Oil and Water - 1. Chapter 1 Flight or Fight

“I’m tired of this. Do what you want, Chris. I’m going home.”

“Home?" Chris’s head whipped around. "What the hell are you saying? Isn’t this home?”

“I meant back home… to my mom’s house.”

Paul, seeing his boyfriend’s stunned expression, turned away quickly and walked toward the door, stopping only when he reached it. “This wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry.” He continued to face away because it was too difficult to look back.

“Paul, what are you doing? Are you seriously going to leave? Please tell me you mean you’re going to pick up your clothes?”

Steeling himself, he took his hand off the doorknob and half-turned. “No, I mean I’m not moving in. We’re fooling ourselves, Chris. We don’t get along.”

“What are you talking about? Sure we do! We get along just fine.”

“No… no we don’t. We fight all the time.”

“We do? I don’t think we—”

“Yes, and moving in together is a bad idea. I don’t want to—”

“But… I thought we loved each other. You said—”

“We do… I do… but the fighting is too much.”

“Paul… we bicker, you’re right, but we’re not angry. It’s just—”

“Just what? We never agree about anything. I hate that color, really hate it, but you just bulldoze past it because you don’t care.”

“Bulldoze? Is that what you think?” Chris asked, panic clearly beginning to override the confusion in his voice.

Paul didn’t answer, but he hated this. Hurting the man he’d loved for the last year and a half was excruciating, but he’d seen the writing on the wall, and couldn’t ignore it any longer. He stared past him, out through the ground level window of the basement apartment. Nothing of his was here yet, and now it wouldn’t be. His sadness intensified, but he knew his decision was the right one.

“Okay, look. We won’t use this. We’ll go get a paint you like… okay? Whatever you want... I was just trying to save some money.”

He sighed as he looked at the stricken, floundering man. “It’s not the paint. It’s… it’s everything.”

“What does that mean? All of a sudden it’s all wrong? What the fuck, Paul?” Chris asked sharply, his voice rising with every word.

“It’s… hell, it’s not all of a sudden. I tried, but I don’t think I’m ready for this. I don’t want us to end up hating each other.”

“That’s crazy! We already have this place, and—”

“You already have this place. You rented it on your own, without any input from me.”

“Oh. Is that what this is about? You don’t like the apartment? I know it’s small, but—”

“God, no. That’s not what I’m saying… I like it… I do.”

“Then what’s the freaking problem?”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Because you’re not making any sense. I don’t understand what’s happening here. You decide you don’t want to do this because of a can of cheap paint from the mistakes rack? Remember all the stuff we said in there"—he pointed to the tiny bedroom that barely had room for the double bed—"last night? We talked about what we wanted for the future… what the fuck happened?”

The fluffy new roller he was holding dropped to the floor just before he plunked himself down on the plastic-covered avocado green carpet. “I don’t believe this.”

“Chris—”

“Just go, Paul, just go. You obviously want to get away from me,” he uttered, his words suddenly devoid of emotion.

“That’s not true! I don’t want to, but, the fighting….” Chris walked over and sat on the only chair in the place, leaning over and burying his face in his hands.

“Are you leaving… not leaving… what?”

He raised his head. “Stop pushing me,” he snapped, causing Chris’s eyes to raise up.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean… I didn’t realize you felt this way, so—”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. We’re always sniping at each other, and I don’t want to do that.”

This time Chris stayed silent.

Paul took a quick glance, and saw creased brows. Sighing, he turned into himself again, burying his head once more. Was he doing the right thing?

“Paul?” Chris asked haltingly.

He didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“I can change.”

“It’s not that simple… it’s me too.”

“So, then, we both change.”

Finally he raised his head. He heard the hopeful tone. “Chris, we’re like oil and water. I thought we would work it out, you know… find our rhythm, but it’s been seventeen months and—”

“Aren’t we worth it?”

“I thought so, but, I don’t know anymore. I’m scared.”

“Of what? Me?”

“I already told you.”

“Told me what?”

Paul sighed, disappointed that he had to repeat himself. “Of ending up hating each other.”

“Right. Sorry. You’re probably thinking I wasn’t listening… I’m trying to process.”

“It’s okay. Communicating is not our strong suit.”

“Mine, you mean.”

