The Fiancé (It's Just Us Here Book 6)

by Christopher X Sullivan

  “It paid well,” Mark said, carefully waltzing around the fact that he didn't need the money. “I got to travel the world, meet all kinds of fun and exciting people. It's really been a great experience.”

  “He still has photo shoots and runway walks,” I teased. “Where did you go last month?”

  “New York Men's Fashion Week. Swimsuits and stuff.”

  My dad continued to laugh. “You are too much.” His face turned cherry red because he was embarrassed for Mark.

  Despite their differences, Mark surprised my father. He may have been a model, but he spoke like a jock because of his early experience playing baseball. My father loved it and ate it up.

  “I wish Chris had played football or baseball instead of cross country and swimming... and doing the marching band.” My dad poked fun at me, but he was not teasing about the marching band. My dad hated that part of my high school experience.

  “You didn't tell me you did the marching band,” Mark said with an unconvincing wink. Of course I had told Mark about playing in the marching band... it wasn't a secret. So I rolled my eyes at him.

  “I think my dad likes you more than me,” I complained.

  “Damn straight,” Mark said, tinkling his wine glass with my father's beer bottle. Then they each took a long sip like it had been a toast.

  “Don't worry, Chris. You're in the clear. I can't be friends with any fruit who drinks wine like that. Real men drink beer.”

  Mark nearly choked. He looked at me with the wildest expression that clearly said: Does your father know that I'm a fruit?

  The three of us finished off the pie. I began picking up the plates and Mark joined me at the sink. My back was stiff. I hissed at him to go sit down and talk with my father. “Keep him entertained.”

  “We agreed to clean the kitchen together and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  I assumed my death was imminent, probably from embarrassment. We cleaned the dishes in less than ten minutes. I handed the lasagna and pie pans to my dad.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” I said.

  “It was nice to meet you, Mark,” my father said with genuine warmth.

  “It was nice to finally meet you, too. I've heard so much about you.”

  I about kicked Mark in the shins under the table.

  “What lies has this one been telling about me? I'm sure he has enough stories to be getting along with. He knows not to put me in his books.”

  “You and Aunt Tina are always worried about being in my books. You know if you didn't say anything, I wouldn't be so tempted.” I teased my father because of how he had teased me earlier.

  “Mr. Sullivan, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I'm pretty sure he writes about me, too.”

  “I write about everyone,” I said. Though nobody lately, seeing as I haven’t written in months. “This guy is such a narcissist. He thinks everything I write is about him.” I teased Mark and smiled broadly.

  My dad left. I felt like throwing up.

  “What the hell were you doing!” I thundered, turning on Mark immediately.

  “Will you calm down? There's nothing to be worked up about.”

  “Nothing to be worked up about! You were teasing me the entire night! You were laughing and squeezing my leg. Under the table. I didn't find that funny. I was stressed out the whole time.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “I'm going to hear about it now.”

  “What were you doing... inviting him in for a beer? Just stay the rest of the night! Why not invite him into our bedroom?!”

  “You need to calm down.”

  “You calm down! We were having a fucking candlelit dinner. I was all dressed up and you're dressed up. What does he think was going on? I never get dressed up like this. I'm wearing my contacts. We look like we’re on a date.”

  “He didn't say anything about it.”

  “That's not his style. He’ll go home and say mean things to my mom. Shit, now my mom knows. Everyone's going to know. Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Everyone's going to know eventually,” Mark replied sagely.

  “But not like this!” I shouted. “Now my mom is going to be thinking gossipy thoughts about me. And my dad is going to say mean things out the side of his mouth like he usually does.”

  “Your dad is really nice. I think he liked me.”

  “Oh, he loved you all right. He always wanted me to be a ‘real’ athlete. He went to every one of my cross country meets and swimming events, but he always wished it was basketball or football or baseball.”

  “I'm sure you're over-thinking things, like usual.” He put a hand on either of my shoulders, willing me to calm down. “Take a deep breath and let's think through this.”

