by Con Riley
THEO: I thought you were watching porn.
MORGAN: It’s not that interesting. They’re too young for my taste. You might like it, though. Little blond dude and a tall dark-haired kid….
THEO: Ha. Ha. Ha.
MORGAN: How long have you worked there?
THEO: Nearly fifteen years.
MORGAN: Work isn’t the problem, then. If you’ve stuck it out for that long then it’s something else. You need to get out more.
THEO: And do what?
MORGAN: I don’t know. I’m not your fucking life coach. Go do something you wouldn’t normally do—rock climbing, shooting, ice skating—something fun.
MORGAN: Or watch porn. This is actually kind of hot. They’re very… flexible.
The following weekend Theo took Maggie’s oldest child to the Seattle Center. The Internet write-ups about their winter wonderland indoor ice skating made Theo think about his dad. He’d been so patient while Theo lost his shit the first time they skated. As a kid, Theo thought it would be easy, then spent the first half hour on his ass. His dad kept up picking him up, brushing him off, telling him to keep on trying.
Theo said the same words to Maggie’s daughter, over and over and over, hauling her back up and tickling her until she smiled again. Once she found her feet it was fun, and the fastest hour of Theo’s whole week. They sat together drinking hot chocolate once they were done skating, watching the faster skaters who came out onto the ice as it got a little later. Theo blinked and then smiled as he recognized his interns. Heather shot out onto the ice, laughing wildly as Joel chased her. Considering that he was all arms and legs, the man could really skate.
Searching the edges of the rink, Theo soon spotted Evan, hanging onto the rail, white face tight with tension. When a dude wearing a hoodie skated up to him, offering his hand, Evan smiled thankfully.
Theo almost growled. Maggie’s daughter giggled. He passed her a couple of dollars for the vending machine, standing so he could watch the interns a little more easily.
Evan half skated, half clung onto the man he was with, face tilted upward, listening and nodding as they crossed the ice. When Joel glided up to them—all huge smile and pink cheeks—the dude wearing the hoodie bowed with a flourish, pushing Evan toward him. As he watched the smaller man flail, Theo was sure he would fall.
Joel caught him, then braced his elbows, making a firm support for the novice. He skated backward while Evan hung on. Theo could read Joel’s lips.
“I’ve got you.”
Yeah, Theo thought, watching as Joel made slow turns around the ice, not talking, just grinning while Evan smiled up at him. “Yeah,” he said to Maggie’s girl. “I think he has him all right.”
She chewed her candy solemnly, then asked, “Who has you, Uncle Theo?”
He rolled his eyes, making her giggle before answering, “You, of course.”
They were just getting ready to leave, standing near the entrance to the rink, when Heather’s crazy laugh got louder. She came off the ice practically running, and the man with the hoodie hurtled after her. The sudden deceleration from slick ice to rubbery flooring threw him off balance, right into Theo.
Later, in bed, Theo remembered his breathless apology and the feel of the man’s hands flat against his chest as he’d pushed away, hood slipping down. If it wasn’t for the glint of silver around his neck, Theo would never have guessed he was the same man who helped Joel out at the shelter. He looked almost unrecognizable with his long hair cropped short, his face unmarked and pale instead of bruised so badly.
He caught a glimpse of huge dark eyes, and then the man was gone, following Heather, who hadn’t noticed Theo at all.
Yeah, it was only the flash of silver threads in the black and gray cashmere of the scarf he wore—Ben’s favorite—which reminded Theo that they’d crossed paths before.
He’d left that scarf at the shelter.
“FOR heaven’s sake, Dad, get down from there.” Sometimes Theo wondered if his father purposefully waited until he knew Theo was on his way from the city before setting up his tallest ladder. In a way, he hoped that was true. The thought of his dad—always so capable, but now a little shaky—working on a ladder without him made him feel a little sick.
“Nearly done, son.” Theo tried to rein in his temper. Honestly, why he felt it flare up so easily with his father, when the man had done nothing but be patient with him all his fucking life, made Theo feel frustrated and confused. He was such a good man, such a great father. He shook his head at himself, trying not to let his frustration spill out with his words.
