“You want to come with me?” Stuart asked. “Or do you need to stay with your mom?”
“Oh, go on,” Kim said with a wave. “Just bring me a book and my cell phone. I’ll sit here in the shade and enjoy the nice weather while you two go off and do manly things at the hardware store.”
Stuart had to smother a laugh. He doubted the image that popped into his head at that statement was what Kim had intended. Or, maybe it was. While he worked, she’d made several comments about Stuart and Malcolm getting together, all of which seemed to make Malcolm deeply uncomfortable.
“Are you sure, Mom?” Malcolm asked. “What if you need to use the bathroom?”
“Oh, you won’t be gone that long. I’ll be fine right here for an hour or so, and I have my phone in case of emergencies.”
Stuart wandered toward the front of the house as Malcolm and his mother talked, and after a few minutes, Malcolm appeared once more.
“Give me a minute to get her situated before we head out,” he said as he passed Stuart.
“Sure. No rush.”
Stuart inspected the entryway columns while Malcolm went inside and returned a short while later with the book and cell phone, plus water and medication. He seemed more worried than the situation warranted but Stuart appreciated what a thoughtful, caring guy he was.
“Everything okay?” Malcolm asked after he’d rejoined Stuart at the front of the house.
“Yep.” Stuart brushed the peeling paint from his hands. “The columns and door need some sanding and a coat of paint that’s all. I could take care of that, too, if you want?”
Malcolm hesitated. “Maybe. It’ll depend on what the other materials cost. Like I said, my budget is tight right now. My mom’s having some…financial difficulties and I’ve been trying to help out but—”
“Does that have anything to do with the Tesla parked in the driveway?”
“No.” Malcolm let out a surprised laugh. “The car is a loan from Carter. I was at work when my mom got hurt and he wanted to make it easier for me to get out here and back.”
“That was nice of him. I’m disappointed, though,” Stuart joked. “I was hoping I could ask to take it out for a spin.”
Malcolm’s expression eased. “If there’s time before you head back into the city, I could take you for a drive. It’s not quite the same but—”
“No, that sounds nice.”
Away from his mother’s house, Malcolm seemed much more relaxed, even when the time came to buy the lumber and supplies. Stuart was able to keep the budget for the steps low thanks to a sale in the millworks department and his contractor discount, and Malcolm said he’d wait on the paint, in case his mom had any on hand from the last time the exterior had been painted.
They returned to find Kim in good spirits and she directed Malcolm to the garage where the cans of paint were stored. Stuart gave him a few tips on prepping for painting, then tackled the job of demo-ing the rotted steps. With that cleared away, it was simple enough to add some additional bracing.
Stuart lost himself in the smell of fresh cut lumber and the feel of the drill vibrating in his hand. He’d stripped down to a T-shirt and was beginning to sweat in the late April sunshine when Malcolm appeared with a tray containing bowls and two tall glasses of what looked like iced tea.
“Want to take a break? I made lunch. Nothing fancy, just a taco salad.”
“That would be great. Thanks. Are you going to eat with me?”
“Sure, if you can give me a few minutes. Mom ate already and I’ll see if she wants to lie down.”
“Of course.”
Stuart took the tray from Malcolm and set it in the shade under a tree. Using a hose attached to the house, he washed the grime off his hands and wet his face. He was sprawled out on the grass under a red oak by the time Malcolm returned, his tired expression easing into a smile when Stuart gave him a lazy wave.
“You look comfortable.”
“I am. Starving, though.” Stuart sat up and leaned against the tree’s trunk. “Thanks for lunch.”
“Sure.” Malcolm sank onto the ground beside him with a sigh.
They dug into their salads and Stuart had to compliment Malcolm after just a few bites. “This is good. I like the black beans and the lime dressing. A pinch of cumin might be nice, too.”
“Good thought. And I’m glad you like it. I’ve been trying to stick to vegetarian proteins lately and I know you’re a meat eater.”
“Healthy.” And cheap. What the hell is going on with Mrs. Elliott’s finances right now? Now didn’t seem to be the time to ask.
