Being With Him

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “Trust me on this one,” Alex said. “He’ll get excited by the crowd, piddle on your shirt, and bark his tiny head off. They’ll throw us out for sure.”

  “Yikes,” Zeb said, scrunching up his face. “We’ll walk him when we get back.”

  “That’s a better plan.”

  Zeb went to change and it was Alex’s turn to stare when he sauntered down the hall looking like a cowboy on the prowl. He’d styled his hair in spiky tufts and even swiped some pale pink gloss on his pouty lips. Dressed in layers to withstand the cold, he’d thrown a forest-green and black checked shirt over a black turtleneck. Bootcut jeans and Western style boots with a two-inch heel completed the ensemble. At this height, a little under six feet, he wouldn’t have to strain neck muscles to look into Alex’s eyes. In his hand, he carried a shearling-lined brown suede jacket.

  “Where in heck did you get that outfit?” Alex asked.

  “Chyna helped me pick it out. Do you like it?”

  “Fuck, yeah.”

  Zeb licked his lips seductively and purred, “Mind your PDAs, big guy.”

  “You’re such a tease,” Alex replied grinning. “Does that getup come with a hat?”

  “We bought one, but I’m not wearing it tonight. My hair will get squashed.”

  “So you are gay after all,” Alex teased.

  “I think that ship has sailed.” Zeb laughed and approached Alex. “You want another demo from this bossy bottom when we get back from church?”

  “I hope I haven’t opened Pandora’s Box,” Alex said. “Just because I don’t need any lag time doesn’t necessarily mean I want to top 24/7.”

  Zeb’s smile slipped. “Say the word and I’ll be more than happy to reciprocate. I’m following your lead, Alex.”

  “I know, sugar. Don’t take my statement out of context.”

  “Why don’t you clarify so we understand each other,” Zeb requested. “I thought you enjoyed fucking me.”

  “I loved it.”

  “But…?”

  “I promised myself I’d only strap on when I was in the mood. My drawerful of toys doesn’t necessarily reflect my sexual appetite. Making love to you like that was incredibly meaningful, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but the timing has to be right.”

  “Is this your polite way of telling me I’m a horndog?”

  Alex smiled. “You are, but that’s beside the point. I love sex as much as the next guy, but I’m more interested in quality than quantity. Someday I’d like to be on the receiving end.”

  “Then why don’t you let me top next time?” Zeb asked. “You know I want to, but I won’t push or do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

  “You’re a gem,” Alex gushed. “Most guys would have run out of patience a while back.”

  “I’m vain enough to think I’m not that ordinary.”

  Alex thumbed Zeb’s lower lip, then bent down to kiss him. When they parted, he said, “You are different. In every good way that counts. Having so little experience in my world actually works in your favor. Let’s talk more when we get back, okay? We don’t want to be late.”

  “Are you okay, though?” Zeb asked, searching Alex’s face. “I’d feel bad if my excitement is completely one-sided.”

  “I share your feelings, sugar. Don’t doubt that for a minute. I’m about to enter a church for the first time in God-knows-how-long to give thanks for bringing you into my life.”

  “Okay,” Zeb said, reaching for Alex’s hand. “I’m aware that timing is everything. We need to expunge your bad memories before we can make new ones, but, keep in mind, I’m ready to listen whenever you are.”

  Alex squeezed his hand. “I know.”

  The Cathedral Church of Saint John Divine turned out to be a much better choice than St. Patrick’s Cathedral, in Alex’s opinion. It was much closer to their apartment, and so immense, seating wasn’t an issue. He’d passed this structure many times in the past, and although the façade towered over Amsterdam Avenue, and the building extended a full avenue block, he’d never given it the attention it deserved. Once inside, he and Zeb grabbed several pamphlets detailing the history of the hundred-and-twenty-year-old edifice, which, amazingly, wasn’t finished yet.

