Coming to Love - 7. Life, Death, Devotion

Worn out after forty minutes of sex, Ted and I were locked into a tableau vivant of passion and release. I don’t think either of us wanted to spoil the afterglow by moving, but his cock softened inside me, and some of his cum dripped out and down onto my balls. With his head resting on the pillow next to mine, he nuzzled my ear. My legs were still wrapped around his back with my ankles crossed.

We both took a deep breath and repositioned ourselves more comfortably, smiling with a combination of satisfaction and affection. Ted leaned in to kiss me.

“That was—” I started to say.

“Don’t!” he protested. “If we try to name it, we’ll only steal the beauty of the moment.”

“Why, Ted, that’s almost poetic!” I teased.

“I can be soft when I need to.”

“Well, a couple of minutes ago you were about as hard as I’ve ever felt you!”

With a laugh, we lay face to face on the bed. The sheets were a mess, and the whole room reeked of sex and sweat.

Neither of us spoke because words were unnecessary. We had committed ourselves to each other. Oh, sure, it all started with sex—wild, passionate, body-consuming sex—but something more had taken root. Over time, I came to need Ted and wanted to be with him for more than only the physical pleasure. I had to admit I was surprised. After so many false starts and losing Winston, I was resigned to a loveless routine of casual hookups with a small group of friends with benefits. I believed that was all I was capable of, and I accepted it was going to be my life.

But as we became comfortable together, we spent more time sitting on his balcony talking than we did in bed. I found myself longing to go out to eat, to take walks along the shore, to go to movies—all the things two close friends would do. I didn’t tell Ted any of this, fearful of violating the compact we’d made when we started. If he was satisfied with a purely sexual relationship, I had to be content with it, even though I was hungry for something more.

Ted shocked the shit out of me by announcing he thought we should live together. Without a word, I led him into the bedroom. I gave myself, body and soul, to the man I love, and Ted gave his all back to me by not using the condom. There was now a bond of trust and unity between us.

We got up and showered together. We both got hard in the warm water but didn’t take advantage of the situation, as if we realized we would have many more opportunities to cement our relationship with our bodies. We dried off, dressed, and returned to the little balcony overlooking Lake Washington. We had left a bottle of Heineken and a glass of wine on the table when Ted had “popped the question” about living together.

“Your beer is flat,” I teased.

“It’s cool and wet. That’s all I demand of it. How’s the Chablis?”

“Could be colder, but as you said, it’s cool and wet, and we must have sweated ten pounds each in your poor bed.”

“Our poor bed.” He corrected me, looking at me in a way he had never done before.

I nodded with a grin. “That’s right—ours. But there’s gonna be a lot more to living together than calling the furniture ours.”

Ted nodded. “That’s true. We are both going to have to build a whole new life around this. I can’t picture inviting the boys over for beer and football and casually mentioning that you and I are lovers!”

“Well, I hope you will invite your friends over, and you can tell them anything—or nothing—about you and me. I mean, you said you’re out, so would it be such a surprise?”

“They’re aware I’m out, but they also see me as a loner, so they’ll shit a brick if they figure out I’m in a committed relationship.”

As he spoke those last two words, we came to a dead halt. Neither said a word for a minute.

“I guess I over-reached—” Ted said cautiously.

“Not at all.” I reassured him. “But hearing it said out loud makes it real.”

“And does it make you happy?”

“I can’t put a word to it. Actually, I can put a dozen words to it: happy, of course, but also comfortable and safe, relaxed and worry-free, warm and fuzzy, hot and horny—”

He laughed. “That part goes without saying.”

“And you?” I gazed into his beautiful gray eyes. “What words would you use?”

“Oh...new, fresh, a whole new world, an experience I’ve needed and wanted and been afraid to try for a long time—”

“So what do we call ourselves—boyfriends?” I wrinkled my nose at the absurdity of the word. He stopped to think, and I watched him silently calculate our age differences.

