Just What the Truth Is

by Cardeno C.

  We had gotten to his office, and he slid into his chair and shut down his computer. Then he picked up his wallet and cell phone and stuffed them into his pocket.

  “Do you need to log off?” he asked me.

  I didn’t remember agreeing to have dinner with him, but I supposed it made sense. We were both working late, it was Friday night…. No, actually, it didn’t make sense. I had never spontaneously made weekend dinner plans with one of my partners. Well, most of them had families waiting for them at home or plans with friends.

  I was pretty sure Micah Trains was single. I didn’t know anything about his personal life, but he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and there weren’t any wedding or kid photos in his office. As successful as he was, I figured he was one of those guys who was married to his career. He probably had an ex-wife or two who’d vouch for that.

  “Yeah. Give me a minute and I’ll meet you at the elevator bank,” I said.

  I turned around and started walking out of Micah’s office and heard his footsteps behind me. I looked over my shoulder. He was right there with his suit jacket and tie draped over his arm.

  “I’ll walk with you. Give me a chance to see how the other half lives. I’ve never been to the transactional side of the floor.”

  “It’s nothing exciting,” I told him as we walked through the quiet, dark hallways. “Just a mirror image of the litigation side. We tend to have less shouting during the day, but that’s about it as far as differences go.”

  And I should know exactly what was and wasn’t different between the litigation and transactional wings, considering my bordering-on-stalking routine visits to his side of the floor, which had not coincidentally started on the day he joined the firm.

  When we got to my office, Micah immediately started looking at the pictures on my credenza. I only had a few: one of my parents all dressed up for a charity event a few years prior, one of the four of us—me, my parents, and my brother—from when I was a kid. And a fairly recent picture that Clark had snapped of me and Noah.

  The picture’s nothing special. We’re just sitting on the couch in his living room wearing jeans and T-shirts. But there were a lot of years when I didn’t think I would ever have even that level of relationship with my brother, so I cherished it. Even more so because Clark had not only taken the picture, but he had printed it, framed it, and given it to me. I had made a lot of mistakes over the years when it came to Clark, so that picture felt like forgiveness to me.

  “Hey, I know this guy. Noah, right? Noah Forman.” Micah paused for a heartbeat, and I saw his eyes flicker as the light bulb went on. “You’re Noah Forman’s brother?”

  I was surprised that Micah knew Noah. They weren’t the same age—Noah was twenty-seven, which made him about a decade younger than Micah. And they weren’t in the same line of work—Noah owned a kickboxing gym.

  “Yeah, I am. How do you know Noah?”

  “We have a mutual friend, so I end up running into Noah and his partner, Clark, every so often. They’re great guys. Even though your brother can be a little, ehm, intense about Clark.”

  I laughed at that diplomatic description of Noah’s possessive streak when it came to Clark.

  “Yeah, he can be pretty intense. But Clark doesn’t seem to mind, so….” I shrugged and let the thought trail off. There had been a time when just thinking of my brother and Clark together would have made me angry. I had wanted to save Noah from what I was sure would be a hollow life. I thought if he got away from Clark, he would meet a nice girl, settle down, and be happy. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right? Well, as it turned out, Noah was settled and very happy already. With Clark. I, on the other hand, had met lots of nice girls, and I was neither settled nor happy.

  I had finished shutting down my computer, so I started walking out of my office. I was in front of Micah, which turned out to be a good thing, because it stopped him from seeing me almost swallow my tongue when I heard his next sentence.

  “Gay brothers, huh? Have you ever looked into the odds on that? I’d bet it’s pretty unusual.”

  I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t like Noah. I wanted to say that I was straight. But I was so busy concentrating on walking and breathing that I couldn’t manage to say a word, and then he moved on from the conversation, so the moment passed, and it was too late to correct him.

  “How do you feel about Indian? Bombay Palace is pretty good, and it’s down the street, so we can walk. I feel like over the past week or so it’s finally gotten warm enough that I can go outside even after the sun’s gone down.”

  “Oh, uh, sure. Sounds good.”

  My head was swimming. Why did Micah think I was gay?

  “So did you grow up here in Emile City?” Micah asked as if the world weren’t crashing down around us. Actually, the mundane normalness of the question calmed me down a little. At least enough to make conversation.

  “Yes, I did, in EC North. I still live there, actually.”

  It helped that we were walking and talking, because I didn’t have to look at his face and see what he really thought of me. His voice was perfectly even, like it didn’t bother him at all to be walking to dinner with a gay guy. No, not a gay guy, a guy he thought was gay but actually wasn’t. Yeah, right.

  Anyway, Micah Trains hadn’t accidentally tripped into his reputation as a top-notch attorney. He probably had a knack for hiding his real opinions and making people feel comfortable talking. Of course, I wasn’t a hostile witness, so there was no reason for him to try to get me to open up. “That’s quite a commute every day,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Just under an hour. It’s not terrible. I’ve thought about getting a place closer to the office, but my parents like having me out there.”