  Once they were seated, Alex thumbed through the pages of information regarding the fifteen-voice professional choir that included some of New York City’s finest, who were also accomplished soloists in their own right. Tonight, they were singing Mozart’s Coronation Mass, along with more traditional Christmas carols. The sound of their beautiful voices, in combination with the Cathedral Choristers, soared through the air, bringing tears to Alex’s eyes and raising goose bumps along his limbs. When he glanced over at Zeb, he saw his eyes glittering with emotion as well. He entwined his fingers with Zeb’s, silently acknowledging the moving experience. Together, they joined in the singing, and their shaky rendition of “O Holy Night” was lost in the chorus of voices, but their sentiment shone through like the brightest star.

  The familiar rituals they’d learned years back clicked into place, and they knelt, sat, and rose with the rest of the worshipers, responding when appropriate and bowing their heads in worshipful silence the rest of the time. During the homily, Alex took a minute to glance around. He never expected to see other gay men or women in the crowd but was pleasantly surprised, and rather shocked, to spot a few same-sex families with young children sharing space with heterosexual couples. It was uplifting and made him realize how much had changed since his last tangle with churchgoers. Back when he was transitioning, there’d been no room for the likes of him. Unable to cope with the derision or worse, painful snubs from family friends, he’d stayed away. Even his parents couldn’t turn the other cheek, so they’d stopped attending.

  After Mass, they made their way down the long aisles, following the rest of the crowd and stopping at the main entrance to thank the Bishop of New York, who’d officiated. He looked tired after the two-hour Mass, but he graciously acknowledged their thanks and invited them to return. It was a standard greeting, but Alex took it to heart and made a mental note to get back as soon as possible.

  On the ride home, they didn’t talk, and Alex assumed Zeb had also been deeply affected. Was he thinking how his life would change now that he’d accepted his orientation? Catholic doctrine on homosexuals was frustratingly steadfast, no matter how progressive they appeared to be. On the surface, you were welcome into the fold—with very specific parameters—but when sides had to be chosen, Zeb would have to leave the saints and join the sinners if he wanted to continue his relationship with Alex. Could he handle that?

  It was two thirty in the morning when they turned the key in the lock. Bacon was in his open crate and raised his head to acknowledge their presence, then zonked out again. There was no need to take him outside when he didn’t seem remotely interested. They hung their jackets on the pegs closest to the door and went to the kitchen.

  “How about some hot chocolate and cookies?” Alex asked.

  “Sounds great,” Zeb replied.

  Alex got to work and plated a variety of cookies, then set them on the table within Zeb’s reach. Once that was done, he poured milk into a saucepan and placed it on the range to boil. He added cocoa powder and stirred it around, and after a few minutes, transferred the liquid to large mugs. He topped them off with mini marshmallows and sat down to join Zeb.

  “This is wonderful,” Zeb said after a careful sip. “You make everything look so effortless. I’m sure if I tried this on my own, I’d burn the milk and make a royal mess.”

  “Boiling milk is tricky,” Alex agreed. “Things happen quickly, and if you take your eyes away for a split second, it’ll overflow, and you have to start over. It takes patience to succeed in the kitchen.”

  “More than patience,” Zeb countered. “You need to enjoy the mechanics of producing a meal that goes above and beyond edible. You have the knack, Alex. I prefer to watch and enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

  “At least you
’re honest.” Alex smiled. He bit into a butter cookie he’d sprinkled with red and green sugar crystals, and after chewing, he drank some the hot chocolate. Sighing contentedly, he said, “I’m glad you suggested Midnight Mass. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

  “They did a great job, and the choir was outstanding. I got emotional at one point,” Zeb admitted, abashed.

  “So did I,” Alex said. “It was extra special with you by my side.”

  “Aww… thank you, big guy.”

  “Did you notice the same-sex couples with kids?” Alex asked. “I didn’t expect to see that.”

  “Kudos to them for even showing up.”

  “We did,” Alex pointed out.

  “But from a distance, you can’t tell there’s anything going on between us. Those couples have evidence.”

  “So you’re advocating they leave the kids at home and pretend they’re straight? The One who counts will know even if nobody else guesses.”

