by Kyell Gold
Parlon joins us partway through that with two Starbucks cups and gives one to Misha. “Vanilla latte,” he says, “nonfat.”
“Thanks, hon.” Misha leans in to kiss him and then sniffs the cup. “Dev was explaining about how he gets paid. It sounds complicated.”
“You have an agent, though, right?” Parlon’s gaze is sharp and shrewd.
I nod and wrap up the explanation as Allen and Chuck join us again. It’s after nine and I wonder when Lee’s going to get here, so I apologize and take my phone out to text him.
While I’m doing that, Allen and Misha chat, and Allen says something about how he can’t believe Lee and Misha lasted six months. “I mean,” he says, “did you have a double dildo or something?”
Misha laughs and looks sideways at me. “He’s asked me this before. He’s only bringing it up because you’re here.”
“I never!” Allen protests.
“Please.” Misha waves him aside with a paw and turns his attention on me. “I’m sure he doesn’t do it much these days, but Lee was a good little top fox when he wanted to be. Or I guess I should say, when I wanted him to be. I doubt he ever liked it as much as he liked the times I topped.”
“Wait,” Parlon says. He places a paw over his heart and his ears slide back. “Hold on. Dear, you told me you dated this guy, but you actually topped? Like, insertive-partner-role topped?”
“I am capable, darling.” Misha looks at me, then at Chuck. “Shall we go upstairs before poor Devlin here gets completely embarrassed?”
“Little late,” I say, and they all laugh. Some of the other FLAG members have their drinks now and are heading upstairs, so we follow them up.
“It’s just that Lee was always real open about his sex life,” Allen says. “Until he met you, I guess.”
“He’s still…heh.” I feel more comfortable with them now. Comfortable enough to tell this anecdote? Let’s see. “He was trying to, y’know, blow me while I was on the phone with my mother.”
They chuckle, but it’s a patronizing chuckle. “Well, who hasn’t done that?” Misha says.
“Despite being asked to stop.” Parlon glares, or maybe mock-glares. “Now I know where you got that from.”
Misha smiles sweetly. “Maybe he got it from me.”
We array ourselves around a bunch of square tables, and as we sit, the raccoon and the puma both tell me they’re really happy to meet me and are glad that I came. Other people echo the sentiments, and Misha, Parlon, Chuck, and Allen are all engaged in their own conversation by the time I respond to the last one, trying to make everyone feel like I’m paying attention to them.
My phone buzzes with a message from Lee: On my way up. Had to pick up Salim.
“Lee’s here,” I tell the others as I put the phone away.
Misha and Allen perk their ears up. Parlon grins. “Finally, I’ll get to meet this local legend.” He catches my eye and inclines his head. “Not that it hasn’t been a pleasure meeting you, but you’re more of a national legend.”
“I’m not sure I’m more comfortable with that,” I say, “but thanks.”
“I didn’t really tell him that much about Lee until that article on him came out.” Misha rests a paw on the table near mine. “I’m not carrying a torch for him or anything.”
“I believe your exact words were, ‘I used to date that guy,’” Parlon says.
“‘Date,’” Allen makes air quotes.
Misha sticks his tongue out. “I’m not this crude at home.”
“He’s not,” Parlon confirms. “It’s only when he’s around you lot, I suppose.”
“Good.” Allen grins widely. “Do you good to get back to it once in a while.”
I wonder if Lee is going to revert to that sort of form again. In about fifteen seconds, I’ll know, I realize, as I see his familiar russet muzzle spring into view at the staircase. He scans the room and hurries over to me as I stand.
“Hi,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and tilting his muzzle up. I don’t even think about where we are because I know we’re surrounded by friends, so I lower my muzzle and kiss him. Just like he did once on this campus years ago, he pushes the kiss deeper, and this time I hold him and don’t resist.
Applause breaks out around us and still we kiss, neither of us wanting to break it until we have to. Some people whistle, and finally we slide our tongues apart and then let our lips break as well.
“Well!” Misha says. “He never kissed me like that.”