“How about ‘manfriend’ or ‘partner’?” I suggested.

“Partner means something entirely different to a policeman.” He winked, “And the force takes a dim view of partners fucking each other, figuratively or literally!”

“OK, ‘partner’ is out, so how about ‘live-in lover’?” I chuckled as I said it in jest.

“You nailed it!” he exclaimed and we stood, hugged, and kissed again. When our glasses were empty, we prepared dinner in the kitchen. Over steaks and baked potatoes, we picked up the conversation.

“What will your roommates say when you tell them you’re moving out?”

I thought it over. “Well, I hope they’ll be happy for me.” I shrugged, “But I’m sure they’ll also miss me. We’ve been living together for almost a year, and I recently started paying rent, though I doubt they need the money.”

“We can invite them over once in a while,” he began, “but absolutely no foursomes or other sex activities!”

I guffawed. “No fucking way! We are exclusive now.”

********

The next morning I knocked on the front door of the condo instead of using my key. Chuck answered, immediately took in the situation, and called out, “Greg, get your ass in here.”

“Guys, this is Ted, my—lover,” I said by way of introduction.

Ted extended his hand to Greg, then Chuck. “I’m glad to meet you men, and I want to thank you for your care and kindness to Bruce.” He winked, “I’ll be taking over that responsibility from now on.”

Greg grinned from ear to ear, “Fucking fantastic! Congratulations, Bruce...and Ted.”

Chuck chimed in, “We couldn’t be happier for both of you. Let’s have a drink. I think we have a bottle of champagne in the fridge from the promotion party we threw for you.”

“It must be well-aged by now,” Greg chuckled.

A thunderous pop celebrated the opening of the bottle, followed by jubilant fizzing as the clear, bubbly liquid filled four glasses. The clink of the stemware was accompanied by a rousing “Here's to love! Here’s to Bruce and Ted!”

After a generous swig to steel my courage, I took a deep breath. “Let’s sit down.” My two roomies went over to the couch and sat close together. I took the easy chair, and Ted stood behind me, one hand on my shoulder in unspoken support.

“Guys,” I began. “I want to tell you how grateful I am for you letting me live here for so long.” Greg started to say something, but I smiled at him, “Just let me talk, OK?” They both nodded.

“We’ve been good friends, and we’ve had a lot of fun,” I looked from one to the other. They were on the verge of tears. “And I have many happy memories of our time together, but—”

I paused for another deep breath. “But I’ve decided to move in with Ted, so this weekend we’ll come back and clear out my things. I’d love your help, but I understand if you’d rather not be here. If you want me to, I’ll pay Nancy—” (the woman who cleaned for us) “...to do a thorough job on my bedroom and bath, so you won’t have to clean up after me.”

“No, you don’t have to—” Chuck began, but I held up a hand.

“It’s hard enough to say this, so please let me finish.” I said. “You two were here for me when I was at the bottom of a goddamn pit, looking up—and the view wasn’t encouraging. I was on the verge of being homeless, and you generously took me in. I’m so grateful to you both.”

Greg sniffled.

“You two dumbasses have become more than friends to me. I feel like we’re brothers—” I almost choked on the word because the incongruity of brothers-with-benefits hit me, and I laughed. “Uh, maybe that’s not the best way to describe us.”

“Not unless you’re into incest,” Chuck joked, and we all laughed.

Greg’s tears flowed freely now. “Bruce, I’m so happy for you—and Ted. We loved having you living here with us.”

“And we really loved it when—” Chuck tried to add, but he couldn’t think of the right words, at least not in front of my new lover.

I grinned up at Ted, then turned back to the roomies. “Ted’s aware of all that. It’s fine. I have no regrets in that department. We had fun, and we all enjoyed it.” I stopped again. My voice cracked. “I will miss you, even though we’ll run into each other at work, and—” I choked up.