  “This is a strange time and place to be talking about religion and ethics,” Zeb noted.

  “Is it?” Alex asked.

  “I haven’t had time to dwell on the religious implications of being with you.”

  “I’m aware,” Alex said. “At some point, though, you’ll have to put on your thinking cap and imagine what life will really be like if and when you decide to come out.”

  “Hold that thought,” Zeb said, pushing away from the table.

  Alex watched him walk out of the kitchen and wondered if he’d crossed the line. Was Zeb going to pack his bags and tell Alex he wasn’t willing to make such drastic changes to his life? Fortunately, Zeb returned quickly carrying a beautifully wrapped jewel-sized box.

  “Open it,” he said. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but since we’ve started the day with my traditions, we should end it by unwrapping our gifts tonight.”

  “I have something for you as well,” Alex said. “May I go and get it?”

  “Sure. Let’s do this in the living room,” Zeb suggested. “In front of the tree.”

  Alex nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

  Zeb was sitting cross-legged on the floor when Alex returned with a large box.

  “You first,” Zeb said, watching him intently.

  Alex removed the bright foil wrapper and sucked in a surprised breath when he saw the distinctive blue Tiffany box underneath. He opened it gingerly. Underneath the snowy white tissue paper was a small, heart-shaped frame. It looked like it was made of solid gold, but he suspected it was some over-the-top metal plating giving it the authentic luster and weight. It was minus a picture.

  “This is beautiful,” he said, looking at Zeb. “Thank you.”

  “I thought we could take a photo over the next few days and….”

  “I’ll have something to remind me of you,” Alex finished.

  Zeb nodded.

  Alex wrapped his hand behind Zeb’s neck and drew him close. He closed his eyes and kissed Zeb, savoring the lingering taste of chocolate with an added splash that was pure Zeb. They both moaned into the kiss, and Zeb was clambering onto his lap within seconds. As usual, they went from zero to ten in record time, intent on moving things to the bedroom. Zeb was already unzipping his pants when Alex pulled back.

  “Wait,” he said, breathless with desire. “I’d like you to open your present first.”

  Zeb looked debauched, his erection visible through the opening in his jeans. The tip of his penis peeked past the elastic of his boxer briefs, and Alex was sorely tempted to bend down and lick the drops of precum, but Zeb wrenched back some control, bobbed his head, and got off Alex’s lap.

  He picked up the big box and ripped off the wrapper unceremoniously. Inside was another box, also gift-wrapped, and he stared at Alex blankly. “What’s this?”

  “Open it,” Alex coaxed.

  He ripped the smaller box apart and stared at yet another gift-wrapped box.

  “Da fuck,” Zeb murmured, tearing paper and ribbon away. Twice more he did this until he got to a small, flat box, the size normally used for wallets. He opened it gingerly, and when he saw the two tickets to Hamilton, he looked at Alex in absolute shock.

  “Holy hell!”

  “I was hoping you’d be impressed,” Alex said.

  “You must have had to call in a ton of favors,” Zeb exclaimed. “These tickets are sold out until 2018.”

  “Something like that,” Alex said, smiling sheepishly. “I hope you’re as eager to see the play as I am.”

  “Oh my God. When are we going?”

  “The twenty-seventh.”

  Zeb was back in Alex’s lap, peppering his face with grateful kisses. “Thank you, thank you. I’m so excited I can’t stand it.”

  “Let’s put the boxes on the table, in case Bacon decides to get nosy, and go to bed,” Alex said. “I believe we have some unfinished business.”

  Zeb grinned. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. You’re the best.”

  “You too,” Alex said.

  They gathered up the mess, stuffed the wrapping paper in a garbage bag, and placed the gift boxes on the kitchen table. The endearment Zeb had dropped so casually wrapped around Alex’s heart like a warm blanket. No one had ever called him that before. It was almost as precious as the heart-shaped frame. Cancel that. On a scale from one to ten, hearing Zeb call him sweetheart was a resounding twenty. It made Alex feel cherished and appreciated for being himself. He couldn’t ask for a better gift.

