Our time at the resort had been relatively unremarkable. Although the bonfire was even more uncomfortable and intrusive than the counseling, I didn’t expect anything earth-shattering to take place. And yet a few strokes of a pencil was all it took for my illusions to be destroyed.

I spent most of the day mentally mocking the other couples and generally feeling superior. Tommy and I were perfect together. It felt as though he were made for me, and our lives fit together seamlessly. However, we needed to pretend that we actually had significant issues and so I played along and made a list to be burned in the fire, exhuming problems just to have something to write. Tommy had forgiven me months ago, and we had already moved on and started anew.

My list was pretty simple and didn’t include anything that Tommy had done, simply because there was nothing he’d ever done that had hurt me:

• Hid D1
• Broke up with T. badly
• Insulted T. at wedding
• Kissed T. at wedding

After twiddling my thumbs for a while, I glanced at Tommy’s paper, wondering if he was writing a limerick or doodling. Tommy’s list was far more extensive, and the more I read, the more frightened I became.

• Risked his life to hide things from me
• Abrupt, unexpected breakup with obvious lie
• Flaunted pretend relationship with Xander
• No explanation for breakup after caught
• Didn’t respect my ability to make important decisions for myself
• Insulted me with words he knew would hurt the worst to drive me away
• Kissed passionately on NYE as 3-months-late goodbye, then radio silence
• I dated someone else while apart — his goal but it still hurt him.
• New relationship at hyperspeed but still won’t talk to me
• I’m afraid to talk about future
• I’m afraid to ask questions
• I’m afraid to share too much

“Is this real or for show?” I asked a bit shakily. “I thought you forgave me.”

“I have forgiven you. But…” He nibbled his lip and stared off toward the fire.

“But what?” But he needed to write something? Please, let it be that.

“I’m still half-convinced you’ll change your mind and break up with me again, and I won’t be able to do anything about it,” he whispered. “I just need to learn to trust you again. Trust us again. And you…”

My heart shredded. He didn’t trust me. “And I…?”

He looked away from the fire, and his eyes were filled with challenge. “You need to trust me.”

“I do!” I said —shouted, really— but I knew that wasn’t entirely true. “There are just things that I don’t want to burden you with, that you don’t need to worry about.”

“I get that, I do. But I’m not a child you need to protect. You have to start respecting my ability to cope with bad news and be there for you,” he said, tears in his eyes and thickening his voice, along with a level of exhaustion I only saw after a particularly rough night in the ER. “You have to start respecting me.”

I felt, and probably looked, like a carp caught on dry land, mouth opening and closing, breath not coming.

“Breathe, Johnny,” he admonished, arms wrapping around me. “It’s just something to think about, something we can work on. I know you love me as much as I love you. We just need to figure out how to move on from there.”

We burned our pages at that moment, the counselor said something wise and obvious to wrap things up, and we went back to our room. I kept my eye on the bug-detection device, but it continued to refuse to light up which would have at least prompted some sort of conversation.

Tommy called the youngest Moore brother, put him on speakerphone, and we apprised him of our progress on Operation Butt Bandits: our suspicions of the three couples we’d sat with, of sketchily over-friendly Dare…

“But is it nice there?” Julian asked.

“It’s gorgeous,” Tommy said. “But that’s not the point. We’re on a mission.”

“Can’t you enjoy the retreat and your mission all at the same time?”

“I was assaulted by a carnivorous horse.”

“Whaaat?”

“It’s not a carnivore, you’re just delicious.” I kissed Tommy on the temple and brought the conversation back on point by whining, “Juuuuuulian, they make us talk about feeeelings, when it’s obvious that they are just trying to dig up dirt.”

“Let them,” Julian said. “You’ll never have to deal with them again. Just make sure you do something truly blackmail-worthy.”

“Another Moore brother demanding a dramatic display?” Tommy asked.

“I was thinking something more like outdoor nudity or loud, boisterous sex,” Julian explained, before asking the one thing I knew he would. This was what came from allowing him to select the object he’d turn into a bug detector. “So how did everyone respond to the ginormous fairy-dragon dildo?”

We satisfied his curiosity, he laughed, and then he and Tommy talked for a little while off-speaker while I did my business in the bathroom. When it was his turn, Tommy handed me the phone and Julian put his husband on.

“Hey there. How’re you enjoying it there? Isn’t it beautiful?” Xander asked. “I was thinking of doing a short LGBT summer camp out there, but it’s way too far.”

“It really is gorgeous. Maybe you could arrange a camp for other youth shelters, and I’m sure there are places an hour or two upstate for the Safe Harbor kids…” I babbled until I heard the toilet flush and water start running, at which point I exploded and said, “Tommy thinks I don’t trust and respect him and he’s still hurt and he needs me to talk to him and I don’t know how to convince him I respect him and that I’m never going to break up with him again and this is such a mess and I don’t know what to do because I’m pretty sure I destroyed our relationship and it’s like that time I tried to fix mom’s favorite teacup with superglue.”

“You can start by telling him the stuff you’re currently trying not to talk about,” Xander said in the voice he used when he caught Frankie with a barely-chewed left shoe. “Let him know when you’re not feeling one hundred percent. Tell him when something worries you or you’ve had a bad dream. You’re in a ‘til-death-do-us-part relationship, which means your hurts are his and your happy moments are his. Just as his hurt and happiness are yours.”

