Chapter Twenty-One
Elliott did not have hot chocolate mix. He had herbal tea, however, a vanilla chamomile mixture received as a sample when he’d ordered something more hard core. He made them each a big mug, and they sat on the couch, Elliott slowly defrosting from the warmth of his drink and the heat of Simon’s body. Eventually they turned on the TV, but Elliott’s thoughts were elsewhere, and he suspected so were Simon’s. Ishtar was fast asleep.
Long after they’d drained their cups, Simon remained quiet. Contemplative. But sometimes he leaned his head on Elliott’s shoulder, and that was nice.
“Christmas,” Simon said out of the blue.
“What?”
“Christmas. It’s in a month.”
“True.”
Simon didn’t respond, so Elliott waited him out. Eventually, he spoke again. “What are your plans, El?”
“Nothing. My parents and Ladd and Anna are going on a cruise to the Bahamas or somewhere. Mom and Dad invited me—even offered to help pay my way.”
“You’re not going?”
“No. I can’t with Ishtar, can I?”
Simon poked him. “I’d dog-sit for you.”
Elliott shook his head. “I’ll stay here.” Really, Ishtar was only an excuse. Back when the rest of the family had been planning the trip, he hadn’t even owned her yet. Hadn’t met Simon yet either. Sitting around on a boat, stuffing his face at the buffets, and invading islands with a horde of other tourists—none of those things appealed to him. Besides, having a stateroom to himself would be depressing when everyone else was paired up.
“Aunt Soso hosts a huge party every year. She has a big house in Turlock. The family sort of camps out there all day, talking and eating, but lots of friends stop by and stay for a while. It was great when I pulled a holiday shift, because I’d still get a chance to celebrate with everyone.” His normally deep voice became quieter and thinner as he spoke.
“It sounds like a nice celebration.”
“It is.” Simon rolled the hem of his shirt, which had become untucked at some point in the evening. Then he looked at Elliott. “I don’t know what I was expecting today. A fucking miracle?” He snorted.
“You were hoping for acceptance.”
“But I knew I wouldn’t get it. I knew! How could I be so goddamn stupid?”
Elliott was going to tell him there was nothing stupid about hope, that love drove people into all kinds of untenable situations, that Simon’s parents were fools for rejecting such a remarkable son. But before he could get a word out, Elliott began to cry. Not noble, silent tears either. No, it was the kind of sobbing that rendered speaking impossible, that immediately made his nose all snotty. His eyes burned and his lungs hurt, and he didn’t even know why.
Then Simon was hugging him tightly—and he was crying too. They wept and wailed and dripped tears onto each other’s shirts, and when Ishtar pressed up to them in concern, they included her in the messy group embrace.
Eventually Elliott regained enough control to shuffle to the bathroom and return with a box of tissues. He and Simon each used several, which did nothing for their puffy eyes or damp shirts.
“Sorry,” Elliott said with a sniffle as he resettled next to Simon.
“I haven’t cried since my grandma died. That was over ten years ago.”
Elliott nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He must have been a kid. He just wasn’t the type—except today apparently. “Sorry,” he repeated.
“Don’t be. I feel a little better. Don’t you?”
Although Elliott nodded again, it was a lie. The tears hadn’t given him any sense of catharsis, maybe because he knew they didn’t solve anything. He was still a moron who’d made poor life choices, and he was still stuck between damned and double-damned when it came to his future. “That was really brave of you today.” That, at least, was honest.
“Nah. People come out all the time. Kids even. I saw this one teen on YouTube who—”
“What was scarier? Telling your parents you’re gay or getting shot?”
Simon frowned and rubbed where his beard used to be. “Parents,” he admitted grudgingly.
“But you did it anyway. That’s what courage is—moving forward in the face of fear. I think Mark Twain had a quote about it.”
The noise Simon made in response sounded like denial, yet he leaned his head on Elliott’s shoulder. “It feels like something’s been amputated.”
“Then think of yourself as a lizard.”
“Not a snail?”
“No, I’m the snail. You’re a lizard. Like those cute little guys who live along the greenbelt. They lose their tails, but they grow them back.”
After seeming to consider this for a moment, Simon grunted. He grabbed Elliott’s hand and guided it to his own hip. “I still have my tail.”
“I’m glad. It’s a nice one.”
“Will you show me how nice you think it is?”
Elliott kissed his cheek. “With great pleasure.”
After they made love, Simon remained in Elliott’s bed, his solid body cradled in Elliott’s arms, and he fell asleep quickly. But Elliott stayed awake, thinking about bravery and hard decisions.
***
“Want to go for a . . . perambulation?”
They were both naked, and Simon spat a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and blinked at Elliott. “What?”
“A w-a-l-k? I can’t say the word because Ishtar knows it.” He turned to look at her hopeful face and rapidly waving tail. “And I think she’s learning to spell it.”
“She’s a smart girl. But no, thanks. I’m going to head home.”
“You sure?”
Simon rinsed his mouth, wiped his face with a towel, and ran his fingers through his hair, which did little to tame it. He stroked his cheek where dark bristles had sprouted already. “Yeah. I need . . . I think I need some time alone. Not that I don’t love hanging out with you, but it’s hard to clear my head when you’re near.” He palmed Elliott’s bare ass.
Although some time apart was probably a good idea, Elliott wasn’t enthusiastic. Which was surprising, given that he’d willingly—eagerly, even—spent the majority of his life by himself. Hadn’t Simon had to practically force him to interact with other human beings? But that amputation thing Simon had mentioned the night before, that was suddenly a real fear for Elliott too. Shit.
“Okay,” Elliott said as neutrally as possible. “Breakfast first?”
“Not hungry.”
While Elliott wondered if Simon had ever uttered that phrase before, he tried not to appear surprised. “Okay. I think I’ll take Ish for a run, then.”
