M4M

by Rick R. Reed

  He could hear Brian’s sigh come through the box. “Oh, for God’s sake. Do you have your key?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then just get up here.”

  And this time Brian really did hang up the phone.

  Ethan put on his mask again and walked breezily through the marble-tiled lobby, smiling at the doorman as he always did and even commenting on the weather and the chilly turn it had taken. In the doorman’s eyes, he knew he was probably still “the boyfriend,” and how good that felt!

  Riding up in the elevator, Ethan realized he had no idea what he was going to say, no game plan or agenda. No talking points.

  His heart answered him. You don’t need any of those things. Just listen to me and you’ll say the right stuff. No filters. No judgment… for once in your life. Puh-leeze!

  Brian was already waiting for him, standing at his door and watching Ethan as he made his way down the corridor. He looked so good—his dirty-blond hair sticking up, his plush navy blue robe open enough to display his hairy, firm chest. Ethan was half tempted to run the length of the corridor and just fling himself into Brian’s arms. Or yank his robe open and drop to his knees before him, without even bothering to close the door.

  But he did retain sense enough to remind himself that there were still questions to be answered and issues to be resolved, no matter how much easier it would be to ignore them. He kept his pace steady and allowed himself to give Brian a small smile, to at least let him know in advance that he was not here to be confrontational.

  When he got to Brian’s doorway, they were both awkward. Normally, at this point, there would be a passionate kiss, even before closing the door behind them—they simply could not wait. But that was before everything had happened.

  Now they stood and stared at one another, Brian looking a little unsure of himself and Ethan feeling the very same way.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in.”

  Ethan followed him inside.

  It had only been a few days, but as he looked around the apartment, with its bank of windows facing Lake Michigan, its distressed leather furniture, and its contemporary, manly charm, Ethan felt more like a visitor than he ever had. It also seemed like much more than a few days had passed since his last visit. He guessed that’s what happened when one received life-changing news.

  It helped that Brian was also a little unsure of himself. Ethan hoped he could detect a little happiness beneath Brian’s wary expression, but maybe that was simply wishful thinking.

  “Um, do you want something? Wine? Glass of water?”

  Ethan didn’t respond. He crossed the room and stared out at the broad black expanse of the lake below him. Rows of car headlights on Lake Shore Drive rushed by. He turned back to Brian. “No. I’m not thirsty. But thanks. All I really came for was to talk. Can we talk?”

  Brian’s handsome face softened. Was it gratitude Ethan read there? Or was that just wishful thinking once more?

  Quit it with the second-guessing. You came to talk, so just open your mouth and sing out, Louise!

  “Of course, I was hoping we could talk. I mean, aside from you telling me to get lost.”

  “Can we sit down?”

  “Oh, Ethan, do you have to ask?” Brian plopped down on the couch and patted the place beside him.

  Ethan briefly considered the chair opposite the couch, then relented and took a seat next to Brian. Their bodies touched, and the feel of him was electric. Ethan felt like a man who had been in a desert for days taking a seat by a pool of cool water.

  You know where this is headed, Ethan. Careful, now. You came to talk.

  Ethan couldn’t look at Brian, so he simply stared at the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows opposite them, where the night looked like something solid trying to press in, and began.

  “We never really have had a chance to sit down and talk… rationally, I mean, since I got my diagnosis. And for a while I didn’t want to give you that. I was—and maybe I still am—furious at you. But we’ve shared too much to just let things slip away. Not without at least a heart-to-heart.”

  “It’s all I wanted, Ethan. You wouldn’t even give me a chance. I just needed to know about what had happened. You’re HIV positive?” The concern in Brian’s voice was real, yet Ethan still couldn’t allow himself to look at him. Ethan had come here with something to say, even if he didn’t know quite how to put the words, and he needed to be able to talk without the distraction of things like comfort, denial, rejection, or any other emotions that could more easily come up if he allowed his eyes to meet Brian’s.