Ted came to my rescue. “You are always welcome at our place. It’s not far from here.” He raised an eyebrow and winked, “But be sure to call first because we spend a lot of time in bed.”

The mood lightened. We killed the bottle of champagne and ended the visit on a happy note.

********

Back in the apartment, we chilled on the balcony as it grew dark.

“You OK?” Ted asked.

“More or less.”

“They’re quite a pair, those two.”

“They were fun and took care of me. Still, I think I outgrew them a couple of months after I moved in, and it was clear it wouldn’t last.”

Ted nodded. “What happened to Craig was a tipping point for you. I can’t picture you receiving the support you needed from the two of them. No offense, but they’re still kids, so they’ve been spared the tragedies of life.” He regarded me earnestly. “Unlike you.”

“You’re right. Craig’s death was a wake-up call for me. I’d been ignoring the reality of my life for a long time. I was falling in love with you, and I was also beginning to feel like their big brother who wanted to give them a sound ass-kicking at least once a day.”

Ted chuckled, “Only once?”

I thought for a moment. “Things move quickly sometimes.”

He nodded his agreement. “For the better, I hope.”

“Definitely!”

At home, in our bed, I lay on my side and relaxed, anticipating the moment I had been waiting for all day. Ted entered me and made love to me slowly and gently. I was physically and emotionally worn out from the events of the past few days, and it felt so right to have him inside me, pleasuring both of us. I didn’t make a sound, which prompted Ted to chuckle, “Did you fall asleep?”

“No!” I laughed. “I would never do that to you. I am enjoying your cock in every possible way, and I’m lying here letting you have your way with me for as long as you want to. I’m in the zone, but I’m not sleepy. I want you to make love to me, and I love you for doing it.”

“Glad to oblige,” my lover said, putting an arm around my shoulder and pressing deeper into me. I purred with pleasure.

********

Over the next four years, Ted made commander, then deputy chief, and I rose at Worldwide Aero to be a vice president in charge of development—one of six, but it was still a good job and a rewarding one, career-wise and financially.

Along the way, we bought a house on Mercer Island with a view of Lake Washington and settled in to become an old married couple, although gay marriage was still not possible. We had friends and neighbors, and we enjoyed our life together. True, he was almost twenty years older than me, but we were both at the point in life where the similarities outweighed the differences.

I introduced Ted to my parents and Natalie two years into our relationship. Mom loved him at once. Dad was reserved, and my sister was skeptical.

“He’s a lot older than you.” She observed as we sipped wine on the patio late at night. Ted was swimming laps in our pool.

“Nineteen years, to be exact. I guess, technically, that makes him old enough to be my father. You got a problem with that?”

She scoffed, “Considering how my marriage worked out, I’d say your chances are better than most.”

It only took one day before Dad and Ted were joking and sharing memories of bygone days. I thought if Mom’s smile grew any wider, her face would crack. I was in a fog of happiness. I came out as gay to my family and introduced them to my lover. It could have gone wrong in so many ways, but to my surprise and delight, our family now had one more member. On our flight home, Ted told me he had been scared shitless to come with me but now felt part of the family. I beamed with joy and kissed him, right in front of everybody on the plane.

I was comfortable enough in my relationship with Ted that I found myself one day giving some surprising advice to an old acquaintance.

********

“Just Joe” and I kept in touch from time to time, mostly with emails, but also with one or two phone calls when he had some privacy.

The last time he called me, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

I greeted him with a cheery, “Hi, Just Joe!” We had never tired of my silly nickname for him.

A long silence was followed by a mournful, “Hi, Bruce. How are you?”

“Something wrong, Joe?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, can you tell me?”

A choked sob answered me. “I’m getting married in two weeks.”

I was stunned. “You mean—to a woman?”

“Who else? You can’t fuckin marry men, can you?”

