Holden ended up ordering Chinese food from his favorite restaurant through GrubHub, and we did our best to put thoughts of the uncertain future aside to focus on what we had right then. Phee and I did our best to assure our children that we would always be there for them, no matter what our living arrangements were going forward. I thought we’d gotten our point across by the time they left for their apartment.
Phee hugged me tightly before she left to go to her room. I relished the comfort and safety I’d always felt in her arms. “We’re going to be okay,” she whispered before she left.
I walked to the wall of windows and looked at the lights from the Centennial Wheel at the Navy Pier. It reminded me of the boy I once loved with all my heart and how brave he was, not because he got on the Ferris wheel at our county fair, but because he broke free and lived openly. I wanted to break free too, even though I wasn’t sure how.
“Oh, what about him?” Nigel asked. He’d talked me into downloading a dating app for gay men and was actively trying to find my next big mistake, my future ex. Nigel made a growling noise in his throat that I took as interest in whatever profile popped up on my phone.
“Give me that,” Kent said, snatching the phone from his husband.
I glanced up from the salad I’d pushed from one side of my plate to the other without really taking a bite. Fuck, I was tired of eating like a damn rabbit. I might’ve volunteered my left nut to taste my aunt Gretchen’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy.
Kent hummed appreciatively in his throat drawing a scowl from Nigel. “He does look very flexible.”
“Give that back to Rush, dear. He doesn’t need our help,” Nigel told his husband. “You’ve got this under control, right?” Funny how Nigel didn’t like it when the shoe was on the other foot. He could make growly noises at hot men, but Kent wasn’t allowed to notice or comment.
“You betcha,” I said confidently although I didn’t feel it.
Three months had passed since Travis officially moved out after a tearful plea for me to forgive his cowardly behavior. He told me that he wanted so much to be what I needed but he couldn’t. Marriage wasn’t what he wanted for himself, and he didn’t see kids in his future. He also said that he always felt like he was never enough for me. He gave me everything he could, but I always wanted more. He gave his heart; I wanted to live together. He moved in; I wanted to get married. He proposed marriage; I wanted kids. I realized we were never well suited and laziness had kept us together for ten years.
I couldn’t say that I missed him, it was more like I missed not being… alone. I took on extra assignments which kept me away from home for longer periods of time, but I always returned to a house that was empty, cold, and devoid of my personality. I bought the brownstone before I met Travis and allowed him to redecorate when he moved in. The vast majority of the furnishings and decorations were things he picked out and paid for, so I ended up with the beat-up recliner that Travis hated, the large television that I had insisted on buying, and an antique clock hanging on the kitchen wall. Travis took everything else, including our giant bed.
That meant I’d needed to do a lot of shopping to make my home feel like mine again, but I hadn’t found the energy. The only thing I’d felt in a hurry to replace was the bed. My new huge bed with the pillow top cushion gave me plenty of ideas on what I’d like to do in it, but the finding someone to do them with, or to, had proven harder. There was no shortage of interested candidates, and I’d even gone on a few dates with men that my friends had suggested. At the end of each night, I ended up adding another name to the friend column but hadn’t found anyone to share a life with. Was it me? Had I gotten too picky? Why did the thought of taking these hot guys back to my place leave me feeling cold?
When I returned from my last trip, I decided to put energy into making the brownstone feel like mine again. I painted and bought new furniture and decorations. I hit up some flea markets to find pieces that spoke to me rather than hit a glitzy showroom filled with soulless art. I even bought a new Christmas tree and ornaments that were more my style. I still felt unsettled, but at least I wouldn’t be ashamed to take the right guy home. I appreciated my efforts when the cute new guy from the gym made it really obvious that he wanted me to do more than spot him at the bench press.
I wanted to test out the new bed, but he didn’t seem interested in getting that far into the house. We went at it like randy teenagers as soon as the door closed. I tried to break free to retrieve condoms and lube but the guy—we’ll call him The Boy Scout for his preparedness—pulled the stuff out of his duffle bag.