Stuart reached for the iced tea. “How’s your mom?”
“Okay. Stubborn. It took some convincing to get her to agree to take some painkillers and lie down.”
“Think she’s actually sleeping?”
“She was asleep before I closed the bedroom door.”
“You take good care of her.” Stuart chuckled but Malcolm looked away.
“Someone’s got to.”
Stuart thought of his own family. It had been years since he’d spoken to any of them. How many nieces and nephews do I have now? His heart sank.
“Do you see your parents often?”
Stuart glanced over at Malcolm. Clearly, his mind had gone down a similar path as Stuart’s.
“No. I haven’t spoken to anyone in my family in more than a decade.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Malcolm cleared his throat. “Seeing you with my mom… You were good with her earlier. It made me curious. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I know you didn’t.” Stuart lay back, pillowed his head on his hands and stared up at the branches overhead. “You want to hear the whole sordid tale?”
“Only if you want to tell it.”
Stuart wet his lips. Malcolm meant that, he was sure of it. If he chose not to tell his story, Malcolm wouldn’t push. But maybe if Stuart let himself be a little vulnerable with Malcolm, he’d reciprocate and open up more. Besides, Stuart trusted Malcolm.
“I grew up an hour outside of Salt Lake City. I’m the second oldest of six.”
Malcolm whistled quietly under his breath but didn’t respond otherwise.
“I was raised Mormon.” Stuart cleared his throat. “When I say that, people get weird ideas that I grew up in some kind of cult. It can be cult-ish in a lot of ways, but as a kid, my world seemed normal. My dad owned the carpentry business. My mom stayed at home with us kids. She didn’t homeschool us or anything—we went to the public schools—but she did everything else. Cooked, cleaned, ran us around to all our after-school activities. In most ways, it was a very normal middle-class childhood. We took vacations, went camping and hiking and had barbecues with the neighbors.”
Stuart listened to the buzz of insects and the faint whine of a lawnmower engine in the distance. It reminded him of summer afternoons back in Utah when he’d been a kid. Taking a break from riding bikes or playing soccer with his brothers, he’d relax under a tree and stare up at the blue sky, watching the clouds change shape.
“My parents were decent people,” he continued. “They loved me and my siblings. They wanted what was best for us. They believed following the church teachings would give us that. The Mormon faith emphasizes family. If you go against the church, you won’t end up in the celestial kingdom with your family. That is a real, visceral threat to people whose entire faith is built on the idea of the celestial kingdom.”
“I can imagine,” Malcolm said softly. “Did you know anyone who was gay when you were growing up? Or was it all hidden?”
“I didn’t know any gay couples personally. The community where I lived was insular. One of those small towns where the Mormon temple is right in the center and the whole place is laid out in an orderly grid. Everyone knows everyone else.” He took a deep breath. “When there was anything on the news about gay people or gay rights, my mom’s lips would get really tight and my dad would let out this irritated-sounding huff. At church, sometimes the sermons were about why
homosexuality was wrong. Being Mormon’s not compatible in any way with being gay. The emphasis on family and being together in the celestial kingdom ties into that. Mormons—along with plenty of other people—believe it’s a choice and that you can choose to not be gay anymore. That’s one reason rehabilitation centers and conversion therapy still exist.” A spark of anger lit up inside Stuart.
“Did I know I was different than my siblings growing up? I think so, on some level anyway. It wasn’t obvious. I know some gay men have these vivid memories of signs that pointed to crushes they had, but I don’t. I wasn’t a rebellious kid—I didn’t get in trouble any more than my brothers—it was just this feeling that I was different somehow. I was out of step with everyone around me. Outwardly, the fact that I liked to cook set me apart from my siblings. It was considered women’s work. My mom let me help her make meals as long as I didn’t talk about it outside of the home. I loved it.” Stuart turned his head and shot a faint smile at Malcolm who was staring intently at him.
“Contrary to the popular myths about Mormon cooking in Utah, it wasn’t all mushroom soup casseroles and Jell-O salads. My mom did a lot of home canning and preservation. She made jam from strawberries and peaches. She’d pickle fresh cucumbers. She always had a garden in the backyard, so she’d pick tomatoes and make spaghetti sauce and soup and freeze it. She liked using herbs.”