“Not officially, but you can live together and share someone’s life until—” It was my turn to choke on my words. I swallowed hard. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Cynthia Masterson. Her father owns a couple of banks, and he and my father were in the same college fraternity.”

“Sounds like a boardroom deal.”

“You nailed it. The marriage comes with an assistant vice president job for me—as long as I agree to go back and finish college, and Dad gets a seat on the Board of Directors.”

“Shit! I don’t know what to say, Joe.”

“The thing is, Bruce, I’m pretty sure I’m gay. I mean—think about what you and I did.”

“But you told me you had sex with women, too.”

“Yeah—” He seemed unconvinced.

“So it’s possible you could be happy with a wife and family.”

“Is there—” his voice trailed off, “any way you—”

I knew where this was heading: was there any way he and I could—what? Get back together and have sex? Live together? Be a happy gay couple for the rest of our lives?

I had to stop him. We were veering into territory I had studiously avoided with him. Joe and I were at different points in our lives. Our paths had briefly intersected, and I needed him to accept reality. I had experience navigating the ups and downs of relationships. After admitting to myself that I was gay years ago, each of my casual encounters and lovers taught me something about myself. Joe wasn’t there yet. He had his own learning and maturing ahead of him.

It was not until I met and fell in love with Winston that I lost my fear of being outed and began to notice committed gay couples around us. I witnessed the proof at Winston’s funeral. Now I was with Ted in a solid relationship and in the right place at the right time. I needed to organize my thoughts before answering his unfinished question. For me, what happened in San Diego was strictly casual sex. But I was openly gay, while Joe was still in the closet for obvious reasons—an overbearing father and a self-centered mother.

Now, he was asking me to help him escape his family, responsibilities, and a future that was all planned out for him—and instead share my life with me.

I am ashamed to admit my immediate reaction was selfish and self-protective. We had enjoyed our brief encounter, but Joe was not the person I could see myself spending my life with. He wasn’t even someone I wanted to continue having sex with. San Diego was a distraction I desperately needed after Winston died, and now it was over. I had no desire to have anything other than a long-distance acquaintance with him.

How did I fall into this position? I’m not his lover, and I never was. We had loads of fun for three days, and now he wants to dump the most important decision of his life right in my lap. Shit! It was a reminder that I never paid much attention to what I was all about, where my life was going, or where I wanted it to go. Craig’s death brought me to my senses in the most painful way possible. Ted and I had a life together, and I knew I was in the right place.

I tried to speak like a friend. “Joe, buddy. I’m the last person to give you advice. It took me years to figure out what the fuck I’m doing with my life. How the hell can I help you figure out yours?”

A stifled sob came over the wires from a thousand miles away. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m so fucked up. I don’t have anybody I can talk to about this. Shit, I feel like jumping off a fucking bridge or something.”

A cold chill went down my spine. “Whoa, wait a minute. I realize this is a gigantic fucking problem for you, but, buddy, it’s nowhere near enough to die for.”

He sniffled. “Maybe not—OK, I know it’s not—but goddammit, I’m in a hell of a mess, and I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

Whether I liked it or not, whether I thought I could help him or not, I had to try. “Listen, Joe. Let’s consider your alternatives. Can you do that?”

“I–I guess I can.”

“Good. So first, forget about jumping off bridges or any bullshit like that. It wouldn’t help. All it would do is devastate everyone who cares about you.”

After a reflective pause, he admitted, “I guess you’re right.”

“Fine. So let’s try to be rational about this.” I took a deep breath. “I think you have three basic options.”

“Three?”

“Yeah.” I thought I had slowed him down enough for him to think more clearly. “The first option is to go through with the marriage.”

He sobbed. “Bruce, I fucking can’t. Cynthia loves me, but I don’t love her.”

“I’m sure that’s what you think, but let’s put that thought aside for now. There are two more possibilities. OK?”

