionaries, that their phone wouldn’t stop ringing and that they’d be with Adam’s father for a good chunk of the time.

  They’d be with his dad. His father. He and Brandon, the guy he was falling in love with. Oh, gosh, a guy. He flashed back to a conversation between his dad and another priesthood holder discussing one of the apostle’s answers to dealing with homosexuals, particularly when on a mission, how that church leader had actually said, “Sometimes you might just have to lay them out, a solid punch in the mouth. Although life’s road might be lonely for those of same-sex attraction, happiness can be found in the Church by faithfully following its teachings.”

  Adam was beginning to doubt any chance of finding lasting happiness through the Church’s teachings. He clung to an idea from the letter Brandon’s mother had sent him, the one that said they should focus on how it felt to follow what they believed, how doing what he believed his Heavenly Father wanted him to do was always the right choice.

  Now, his instinct was to believe what he and Brandon shared was love, was real. And God is love. All the bliss, all the goodness in a person’s life was a gift from God. The scriptures said it, the hymns said it and his heart believed it.

  He couldn’t reconcile the Church teaching that gay and lesbian Mormons were fundamentally flawed and unworthy of God’s blessings for being what God had made. It seemed as if his choice was quickly being narrowed down to being with Brandon, being himself and being grateful to his Heavenly Father for bringing such a blessing of love into his life and lose his m
embership and all that came with it or follow the Church’s teachings and being miserable for an eternity. The two choices just couldn’t work together. So really, it came down to where he chose to put his faith: in love or in the Church.

  Chapter Nine

  “And by their desires and their works you shall know them.” (D-C 18:38)

  “Reconcile yourself to the will of God“ (2 Nephi 10:24)

  “In the Church, we enjoy the companionship of other members. We mutually help and inspire one another to live as Christ lives. This companionship gives strength to endure the challenges of daily life and to avoid temptation.” - 6th Missionary Discussion

  The next day found them going about their usual morning routine and setting aside their laundry; it was Monday. P-Day. Instead of having a relaxing day hanging out with the other missionaries in the beautiful late Spring weather, they would be inside meeting with the new Mission President.

  Adam examined himself in the mirror as he finished with his tie, looking for anything his father might criticize. Brandon came out of the bathroom in cargo shorts and a UC-Davis T-shirt, clothing acceptable for them to wear on P-Day—not acceptable to meet the new President, though. Not in Adam’s eyes, at least.

  “Brandon, you have to wear a suit.”

  “It’s my one day off! Besides, I don’t have anything clean,” Brandon said, kicking his hamper with the side of his foot. “Laundry day, remember?”

  “My father doesn’t believe in days off. Look, I’ve got a shirt left; you can wear that.”

  “Hey,” Brandon said, squeezing Adam’s shoulders. “It’s going to be okay, Adam. We’re good missionaries. We have a great reputation with the local members and the other guys, too. It’s just another day, okay? He’s the Missionary President today, not your father. Just treat him like you did Brother Jensen. Deep breath, man.”

  Nodding, Adam huffed out a harsh breath and tried to calm down. He grabbed his shoeshine kit, dropped onto their small sofa and put a mirror finish on his Sunday shoes. Brandon eyed him but didn’t say anything, just buttoned his borrowed shirt and smoothed his hair back. It was a little loose at the neck, but Adam hoped his father wouldn’t care.

  They took a bus to the Missionary President’s designated house in northern Barcelona, near the Parc de la Trinitat. A small green space across from the bus stop was lined with more of those delicate-limbed trees Adam now knew were jacaranda trees, heavy with beautiful purple blossoms. There was nothing comparable to them in Utah, but he was too nervous to enjoy their unique beauty.

  They arrived at the small iron gate and pressed the buzzer. A tall, stiff, grey-faced woman with the appearance of beauty lost years ago opened the door and crossed the small courtyard. Adam fidgeted with his sports jacket and fought down the urge to smooth his hair at the sight of the woman’s displeasure.

  “Oh. Hello, Adam.“

  “Mother, good to see you.” Adam tried to ignore Brandon looking back and forth between the two, knowing his companion wasn’t used to the formal way the Youngs interacted.

  “Well, your father wants to see you; he went through the zone records and saw that you’ve not had a baptism yet.” Her mouth was pressed into a thin, tight line. Her gaze flitted over Adam’s face, as if she was sizing him up since the last time she’d seen him and found his appearance wanting.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Adam mumbled as they entered the house. “It’s not easy out here.”

  “Nothing worthwhile is. Don’t track any of that road trash in; I’ve been sweeping it out of this courtyard all weekend,” she added, shooting the overhanging trees with their purple blooms a filthy look, as if daring them to try to make a mess of her borrowed home.

  Brandon stepped in front of her and stuck his hand out, “Hello, Sister Young. I’m Elder Christensen. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  She looked baffled, but took his hand. A stern voice boomed out from deeper inside the house. “Is that the one missionary who managed to do the Lord’s work here?”