“Gotcha covered,” he said, slapping them in my hand before turning around to face the foyer wall. He pushed his sweats to his ankles and presented his bare ass, pushing the rounded cheeks out seductively. I was too turned on and too horny to realize just how cold and calculated his moves were.
All I thought about was sinking my dick between those perky ass cheeks, so I did. Afterward, the guy cleaned up in my bathroom and left without telling me his name. My body was sated, but the brief encounter only made me feel lonelier. I saw him a few times at the gym, but he was too busy picking up the other dudes to notice me.
“He’s sure mowing his way through the gym members,” Nigel had said one afternoon when we were on the treadmills. “Comb your hair and look pretty when he comes this way.”
“Been there and done that already,” I had replied.
“When?” Nigel said, looking at me with big eyes. He nearly fell on his face from the shock. “Oh my God! I need the details.”
“Not much to tell,” I said. “We tumbled through the door, he dropped his pants and presented his ass to me.”
“Huh.” Nigel didn’t sound all that impressed.
“I’m pretty sure I had a warmer encounter with my dentist during a root canal last year,” I said dryly.
“Ouch,” Nigel replied then looked over at the guy whose name I learned a week later was Adam. “Well, I guess it’s better than your fist.”
“That’s debatable.”
Since then, I’d stuck to my fist because it was less degrading. I gave in to Nigel’s insistence that I try the latest app designed to help me find my forever gay—his words, not mine—instead of a quickie gay. Kent knew the developer, and I agreed to at least test it out and give feedback.
“So, you’ve found a solid candidate from the app?” Kent asked me.
“Are you asking as my friend or the app developer’s friend?” I inquired with a raised brow.
“Yours, of course.”
“I think the app has merit, and I will say that the guys who’ve joined thus far seem to be looking for more than a hand job or blow job.”
“I’m sensing a but here, and not the kind you want to tap.”
“Very perceptive,” I told Kent. “It’s just… boring.” I realized how shallow it made me, but I was telling the truth. “It’s kind of like he went to the extreme opposite of an app like Grindr when maybe he only had to scale it back just a little.”
“You single gays are so damn picky,” Kent said teasingly. “You say you want a site for quality dates with men who want relationships, but you’re not satisfied when it’s provided to you.”
“Have you checked out the app?” I inquired.
Kent snorted and said, “No. I have a husband that I love. Why would I want to check out a dating site?”
“So that you don’t sound like an idiot when you berate me for giving you honest feedback,” I told him. “Would you like me to show you what I’m talking about?”
Kent looked at Nigel, who nodded his head. Nigel had looked harder at finding Mr. Right for me than I ever did. I knew he shared the same hang-ups with the site as me, but probably wanted to avoid telling Kent that his friend designed a lame dating app.
“Okay, but you’re not allowed to be angry with me for telling the truth,” I told Kent when he nodded for me to continue.
Kent blew out a long sigh and nodded his hea
d. “You’re right. I just want Thomas to succeed. He had a great concept, but I can’t help him if I don’t wear an objective hat while discussing it. Let me have it.”
“Start by reading the reviews,” Nigel offered. I cringed because the reviews were pretty brutal. “Like the one who said he found the IRS tax codes easier to understand, or the one that said the cheesy porn music was a turn-off. I mean, why does this thing have sound? Like anyone wants to alert people that they’re trying to pick up men or possibly jerking it at work to porn.”
Nigel rambled on for several minutes, saving me the hassle of having to talk about the reviews. I could tell that Kent was concerned about how much Nigel knew, and bothered by his lack of filter when discussing the app.
“You can read the reviews on your own time,” I said gently. “Let me tell you my issues with it.”
“Okay.” Kent sounded so dejected that a person would’ve thought that he designed it.
