Chapter Twenty-Three
The night of our double date, I picked up Sailo, drove us to the U-district. A few blocks away from the restaurant where we’d meet Mark, I parked, paid for a few hours just in case we decided to stay late, and we strolled up the road to the agreed-upon place.
As the restaurant came into view, its bright blue sign standing out from the overcast sky, I slowed, then stopped.
Sailo turned to me. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” I glanced at the restaurant, then faced him. “Are you sure about this?”
“Sure.” Sailo started to reach for me, but then looked around and withdrew his hand. “We both know what it’s like, trying to come out. If this makes it easier for your son to come out? Hell yeah, I’m in.”
“I appreciate it. But I don’t want to ask too much of you. We just started seeing each other a little while ago, and—”
“Relax. If you’d tossed this at me the night we met? Yeah, that might’ve been a bit much. But we’ve been out a few times. We’re getting to know each other. Meeting each other’s kids… I’m okay with that.” He chewed his lip. “Maybe not my kid yet. He’s a bit young to understand how all this works.”
“He knows you date men, though, right?”
“Oh yeah, yeah.” Sailo shifted his weight. “But I prefer to wait until I’ve been with someone for a while. So he doesn’t get, you know, attached.”
In case things go to shit, I thought with a pang of dread in my gut.
“That makes sense,” I said quietly. “My kids are old enough to understand. Plus they’ve already been through the divorce, so…” I waved a hand. “Anyway. I really do appreciate you coming tonight. As long as you really are comfortable with it.”
Sailo smiled. “Completely.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “Well. Let’s do this.”
“Let’s do it.”
We exchanged one more long look and then continued up the sidewalk.
The restaurant—apparently one of Mark’s favorites—was as bright on the inside as it was on the outside. Nearly everything was some shade of blue, aside from the multicolored tablecloths and the matching aprons worn by the staff. The second I walked in, I was greeted by a warm gust of about half a dozen different spices. A little bit of garlic, a little bit of rosemary, and several others, all combining for a pleasant, aromatic air. I couldn’t remember if I’d been hungry before we arrived, or if I’d been too nervous for that, but I sure as hell was now.
As my eyes adjusted to the slightly dimmer lighting, I saw Mark waving from a few tables away. Sailo and I made our way over, and I introduced them.
“Sailo, this is my son, Mark. Mark, Sailo.”
They shook hands over the table, and Sailo and I took our seats.
“Devon should be here soon.” Mark checked the time on his phone. “He had class this afternoon, and that prof always runs late.”
“No problem,” I said. “I don’t think we’re in any hurry.”
“Definitely not.” Sailo picked up one of the blue leather menus. “But we may need to order whatever I’m smelling as an appetizer or something, because goddamn.”
Mark laughed. “I’ve had almost everything on the menu. It all tastes as good as it smells.”
“Yeah?” Sailo glanced at him. “Anything you recommend?”
“Well…” Mark gestured at the menu. Sailo laid it down and turned it so they could both read it, and they hunched over it, analyzing and discussing every appetizer.
For my part, I just watched them in disbelief. My boyfriend and my son? Chatting easily over menu items? Somehow, I’d convinced myself they’d be standoffish and awkward at first, but so far, so good.
I was absolutely grateful for Sailo’s presence, though admittedly, I still wasn’t sure how I felt about tonight’s arrangement. This was something I’d never imagined in a million years—having dinner with my son and both our boyfriends.
But…so far, so good.
While we perused the menu and discussed the various items Mark had and hadn’t tried, his eyes kept flicking toward the door. Whenever it opened, he sat up a little. Then a second later, he’d relax.
Shortly after we’d ordered our drinks and a plate of bacon-wrapped dates, he glanced at the door, but this time, his face lit up with the brightest smile I’d seen on him in years. “There he is.”