Lee turns and his eyes light up. He squeezes me and then lets go to hurry around the table where Misha is getting half out of his seat. Lee hugs him and then says, “I assume this hunk is with you?”
“Parlon Ainsley-Cameron.” Parlon rises and extends a paw.
“My goodness.” Lee shakes, a broad grin across his muzzle. “Misha, you married money. Good for you.”
I’ve no idea how he can tell so quickly, but Parlon laughs as he and Lee brush muzzles. “And it’s a pleasure to meet Mister Farrel’s Wild Ride,” the larger arctic fox says with a twinkle in his eye.
“I thought you were living in Freestone?” Lee turns back to Misha as Allen stands up for his hug.
“We are, but I’ve wanted to bring Par back to Forester, and I work half-remotely anyway, so we took a couple days off.”
“Yes,” Parlon says as Lee hugs Allen, “February in the Midwest. It’s a holiday.”
It’s only then that I notice the weasel standing shyly a step back from the table, dressed in a neat white shirt and blazer with a tie loosened around his neck. He meets my eye and gives a smile of recognition, and though I wouldn’t have picked him out of a crowd, I’m sure I know who it is.
“Salim, right?”
He comes over and holds out a paw, which I grasp. “It has been almost two years,” he says.
“A little more than that, I think. The quarterfinal game.”
“Yes.” He smiles. “I am glad you have had more success since then.”
“Thanks.”
Allen spots who I’m talking to and fairly runs around to hug the weasel. “Salim! So it took Wiley to drag you out of hiding?”
“Oof.” Salim returns the hug. “I am quite busy, sadly.”
“He’s got a family, a job, and a bit on the side,” Lee says.
The weasel fixes Lee with a baleful stare. “My private life,” he begins, but Allen ruffles between his ears and disrupts his protest.
“Is a lot more interesting than anything I’ve got going on.” The ringtail curls his long tail around the weasel’s legs familiarly and keeps a paw over his shoulders. “Come on, I want to hear all about it.”
While the weasel weakly objects, Lee squeezes in between me and Misha. Parlon offers to buy him a drink, and Allen laughs. “Lee hates Starbucks. Probably offends his sensibilities just to be in here.”
“Their tea’s okay,” Lee says.
Allen and Misha stare at him. The ringtail turns to me. “If you got Lee to like Starbucks, sir, then I will believe you can do anything.”
“When I was sick.” Lee sticks his tongue out. “There wasn’t anything else and Hal kept getting me their chamomile…” His ears go down. “But I’m not in the mood for tea right now, thanks.”
“Hal?” Allen’s ears perk.
“Friend of ours,” I say.
“I was sick and Dev was in Crystal City for the championship.” Lee gives Allen a long look.
“Their coffee isn’t bad.” Parlon raises his and takes a drink.
“We don’t have to have this discussion right now.” My fox smiles and settles against me.
With my arm around his shoulder, I feel the excitement humming through him. Allen drags Salim to the table, now seven of us crammed around it, and they all reminisce about the old days while Chuck tries to participate and Parlon and I mostly listen, except for the time when Lee and Misha start comparing partners and techniques, at which point Parlon leans in and says, “Dear, let’s save some secrets for our bedroom,
shall we?”
“Oh,” Lee says, “he’s shy.”
I clear my throat and nose at his ear. “I happen to agree with him.” The comment falls into a lull around the table, and everyone laughs.
“All right, all right.” Misha grins at Lee. “Give me your new e-mail address. We’ll catch up privately.”
“Yeah.” Allen leans in. “No more disappearing, right?”
Lee spreads his paws. “I’m out and proud now. I’m not going anywhere.”
The ringtail turns to Salim. “That goes for you, too. You live right around the corner.”
“I am very busy.” The weasel keeps his smile but looks slightly uncomfortable. “I have many obligations—”
“You can answer an e-mail, right? I’m not asking you to write essays or come to weekly meetings.”