He was noncommittal. “OK—”

“One is that you come to grips with your sexuality and decide you’re gay. You don’t marry Cynthia. Whether you tell her or your family why is up to you, but you might want to live somewhere far enough away from all of them that you can do whatever you want without their knowing about it.”

“Is that what you did?”

“At first, but my family now knows I’m gay.”

“Do they reject you?”

“Oh, no. My mom has always wanted the best for me, and she’s happy if I’m happy.”

“And your father?”

I paused. “In some ways he’s a lot like yours, but recent events have brought him around to Mom’s way of thinking—if I’m happy and healthy, that’s enough for him.”

“So get married or be gay—what’s the third option?”

“It’s not the best one, and I’m not recommending it, but I have to include it.”

“OK, I guess.” His voice darkened, expecting the worst. “Let me have it.”

“You marry Cynthia and have children with her, but you also occasionally find opportunities to have sex with men on the side. And Joe, if you do, make damn sure you’re safe so you keep her safe, too. Maybe you go on business trips or take a vacation on your own—some couples do that. I’ve even heard there are situations where the wife is aware of it but is willing to share her husband with others.”

“But that’s infidelity. It’s adultery.”

“Well, this is the nineties, Joe. Many things considered wrong or illegal fifty or a hundred years ago are more accepted these days. Some might say if she doesn’t know you’re doing it, and it helps you be a husband and father, then it doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s not any different from having a mistress, and plenty of men have been doing that for centuries. And by the way, neither of us has a particularly stellar model of fatherhood to emulate.”

I let it sink in for a moment. “I’m not saying you should do it if you have a moral objection, Joe, but I have to include it as one option.”

“So, those are your three options.” he sounded crushed.

“There may be others, but I’m not aware of them.”

“And you chose the gay option.”

“Being gay was never an ‘option’ for me, since I never considered marrying anyone. I decided early on to live my life as a gay man. The only other choice for me was to be suppress my sexuality and live a lonely life, like some kind of fucking monk. So I guess that's also a possible option, but the worst of them all.”

“Shit. I feel more like killing myself now that you’ve laid it all out for me.”

“Please don’t think that, Joe. As you put it, I owed it to you to lay it out, but did I tell you anything you didn’t already know?”

With a snort, he said, “No, I guess not. I just didn’t expect to hear it all stated so plainly.”

“Joe? May I speak honestly?”

“Sure, Bruce. I guess I can take anything right now.”

“You enjoyed sex with me, and I think with other men. But it was purely physical—no commitment, no love, no family, nothing more than a brief encounter, a way of busting a nut. And yet, you now seem to be investing it with some kind of significance that you are willing to risk your future on. How the hell does that make sense?”

After a long silence, he spoke quietly, “When you put it like that, Bruce, I get it. Fucking men I didn’t know wasn’t any different from fucking girls I met at parties or bars. It’s what you called it—a physical encounter, just sex.”

“Right. So Joe, what is the real problem here?”

I heard a sharp intake of breath, which I was expecting. “Um, I, uh—”

“Would you let me take a guess?”

“Uh, OK.”

I gathered all my compassion for the young man and hoped the necessary words would come to me. “I think a couple of things might be at play here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ve had a rough relationship with your parents, especially your father, right?”

“True.”

“And your mother doesn’t appear interested in anything you do.”

“Uh, she’s my stepmother. Mom died when I was fourteen. She’s Dad’s second wife.”

“I see. So, it’s a little more understandable that she isn’t involved in your life.”

“I guess so.”

“So, your parents are one factor in the decision you have to make—either you do what they want you to do, or you stick it to them, right?”

“When you put it like that—”

“How would you put it?”

He exhaled with resignation. “I guess I’d have to say you’re right.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, the second thing that’s going on is Cynthia Masterson.” He was silent.

“You’ve known her for how long?”

“Since we were in junior high.”

“And you’ve had sex with her how many times?”

“Uh, that’s kinda personal.”

“This question is coming from the man you fucked half a dozen times in two days.”