“No… I said ours and I meant ours.” That familiar feeling of exasperation reared up. “We bicker… we don’t talk.”

“Aren’t we talking now?”

“Chris—”

“Sorry… sorry. I get what you’re saying. Even when we talk, we end up bickering. It never bothered me, so I guess I didn’t see what you see.”

“Obviously.”

“Touchè. So why didn’t you bring this up before?”

“Seriously? Are you kidding me?”

“No… ah… you did?”

“God, Chris, all the time.”

“Sorry, but when? I don’t ever remember having this conversation before, and frankly, I never thought I had to worry about you leaving me. I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“I never wanted you to worry about that, but how many times have I told you I can’t take this anymore? How many times…?” He trailed off and looked away, but listened to Chris get up off the floor.

“Shit! Shit! I thought that was your way of telling me to shut up. It’s something people say… I didn’t get what you were really saying.”

The pain in the man’s voice caused Paul to react. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you. I would never want to do that, and it’s my fault too.”

“Don’t apologize. I was the one who didn’t listen. Didn’t hear what you were saying… or trying to say.”

“Even if you did, it wouldn’t change things. We’re like oil and water,” he mumbled.

“Oil and water? Oil and water,” Chris repeated quietly, as if to himself. "Ah… I think I know what this is about. It’s your parents, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Your mom and dad. They fought a lot when you were growing up.”

“How did—”

“You said something once.”

“What… what did I say?”

“That they were like oil and water. Yup, oil and water… that’s what you said. It was after we’d been dating for a few weeks—we were having a beer in my backyard, and I asked you about your parents. It’s the only thing you’ve ever said about them that I can remember. You never wanted to talk about why they split up.”

Paul rose. “I’m surprised you remembered that.”

“See, I do listen sometimes.” A little grin broke some of the tension, and Paul returned it. “So, am I right?”

He hesitated, before finally nodding. “I don’t want us to end up like them.”

“And that’s what you meant about hating each other.”

He nodded again.

“So, tell me about them. What has you so scared?”

The straightforward question rattled him. He turned his back, not wanting to go there. “It’s not important now.”

“Hey, it is if it affects us. Paul?”

He inwardly writhed, fighting the urge to run. Chris deserved an answer, if he could only get the fucking words out.

“Now who’s not communicating?”

Still facing away, his stomach roiling, he began to open up. “I’m scared because… it’s hard for me to explain… they bickered, okay? They always, always bickered.”

“And you didn’t like that.”

“No, but it was just something they did"—he took a deep breath—"until they started becoming nastier and nastier to each another. My dad would call my mom a bitch, and she would call him a prick, a bastard, you name it.”

“Jeez… my parents tease each other, but no name calling that I ever heard.”

“You’re lucky. It got worse. My dad’s favorite name for my mom was whore by the end of it. He would say whore twenty times in a row, while she screamed and threw things. It was ugly, and there was no getting away from it.” His eyes began to burn, but he held himself together… barely.

“Fuck! I would never do that to you, you know that, right?”

Finally, he turned back and faced the man. His boyfriend. “You can’t say that. You don’t know.”

“Yes, I do know, but apparently you don’t.”

“No, I don’t and you can’t either. We snark at each other pretty good now, so—”

“That’s because we’re two strong personalities.”

“Oil and water.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what’s behind it now, and it hurts. We’re not your fucking parents, and I hate that you think we are.”

“I’m sorry, but how can you be so sure? We’re just like they were before it got bad. They never should have gotten together in the first place. My mom says that all the time… that she should have known better, and if she could do it over again, she would run the other way.”

“So, you just want to give up… run the other way?”

“I don’t want to, but I don’t want us to spend our lives being at each other’s throat.”

“And you won’t… we won’t. Just because one couple can’t make something work, doesn’t mean we can’t. Now that I know how you feel, I’ll make sure we don’t let that happen. I’m a sarcastic son-of-a-bitch, but I don’t need to be.”

Paul snorted, but he was listening. “Can you honestly guarantee we won’t fight anymore?”

“Of course not.”

“Then—”

“People fight, babe. Couples fight. I said my parents tease, and they do, but sometimes they bicker, and there are times they have knock-down, drag-out fights, but you couldn’t pry them apart with a crowbar. They love each other, and they’ll fight to the death for each other, and that’s how I feel about you. I want the kind of passion they have, and I think we have it. I know we do… but you have to know it to.”