Because I wasn’t sure whether I could do that, because I had to think about what he said and what that would mean, I abruptly changed the subject. One thing on Tommy’s list was nagging at me: “Did you know that Tommy dated someone else? Was it serious? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Yes, I knew. It was serious until it wasn’t. He wanted to like–”

Julian stole the phone back adding, “Tommy wasn’t as into him as he thought he should be, and they only dated for a month or so. He’s a 40-year-old pharmaceutical sales rep with a stuck-up Persian cat named Mr. Huffy-pants Von Hissy-butt. He was a really nice guy, but he wasn’t you. And I’m quoting Tommy on this.”

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” I asked Julian quickly, because the water just turned off.

“The sales rep or Mr. Huffy-pants Von Hissy-butt?” Julian teased and I growled in frustration. “Trip, I’m kidding. Tommy’s already forgiven you, he just needs you to let him in. In time, he’ll feel more secure. And who knows? Maybe Operation Butt-Bandits will actually be useful to you two. Just open up and see what happens.”

I was less than convinced, but thanked him nonetheless before asking for an update on Frankie and Izzy. They were doing fine, although their boxer was still a bit terrified of our little girl; she now tasted Cass’ food before giving him permission to eat. They sent us a link to a photo album and promised they would update it regularly, and they both suggested I focus on enjoying the million thread count sheets with Tommy before saying goodbye.

“Xander does take some amazing photos, but I still think we should talk Julian into creating a GoPro nanny-cam for Frankie to wear.” Tommy wrapped his arms around me and lay his chin on my shoulder so he could browse the album with me. “Maybe as an engagement present?”

I hummed agreement, enjoying the feeling of his warm chest pressed against my back. Tommy was here. Now. With me. I needed to live in the moment and then spend the next twelve hours processing what I’d learned about Tommy’s feelings. Turning my head slightly so my cheek pressed against his, I said, “You’ve only been awake for ten hours. I’m guessing you’re not sleepy yet.”

“Nah, but you should sleep. You did a lot of driving today. I brought earbuds so I can watch a movie or something.” Tommy was too good to me, too understanding, and I could hear the caution that went along with his words. When was the last time he asked me for anything?

“We still haven’t taken over the world, Pinky,” I reminded him and he groaned at my lame joke. “I’ll let you know when I’m tired.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. But right now we’re completely alone and we have a gay kama sutra, toys we might have to google, and at least three months’ worth of supplies,” I reminded him, setting my computer aside.

“Oooooo,” he murmured, and began to nibble along my jaw line until he reached my ear. “How about we sort the basket first? We can make a decision from there, one item from each sex-basket subset, or we could pick one from each subset at random.”

“Mmm. It’s so sexy when you talk mathy to me.” I wasn’t joking — despite my worries, my cock was already half hard.

“Random. Number. Generator,” he purred, slipping one of my shirt buttons open with each word. I groaned when his right hand slid inside, each finger grazing my nipple.

“I love you so much, Tommy,” I told him, realizing that I didn’t say it often enough. I tried to say more, but lost all words when he squeezed me through my khakis. It was still only a partial erection, but I had a feeling it would harden completely soon. Perhaps it was time to remind him of my ‘fall’ in the shower. “But you are wearing far too many clothes for my peace of mind. And I think… you owe me… a show.”

We wound up spending hours in bed chatting and fooling around. I smothered Tommy with laughter, love, and as many orgasms as he could handle. I came once as well, and he pretended not to notice when I didn’t. When he fell asleep, I found myself staring at the ceiling and thinking about what he had written and what my friends and sister had been telling me ever since Tommy and I reconnected. How had I missed how torn up he was, even after reconciling?

The answer was simple: I desperately wanted the proposal and subsequent apology to be a quick and easy fix. But I had lied outright and lied by omission, he had never seen the breakup coming, and I had been very hurtful in my attempts to push him away.

Suddenly I remembered hearing Mr. Moore tell one of his sons that a proposal was practically an ultimatum: marry me or lose me. Had I forced Tommy’s hand? For a moment I couldn’t breathe, and I walked myself through the moment I proposed. I told Tommy that I hoped to marry him one day, and he was the one to jump the gun and agree. He was all in, despite everything I put him through. I needed to remember that whenever I panicked: Tommy loves me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me.

Now I needed to prove to Tommy that I trusted him and respected him as an equal. I excelled at proving things mathematically, therefore I might be able to work through this problem as if it were a proof or scientific inquiry. Going into the living area, I sat down at the desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and attempted to do just that, but I hit a significant obstacle.

A direct proof would not work. Proof by uniqueness did not apply. Proof by contradiction, reductio ad absurdum, or contrapositive would be nigh on impossible — I would have to prove I wasn’t untrustworthy and I wasn’t disrespectful, or prove that I wouldn’t ‘not share’ (i.e. hide) information. Proof by existence or induction might be possible, but I could not think of a single thing which would only be true if I would always share information and decisions.

Mathematics and logic would not solve this problem. I could not definitively prove that I would always share everything. But I could share every bit of information I could think of, and then spend every day trusting Tommy and making decisions with him. Then and only then would he feel secure that I would discuss any significant issues, rather than deciding for us both that breaking up was the only valid solution.

So I began to draw up a plan to share everything I had hidden as efficiently and as thoroughly as possible, and to give Tommy the tools he needed to obtain information on his own. The next several hours were comfortingly filled with data, graphs, timelines, passwords, legal documents, and more.