He laughed. “Right. Sorry. I was her first, and we’ve done it off and on for a long time, even when I was also fucking men.”

“And the sex is good?”

“Hell, yes!” He stopped himself, then backtracked a little. “As good as it gets with a woman, that is.”

“Well, I can’t speak to that, but from what you say, it sounds like it’s a comfortable physical relationship. Can you think of any reason why it couldn’t continue when you’re married?”

“I guess not, but—”

“But what?”

“I like sex with men, too. Almost more.”

“And therein lies the challenge. I said you have three options. One was sex exclusively with Cynthia. One was sex only with men. And one was somewhere in between, where you are primarily with Cynthia, but once in a while you find an opportunity to be with a man, in a physical yet temporary way.”

“The last one feels so dishonest.”

“I can’t deny that, and to tell you truth, I hope you won’t decide to do it. But, Joe, we deceive ourselves and others all the time. The day might come when she finds out, or you tell her, or the two of you have the communication skills to work it out. But regardless, you can see what your options are, and you have to make a difficult choice.”

Another deep sigh. “Bruce, thank you. You’re right—I kinda knew all of this but avoided thinking it through. Hell, I was afraid to fucking think it through!”

“I would be, too.”

“So, what do you think I—”

“Whoa! Hold your horses, pardner. I’m not gonna tell you what I think, or what to do, or any shit like that.”

I heard another sniffle. “What I will tell you, Joe, is that I will support you, whatever you decide. I like you, man, and I wish you the best in life. But I can’t and won’t make the choice for you. You’re a great guy. You are smart, drop-dead handsome, well off, and—this is the most important thing—you have the right to make a decision, give it all you’ve got, and someday you might think it’s time to make a different decision. It happens.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“But listen, Joe. It would be dishonest to marry her with the idea that you’ll dump her in a few years if it doesn’t work out. You need to put your whole self into making it work—and I mean for a long fucking time—before you start thinking it was the wrong thing to do. And if the day ever comes, you do what’s best for both of you—and the children, too, if you have any.”

“I get it, Bruce, and I gotta say I’m amazed you’re not a psychologist or some shit like that.”

“Maybe I should’ve been, but I happen to like rocket science a hell of a lot more—fewer broken hearts!”

We both had a good laugh. “So, buddy-boy, promise me you’ll tell me what you decide. But don’t send me a goddamn wedding invitation, ’cause I’m too fucking far away to attend, and I’d bawl my eyes out if I did.”

Joe’s smile was sincere as he said, “I’ll let you know, but you’ve already done so much more than I had any right to ask you to do. Sincerely, Bruce, thanks a million.”

“I wish you all the luck in the world, and best wishes to the bride, too, if you decide to marry her. Have a good life, buddy.”

When we hung up, I heaved a deep sigh. Had I helped or hurt him, and did I even know how to do either? I realized I had selfishly met my need to wrap things up with him, and I truly hoped what I said was what he needed to hear. I trusted him to make his own decision, though I couldn’t begin to say what it would be.

Honoring my request, Joe didn’t send a wedding invitation, but about a month later, I opened a small envelope that contained a newspaper clipping announcing the marriage of Cynthia Masterson and Joseph Van Stuyven. I wished them well.

I wondered how different my life might be today if I hadn’t accepted that I was gay at eighteen and never doubted myself. Would I have “done what was expected”—married a woman, had kids, and worked in Dad’s business? Would I have been happy? Would I have sought sexual satisfaction outside my marriage? Would that have been the right thing to do?

I was amazed at the clarity of my advice to Joe. I needed to listen to myself more often.

********

Hoping I had helped Joe, I focused on my life with Ted. We were both doing well career-wise, we had a great sex life (with no one else in it ever), and things were on an even keel. Then, out of the blue, two events sent my head spinning.