They got dressed—Simon in his clothes from the previous day, Elliott in sweats and running shoes. Neither of them said anything, and Ishtar watched them closely, a worried crease on her forehead.
Simon hesitated at the front door. “I think . . . I maybe shouldn’t come over for a while.”
All of the oxygen left the room at once, and Elliott made an embarrassing little moan. “Are we breaking up?” he managed to say. He felt like the world’s biggest idiot. It wasn’t as if he and Simon had sworn eternal oaths to each other—and Elliott was the one planning to leave.
“No.” Simon looked mournful. “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”
“Did I do something to make you angry?” Elliott racked his brain for possibilities but couldn’t think of anything especially stupid or damning.
Simon swiped Elliott’s cheek with his thumb. “No. Look, you’ve been honest with me from the beginning, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. But now I’ve alienated almost my entire family, and maybe coming clean was the right thing to do, regardless of whatever happens with you and me. But . . . Fuck.” He closed his eyes as if he were in pain. “I can’t even say this clearly.”
Stomach tied in queasy knots, Elliott waited.
“I guess I am kinda mad at you, only it’s not your fault. I know that doesn’t make any damn sense.”
Feeling as if he’d been punched, Elliott stepped back and crossed his arms. “Then explain. I’m listening.”
“We . . . I love you, okay? But we had these two things in our way—my closet and your job. In a way, they sort of balanced each other, right?” He moved his hands, palms up, as if they were parts of a scale, each of them weighing life challenges.
“Okay. But I don’t—”
“My closet is gone.” Simon’s right hand rose while the left dropped. “Your job’s still there. I knew every fucking bit of this, so it’s my own damned fault, but I still feel . . .” He growled, sounding more frustrated than angry.
“You’ve made a sacrifice and I haven’t.”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Damn it, you never pressured me to come out, and you’ve been clear from day one about your career. I still feel like I’m losing, though. Losing everything, you know?”
The thing was, Elliott understood completely. “I’m losing too,” he replied softly.
“Yeah. But you can do something about it. I can’t.” Simon shook his head. “I know my reasoning is fucked up. It’s why I need time to get my head together.”
“I don’t know where this is coming from. Last night—”
“Last night I wasn’t having issues, I know. Then this morning I got out of your bed and I thought ‘How many more times?’ Like, how many hours do I get with you before it’s all poof! It just hit me. Like a bullet.” He waved vaguely at his knee.
Maybe Elliott could stop this right now if he argued. He could yell. He could point out that if their time together was limited, they ought to make the most of it. He could describe how much Simon was hurting him. He ought to make a fuss. If he’d been less of a pushover with John, if he hadn’t just sat back and taken whatever was dished out, that mess would have stopped much earlier.
But how would pushing back help now?
“I’ll be here,” Elliott said. “If you want to talk or anything.”
Simon gave him a long, searching look. Then, as if he couldn’t bear to leave without something, Simon pulled him close for a long, tender kiss. He gave Ishtar’s head a rub and headed out the door.
***
After a long run followed by a shower, Elliott spent the morning brooding. Several times he caught himself on the brink of ordering books but was able to stop himself each time. Instead, he rearranged some of his existing books and restocked the outdoor library with fresh titles. He went on a cleaning binge. He dug around in a few obscure texts, searching for snippets of information on two men who were buried side by side in the Columbia cemetery and who might possibly have been lovers. They’d both died young, one of them the victim of a shooting.
Midway through the afternoon, as Elliott slumped on the couch with a cup of coffee, Ishtar began to bark. The doorbell rang a moment later. Elliott briefly considered pretending he wasn’t home but ended up unlocking the door after all. Anna and Ladd stood there, smiling. Ladd held a paper grocery bag that looked heavy. “Leftovers,” he explained as he squeezed past Anna and Ishtar, who were having an enthusiastic reunion in the doorway.
Elliott closed the door. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s not Thanksgiving weekend without turkey-and-stuffing sandwiches. We have way too much to finish off ourselves.”
Elliott had eaten little all day and wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t protest as Ladd took the food into the kitchen.
“Where’s Simon?” asked Anna, glancing up from Ishtar.
“Dunno. Home, probably.”
That made her examine him more closely. “Something wrong?”
“No.”
Ladd came clumping back into the room. “You might as well spit it out now, El, before she drags it screaming out of your guts.”
“He doesn’t have to tell me anything he doesn’t want to.” Anna clicked her tongue. “He’s not married to me.”
Ladd rolled his eyes and muttered something, Anna flipped him off, and Elliott laughed despite his sour mood. God, he was so lucky to have family who cared about him. But of course that thought immediately led to Simon, who was—for the time being, at least—on his own, and suddenly Elliott wanted to talk about it.
“He came out to his entire family yesterday. Like, a cast of thousands. With the notable exception of his pregnant teenaged cousin, not a soul was on his side. So we came back here, and now he’s pissed at me because I’m an asshole, and he doesn’t even want to be pissed but he can’t help it, and I don’t blame him, and now I feel like king of the assholes even though I’ve been upfront with him from the start.”
With that out of his system, he stomped over to the armchair and threw himself down with all the melodrama of a fourteen-year-old. Which was appropriate, perhaps, since he seemed to be emotionally stunted.
He had to give Anna and Ladd credit. Instead of making a hasty exit, which is what he would have done in their position, they sat on the couch. They asked him for details. They sympathized. At one point, Ladd even heated a plate of leftovers and insisted Elliott eat them. While their compassion made Elliott feel better, he grieved that Simon was receiving no such comfort and support. Kind, good Simon, who deserved far better from life.
In the end, they didn’t give him advice. Maybe there wasn’t any to give. But they hugged him and told him they loved him, and Ishtar joined in too, and that helped a bit.