He could certainly think of better ways to spend the weekend. He wished that he were at home listening to music, stretched out on the huge couch Ben had insisted was just right for them—see, tesoro, it’s wide like a bed, and the leather is easy to wipe clean. Perfetto!—while he surfed the Internet.
Morgan had told him to get his shit together. Lots of people didn’t have parents to gripe about, so he should be fucking grateful to have family waiting at home for him. Theo knew that Morgan’s parents were gone, and he guessed if he and his friend were similar in age then he might not have that many years left with his parents either.
With a dry mouth and damp palms, Theo typed an invitation to Morgan, asking if he’d like to come with him to Big Lake.
MORGAN: What, and ruin our perfect relationship?
THEO: I’m just saying that you don’t have to be alone.
MORGAN: Thank you, Theo.
MORGAN: That means a lot to me. I do have somewhere to be this weekend, but maybe another time….
Theo had stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering what the fuck he was thinking. Everyone knew that the Internet was the Internet, while real life was real life. Robyn’s casual enquiry in his last e-mail—Hey, how are things working out with your Morgan?—only reinforced the way he was kidding himself.
The Internet and real life were two separate worlds.
Morgan wasn’t his.
It was just that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him.
Morgan was in his head constantly. Even buying groceries now was complicated. He used to hate grocery shopping, recalling the way Ben would trail from store to store, tolerating it only because Ben’s company made everything better. Now he couldn’t shop without feeling guilty. If he went to a big store, he’d hear Morgan’s virtual whisper—They steal their employees’ rights—and find it hard to meet the eye of the person checking out his purchases. If he went to one of Ben’s specialty import stores he would second-guess each item he selected, mentally calculating air miles—Your carbon footprint must be huge, Theo. Huge—before going home with nothing to eat.
It was true, Theo admitted, as he stood at the bottom of his dad’s ladder. Morgan was always on his mind. The next time Theo came out to the lake house, he guessed they’d be putting up Christmas lights, and that made him think about Morgan too.
While his dad issued instructions and talked to him about his work, Theo’s head was full of Morgan arguing on the forum about the inherent waste created by Christmas lighting. Morgan chatted privately to Theo as they watched the argument spin out, attracting so many comments that Theo could hardly keep up with them all. Morgan had enjoyed the debate so much. Every time someone posted an opposing viewpoint, he’d rebut, stealing their thunder.
THEO: You know, Morgan, some people just like Christmas lights.
MORGAN: I know. I love them. When we were stationed back in the states my pops couldn’t wait to get all his shit out of storage. You could see our house from the fucking moon.
THEO: So why are you arguing against them on the forum?
MORGAN: Why not? Arguing is one of my favorite pastimes. That, jerking off, and talking to you are my top three.
MORGAN: Sometimes I do them all at once.
THEO: So jerking off is on your list but sex isn’t?
MORGAN: I’m just keeping it real, Theo. But…. If you’re offering….
Theo smiled,
changing the subject, but somehow lately they kept coming back to sex talk. He guessed men never really changed. As teens, locker-room conversation always revolved around who was getting laid. He’d been more of an observer than a participant, guessing pretty early that his interest in some of the seniors getting changed wouldn’t be a popular topic of conversation.
Morgan wasn’t shy. He’d talk about anything and everything. If they ended their evenings together, tucked up in their beds while they chatted, sometimes the conversation made Theo throw back his covers. Morgan could make it hard to breathe.
MORGAN: Help me out here.
THEO: What’s up?
MORGAN: Don’t make me spell it out, Theo.
THEO: Oh.
MORGAN: Just talk dirty for a while.
THEO: Blue-sky thinking. Thought shower. Full spectrum leadership.
MORGAN: NOT corporate dirty. Sex dirty.
THEO: I wouldn’t know where to start.