I remember the first one so clearly. It happened on Thursday, November 11, 1999—two weeks before Thanksgiving. Ted and I planned to join the family in Denver for the holiday. With the first two modules of the International Space Station in orbit and being tested, my job was busy as hell, but everything was proceeding on schedule, and any minor glitches were quickly ironed out.

At three in the afternoon, my secretary, Adrienne Walker, came to the door of my office wearing a grave expression.

Her voice was flat. “Bruce. Line one.”

Immediately, I started sweating. “Who is it?” Visions of Tall Man and Short Man coming back to haunt me gave me chills.

More urgently, she told me, “You need to take it. Line one.” She nodded slightly and closed the door.

The ominous blinking red light dared me to pick up the phone. What the hell could it be? Had the Space Station exploded? Had the Russians decided to withdraw from the program? All my thoughts were about my work, a fact I have regretted ever since that moment.

My hand shook a little as I picked up the receiver and pressed the glowing button.

“Bruce Hutton.”

I heard a long sigh, followed by Dad’s shaky voice. “Bruce, I have...bad news.”

The blood drained from my head, the room swam, and my breath caught in my throat. “What, Dad?”

“Bruce...your Mom has had a heart attack. She’s—” he choked back a sob. “Julia’s gone, Son, so quickly nobody could do anything.”

I dropped the phone on my desk, bent down, and buried my head in my arms. The door to my office opened, and Adrienne came in. She picked up the receiver, spoke a few words with my father, and then hung up.

Coming around my to my chair, she placed a hand on my shoulder without a word. My body was wracked with sobs and the desktop became soaked with my tears. I couldn’t speak. I could hardly breathe.

Realizing no words would help, Adrienne simply stood with me. Her human touch was my link with life, with reality. My mind raced through thousands of images of Mom and everything she was in my life.

I remembered her cheering at my swim meets and kissing me right in front of my teammates when I won gold medals. She was so proud of me when I graduated at almost the top of my class, although Dad was pissed I wasn't valedictorian. She tried to hide her tears when they dropped me off in the dorm at Stanford, and she became a raging lioness when she learned what that fucker Carl had done to me.

The night Craig dumped me, she came into my room and transformed a horrendous situation into a less painful learning experience. And when Craig came home to die, she made sure I had the chance to choose to be there. That’s when I came out to her and found out she had always known.

When I was terrified to introduce Ted to my family, she stepped up, gave him a motherly hug and then turned to my father, making it clear he was expected to make the next move. Dad had manned up and welcomed Ted as a second son.

I don’t remember how long Adrienne and I remained like that, but at some point, I sat up, took a deep breath, and stared straight ahead. She reached behind me to the credenza and handed me a box of tissues.

I looked up at her, imploring, “Can you—?”

“Yes. I’ll take care of everything.” And she did.

She phoned Ted and told him. My appointments for the next few days were rescheduled. My team was notified and advised to give me space. A flight to Denver the same evening was booked for the two of us. A rental car was waiting at the airport everyone calls “DIA.”

As Ted drove us up the road to my childhood home, we passed the Johnston’s house. I saw a FOR SALE sign on the lawn. I hoped Marjorie had moved in with one of Craig’s brothers. At least my Mom didn’t have to bury one of her children.

He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. Turning to me, he comforted, “Take all the time you need, Bruce. We’re here now, but we don’t have to rush in.”

I faced him, wishing we were back in a happier time. My mother had welcomed him as another son. My father had done a 180 in his attitude toward homosexuality. Everything had been so right, only two years before, and now—.

My tears flowed freely. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

“You’ll figure that out, one moment at a time. I’m here, and I’ll be with you as much as you want me to.”

And he was. The next five days went by like I was drugged. I got up, ate, slept, went to the funeral home with Dad and Natalie, and sat there while countless people passed through, offering their condolences. On the day of the funeral, Ted had to dress me because I could barely move my hands. Before the formal lunch, he convinced my father it would be best if I went back to the house. We sat in the kitchen while he made coffee. I had cried all I was able. I was in an emotional vacuum. Ted never left my side, but he only spoke to tell me to do something necessary.