I turned, and immediately homed in on the guy in question. A gorgeous African-American guy was striding toward us, eyes locked on Mark with the same smile on his lips. And I had to say—my son had damned good taste in men. Devon’s black hair had been divided into braids, the longest of which were loosely tied together at the base of his neck while some of the shorter ones hung beside his face. He was tall, fit, and he had a warm, infectious smile.
As Devon approached, Mark said, “So, um, this is Devon. Devon, my dad, Greg, and his boyfriend, Sailo.”
Everyone shook hands. As Devon sat beside Mark, they shared a quick peck on the lips before Devon turned to flag down the waitress.
With our drinks on the table and his on the way, we all faced each other.
Okay. Here goes. Same-sex double date. With my son.
Devon leaned forward, peering at Sailo’s arm. “That’s some great line work. Who’s your artist?”
“A friend in California.” Sailo pulled his sleeve up, revealing more of the intricate tattoo.
“Polynesian, right?”
Sailo nodded. “Samoan.”
“It’s great work.”
“Thanks.”
While they scrutinized Sailo’s ink, I turned to Mark. “So, how long before you start getting tattooed?”
His cheeks colored, and he sheepishly lowered his gaze. “Uh…”
I chuckled. “You already have one, don’t you?”
Avoiding my eyes, he raised three fingers.
“Three?” My jaw dropped. “This from the kid who broke out in hives at the sight of a needle?”
“Well, to be fair,” Sailo broke in, “they’re not quite the same thing.”
“Exactly,” Mark said.
“And to be even fairer”—Sailo smirked—“those silly tattoo needles they use here have nothing on the ones they used on me.” He leaned back and lifted his shirt just enough to reveal a few lines of his big tattoo. “This was a painful tattoo.”
Mark gulped, eyes widening.
Devon craned his neck. “Wow. That is some sick work. How long did it take?”
“A long, long time.” Sailo pulled his shirt back down and reached for his drink. “A lot of very long sessions over the course of a few years.”
“And they do that the traditional way, right?” Devon made a gesture like he was holding a pencil and poking the air with it. “One dot at a time?”
“Yep.” Sailo took a drink, and I thought he shuddered. “One. Dot. At a time.”
“No thanks,” Mark said. “Mine were painful enough.”
“Speaking of.” I shot him a playfully scrutinizing look. “What tattoos do you have?”
He twisted slightly and pulled up his T-shirt sleeve, revealing a hand of playing cards—a royal flush—about the size of his palm on his upper arm. “Got that one last year.” Then the turned the other way and pulled up his other sleeve to show an elaborate Celtic design. As he fixed his shirt, he met my gaze uncertainly. Gesturing at his back, he said, “And then I have an eagle between my shoulder blades, but it isn’t done yet.”
“What I’ve seen so far is nice work,” I said. “When were you going to show your mom and me?”
“Uh, well.” He cleared his throat. “Eventually?”
I laughed. “Fair enough. They are pretty nice, though.”
“So you don’t disapprove?”
“Does it matter if I do?” I raised my glass. “You’re an adult.”
“Sometimes,” Devon muttered.
“Hey!” Mark elbowed him. “You’re not helping.”
They tried to glare at each other but burst out laughing. Devon patted Mark’s hand on the table, and then kept it there. They laced their fingers together, Devon’s dark skin and Mark’s fair skin contrasting dramatically on top of the multicolored tablecloth. Neither seemed the least bit self-conscious about showing affection in public. For that, I envied both of them.
“So,” Sailo said to Devon. “Greg says you’re a musician?”
Devon nodded. “Since I was seven.”
“Oh really?” Sailo said. “My son’s six, and I think he might have some aptitude. I’m just worried about starting him too young.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about starting music lessons young,” Devon said. “Just don’t push him at that age. I know a lot of kids from my music school who were burned out by fourteen because they had to practice three hours a day.” He scowled, shaking his head, which made a couple of his braids bounce against his cheek. “They probably hate music now.”