Morgan was a relentless tease, encouraging Theo’s mind down a one-way street that left him half hard and aching inside before he’d back off, laughing, keeping things light. As the weeks passed, Theo found himself thinking about Morgan throughout the day, and his nighttime thoughts about the man seemed somewhat safer than dwelling on Peter. He couldn’t even replay the last time they were together without feeling his chest constrict—what Peter wanted from him still seemed impossible.
MORGAN: Just tell me what you like.
MORGAN: Go on.
MORGAN: If you won’t, I will.
THEO: Kissing.
MORGAN: YUM
THEO: I miss kissing. And running my fingers through someone’s hair, or underneath his shirt; I miss that too.
MORGAN: Touching.
THEO: Yeah, touching. Touching everywhere.
MORGAN: Anywhere.
THEO: I like a handful of ass and a neck to suck.
MORGAN: What about a dick?
THEO: I could be persuaded.
MORGAN: Damn, Theo.
Sometimes the temptation to ask Morgan for his cell number felt like an invisible rope around his insides, tugging at him. He remembered when Morgan walked him through selecting an app for his cell so they could chat while away from their computers. Theo asked then if it wouldn’t be easier to text each other instead. Morgan declined.
MORGAN: You don’t really want to give me your personal information. At least your e-mail address is relatively anonymous. I could be a psycho, Theo.
THEO: You mean, I could be a psycho.
MORGAN: I’ve been wrong before. Let’s stick to chat.
So they did.
They talked every single day. It didn’t matter if Theo was at work; he stopped whatever he was doing the moment he felt his cell phone vibrate. Sometimes Morgan had a lot to say and couldn’t wait until the evening to talk with Theo. Sometimes he had nothing to say, only offering a “Hey” followed by silence. Theo wondered then if Morgan was missing his boyfriend—it was the one subject Morgan wouldn’t talk about. Theo chatted to himself when that happened, describing his interns’ blossoming love until Morgan’s mood improved.
Whatever the reason for the contact, Theo was happy to waste time with a virtual stranger. Sometimes he forgot what he was doing, finding himself seated in the cafeteria, on his own, with an untouched plate of dessert in front of him and no memory of getting it. Once, he burst out laughing at something so disgustingly dirty Morgan suggested, only to look up from his desk—cheeks pink, balls tingling—to find Evan grinning back at him.
Theo watched him whisper in Joel’s ear after he left the office, and the sight of the taller man’s eyelids closing as Evan started talking made Theo even happier. He described it later to Morgan.
MORGAN: Oh fuck yes! Someone breathing in my ear.
MORGAN: WANT. SO. BAD.
Theo stood at the bottom of the same ladder that his father had used his entire life to maintain their home, and remembered jerking off to the thought of kissing and touching while someone—Morgan?—whispered warmly in his ear.
Theo wanted too.
LATER, Theo was glad that he hadn’t noticed the newly framed photograph on the living room mantelpiece sooner. It had been an almost perfect day at the lake house. If he’d noticed the photo any earlier, he might have found it hard to stay for dinner.
As it was, he had a better time with his parents than he recalled having in a long, long while. His mom settled with one of her huge jigsaw puzzles after dinner. They worked together in comfortable silence for a while, their search for straight edges only broken by the click of his dad’s camera shutter. Theo watched him focusing the camera carefully, using a tripod for once, and considered getting him a digital camera for Christmas. His photography had always been excellent. His dad’s eye for composition was really something special. Theo had neither the eye nor the patience to figure it out for himself.
“It’s all about the rule of threes, son,” his dad always said, explaining that a photo with interest in one third of the shot was much more effective than a photo crammed full of detail. Theo nodded, having no idea what his dad meant.
When Theo stood to stretch, using the fireplace mantle to balance, he saw the new photo and his breath caught—shock and surprise tightening like a vice around his chest—leaving him feeling winded.
His dad only ever used black and white film, and the effect captured the depth of Ben’s irises completely. He looked amazing—so familiar, so handsome, so full of life. His face filled the left third of the frame, and his eyes were looking to the side. He was half smiling. It was his “I’m thinking about kissing you” expression.