“Here’s my biggest issue: it shares too much information about a person. I agree that it’s good to know more than if a guy wants to top or bottom, but discovering someone’s hobbies and quirks is the fun part of dating. Knowing it in advance kind of takes the thrill out of getting to know someone. Grindr is one extreme, and Thomas’s app is the other.”
“He needs that data to help match you with candidates who would most likely appeal to you,” Kent said.
“I didn’t have an issue with the interview questions themselves; I just don’t like that the answers are shared with your matches. Let it be enough that there are compatible matches for me without knowing the XYZs of it. Let me find out what makes us a good match. All of us signing up for the site answer the same questions about what we want in life as far as marriage, kids, pets, and so on. I would assume that the algorithm would avoid picking someone for me who doesn’t want kids.”
Kent perked up a little. “So, it’s not that you don’t like the questions, you just feel that the answers should only be used to match candidates, not made part of their dating profile.”
“Right,” I agreed. “Let me look across a candlelit table and find out who likes to knit or ski in their spare time. Allow me to fall in love with their smile while discovering what makes them tick. The getting-to-know-someone phase is the most fun. Your friend has already done that like it’s a cyber speed date or something.”
“I like your feedback more than his,” Kent said, hooking his thumb in his husband’s direction. “Stay off that site from now on, Nigel.”
“I’m only on there to help Rush pick through the weeds so that he can find the daisies,” Nigel said. “I’ve already found the man of my dreams.”
“How sweet,” I said in a syrupy voice. “Save that lovey-dovey shit for when it doesn’t make me want to burst into tears.”
“That jackass did you a favor,” Nigel replied, sounding like everyone else who knew us as a couple. “So what if you haven’t found Mr. Right already. That doesn’t mean you won’t. In the meantime, maybe you stop trying so hard with the dating apps and let fate happen on its own.”
“Weren’t you the one just picking out prospects for me on the app?” I asked Nigel.
“I was, and I was wrong. I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with dating sites,” Nigel said to Kent before he could speak up. “I’m just saying that I want better things for you, not just different. I want you to have a love worthy of a romance novel, because by God, you deserve it. I want you to look into a stranger’s eyes and see your future. I want you to glance across the laundromat—”
“The laundromat,” Kent and I both said at the same time.
“What’s wrong with his washer and dryer?” Kent asked.
“I hate the laundromat,” I added.
“You guys,” Nigel whined. “You’re both being too literal.” He puffed out a breath of frustration. “Okay, so you glance across the produce section as you firmly squeeze some kiwi in both hands—”
“Oh, he’s demonstrating that he’s good with his hands,” Kent said, nodding as if he got it.
“I don’t like kiwi fruit,” I told Nigel. “I especially don’t like hairy balls or the grocery store. I have my groceries delivered.”
“Now we’re talking,” Kent said, cueing up the dating site so the cheesy music played. “Hello, Mr. Holden,” he said breathily. “I’ve got your packages.”
Watching the serious Kent Clark pretend to narrate porn was the funniest thing I ever saw. I glanced over at Nigel, but he wasn’t laughing or smiling. He just blinked at his husband as if seeing him for the first time.
“Where would you like me to put it?” Kent asked with a pout.
“We’re out of here,” Nigel said. He rose to his feet and reached for his wallet.
“I got this,” I said, waving him away. “You two go on home and play out the delivery guy porn scene.”
They scrambled out of there without even saying goodbye. I waived my waitress over and asked for a juicy A-1 bacon and swiss burger with onion straws on top and a side of extra crispy fries. Extra crispy meant that they went two rounds in the fryer. Fuck that salad! At least one part of me was going to be satisfied that night.
On my way out of the pub, I saw an animal shelter adoption flyer hanging on the wall by the door. On the front was a gray pit bull who looked like he had seen the worst that life had to offer and just needed someone to love him. The flyer identified him as Brutus and stated he’d been at the facility the longest. I recognized the loneliness in Brutus’s eyes and dialed the number on the flyer without thinking about the repercussions.
