You & Me

Emmet texted once at 3:00 a.m., saying he was going to sleep and all was good, and then again at 11:00 a.m. Just woke up. Still good.

Did you have fun?

Yeah. We’re going to chill for a bit, then head home.

Landon and I had about two hours left to ourselves before we had to be fathers again. We were already up, showered, and dressed, and lounging on his patio in the morning sunlight.

We’d woken up in each other’s arms and rolled into one another, kissing instead of breathing, legs intertwined as we thrust. I was too sore for him to slide inside me, but, God, I wanted him to.

In the shower, he’d been tender and gentle, rubbing soap deep into me while he massaged my back, my hips, and my ass. He paid special attention to my thighs, which I was grateful for. I felt like I’d run a marathon.

I picked up the candles as he made breakfast—blueberry pancakes with a side of fresh strawberries and whipped cream—and we ate on the patio before relaxing against each other, enjoying the morning.

It can be just like this, I thought. Every weekend, just like this. His kisses on my hair, his hand around my waist, playing with the hem of my T-shirt.

A shadow clung to my fantasies. A stain, something I’d spilled all over those dreams.

Landon must have felt me stiffen. He kissed my temple. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” How did I even begin? I sat up, elbows on my knees. “I need your advice. I did something I’m not proud of.”

“Luke.” Landon mirrored me on the wicker lounger, one hand gripping my knee. “What happened?”

I told him about Lakshmaan, about our monthly lunches, and how he’d confronted me about my happiness on Friday. How he said he’d never seen me that happy and that he could tell I was in love. I held my breath until I thought my lungs would burst. “He asked me how I met her.”

Understanding sank in Landon’s gaze. “You didn’t correct him.”

“He kept asking me about her, where I’d met her, what was she like. I never said I was dating a woman, but I… No, I didn’t correct him. And after—God, Landon, I felt like shit. Why didn’t I say something? I want to be out about us. I want to be with you, and I want the world to know. I had the opportunity and I—” I dropped my head into my hands. “I feel like I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me.” He rubbed my back as we sat in silence. “You will always face these assumptions,” he finally said. “Everywhere, from everyone. It’s exhausting to face them day in and day out. It’s why coming out is never a one time thing.”

Silence, again.

“If you’re not ready to come out, I understand.”

“I thought I was.”

“Luke, if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. You could go your whole life and never tell a soul about us.”

I looked sideways at him. “But you won’t live like that. You said you won’t go back into the closet.”

He shook his head. I watched his Adam’s apple rise and hold, quiver. “I don’t want you to come out for me. It has to be a choice you make. The last thing in the world I want is for you to resent us.”

“Landon, I could never resent us. I do want to be out. I wanted to tell him the truth, I just— I froze.” I’d been prepared to talk about renewal strategies and health care law, and policy changes coming down the pipe. Not dissect my love life, or face my inadequacies.

I saw a curl of tension bleed out of his shoulders as he picked at his fingers. “This was your first time anyone’s asked you about us? Or, who you’re dating?”

I nodded.

“Have you thought about answering these questions?”

No, I had not. I gnawed on my lip as I shook my head. “I’ve been dreaming of being out and open with you, but I’d never rehearsed a conversation. I never imagined coming out to anyone. My dreams skipped right over those parts.”

“Those are the hard parts, but living your life is the reward for going through the tough spots, though.” He rubbed his palms together. “In my experience, coming out isn’t so much opening yourself up as it is letting people in. You start with the people you trust and you show them your truth. And, hopefully, when they support you, you have the courage to let another person in. And another, and another.”

“Is that how you did it?”

“Well, after my first disaster?” He almost smiled. “The first person I said the words I’m gay to was my mentor at my law firm. I was sobbing on his office floor a second later. I didn’t know if I was going to be fired on the spot or if he’d drive me to church for more religious counseling, or…” He hesitated. “I wasn’t prepared for what he did do. He got on the ground with me and let me cry, and when I was done, he told me it was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. The next day, I was talking to a psychologist. He drove me to the appointment. It was with a friend of his, from BYU.” He smiled. “Of course. Everyone is from BYU there.

“That was my first step toward really changing things. That was the first moment where my life and these feelings weren’t some awful, horrible thing to endure. That I could be accepted and still loved for who I was.” He turned to me. “Whoever you tell first will resonate the same way. That conversation can set the tone for how you choose to come out for the rest of your life.”

He squinted. “How do you think your boss would react if you told him?”