Allen seems to be losing his good humor, and Chuck steps in with his phone. “I want to get all your contact info to make sure you come back for Diversity Day. I’d like to get more FLAG alums and maybe do a reception in the evening, something nicer in a University hall. If any of you guys want to help out with that…”
“Of course,” Misha says.
“Def.” Allen perks his ears. “Maybe you could get Brian to show up, too?”
I tense, wanting to say something, but I leave it to Lee, who flattens his ears and then brings them back up. “I don’t think that’ll work.” He shakes his head. “Brian got kind of obsessed with me the last year or so.”
Allen snorts and starts to say something, but Lee cuts in. “He stalked Dev and posted rumors about him being gay until he had to call a press conference…”
“That was him? The guy you talked about?” Misha shakes his head and his ears dip. “Poor Brian.”
Lee bumps my shoulder. “When did you talk about him?” So I have to tell Lee about my speech, and Allen and Misha and Chuck all chime in and make it sound way better than it was.
Then there’s a moment of silence, and Allen says, “Sooooo? Brian?”
“Yeah.” Lee leans back against me and rests his paw on the table, chocolate brown against metallic brown. “I didn’t want to give him any more publicity than he’d already gotten. And then…well, I got this voicemail from him tonight, about half an hour ago. I guess you can all hear it.”
He takes out his phone and calls up the voicemail, then puts it in the center of the table. “Fancy,” murmurs Allen when he sees the phone, and then everyone cups their ears to listen.
“Hi, Tip,” comes Brian’s high voice from the speaker. “I sorely hope thou’rt not disappointed tonight when you fail to spot my spots at the FLAG alumni gathering.”
“He’s doing a Shakespeare play,” Lee murmurs.
“He’s always doing a Shakespeare play,” Misha says back over the next part.
“Alas, I should expect by now that you’ll not pick up the phone when you see my number. This breach betwixt us shall not be healed easily…” Lee makes a “get to the point” gesture with his paws. “…but I suppose I bear some of the blame for it. In any case, I called only to tell you that as much as I would love to see some of the old gang, I have been following this local politician around Chevali. You’d recognize his name, but I don’t want to give away any secrets just yet. He’s a fascinating fellow. His opposition to gay rights is equaled only by his attraction to cock. We just need some pictures or other proof to shame him into changing his positions or resigning, and I’m delighted to volunteer my experience. Give my best to all the old gang and tell them I am still fighting the good fight.”
Silence descends around the table as Lee reaches out his paw and takes his phone back. “So there you go,” he says casually. “Athletes are passé now, I guess.”
I mock-bristle. “Well, there’s two of us out. No more work for him to do.”
“That doesn’t work, you know.” Parlon nods at Lee’s phone with his muzzle. “Outing politicians. The problem is the people they represent. Either they’ll forgive the guy, or they’ll elect someone worse to replace him.”
“Brian never saw a windmill he didn’t want to tilt at,” Allen says.
I try to process all the things I’m feeling about Brian’s message. Relief that apparently he’s going to leave me and Lee alone, finally; annoyance that he’s still calling Lee; some measure of sadness, because in looking around at Allen and Salim especially, I see the absence of Brian not as he is now, but as he used to be. It feels like when we lost Fisher in the locker room, like thinking of him now. I wonder briefly if Brian got a concussion when he was beaten up, but that’s probably being too charitable. He’s just an asshole, and maybe Lee used to be one too, but he’s grown out of it. Still, I hadn’t realized how much Brian had meant to him, how much this whole group of friends meant to him, until tonight. Sitting here and watching him laugh with Allen, gently rib Salim, exchange affectionate reminiscence with Misha, I feel like I’m being introduced to his team.
“Why don’t we have friends like these in Chevali?” I ask him at one point in the evening.
Lee turns to me and smiles. Misha says, “It’s so hard after college to keep in touch. Life takes over and you get busy.”
Salim nods, but Lee looks around the table and now speaks. “There aren’t any other friends like these anywhere,” he says.
Smiles widen and tails wag, and Allen says, “You should’ve remembered that senior year,” but when Lee starts to protest, he waves it off and says, “Amor vincit omnia, right?”