Theo touched one fingertip to Ben’s lips and gulped back a sob.
He wouldn’t cry.
No fucking way.
Not at his parents’ house.
Stumbling out to the kitchen, vaguely aware of his mom’s face, drawn and white with worry, Theo repeatedly splashed his face with cold water. When he was done with wiping his face dry, his dad was waiting for him, urging him to follow him up the stairs. Theo followed, even though he felt like getting in his car and driving home right away.
He gulped again.
Just a year ago, he would have pointed the car right at the fucking lake and kept on driving until the pain stopped. He’d spent the same weekend the year before in bed, ignoring the phone and the repeated fucking buzz, buzz, buzz from his front door. He trailed after his dad, remembering how he’d stumbled across the online debate forum after a completely miserable weekend and proceeded to spend the rest of the night lost in other people’s points of view. It had been almost like having half a conversation, and that was about all he could manage for a while.
His dad headed for Theo’s old bedroom, which looked like any other guestroom now. When he pulled open the closet, Theo saw that the internal walls were still papered with cowboys and bucking broncos. He sat on the bed while his dad pulled out album after album of his photographs. He spoke quietly as Theo flipped the pages.
“You know your mother is a little overwhelmed about us going to Italy.”
Theo nodded. He felt a little overwhelmed himself.
“I should have intervened much earlier, Theo.”
Theo shook his head. There was no point rehashing his mom’s reluctance to accept Ben. He’d never understand it—never—but they had to move on.
His dad’s voice got a little stronger. “I always admired the way that Ben never gave up trying. I guess I understand why we didn’t see him with you very often.” Theo sighed heavily, remembering all those meals, stilted with silence, while he imagined his mom thinking of different ways to phrase “You’re too old for my boy.”
“He seemed very fond of you, son.”
Fond.
That was one word for it, Theo guessed. He turned some more pages, almost smiling at photos of himself in the late 1970s with tragic haircuts. He did smile at pictures from the ’80s. He thought he looked so cool back then. “This was when I first figured out
I was gay.” He pointed a picture out to his dad. He stood next to a boy he used to pal around with when he was young.
His dad expressed surprise. “You mean John and Sue’s boy is gay too? He’s married with four boys now, son.”
Theo snorted, then said, “We were on our way into Seattle, remember? You took us to the movie theater?” His dad nodded. “We watched Risky Business and I fell in love with Tom Cruise.” His dad burst into laughter. “Head over heels, Dad. It was terrible. I couldn’t sleep; I couldn’t eat. He was all I could think about.”
“Oh my God, Theo, is that why you watched Top Gun all the time? We thought you wanted to join the Air Force.”
“Well”—Theo nodded—“the thought did have its own appeal.”
“What are you boys so happy about?” his mother asked as she joined them.
Theo and his dad caught each other’s eye. They both laughed again before saying, “Nothing!” in unison.
She came and sat beside Theo, pulling an album onto her lap. Theo was a small child—maybe two years old—in these photos. He was in his mother’s arms in every single shot, fingers curled in the hair right behind her ear.
“She couldn’t put you down ever, Theo. You’d scream bloody murder.” Theo shrugged. Nodding, his dad nudged him in the side before adding, “Do you even remember your first day at school?” Theo shook his head. He really didn’t. “You screamed the place down. You did it every single day for a whole week.”
His mom made a tetchy sound before saying, “We were very close, that’s all. Lots of children cry when they start kindergarten.”
Theo paged through photos of his early years, wondering what Ben would have made of his mom’s perspective. Looking back, he considered if that was why Ben was so very tolerant of her obvious disapproval. Maybe he saw what Theo only now recognized in these old photos: His mother adored him. She shone with it. Theo had hated the way she clammed up around Ben, who used to rub the tension from his back later when they got home, saying, “She is your mother, baby. No one would be good enough.” He conveniently omitted mentioning his own mamma, waving them off from Milan, crying and smiling.