How would Lakshmaan react? His joy for me had been earnest and heartfelt. He’d wanted to share in my happiness and celebrate it. After over a year of working with me and my misery, he must have felt a little like I did when I saw Emmet smile for the first time since Riley’s death.

Would he be as happy for me if he knew my joy came from loving Landon?

Lakshmaan had always been unendingly kind, not just to me, but to everyone.

“I think he’ll be happy for me.”

“Would you want to go back to your boss and redo that conversation?”

I held the thought inside me. Imagined a real conversation, me coming out. Going to Lakshmaan, sitting him down. I have to tell you the truth. There isn’t a woman. I’m in love with a man, and his name is Landon.

It felt right. “Yes. I’ll talk to him on Monday.”

“You sure?” Landon’s eyebrows rose. I hated the wary look in the back of his gaze.

“Yes.” I kissed him. “I know what I want, Landon. I want a life with you. I need to figure out all the steps to get there, and this is one of them.” I took his hand and held it.

Another idea came to me. “Do you have the photos Bowen took of the four of us? And of you and me?”

“Yeah, on my phone.”

“Can you send them to me?”

On Monday, I set four framed photos on my desk.

One each of Emmet and Bowen smiling at the camera against the backdrop of the river. My son and his best friend, a young man who was quickly becoming like a son to me as well. I was almost as proud of Bowen when he had a phenomenal game as I was of Emmet. I wanted the best for Bowen, wanted him to reach out and take his dreams in both of his hands. I imagined future weekends watching him play football at college and cheering him on at Landon’s side. Bowen wasn’t my son, but he had found a place inside my heart, near Emmet.

The third was of the four of us, dads in the middle, sons bracketing Landon and me. We all had the widest smiles in this one, like we were four of the happiest men on the planet.

And the last was the picture of Landon and me, arm in arm, turned toward each other. This was no corporate shot, no “buddies out in nature” photo. There was no denying the look in my eyes or the smile on Landon’s face. We looked like we were in love because we were.

At 11:00 a.m., I knocked on Lakshmaan’s office door. He was elbows-deep in a contract review, papers spread pell-mell across his L-shaped desk. I’d stopped at the Starbucks in the lobby of our building and bought his favorite, a white chocolate cinnamon chai latte, and an iced honey macchiato for myself. I wagged them both.

He smiled like I’d brought him the elixir of life. “Come in! Ahh, you’re a gift.”

I shut the door behind me. His eyes flicked to the door and then to me before he wheeled away from his desk. He took a sip of his drink and leaned back.

I was too nervous to drink mine, and I spun it in my hands, letting the ice melt and condensation drip into the webbing of my fingers. The cold focused me, grounded me.

“What is it, Luke?” Lakshmaan asked. “What’s on your mind?”

“I need to correct something. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

Lakshmaan’s eyebrows rose.

“It’s personal. It has nothing to do with work, but it’s something I want to clear up. I respect you, and I want you to know the truth, Lakshmaan.” I dragged in a breath. Looked him in the eyes. “I’m not dating a woman. I’m not in love with a woman. I’m in love with a man, and his name is Landon.”

Lakshmaan’s mouth made a perfect O. He stared at me. Blinked once. I heard the air conditioning filter through the vents in the corner, wisps of oxygen that saturated the silence between us.

“But this is wonderful!” Lakshmaan beamed. “You are in love! You’re happy!” He talked with his hands, and they were waving now, sweeping wide, pointing to me, gesturing to the sky. “I assumed, because you were married, you’d fall in love with a woman again, but you know what they say about assumptions.” He grinned. “Now, tell me everything. How did you and Landon meet?”

We had the whole conversation from lunch again, but this time, instead of choking, instead of fumbling for what to say, I was all in. Smiling as I told him about how Landon and I were the two dad volunteers and how we worked side by side on Thursdays and Fridays. I told him about how we’d met—how Landon had found me, brokenhearted, aching, and lost, and asked me to trust him for one week. I had, and I’d never looked back. I was beaming as I told him about how Landon taught me about wine and cooking and how we traded texts of the dinners we made for our sons. How Bowen and Emmet were best friends and captains of the team. I told him about kayaking and how I’d started to draw again.

I didn’t have to tell him that I felt alive again. He could see that for himself.

He’d finished his chai latte by the time I finished rambling, one long sprint about the greatness of Landon and Bowen and Emmet. My macchiato was a melted mess, untouched. I’d been talking too much to even take a sip.