“I’m calling about Brutus,” I said when a lady answered the phone. “I saw that the next adoption event is Saturday, but I was hoping you could make an exception.”
“You want to adopt Brutus?” she asked hopefully.
“If he’ll have me.”
“Come on over,” she said.
An hour later, I buckled Brutus in the rear passenger seat of my SUV. He looked over and gave me his best doggy grin, and I gave him my best smile in return. I went online and ordered the necessary items for him and had them delivered. I tried like hell not to laugh when the delivery guy showed up and said he had a package for me. I failed miserably, and he looked at me like I was a lunatic.
I took my new best friend for a walk in the park near our home. The cool, crisp air felt as invigorating as exercising with my handsome companion. Brutus walked proudly beside me, and I wondered how anyone could’ve passed him up for three years. Then I realized it was because he was meant to be my dog. We both had to endure less than pleasant environments before we could appreciate the good thing we found in each other. Brutus was the greatest Christmas present I ever gave myself.
Later that night, I thought about what Nigel had said. There was a difference between wanting better things and different things. I wanted better things for myself and Brutus.
I would like to say that the months that followed the separation were filled with hot guys and even hotter sex, but I was too fucking panicked to make a move beyond jacking off to the gay porn I at least allowed myself to watch. The guilt that came afterward made me wonder if it was worth it, but it became a pattern I couldn’t seem to break. It wasn’t my attraction to men that made me feel guilty; it was not owning up to it. By sneaking and hiding, I was giving credence to every dumbass who implied that gay men were perverts and deviants. I knew better, dammit. I just couldn’t seem to do something about it. Until I could admit I was gay, I would remain in my self-enforced purgatory.
Phee sure as hell hadn’t wasted any time moving on. She and her new guy, Jackson, had flown to Chicago to meet the kids, but only after formally introducing him to me first. I was very familiar with him on a professional level since he owned a construction company and used Forever Home to sell the houses. He was a good man, and Phee was obviously crazy about him. I wanted to be bitter that Phee could live so openly and be happy, but the smile on her face made it impossible. I had held her back from having t
he life and love she deserved for more than two decades, so I gave them my blessing for a happy future.
The hardest part about Phee moving on without me was feeling like I had lost my best friend. No matter what she said, our friendship would never be the same. She was the person I would tell my troubles to, but how could I tell Phee that our entire marriage had basically been a lie? A lie by omission is still a lie in anyone’s book. My secret was the reason I couldn’t be the husband she had needed. I picked up my phone to call her and even stopped by her office with the intention of unburdening my soul, but I could never find the right words to say to her. During the day, I wore my brightest smile into the office, and it stayed there until I went home. At night, I returned to my lonely condo and fantasized about a life I wished I was brave enough to claim and drank wine. So much wine. So much porn. So much masturbation. So much guilt.
There were several same-sex couples in my condo complex, which intensified all my emotions. I saw them greet each other after a long day at work or perform the simplest tasks like carry the groceries from the car or walk their dogs. As much as I wanted to feel a hot male body over, under, and in me, it was the little daily things I wanted to experience. I wanted the connection that rocked me to my fucking soul. I’d only had that once in my life, and I wanted it again.
With the rising longing and hunger came paralyzing fear—both fear of what would happen if I took a chance and if I didn’t. The one person I needed the most was busy starting a new life, and I couldn’t bring myself to intrude on her happiness a moment longer than I already had. I needed to accept my new role in Phee’s life and be grateful for what I had.
The following March, Phee showed how much she loved me when my mom called to let me know my dad had died of a sudden heart attack. Thomas Huxley, my father and the toughest son of a bitch I ever knew, was no longer walking the earth. How was that even possible? I had always seen my old man as invincible. I would’ve been lost without Phee. She made the necessary travel arrangements for our kids and us, packed my bags, and made sure we got where we needed to on time. I remember telling her she didn’t have to bother, but she waved me off.
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