“Your parents didn’t push like that?” I asked.
“Nah. They made me practice, but I still got to go play with the other kids, do sports, all of that. I stuck with the music because I enjoyed it, not because they made me.” He turned to Sailo. “Any idea what instrument he might want to try?”
“Don’t know yet.” Sailo shrugged. “Maybe I’ll let him try a few and see if he likes one better than the others.”
“That’s how Dad did it with us,” Mark said. “The music shops that do rentals will let you try them out.”
“Good idea,” Sailo said.
As they continued talking about various instruments and difficulty levels, I slung my arm across the back of Sailo’s chair, resting my hand on his shoulder, and for a while, just watched the three of them interacting. The conversation still registered, and whenever anyone asked me something, I responded without missing a beat, but for the most part, I was watching. Taking it all in.
Sitting here at a café table with our boyfriends was mind-blowing. Even when neither of us were speaking, just being here like this—my arm behind Sailo, Mark’s fingers loosely intertwined with Devon’s between their menus—was the most open and honest my son and I had been with each other in years.
Every time Mark stole a glance at Devon and smiled, my heart sped up. That was exactly the way April had looked at Nathan when they were first together, and I caught myself hoping and praying Mark had found someone as amazing as the man his sister had married. As far as I was concerned, all my kids deserved nothing less than the best partners, and especially after all the hell Mark had been through—hiding his sexuality, battling that godawful depression—I hoped he’d found the man he deserved.
They were young, I reminded myself, and they’d only been together a year. Even if there was talk of moving in together, things like this didn’t always last. But for the moment, they really did seem deeply, genuinely happy. What more could a father ask for?
A close relationship with his son, for one thing. But that was finally happening. Out of nowhere, prompted by the last thing I’d expected, we were here. He was smiling. He was talking. I tried not to think about how many more years he would’ve stayed distant and silent if his mother and I had stayed married. What would have finally pushed him to come out and tell us he was gay. He’d kept it quiet all this time. How much longer could that have gone on?
Though my divorce still hurt, I was thankful for it today. I’d found my way to Sailo, and that had brought me closer to Mark.
Absently stroking Sailo’s shoulder through his shirt, I couldn’t help thinking that maybe the divorce had been a blessing in disguise after all. Sailo was in my life now. My son and I had found some common ground I’d never imagined we’d have. I was being open and honest with myself about who I was attracted to. About who I was.
Though it still scared me to be starting over a whole lot later in life than I would’ve liked, maybe this would all work out for the better after all.
After dinner, we left the restaurant and lingered outside for a few minutes. I wouldn’t have objected to staying until the place shut down, but everyone had places to be early in the morning, so we called it a night. Mark hugged me again. We shook hands with each other’s respective boyfriends, and then headed off in separate directions.
A few steps from the door, I paused and turned back. For a moment, I watched them walking away, hand in hand on their way down the thinly-crowded sidewalk. Admittedly, I envied them. Though Mark had been nervous about coming out to me, he and his boyfriend obviously didn’t mind people knowing they were a couple. The way they kept smiling at each other, I wasn’t even sure they were aware there were other people around to notice them in the first place.
“You okay?” Sailo asked.
I turned to him, and the instant our eyes met, I smiled like Mark had been smiling at Devon. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He didn’t question. He just returned the smile, sending shivers down my spine and adding to that giddiness in my stomach.
I gave Mark and Devon one last glance, and then we headed toward my car.
As we walked, neither of us said anything. The silence was comfortable and pleasant—two people enjoying each other’s company without the need to fill the space with anything. My heart was still going a million miles an hour.
Our fingers brushed, sending a tingle right through me. I glanced at him, and when he met my eyes, he smiled. Without a word, I slipped my hand into his. He splayed his fingers, letting me lace mine in between, and we both gently closed our hands.
We glanced at each other. Smiled.
And, holding hands in public for the first time, continued down the sidewalk.