Lakshmaan laid his hand across my wrist, one brief touch. “I am happy for you. Truly.” He sat back, still smiling. “And what about your son? He is happy to see you in love?”

What about Emmet?

We were closer than we’d been in years. We were maybe, almost, friends again.

But I was keeping a huge secret from my son.

He, too, was keeping secrets from me. I felt them, and still ran into them sometimes. Why wouldn’t he talk about college or his future or what he dreamed for himself? Why did he shut down when I’d ask about what came after high school?

We were better than we’d been, but there were still minefields between us, trip wires that could go at any time. Was the truth about Landon and me one of those?

I just couldn’t picture telling him. Or, I could picture it too well. Seeing his rage. Seeing him furious at me all over again, screaming so loudly he shook the walls of our house.

My choices would cast a long shadow over him. He’d carry my truths for the rest of his life, whether he wanted to bear them or not. They could be a Sisyphean stone. My truth could be what split us apart forever.

I didn’t think my son was an irredeemable asshole. He treated Landon with respect and had always been kind to him. I didn’t believe my son was a bigot or that he would grab a sign and start protesting against LGBT rights. I trusted my son that much. He wouldn’t hate me because of that.

No, I was more worried that he’d be furious about who I loved. His best friend’s dad.

What would happen to him and Bowen because of Landon and me? Could this bring the four of us closer, turn us into that family we kept brushing against?

In my worst nightmares, I worried Emmet would think I was abandoning him. Would he think I didn’t want him, or that I was seeking out a different son, a different family?

I just didn’t know. I had no idea how Emmet would take this. I’d only now gotten my son back. We were only now eating together, laughing together, watching movies together. Was I willing to risk losing all of that again?

The fear of one person’s reaction could be enough to keep a man in the closet, I thought. My fear of losing Emmet was going to keep this truth locked up at least a little longer.

I ached inside, from the secret and the fear. I wanted everything—Landon, happiness, our families united. I feared losing everything, too.

I wasn’t ready to tell Emmet. That was what it boiled down to. I could come out to Lakshmaan, and I’d told the few coworkers who asked about my photos that Landon was the man I was dating, but I needed more time before I could tell Emmet.

Until I gathered my courage, I wanted to soak up as much togetherness with my son as possible. Now that we were speaking again and I’d penetrated the sullen, stern façade Emmet showed to the world, I’d discovered Emmet was an incredible young man. He was serious, sometimes alarmingly so. He reminded me so much of his mother at times, all hard edges and deep silences.

Those deep silences held even deeper thoughts. He had the soul of a romantic, and when we finally talked about Hamlet one night, he was full of sorrow. Loss hit him hard, understandably. He said he felt the most for Hamlet, not for losing Ophelia or being mired in uncertainty and doubt, but because Hamlet caught those few glimpses of his father and they hadn’t been able to truly speak to each other.

“He does it all to show his dad that he loves him,” he’d mumbled. “To try and prove to a ghost that he’s a son his dad can finally really love.” He’d shrugged and sunk into himself, hunched his spine, clenched his fork until his knuckles went white.

“His dad should have told him he didn’t need to prove anything at all and that he was perfect exactly as he was.”

I started scheduling “Dad and Em” nights on Wednesdays. We pushed everything else aside and spent the evening together. It didn’t matter what we did, we just had to do it together.

The first week, we watched another movie. The second, he taught me how to play Super Smash Bros. on his Nintendo Switch, and we stayed up until 1 a.m. trying to beat each other up. I was a beginner, and he and Bowen were practically world champs, so I made him play with increasingly bizarre handicaps. He had to recite the alphabet or hold his breath for as long as he could before he started playing. Then he had to recite the alphabet backward. Play one-handed. Play with the controller behind his back. He still won so many more times than I did, but we were laughing, and we were together.

I worked from home on Wednesday afternoons so I could be there when Emmet got back from school. I puttered around the house in the morning, vacuuming corners, wiping down sinks. I did laundry, first mine, and then Emmet’s. I hauled his basket of stench downstairs and threw it into the wash. There was still room, so I went back for his sheets. Lord knew when he’d changed those. Teenage boys don’t think about sheets.

Something was tucked under the mattress near the head of Emmet’s bed. Something thicker than a magazine, which I would have left alone.

I lifted the corner.

Beneath his mattress, Emmet had hidden five injection needles and an aluminum-wrapped rectangle.