  “Fuck. Now I have to explain things to my parents.”

  “You don't owe anyone an explanation. All that matters is that there's two of us. Together. Nothing else. Right now, nothing else matters.”

  “Except you basically yanked me out of the closet and sacrificed my peace of mind.”

  “I did not. I'm sorry about getting caught up in the moment at the end. I really liked your dad and he seems like a nice guy. It felt natural.”

  “Well, he was putting on a show for you. Mark the jock. Mark the model. He just loved that.”

  “Yeah, he had basically the same reaction as someone else I know...” Mark added slyly.

  “Don't even go there. I'm not my father.” I was definitive in my denouncement, but Mark just grinned like a moron. “Don't give me that look. I'm not.”

  “Thou dost protest too much.”

  “Big words,” I shot back sarcastically. “I'm going to get you back for all the footsies under the table earlier.” I shook the jitters out of my shoulders. “I can't believe I had a candle on the table. I can't believe my dad just showed up like that. I bet my mom sent him. I bet she could sense something. She has, like, this sixth sense so she knows when something's going on.”

  “Then we found out where you get it from,” Mark said out the side of his mouth.

  “Quit trying to be clever, this isn't funny. This is serious. This is my life we're talking about here.”

  “My life, too,” he said with a giggle. “You know I'll be here no matter what happens. I don't think it's going to be that bad.” Mark followed behind me as I paced through the apartment. “From what you said about your parents and how—”

  I cut him off. “I have to do it. Soon.” I had to tell them about Mark. “Next Tuesday. I'll have dinner over here at my place and invite my parents. They’ll know something serious is up because we'll be breaking with the regular schedule. I'll tell them I have something important to share with them.” Yeah, that’s a great idea.

  “You don't have to be dramatic about it. You don't have to schedule a dinner. Just go over there when you're ready and tell your mom one-on-one. I know she's going to love you just the same. I sat with her at your book party, remember that? Feels like a lifetime ago.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember. Don't even bring that up. You couldn't stay away from my family. Shit. It’s a miracle they didn't figure it out then.”

  “Just pretend like they already know,” he whispered. “That's probably the best policy, anyways. If your mom had any suspicions today... they didn't start this afternoon.”

  “Right,” I said, distracted. “What should I make for dinner on Tuesday?”

  “Nothing. Just go over there and tell them one-on-one. You don't have to make a spectacle of it.”

  “It has to be perfect,” I said, thinking out loud.

  “It doesn't have to be anything,” he stressed. “It just has to get done. Don't build it up so big in your head. I'll be there with you the whole way. If you need me, I'll be a few minutes down the road at my place.”

  “So you agree, we should do it here and I should make dinner for my parents.”

  “I don't agree to anything. This is entirely on your terms. I'm not making you do anything. All of my suggestions are just that, suggesti
ons.”

  “Why is it such a big deal? I feel so nervous all of a sudden. Jittery. I just want this to be over with.”

  “Why don't you follow your dad home and explain things to him? Right now. It would be over.”

  I thought about the optics. “No. I'll explain at dinner,” I said. “On Tuesday. You know I like my schedules.”

  “I can see I'm not going to move you off your course of action. This is the Chris I remember. It's good to have you back.”

  That Tuesday dinner was a mistake. If you’re coming out to your parents... don’t do what I did. Just go talk to them one-on-one.

  Out

  MARK WAS RIGHT, THOUGH typing that admission has made my fingers ache with a million pains... or maybe that’s just part of the recovery from chemo.

  Yes, he was actually right. I shouldn't have waited so long to confront my parents. I should have gone over to their house the minute I committed to my course of action and then laid out the truth for all to see. But I didn't. I was a coward. I had this plan in my mind where I would wait until Tuesday and dazzle my parents with this amazing dinner. And they would be so impressed by my cooking and my presentation... and then we would all hold hands and sing Kumbaya.