  “Yes. As I told you, I got the news a little more than a week ago.” Ethan lowered his head. “You can’t imagine how shocked I was.” He paused, took a breath. “I need you to just let me say this without interrupting… and then we can talk, back and forth. Because I know you’re gonna want to interrupt.”

  Ethan stood, crossed the room, and stared at the starless night outside. He kept his back to Brian as he began. “I was shocked because, well, I haven’t exactly been a slut. Sometimes it wasn’t for lack of trying!” Ethan let a bitter laugh escape his lips. “But we talked about this. I never ‘got around’ much. So when I got the news I was positive, I immediately thought that the only person who could have infected me was you.”

  “Ethan, I—”

  “Just let me finish. I’m almost there.” He turned to Brian and forced himself to meet his gaze. Brian looked plaintive, confused.

  “It made sense, you know. When passion got the best of us, we weren’t always careful. And we’ve talked about our checkered pasts and—no judgment here—but we both know yours was a lot more checkered than mine. So again, it made sense.”

  He sat down once more beside Brian, the words tumbling out making things seem more real and yet, at the same time, better, an issue that could maybe be resolved. He took Brian’s chin in his hand and locked gazes with him. “I only need a truthful answer to one question. Are you positive?”

  “Positive about what? That I love you? Yes, yes, of course. Positive that I want to spend my life with you? Yes, yes, of course.”

  Ethan smiled. “That’s lovely to hear. But you know that’s not what I meant.”

  Brian moved his head so Ethan’s hand dropped from his chin. Now it was Brian’s turn to stare at the bank of windows opposite them, as if there was something to see beyond a wall of darkness. He sucked in some breath. When he turned to Ethan, his eyes were shining.

  Oh God, no, he’s going to tell me he was positive all along. He knowingly infected me. Oh God….

  Brian bit his lower lip. “I feel so horrible, but I don’t know. I don’t think so. I had a test maybe a year, year and a half ago, and I was okay. I was grateful then because I had gotten careless, and so after that I was super careful, and then when we met and everything was so great and I knew we were being exclusive, I didn’t think there was much harm in throwing caution out the window.” Brian choked back a sob. “Babe, I’m so sorry I was stupid, really stupid. If I gave you this, I could never forgive myself.”

  Ethan closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch, letting the leather cushions surround him. This was what he had wanted to hear, not a denial, but not a confirmation either. The wise words of the sixty-something woman on his blog came back to him, something about none of us being perfect. Something about the only reason to really move on was if Brian had knowingly exposed him to the virus.

  And he hadn’t.

  Ethan realized at last that maybe it didn’t matter—right now—if Brian was positive or not. They would have to find out for sure, and soon. But the truth was, Brian was not perfect, and he had perhaps erred on the side of love and passion. So had Ethan. It didn’t matter, really, in the end, if Brian gave him the virus or if he got it during some careless moment in his past.

  What mattered, and what he should have known all along, was that he and Brian loved each other.

  Love was based on faith, and faith was really nothing more t
han hope, something indescribable and real in our hearts. And certainly not something that could be quantified or proven beyond a reasonable doubt.

  “Sweetheart, as long as you didn’t know, then the rest doesn’t matter. I guess what really does matter is this. I am HIV positive. No doubts. You might not be. And I would understand if you—”

  Brian simply leaned forward, pushing Ethan even farther back into the couch, and kissed him deeply, his tongue exploring the inside of his mouth, his breath hot on his face, grizzle on his cheek scraping deliciously against Ethan’s smooth skin, eyes open to stare into Ethan’s. The kiss was hungry, a physical manifestation of the divide, now bridged, that had gone up between them. Ethan wasn’t counting, but he would have guessed the kiss lasted for more than three minutes. Finally Brian pulled away and smiled down at him.

  “Don’t even say it.”

  “But it would be okay. I mean, if you’re negative and you want to be with someone else who’s also negative, that would make sense. I would understand.”