Paul resumed his position on the chair, afraid to look at Chris. He’d surprised him… that he’d remembered that single comment about his parents, and didn’t doubt he meant what he was saying. The man was honest to his core.

“Look, I get that you’re leery of this kind of commitment… I get it, but did you mean all the things you said last night? Do you love me enough to take a chance?”

Take a chance? That’s what life was, right. He was logical enough to know that, fearful or not.

This wasn’t done with, and it was time. He raised his head and met the searching gaze. “Do you remember when I told you my dad lived out west?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he does, but that’s not the whole story. He’s… incarcerated for attempted murder.”

“Incarcerated? Jesus fuck. Your mom? Of course your mom… no wonder you’re scared.”

“If I hadn’t been there, she’d be dead. It’s the reason for that rasp in her voice. Every time she speaks, I’m reminded of what it was like that day.”

“God, Paul. That must be awful. Why didn’t you ever tell me this stuff?”

“Because I was afraid to—I know I should have—what if I’m like him, Chris? He lost it completely… I watched him go insane in a heartbeat. His eyes… I’ll never forget the way he looked.”

“Oh, baby, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s how good a person you are. You don’t have a violent bone in your body.”

“Not now, no, but my dad changed, and I could too. Mom was right. He was with the wrong person. Maybe if they’d never met, he wouldn’t have—”

“Stop. Just stop. Maybe they were wrong for each other, but you’re not him, and we are not them. Okay?”

“I… I guess.”

“Trust me on this, Paul. Please?”

“I want to,” he said without much conviction.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I didn’t. Are you sure you want to take a chance with me, knowing what you do about my dad? You should really think about it before you answer.”

“I don’t need to. You’re the one I want to build a life with, more than ever now. If it makes sense, I feel closer to you… I always had this feeling you were holding back, and it irked me sometimes, to be completely honest.”

It did make sense… perfect sense, because he had been guilty of holding back, yet Chris had stuck with him. He didn’t know how to respond, so he looked down again, away from those pleading eyes.

“Paul? Please?”

Who was he kidding? This man meant everything to him. “It’s what I want too,” he answered in a whisper.

“Come here.”

Paul rose, and was immediately engulfed in his boyfriend’s arms. The man was trembling, and the fact was, so was he. “I do love you, Chris, and I did mean everything I said last night.”

“I love you too, so much, and I promise I will listen and I will hear you from now on.”

“And I promise I will get better at communicating. I’m sorry for freaking out.”

Chris pulled back. “Hey, I’m glad you did… thanks for opening up to me about your fears. No more pattern of bickering… if I ever get too oily or watery… or vinegary or whatever, you let me know.”

“Vinegary?” Paul frowned, and then chuckled. “I guess we both get vinegary, don’t we?”

Chris nodded as he rubbed his back. “Yeah, but a little vinegar mixed with oil makes for a good dressing. Let’s aim for that, okay?”

Paul’s hope grew immensely with those words. “Here’s to being a good recipe. Hey, and if I ever get to oily or watery, you let me know too. This isn’t just on you.”

“I know… I get it. And if you ever get too oily, I’m taking you right to bed,” Chris said with a relieved and cheeky grin.

Paul laughed. “And I do love your passion.”

“Good, because I have enough of that to last our lifetime. So… we okay? Should we go pick out some paint for our first home?”

“I feel like we are and we will be—I’m… I’m not worried anymore, Chris—I trust you, and yeah, I’d like that. Do you think we can agree on one?”

“I know we can. All we have to do is make the effort.”

“I can do that.”

“So can I, I promise. The thought of losing you, Paul….”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“No apologies. This is exactly what needed to happen, and I’m glad you finally told me about your dad.”

“Me too.” Paul sighed and buried his face in Chris’s chest, listening to the beat of his heart. Yeah, he was home. This man was his home.

*

Thanks to my editor, Timothy M. I can always count on you, and it is never taken for granted.  
 
Thanks to those who take the time to read this little story. I am in the midst of renovations, but this one demanded I take a break and write it down. Please let me know what you thought, if you can. Cheers... Gary....