  Of course that wasn't the case. I knew my dad was going to freak out. He was going to say mean things. I knew I was going to feel like shit afterwards because he had this way of always looking disappointed that made me feel so ashamed. He could change my mood with the simplest, angry word.

  Mark tried his best to calm me down and distract me. He tried to make me laugh. He walked me through potential conversations until my plan was as foolproof as we could make it. But I couldn't calm down and went overboard in my planning.

  First, I couldn't decide what to make for dinner. How about steaks? How about soup and salad? What do you make for your parents when you're trying to come out of the closet... when you're about to reveal that everything they ever knew about you was backwards?

  What’s the perfect main course that just jumps off that plate and says: your son is in love with a man!

  I was caught up in my own head and shouldn’t have thought of myself as the center of the world. I wasn’t as sneaky or as clever as I had thought because my parents were not exactly unaware that something like this would happen—that I might bring home a man.

  I never brought home a girl and never talked about a significant other. They had stopped asking me if I was ever going to find someone and it was nice that they had stopped pressuring me.

  I shouldn't have been so self-absorbed. Maybe my coming out would have been less painful if I wasn’t so worried about impressing my parents.

  I eventually settled on a chicken dinner with a salad and a small amount of wine (even though my mom normally didn’t drink). Nothing too crazy. Then I had to choose the outfit. What to wear? I didn't want to look too put together. But then again, I didn't want to look like the old me, either. I wanted to dress as a halfway between who I once was and who I wanted to become. I went with a nice gray shirt and slacks. Mark overrode that idea and found my favorite copper colored pants.

  “This is what you should wear,” he insisted.

  Mark was right—they were perfect, but I never wore those flamboyant pants around my family. They were my Mark pants, my freedom pants. I was free to express myself in those pants... and had never intended to wear them in front of my parents. They were goofy and I regretted ever ordering them.

  “I'm not going to wear them!” I forcefully declared.

  “This is the best idea. You wanted a good halfway point. You love these pants. You always laugh and you're so carefree in them. Then you can wear your gray t-shirt.” He tweaked my nipple and I shied away from his body. “Let me get you a new gold chain. I'd love for you to wear it.”

  Yeah, I remember what happened the last time you put a chain around my neck... “Do you wear a cross?” I countered.

  “You know why I don't do that.”

  “Well then quit pressuring me. I feel enough pressure as it is. I’m telling my parents on Tuesday. I’m not wearing jewelry. I’ll wear these stupid pants.”

  “You picked them out,” he reminded me. “This isn’t the end of the world.”

  “Easy for you to say! You’ve been out since high school!”

  TUESDAY COULDN'T ARRIVE soon enough. I was freaking out and I’m surprised Mark didn’t throw in the towel. I prayed that everything would go smoothly—I physically got down on my knees and clasped my hands together. Mark took me to church on Sunday and I didn’t put up a fuss. When the congregation prayed for people in the hospital, all I thought about was the coming dinner on Tuesday. And when Dunworthy spoke for a few moments about social change, I was instead daydreaming about my dinner going over flawlessly. And I prayed for good health because when my body got this stressed, it usually led to an autoimmune reaction.

  I prayed to God. I literally prayed to God.

  Then we had a chat with Father Dunworthy. Mark didn't mention my troubles so I brought them up voluntarily.

  “That's a big change,” the priest said.

  No shit! I wanted to yell, but I couldn’t yell that at a priest. “Yes,” I said calmly instead.

  “What are your expectations?”

  “I don't have any,” I lied.

  Mark's hand twitched in mine.

  “Okay, maybe I do have a few expectations. I expect my mom will be okay with it in the end. So will my dad, but he's going to explode when I bring it up. He's not homophobic, but he says some of the stupidest shit.” I covered my mouth in horror, ashamed to have cursed in front of a priest.