  “Neg? UB2? Honey, that worn-out line ain’t for me, never has been. People are more than the viruses they may or may not contain. Sure, if it turns out I am negative and you’re not, our condom-free days are behind us. But that doesn’t mean I stop loving you.” He grabbed Ethan, pulling him to his barrel chest and stroking the stubble on Ethan’s head. Brian whispered into Ethan’s ear, “I couldn’t stop, sweetheart, if I tried.”

  If possible, Ethan pulled Brian even closer, until his body was atop his own on the couch, the weight of him above a great and comfortable presence. Ethan buried his face in Brian’s neck, hoping to hide his relieved and grateful tears, but also just to breathe in the scent of him, manly sweat and just a hint of Irish Spring soap.

  They lay like that for what seemed like an hour, until finally Ethan didn’t think he could breathe anymore. Romance wasn’t always graceful, like in the books. He pushed hard against Brian’s chest, gasping, “Get off me!”

  Brian laughed and stood, holding out his hand for Ethan to take. He cocked his head. “Know what the best part of breaking up is?”

  Ethan thought he knew, but he played dumb. “What?”

  “Making up. If monsieur would be so kind as to accompany me into the boudoir….”

  Ethan took Brian’s hand, and with the squeeze of his palm, all the tension between them seemed to dissolve, to fade away as if it was of little importance, intangible as smoke. He followed his man into the bedroom. Brian pulled back the comforter, lit the candle on the nightstand, switched on the Leonard Cohen CD that was already in his little nightstand player, and dropped the robe from his shoulders.

  With the warm amber lights from the city streaming in the windows, their clothes hit the floor, their gazes never wavering from the other. Brian wore a cockeyed smile, and if he didn’t think it would spoil the moment, Ethan would have collapsed on the bed with sobs of happiness. Instead he dropped to his knees in front of Brian and got busy… sometimes the best way to say “I love you” had nothing to do with using one’s mouth for the formation of words.

  Brian closed his eyes and gently stroked Ethan’s face as he sucked. “How could we ever let this go?”

  A new Leonard Cohen song came on, and Ethan had to take a break from his work to smile up at Brian. The song was “I’m Your Man.”

  “Perfect.” He stood up and led Brian this time, to the bed, where he pulled him down on top of him.

  Brian reached over him, to the nightstand drawer for lube and a condom, which he tossed on Ethan’s chest. “Put it on me,” he growled.

  Ethan raised up to sheath his lover. He could barely wait to feel him slide inside.

  Afterward, Ethan snuggled his head onto Brian’s chest and played with the coarse hair. There was contentment, complete and all encompassing, in their silence. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, Brian said something that completely broke his calm, something, in fact, that so alarmed him that he shot up suddenly and stared down at Brian, mouth agape.

  “What did you say?” Perhaps Ethan hadn’t heard right. He was amazed at how fast he could go from the warmth of being on the brink of slumber to the needling heat of utter surprise.

  “I said I like your blog. You know, Off to See the Wizard of Poz.”

  “You knew? You knew all along and you didn’t tell me?”

  “How could I? You weren’t speaking to me. I’m glad you could finally share with me what was in your heart, rather than with those anonymous fans of yours.” Brian grinned at him. “Lie back down here. I was just getting comfortable.”

  “But how did you find it? How did you know?” The question had plagued Ethan from the start, not just about Brian, but in general. He lay down beside him and looked up into his eyes.

  “I read about the blog on another blog.”

  Now that was a surprise. Some other blog had mentioned him? How? He had just started the stupid thing!

  Brian continued, “I have been reading Dear Jan for over a year now. She’s so funny… and smart. Everyone I know reads her. Don’t you?”

  Ethan closed his eyes and thought of their new receptionist, her spiky red hair, her warm smile, her large, comforting bulk… kind of like the hip, caring mother he had never had. She was part of the reason he began his own blog, and her Dear Jan blog was exactly what Brian had said… funny and wise.

  “She wrote about me?”

  “Yes… a few days ago. She said you were a wonderful writer and that you needed support.”

  Ethan blanched. “She didn’t say who I was, did she?”