“You liberal arts majors,” Misha snorts. “Can’t you just say, ‘people in love do dumb things’?”
“Well,” I say, “I’ll be playing in Hilltown and Freestone, and you guys are all welcome to come visit Chevali. But you have to root for the Firebirds.”
“Will you teach us football?” Misha bats his eyes at Lee.
My fox chuckles. “If you want to go to a game, sure.”
“Of course we want to go to a game.” Misha turns his gaze to me. “We want to see your boy perform.”
“Then you’ll have to go to a game,” I say, “because we are not releasing a sex tape.”
There’s a moment of silence where I wonder if I gauged the mood right, if this joke is going to bomb, and then everyone laughs. Lee leans back into me, shaking his head in mock disappointment as I wrap an arm around him. “I’ve tried and tried to convince him,” he says, “but he says the videos are just for us.”
“Selfish,” Allen says.
I murmur into Lee’s ear, “So are there videos of you with other people out there?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m not that dumb.”
“Mmm.” I squeeze his shoulders. “Too bad.”
He arches an eyebrow, and I grin. He shakes his head. “I don’t know if exposing you to this crowd was a good idea.”
“It took a few years, but I’m glad to meet them.” I am, too, slowly getting used to my relationship with Lee being something normal, like Misha and Parlon, like Polecki and Cornwall. I mean—look, I always knew it was okay, being with him, I always knew it was right, but I couldn’t see it as normal. Even here, somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that this coffee shop is just an enclave, that out there not too far away, maybe not in Forester University, but not far beyond that, there are people who think we’re a curiosity at best, unnatural at worst, who don’t believe our relationship should be approved by the state or the church or any other authority, who think we’re a bad influence on children.
A lot of my teammates were like that at first, but few have remained that way. Maybe Gregory is traveling that same arc, but slower, the same one Lee’s mom is on, the one his dad completed, the one my parents are well on their way to following. Maybe different people just take different paths to the same places.
Hey, look at that. I thought about Gregory without unsheathing my claws.
“We are glad to meet you as well,” soft-spoken Salim says. “You are doing good work.”
“Work?” I shake out of the reverie.
&nbs
p; “Changing people’s minds.” Chuck leans in, cutting off my view of the weasel. “That’s what all these campaigns are about. Like Parlon said, the problem is the people, and what we’re all trying to do is get the kind of people who vote for homophobic politicians to realize that we’re no different from them.” He gestures to my arm around Lee. “Like we know, like we’re all sitting here talking about. Over time, people’s attitudes change based on what they see, what they’re exposed to.”
“I know,” I say. “Lee told me, people who know a gay person are more likely to favor gay rights. But I can’t go meet everyone. I mean, my team have mostly gotten used to it. Polecki’s team will. But that’s a hundred guys.”
“But you’re encouraging other people to come out.” Chuck’s big horsy eyes shine. “And they change the minds of the people who know them. By setting an example, you’re helping thousands.”
“Like the kid you met,” Lee says softly, and I nod. Chuck asks to hear the story, but it still feels too personal and I don’t want to share it right now, so I tell him I’ll save it for Diversity in Athletics Day.
Sex and civil rights and coffee. I lean back and listen, respond to Chuck when he tries to make conversation with me, but I don’t really engage. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him. It’s more that I’m enjoying the evening, the presence of my fox, and I want to watch him be himself with these other friends.
After a little while, Chuck does drag me away from the table because some of the present FLAG members are hovering and an ermine and raccoon, in particular, want to talk football. That seems a little odd to me, but it turns out they’re pretty knowledgeable. They say they were both rooting for me in the championship game, which I know is what everyone who talks to me says (except Polecki and Cornwall), but they also mean it. The raccoon assures me there wasn’t anything I could’ve done, that Crystal City was just executing great and that if anything, our offense let us down. I start to bristle, to defend the guys, and he backs down.
He wasn’t there, I think, and he doesn’t know. But he and the ermine both keep on about how great I played, and the team, and they say they’re Chevali fans now. “What about Crystal City and Polecki?” I ask.