  “And what does he say that gets you so worked up?” Father Dunworthy was unruffled by my salty language.

  “Nothing in particular. Just regular guy talk. If you work around electricians or plumbers or HVAC guys on construction crews... they all talk like that. They all talk like, ‘here's a fairy’ when they see a rainbow sticker on a car.”

  “And that upsets you?” Dunworthy asked.

  Doesn’t it you? “I don't understand why it's a big deal. It shouldn't be a big deal. Who cares how a person lives their life as long as it's not affecting you or hurting anyone?”

  “Then why are you so worried about your parents?” Father Dunworthy prodded... in places where Mark had poked earlier, only to have his fingers nearly bitten off by my attitude. “You have a mature perspective on things.”

  “I don't know...” I groaned and gripped Mark’s hand for life support. “I feel like everything is going to change and it's all completely out of my control.” So much uncertainty... and it’s my fault.

  “Nothing is going to change,” Mark supplied. “Your parents have known you your whole life. This one little thing isn't going to change who you are.”

  “But it is. It will. When I was in high school, one of the girls on the softball team came out as a lesbian. Her parents never let her stay in their house again. Even to this day, I think, they don’t speak to her.”

  “What does that have to do with you?”

  “I don't know. It just felt wrong. How could you do that to your own daughter? You know? Disowned, I guess. I can't believe that actually happens. I could never do that...”

  “Of course it happens,” Mark said with a little heat—he hated how I could be so naïve. “But it's not going to happen to you. And even if it does, I'm here—we're here together. You don't depend on your parents. They'll just have to suck it up and deal with it.”

  “But I don't want—”

  Mark interrupted me. “You need to be selfish on this. You’re sometimes selfish about other things... why not this, too? Don't trick yourself into feeling like you're inconveniencing someone... not when you've been inconveniencing yourself forever.”

  “Well said.” Father Dunworthy agreed with basically everything Mark suggested.

  We left the church and I realized that Mark had brought me there purely for the sake of airing our worries and lancing the boils in my rec
ent nightmares. “Maybe we should talk to Marty and Claude,” I suggested.

  “No more talking about this. Tuesday. It's going to happen on Tuesday whether you talk to Marty or not.”

  “How are your gay dads doing?”

  “They're doing fine. We're not talking to them. We’re not changing the subject. You can do this on your own. I'll be there for you one hundred percent. We'll get on the other side and then we'll have a huge-ass party. It's called a coming out party.”

  “I know what it's called.”

  “Well, I never can tell with you,” he teased. “The things you know and the things you don't... sometimes you're so willfully blind, it's astounding.”

  “Oh, someone found a big word.”

  “Don't snap at me. I'm just trying to help.”

  My bad mood was completely gone. “I know. I love you so much. I want to get this over with. Can we fast forward two days? I'm just going to want to curl up and go to bed Tuesday night. No party.”

  “You're going to sleep like a baby. Don't worry, it's going to be fine.”

  MARK WAS RIGHT, ONCE again. That Tuesday dinner was fine, but not for any of the reasons that Mark predicted. I had tried to play out the possible scenarios as many different ways as I could (and my imagination was prodigious). None of them came true. That Tuesday was a truly weird moment in my life.

  I baked the chicken and shooed Nick and Travis out of the apartment for the evening. Mark was there with me to fix the salad. He pulled the dessert out of the freezer and let it thaw.

  “You're going to be fine,” he assured me. “We’ll be sharing this dessert together in an hour.”

  “Easy for you to say, you won't be here through the hard part.”

  “I'll be three minutes away. I'll be fully dressed and ready to go the moment you call. Just give me a call and I'll be here.” Mark hovered near me and he smelled great, not that I would ever admit it.

  “That'll be my goal,” I said. “My light at the end of the tunnel. I'm keeping my sights on you. This is all for you, you know.” All this hassle.

  “No, it's for you,” he reminded me. His hand grazed my hip. “It's for us.”