“Is that where you got your love of food from then?”
“Yes. In high school, I worked as a busboy and dishwasher in this little restaurant on the outskirts of town. I even badgered the head cook into letting me assist him and I learned some things about working in a kitchen.”
He glanced over to see Malcolm lean back and brace himself on his hands. It made the muscles and tendons in his arms stand out. Stuart had to look away.
“Anyway, growing up, I dated girls. And it wasn’t so hard. Sex before marriage is frowned upon so no one questioned it if I wasn’t pushy about it. The girls I dated assumed I was a nice guy. Respectful. A devout Mormon. The harder I struggled inside knowing something was off, the more I tried to double down on being the perfect member of the church. After high school, I even went off and did my two years as a missionary.”
“Where did you do that?”
“Greece.”
“Huh. I didn’t know missionaries were sent to Europe. I figured it was always South America or Africa.”
“Nah, they go everywhere, even the U.S. I think Mitt Romney went to France.” Stuart shrugged. “I don’t know what that was like for him, but Greece was resistant to Mormon proselytizing. The Greek Orthodox Church in particular. I tried the best I could.” He smiled faintly, remembering the fervor that had seized him. The desperation. If he could just make inroads there, it would have meant he belonged. “You wouldn’t have recognized me then. No beard, no tattoos, suits all the time… I even had the name tag that said, ‘Elder Morgan’.”
“I… No, I’m having a hard time imagining that.”
Stuart grinned at Malcolm. “When I got there, I believed in what I was doing. Few people were interested in converting, but I learned Greek, discussed philosophy with the locals and tried new foods—you can’t believe what the food there was like—and the experience changed me. Maybe not at first, but I began to understand the world in a different light. See how much more was out there. It planted those seeds for my future. Ironically, I think going on a mission was ultimately what turned me away from the church.” The Greek men he’d looked at had played a part in that as well.
“How so?”
“The standards of behavior for missionaries are very rigid. They tried to keep us on the straight and narrow with strict schedules and we were forbidden from dating or having relationships. Still, I was exposed to the world more. When I came home, I tried to continue like I had been. I started dating a woman named Becky, I worked for my dad in his carpentry shop…I tried to be the man I was supposed to be.” He laughed softly. “I got a side job as a cook in the restaurant where I’d worked before, though. My dad was pissed at me. I was the eldest son and he wanted me to take over his business someday. I told him I was cooking to make extra money and save up for a wedding, and my parents were happy when Becky and I got engaged, then married.”
“Were you… I mean, I don’t know how to ask this…”
Stuart glanced over at Malcolm when his words trailed off. “Was I attracted to my wife?”
Malcolm nodded.
“Attracted enough to have sex, yes. I cared about her. Loved her, even. Just maybe not in the way she wanted me to love her. There was always something missing. The sex wasn’t passionate or exciting. It was…a bodily function. You’d expect Mormons to be prudish about sex. Oddly enough, they’re not after marriage. Sex is strongly encouraged for couples, not only for procreation but for ‘expressing love and strengthening emotional and spiritual bonds between husband and wife.’ That’s a direct quote, by the way.
“Sex didn’t do that for Becky and me. I know I disappointed her, and I didn’t live up to my duties as a husband.” Stuart winced. He’d hated that. Hated the disappointed look in her eyes before she rolled over to go to sleep. “Day by day, it got worse. We’d been married for maybe six months when this guy came into the restaurant. It was an open kitchen and I caught a glimpse of him, heard him laugh at a comment the waitress made, and something in me…gave way. Like all the walls I’d put up about the truth about who I was were gone.”
“Was he gay?”
“I have no idea. He came in for weeks every day for lunch. He was from out of town, there on some kind of business or other. I hardly spoke to him, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.” Stuart held up his left hand. “That scar there—where my thumb and my wrist meet—I burned myself on a hot pan because I was so distracted by him while I was cooking.” The man had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves and Stuart had been so dizzy with lust that when the head cook had called his name, he’d jerked and bumped his hand into searing hot metal.