  There wasn’t really anything else to say about it. I owned a pretty basic one-bedroom condo in a nothing-to-write-home-about complex. I didn’t love it, but I didn’t hate it either, and I could get to my parents’ house in less than ten minutes, which was useful because my mother liked having me over for dinner often. Too often, really, but I always went when she asked. I felt like I had to go often enough to count as two sons worth of visits, because Noah refused to grace them with his presence.

  “I grew up in LA, and when I moved away, I swore I’d never have to deal with traffic again,” Micah said. “My drive is about fifteen minutes during rush hour, less than ten if I’m driving in early or going home late.”

  “Oh, now you’re just being cruel and rubbing my face in it. I’ll just have to spend this evening’s commute thinking of creative payback ideas.” I tried to sound menacing, but I think I probably fell a little short. I’m not really the scary type.

  Micah just laughed. “Alright, pretty boy. Give it your best shot.”

  DINNER turned out to be really fun.

  We talked about work.

  Micah had a few different cases going, but the one taking most of his time had a trial date scheduled for September. I had a few purchase and sale transactions and some corporate formations on my desk.

  “The thing I like about corporate work is that we’re all striving for the same goal. I mean, I still have to deal with opposing counsel, and we’re each trying to get the best terms we can for our clients. But at the end of the day, we both want to get the deal done, so we have a strong incentive to play nice and make things work,” I explained.

  “It’s not always like that with litigation,” he said. “People play a lot of games. They try to stretch things out and waste the other guy’s time and money. Take when I moved to the firm, for example. One asshole opposing counsel tried to file a motion to remove me from the Jones case saying there was suddenly some conflict, even though we cleared conflicts checks before I came over. It was a total bullshit delay tactic because the trial date’s coming up and he thinks if he strings it out further, my guy will settle.”

  I didn’t understand half of that because litigation was completely outside the scope of what I did, but I go
t the general idea. “So what’d you do? You’re still working on the case, right?”

  He grabbed some naan, tore off a piece, and popped it in his mouth. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m still on it. I just wrote opposing counsel back and told him to go fuck himself, fuck his mom, fuck his dog, and fuck his mom’s dog.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “That worked?”

  He smirked. “Well, I phrased it more delicately, but the message was the same. And, yeah, it worked. I can be extremely persuasive.”

  Yeah, I bet. I had a feeling Micah Trains could persuade me to do just about anything. It wouldn’t take much, really, just him asking in that sexy-as-hell raspy voice. Damn it, there I went again. My mind was completely out of control.

  We talked about family.

  Micah had a younger sister who lived in LA, along with his parents. My parents and younger brother all lived in Emile City.

  “Are you close with your family?” I asked him.

  “Absolutely. I get out there to visit them at least every couple of months or my mother starts calling and leaving progressively more annoying voicemails.” He made a funny face and started talking in a high, nasally voice. “Micah, this is your mother, Deborah Stern Trains, calling. I thought I should use my full name in case you’ve forgotten. After all, I know how busy you are and how many different people you talk to every day. I don’t mean to bother you, but I thought you should know that your nephew misses you. I’ve tried telling him that his uncle is a very important man and very important men don’t always have time to call their families, even their only nephew who thinks they hung the moon. But he’s only five, so he doesn’t understand. Don’t worry. I’ll keep explaining it to him.”

  I was laughing so hard by the time he was done with the impression that I had to wipe tears away from the corners of my eyes. “You’re exaggerating!” I gasped out.

  He shook his head. “I wish. That was practically verbatim. And that’s if I don’t call for a week. If I go any longer, she’ll call again and lay it on even thicker.”

  He cleared his throat and did the impression voice again. “Micah, this is your mother calling. Again. I just want to let you know that my telephone number hasn’t changed and I still live in the same place. I know you must be worried about that because I can’t sleep at night for worrying about you. Your father keeps telling me to take an Ambien, but you know how upset my stomach gets when I take pharmaceuticals. Don’t worry, I’m used to not getting much sleep. When I was pregnant with you, you kept me up all night. But just in case my body can’t take it anymore now that I’m old, please make sure your father doesn’t break the bank on the funeral. I’m not the Queen of England. Hopefully, you’ll make time to come to my funeral, but I’ll understand if you’re too busy. I’ll talk to your father now, so he’ll understand too. We miss you. You can call anytime you’re free. I’ll stop whatever I’m doing, because I know how valuable your time is and that mine isn’t as important.”

  We talked about religion.

  He was Jewish and belonged to a small synagogue that he really liked. I was raised in a nondenominational Christian church, but I only went when my parents asked me to join them.

  “I don’t really know what I believe or if I believe anything.” I shrugged. “I don’t really give it much thought, I guess.”

  “It’s really more of a cultural thing than a God thing for me,” he explained. “It’s important to me to carry on the traditions. I like the ritual of it, you know? I like knowing that my grandparents and their grandparents all read those same prayers and celebrated those same holidays, and that my niece and nephew and future generations will do the same thing. Whether or not there’s a higher power out there, being part of that tradition makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself.”

  We talked about hobbies.

  I was right about his work ethic. It sounded like Micah worked exceptionally long hours. When he had free time, he liked to hike and bike. I told him about the men’s baseball league I played with, my fantasy baseball league, and my obsession with Emile City’s Major League Baseball team, the Glory.