  Adam’s father emerged from the back room, tall, imposing, for all that he was soft in his expansive middle. His cheeks were ruddy and his mouth was pressed into a firm line as he looked Brandon up and down. Adam could tell Gerald liked what he saw in Brandon when his father stuck out his hand with an approving nod, saying, “President Young, son.”

  The two shook hands; Adam stood to the side, shuffling back and forth as he waited to be acknowledged. His father’s focus was still only on Brandon, however.

  “Not rubbed off on my boy yet, have you?”

  Adam thought his face might melt at the images that conjured up and coughed to cover his distress.

  “Well, give it time, give it time.” President Young huffed; the sound was sharp and agitated. He finally turned to Adam and gave him a small, tight nod. “Son.”

  Adam nodded at his father. “Sir.”

  Brandon looked between the two of them and interjected, “I have to tell you, President Young, your son has rubbed off on me—”

  Adam thought he just might strangle himself.

  “I mean to say,” Brandon continued, figuring out the innuendo he’d used, “that he’s a great missionary. Very dedicated. He keeps me on my toes. We’ve made a lot of contacts because of him.” Brandon gave Adam’s shoulder a squeeze in an attempt to pull him into the conversation.

  “Is that so?” Adam’s father said, not sounding as though he believed a word. “I suppose your reports do have you both evenly split. Well, let’s see about turning those contacts into full-tithe members and then I’ll get excited. Adam, you go help your mother carry some of those boxes from the hallway so we can get this place in order. Elder Christensen? Follow me, I want to talk about some of your fellow missionaries. I’ve heard some stories that have me very disappointed…”

  They wandered off. Brandon chanced a look over his shoulder; his expression was an apology. Adam sighed and grabbed a box as his mother walked back in. “Where do you want this, Mom?”

  “In the bedroom, of course. It says so there on the side.”

  After a few hours of laboring, incurring several tsks and pained sighs from his mother for not instinctively knowing what she wanted, all of the boxes were in their right places. Brandon and President Young had finished. Brandon came out of the office looking green around the edges and more than a little shaken.

  Adam’s father looked normal, which was to say, gruff and no nonsense.

  “I expect someone of your reputation to set the perfect example, Elder. I want the rest of the boys in this mission to look to you for the proper way to behave. You are the standard bearer. Son?” he asked and turned to Adam. “You know I expect nothing less from you than perfection. You’ve got it in you; your brothers and even your sister had successful missions full of baptisms, so don’t shirk your duty. You two run along now. I’m sure you have laundry to do and contacts to make.”

  Gerald Young turned his back on them to look at a pile of letters. Their meeting was over. Adam nudged Brandon with his elbow and walked out.

  “Don’t you want to hug your mom? Say goodbye?” Brandon hissed.

  “No. She’s not expecting that, anyway.”

  Safely outside, they walked to the bus stop a few blocks away. Both men were silent for a few minutes as they navigated the busy roads back to their apartment.

  Brandon broke the silence with a long whistle. “Man, you were not kidding.”

  “That was a good day,” Adam laughed, although it lacked any humor. “He wasn’t actively listing each of my shortcomings. No, this time he just hinted at them. Passive-aggression at its finest.”

  Brandon shuddered. “I—” He shook his head and kicked at a mound of purple jacaranda flowers piled along the curb. “I thought you were exaggerating about them. I just… Wow. I mean, no offense, but that’s your mom?”

  Adam thought about the little notes of e
ncouragement, the candies and cheap, puffy stickers Brandon’s mother stuck into each month’s care package for Adam and him and felt a familiar longing. He could hardly believe Sister Christensen was real, she seemed so warm and loving. Brandon’s dad, too, would put comics and doodles in the packages. He was especially fond of photocopying comics from the local paper and adding winks and smiley faces. Well, Adam just didn’t have that, that was all there was to it. He was happy that Brandon had a family who seemed to be proud of him.

  As they waited for their bus to arrive, Adam dropped onto the bench and asked, “So what did you two have to talk about for almost two hours?”

  Brandon covered his face and let out a frustrated noise. “Oh, my gosh, Adam. It’s awful. Probably one of the worst things that could have happened. Poor, dumb, stupid guy.” Brandon punched his fist into his open hand. “So stupid!”

  “Feel like letting me in on whatever this is?”

  Brandon looked at Adam, his face visibly pained. “It’s Sorensen. He got busted with a girl.”

  “What? What are you talking about, he’s the last guy I’d ever think—”

  “I know. Honestly, and this is just me reading between the lines of what your dad showed me. I think it just looks bad. I don’t think he really did anything, not, um.”

  The “not like we’ve done” went unspoken. They shared a meaningful look and waited for an older woman to finish reading the posted bus schedule out loud. When she noticed their name tags, she hurried along her way.

  “That family who kept having them over for dinner had a daughter,” Brandon continued.

  Adam rolled his eyes. “Of course they did.”

  “No, it’s not like that, really. I’m sure of it. Well,” he laughed bitterly, “no, I’m not, actually.” He stared at the light midday traffic and worried the inside of his cheek with his teeth. “So, frickin’ Elder May is the one who ratted him out. May discovered him writing letters to someone, and you know how we’re really supposed to be writing through our Church email accounts?”