When we heard cars coming up the driveway, he stood and said, “Let’s go to our room. You’ve had a hard day.”

With his help, I undressed and climbed into my bed. I turned toward the wall and curled up into a fetal position. He joined me, wrapping his warm body around mine and running his fingers through my hair. In my muddled mind, it was Mom comforting me the day Craig left. Only it wasn’t—she was dead and buried now, gone forever. Without warning, I roughly shoved his hand away, and barked, “Don’t! Leave me alone.”

Unabashed, Ted put some space between us. “I’m sorry.” He got up and moved across the room to sit in my desk chair.

His sudden absence was like a blast of Arctic air. I shivered and turned to face him. “Please come back. I didn’t mean it.”

********

I said there were two earth-shaking events. My mother’s passing was by far the worst in my life, even harder than Winston’s death. The second happened two months later.

I came home from work at nine o’clock, exhausted as usual. Ted was waiting for me in the kitchen and delicious aromas were coming from the oven. It had been one of his days off, so he had gone all-out cooking for us. He handed me an ice-cold glass of Chablis and guided me to the sofa.

Cheerfully raising my drink, I toasted, “Here’s to another damn day shot to hell!”

With a somber expression, he mirrored my salute, “And here’s to another unexpected kick in the balls from life.”

“Huh?” My face fell, and I studied him, hoping he was bullshitting me.

“I’m not gonna sugar-coat it, Bruce. It’s major.” He put a loving hand on my arm.

I took a deep breath. “OK. Let me have it with both barrels.”

“Here it is. I’ve been offered the position of Chief of Staff in the Houston, Texas, Police Department.”

“What the fuck?”

He nodded in silence.

“I didn’t even know you applied for the job.” I was dumb-struck.

“Technically, I didn’t. The Chief of Police, Rory Spinner, is an old friend. The position opened up with the retirement of the incumbent, and Rory called yesterday to offer me the job. I didn’t say anything until the registered letter arrived today, which kind of made it real.”

My face was pale. Was this the end of our relationship?

“Bruce, I didn’t accept the position. I asked Rory for a week to think it over. I wouldn’t decide something this important without discussing it with you.”

“So, you would have to move to Houston?”

He chuckled. “It would be hard to do the job from here.” He squeezed my shoulder. “But you know damn well I wouldn’t take the job unless we were both on board with it. And by the way, we would have to move to Houston.”

I took a deep breath, a long draught of my Chablis, and leaned back against the sofa. My head was spinning, and my heart was pounding, but I was relieved Ted wasn’t leaving me. I wondered aloud, “If you take the job, what does it mean for your career?”

“At my age, it would be the fucking apex for me. There ain’t nothing higher than this without running for election, and I’d suck at that. I would basically do it until I retire, which I hope is at least ten years in the future.”

“Houston?”

“Houston.”

I pondered for a long moment. Then a light bulb went off in my mind. “Wait a minute. Houston! Shit! You know what’s in Houston?”

He grinned. “Fucking NASA, or so I’ve always heard.”

“Exactly. Fucking NASA!”

His brow wrinkled, “Could you get a job with them?”

“Hell, they’ve dropped hints at me for the last six or seven years, but working for the goddamn government, the money’s a lot worse.”

“Do you need more money?—do we need more money?”

I laughed. “Well, I expect you’re gonna be paid a shitload more than you’re making in Seattle.”

“Most likely.”

“And if I get a senior enough position at NASA, it might not make much difference.”

We sat in silence, grinning at each other.

“Is this for real?” I asked.

“I think that’s a possibility.”

“What do you think we should do?”

He set his glass on the side table and turned to face me. “I think we should go upstairs, get naked, climb into bed, and think about all this bullshit later.”

And we did just that.