  “So are you a Glory season ticket holder?” he asked.

  I shook my head and gulped down some water. The tikka masala was seriously spicy. “I wish. I can’t afford to buy an entire season, not that I’d have the time to go to eighty-one games even if I could. And getting into a share with good seats is almost impossible. Once someone gets a lock on those, he has to move away or die before he’ll give them up.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. Their luck needs to turn around soon, though, or that might change. If the Glory are gonna win a game, those boys need to learn how to close it out.”

  WHEN the bill came, I reached for my wallet, but Micah waved me off, put his credit card on the tray, and handed it to the waiter.

  “You don’t have to do that, Micah. We can split it.”

  “Nope. I invited you to dinner, so it’s my treat.”

  His voice was softer than it had been all night. He was smiling, and there was something in his eyes that tugged at my chest. I had the strangest feeling at that moment that I was on a date instead of having a casual dinner with a work colleague.

  I knew it wasn’t true. I knew that wasn’t how Micah saw the evening. But my deranged mind couldn’t stop itself from running on that track, and I hated myself for it.

  Chapter Three

  I WAS quiet as we walked back to the firm’s parking garage after dinner.

  Why did my brain have to misinterpret everything? Why couldn’t I spend time with a man I found attractive without having to twist the evening into something dirty and wrong? And how could I make myself stop finding Micah, or any other man, attractive?

  “Do you have any exciting plans for the weekend?” Micah asked, interrupting my mental anguish.

  I forced myself to keep my voice even as I answered. The last thing I needed was for the hotshot new lawyer in the office to realize that I was just a step or two away from a complete breakdown. “Not really. I’ll probably get some work done and go visit my parents tomorrow. Sunday, I’m parking my butt in front of the TV and watching the Glory game. I hope it’ll be exciting and not another heartbreaker in the last couple of innings.”

  I left out the date I had planned with my girlfriend the following evening. It seemed wrong, for some reason, to talk to Micah about her. Not that it mattered, because if my track record stayed consistent, Jill and I would break up within a week. And a month after that, I would need to buy a new tube of toothpaste.

  Micah was parked right by the parking garage entrance. When we got to his car, he paused and turned to me. We were suddenly standing so close together that I could feel his breath on my face and his heat radiating against my skin. And just like that, I felt my dick thickening and lengthening in my pants.

  I had to get out of there before Micah realized how he affected me. I turned on my heel and started speed walking toward the stairs, talking to Micah over my shoulder as I went. “Thanks for dinner, Micah. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  I was walking so fast that I had already reached the stairwell door by the time he was able to answer.

  “Hey, Ben.”

  I stopped and took a deep breath before I turned around. At that distance and with the dim light in the garage, he wouldn’t be able to see my arousal.

  When I was facing him, he kept talking. “I had a great time tonight. Thanks for agreeing to go out with me.”

  I couldn’t say anything in response. My mind was, once again, misinterpreting every word and trying to convince me that I had just gone on a date with the sexiest, smartest, funniest man I had ever met. I raised my hand in a silent goodbye and walked into the stairwell.

  THE next evening, I was getting ready for my date with Jill when my phone beeped, telling me I had received a text. I wasn’t surprised or disappointed when I picked it up and read the message from Jill: “Ben, I don’t think it’s working out. I hope we can stay frie
nds. I’ll see you around.”

  You might think it was rude of her to break up with me via text, but we had been together less than two weeks. Besides, I preferred the text to having an in-person conversation. At least now I didn’t have to suffer through the date with a smile on my face, wondering the entire time how I could get out of spending the night at her place.

  I thought about calling my friends to see what they were doing that night, but what would be the point? We would probably end up hitting the bars and picking up women. I was so damn tired of juggling everything, of constantly trying to be that guy. You know the one—the good son, the fun friend, the desirable boyfriend. The guy my parents and everyone else expected me to be. Frankly, I was just plain tired.

  And I couldn’t stop thinking about Micah Trains. He had been unexpectedly funny at dinner the previous night. I had known from his reputation that the man was intelligent and cutthroat. But I hadn’t expected him to be so nice, to seemingly adore his family and talk in a funny voice in the middle of a restaurant doing impressions of his mother, to ask me questions about myself and patiently listen to the answers as if he really cared to know those kinds of details about my life.

  Plus, there was the chemistry. Yes, it was one-sided. I didn’t lie to myself and pretend otherwise. But it was still there. The constant feeling of warmth in my belly when I was with him. The way the tea lights on the table made his blue eyes sparkle whenever he looked at me, which was almost constantly. The time we both reached for the naan and our hands touched—I swear it was like a spark started in my fingers and slithered through my body until it settled in my groin, creating an instant erection.

  I sat down on my couch and, just for a moment, dropped my defenses and shut out the guilt that seemed to be my constant companion. I let myself think about Micah Trains. I thought about his smile and the way he walked. I thought about his funny stories and the times when his voice seemed to get almost tender as he spoke to me. I thought about how close our bodies had been at the end of the night.