“Is that when you came out?”
Stuart’s laugh was humorless. “No. I never planned to come out. I wrestled with it, sure it was just temptation, a test of my faith that I could overcome. I loved my wife. I couldn’t be gay. Those seeds that had been sown in Greece had taken root. My head was full of doubts about the church and about my place in it and who I wanted to be.
“Sometimes, late at night, I’d give in and watch gay porn. When I did, I discovered things about myself that I…I knew went against every teaching in the Church of the Latter-Day Saints and would horrify my wife.” He wet his lips. “So, I did them in secret. I made this locked box that held”—he looked over at Malcolm—“well, some things that I wasn’t comfortable sharing with anyone.”
Not even Malcolm. There didn’t seem to be a judgmental bone in Malcolm’s body, yet Stuart still couldn’t bring himself to tell him about his secret. He couldn’t bear to see Malcolm’s expression change the way Becky’s had.
“I used to tell her the box held gifts for her.” It had been a stupid thing to do and he’d always wondered if some subconscious part of him had wanted her to find out. The lie had burned in his chest until he’d bought a few things and stashed them there, giving them to her periodically. It had assuaged some of his guilt. But not all of it. Especially not when she’d gush to her sisters about the necklace he’d given her. Or when they’d sigh about what a perfect husband she had. But Stuart saw the pain in her eyes. The loneliness that he was causing.
“I don’t know if I just forgot to lock the box one day or if a part of me wanted to get caught. I felt so trapped. So miserable about lying to her. Becky wanted kids and wanted to get started, so she’d been talking about going off birth control and I…” He sighed. “Becky walked in on me and my secret was out. She kicked me out of the house and told me I wasn’t allowed to come back until I admitted my sins and was healed.”
Stuart closed his eyes. “That was it. I snapped. Permanently. I knew I couldn’t d
o it. I couldn’t go back and lie to my wife every day and have children with her. I couldn’t make her happy and I sure as hell wasn’t happy, so I went to the owner of the restaurant and he helped me. He let me sleep on his couch for a couple days. I had a few belongings I’d packed. I withdrew enough money from our checking account to get by, bought a motorcycle and drove out of Utah as fast as I could and straight to New York. I’ve only spoken to Becky via our lawyers since and my parents sent a letter telling me I was no longer welcome in the church or in their lives. I’ve been excommunicated and I haven’t heard from my parents or my siblings since.”
Stuart’s voice was a little raw by the time he was done, but a weight had been lifted off his chest, too. He’d told very few people in his life that entire story. He’d received varying reactions over the years—shock, horror, sympathy. Malcolm said nothing. Instead, he laid a hand on Stuart’s forearm. His palm was warm against Stuart’s skin as they sat there silently in the backyard with the scent of sawdust and fresh-mown grass around them.
Chapter Seven
Malcolm jogged down the staircase toward Under and ignored his phone’s buzz in his pocket. His brother had taken Malcolm’s place at the Staten Island house and he’d messaged and called often. Malcolm sympathized, he truly did. Having to face their mom’s dysfunction head-on was mentally draining because neither of the Elliott brothers knew how to call her out on the obvious problems. Like the empty refrigerator or the house repairs that went undone, not to mention the utility bills they paid, all while Kim acted like nothing was amiss and spent money she didn’t have.
You could tell her to get a full-time job.
Malcolm’s stomach twisted. Yes, he could do that. If he ever figured out how to call his mother out on her behavior. Which he hadn’t. Despite the current state of his own finances. He hadn’t planned for the porch repair or Kim’s visits to the doctor and even with Jackson’s help, the extra expenses combined with keeping himself housed and fed had drained his accounts to the lowest they’d ever been. Currently, he was too broke to buy himself groceries, which had worked out in a morbid kind of way because any time Malcom thought about it, he felt so sick he could hardly eat. So he’d spent the last couple of days nibbling saltines he’d found in a package at the back of his pantry and counting down the hours to his next paycheck.
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