  “Of course not.”

  Ethan thought of all the times he had written the blog at work… and the times he wasn’t sure if he had clicked out of the blog when he went home, depressed and distressed. She must have seen it on his monitor. Ethan wondered if he should be mad at her. But the thought vanished just as quickly. Jan Most was like a guardian angel. He might not be here, right now, in his own little version of heaven, without her intervention.

  He snuggled back up to Brian, rubbing his hands over his broad chest and tweaking his nipples. He reached lower and could feel that someone was already getting in a state for round two. And that was just fine.

  Ethan rolled on top of Brian and kissed him deeply. As he reached for another condom, he thought of the last words Jan Most had said to him, “You take good care of yourself.” That was exactly what he planned to do.

  Part Three: 2017

  STATUS UPDATES

  I: Winter

  AT AGE fifty-one, Ethan Schwartz found himself alone again.

  He looked around the little bungalow he and Brian had bought just a year ago, after years of maintaining their own bachelor pads despite being together every night, and sighed.

  Universe! Your timing is… curious.

  The new place, the foundation for their future, their hopes and dreams, their nest as a bona fide couple, was so homey!

  Wide-plank hardwood floors, burnished to a worn but warm glow. A fieldstone fireplace, the stones old, charred, and crumbling. Above the mantel, the framed poster from the movie they both adored, Dial M for Murder. The furniture they’d picked out together, all of it with an eye toward comfort—a big sectional covered in cream suede, occasional tables with a rich mahogany stain, worn Persian rugs they’d bought used or found at garage sales, their colors muted, a complementary chair with an ottoman next to it….

  Ethan wiped a tear from his eye. He could see Brian sitting in the chair, the reading lamp above his head illuminating his bald head as he lowered it to read the newest thriller from Harlan Coben or Laura Lippman. Brian licked his finger and turned a page. Ethan had always been after him to get himself a Kindle or to read on his phone.

  “I’m old school, sweetie,” he’d always respond. “I like the look, the feel, and even the smell of books. Nothing compares.”

  Ethan let out a quivering breath, wondering if he could bear to keep the chair where Brian had parked his ever-widening-butt so many nights. The
fabric, a sort of Navajo pattern in rust, green, and beige, even smelled of him—Irish Spring soap and something unnameable but uniquely Ethan’s man.

  In his worst moments, Ethan found himself burying his nose in the fabric, the aroma of Brian inducing sobs. He’d have to pull away because he didn’t want to get snot on the chair.

  The thought made him laugh, but the laugh was bitter.

  Why had Brian been taken away just when it seemed they were getting started? What was the sense in that? And why hadn’t they moved in together sooner? At least that way, they would have had more time together in their own home….

  He glanced out the window at the first snowflakes of the season, just beginning to gently fall on Eastwood Avenue. Across the street, their neighbor, Jeanne McCormick, hobbled out onto the front porch of the two-flat she owned with her husband, Herb, to check the mail. She withdrew a stack of envelopes and catalogs and then turned back toward her front door. A Lincoln Towing Service truck rumbled noisily by. When it was gone, so was Jeanne.

  Ethan settled back into the couch. It still smelled new.

  He started at a little chirp and stiffened as the ginger cat he and Brian had gotten from the humane society just a few days ago hopped aboard his lap. They hadn’t even had a chance to name it before Brian was….

  Was what? Taken away? Passed on? Transitioned?

  Ethan stroked the cat absentmindedly as it began to purr and wondered if he’d ever have the energy to find a name for it now. They’d gone back and forth incessantly. Brian wanted a human moniker like Mike or Fred, and Ethan, God help him, preferred something like Garfield or Jinx. He shrugged—it seemed as though they’d had all the time in the world to name the damn cat.

  Maybe, like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, he’d just call him “Cat.”

  It had only been a week since Brian had stepped out onto Lincoln Avenue and had been mowed down by a man in a black BMW, who actually wasn’t even going all that fast. Brian had been killed instantly.