  Chapter 12

  CHRISTMAS DAY was anticlimactic after the previous evening. Emotionally and physically spent, they alternated between the kitchen and couch, munching on leftovers and watching sappy holiday movies on Netflix.

  They’d received text greetings from Luca and Chyna, who were enjoying their sun-soaked holiday with the ’rents and foster fathers. Even Chyna’s twin brother, Chip, and his girlfriend, had managed to join them at the resort on Grand Turk Island. Zeb wondered if the adults turned a blind eye and allowed the younger couples to share rooms, or if they would have to sneak around. From the little he’d learned of that clan over the last few months, he doubted they’d have to hide anything. It was refreshing to be around adults who were so accepting. He knew their tolerant attitude had a lot to do with their personal struggles as young gay men.

  Which turned his thoughts back to the conversation he and Alex had last night about his orientation. There hadn’t been much need to dwell on repercussions as his parents were thousands of miles away. The likelihood of them finding out their youngest son was gay, before Zeb could figure out how he was going to handle the fallout, was slim. They weren’t the sort who checked on his every move. As long as he maintained his grades, and no outrageous purchases showed up on the American Express bill, they left him alone. Three of his older siblings were married and caught up in their own lives. If he’d been closer to home, they might interfere, but out of sight, out of mind was very much in play since he’d gotten on the plane to America last August.

  The only one who might be remotely interested was his fourth sibling, also unmarried and living on the West Coast. Zaklina, whom he called Lina, was three and a half years older, and they’d been close until she finished nursing school. Like many of her classmates, Lina had been recruited by an organization in Northern California. Hardworking, intelligent, and best of all, English-speaking, Filipino workers were much in demand, especially in healthcare. Nurses were one of the country’s top exports. Since Lina had settled in San Francisco, texts and phone calls had dwindled, but Zeb was confident she would be supportive. Lina had always watched his back when they were growing up, and he couldn’t imagine her turning on him for falling for a guy. Would it make a difference one way or the other if said guy was a trans man?

  Zeb had stopped thinking in those terms a while back. The only time it came up was during sex, and they’d found so many creative ways to get the job done it was a nonissue. Besides, Lina wouldn’t know Alex was trans unless Zeb pointed it out. One of these days
, he’d pick up the phone to rekindle their close ties. Only then would he be comfortable dropping the bombshell. As for his parents and the rest of his friends and family back home, they’d have to wait until Zeb was mentally prepared to take on that challenge.

  Alex’s mother and father skyped in the late afternoon, and Zeb was enchanted by the couple. He was a sucker for the cadence and affectionate tone of the Creole language they shared with their only child. Whenever Alex forgot and slipped back to his roots, Zeb found the words touchingly romantic. Unable to understand most of the conversation, he remained quietly out of view, but his name suddenly came up without any warning. Flushing like he had a fever, he allowed Alex to pull him close to the camera for the introduction.

  Eloise Boulet had facial features similar to Alex’s but muted with age. She had the same cut-glass cheekbones, prominent forehead, and generous mouth, but the Roman nose, and Alex’s most heart-stopping feature—grass-green eyes—came from his father, Henri. Since both parents were seated, Zeb had no way of determining their height, but judging by Eloise’s long neck, slender arms, and fingers, it was obvious who’d passed on the supermodel gene. Alex’s mother reminded Zeb of Iman, David Bowie’s Somali widow. He wasn’t sure if the similarity was in the features or Eloise’s regal bearing, but she could have passed for Iman’s older sister.

  “Hi there,” he said as casually as he could muster. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

  “Bonjour,” Eloise said softly. “Is Alex feeding you properly?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Zeb said. “I’ve never had such good food.”

  “You’ll have to come and sample a wider variety of Creole cuisine at our restaurant,” Henri said in his accented English.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m looking forward to visiting someday.”

  “What are you men up to tonight?” Eloise asked. “Anything special?”

  “We’re sort of wiped out from last night,” Alex said.

  “What did you do?” Henri asked curiously.