by Jude Sierra
“Okay.” Joaquim stops to thank their waiter when their food comes. He wraps his other foot around Reid’s so that they are a tangle of semi-secret connection. It’s a tether. And in the wind by the water, with greasy food on his fingertips, feeling the lovely weight of love shared, Joaquim promises himself he’ll be more patient. He’ll trust Reid with his questions and hold on when he’s pushed away.
“So… love.”
Reid’s smile is brilliant. “Yeah. Wanna do this thing?”
“The being in love thing? Absolutely.”
* * *
Holding on when being pushed away proves to be a bigger trial than Joaquim anticipated. Reid low and refusing to let Joaquim come to him is one thing. But his irritability, his quickness to assume Joaquim means something when he doesn’t, is much more frustrating and tests Joaquim’s patience. Joaquim noticed Reid’s erratic moods before; now they seem to be constant. He can’t tell if Reid’s in a rough phase or if opening up to Joaquim triggered them somehow. Was Reid working hard to hide them before?
“Reid, I only asked if you were okay,” Joaquim says, one night after dinner. Reid is at the sink in the condo washing dishes with jerky and angry movements. Joaquim noticed the spotlessness of the condo when he came in. Reid is regimented and organized; he’s precise about cleaning, but by now Joaquim can spot differences when Reid is using cleaning as a coping mechanism. He knows better than to say anything about the cleaning as a sign of how Reid is doing. Asking if Reid is okay once felt innocuous; apparently, it was not.
Dinner was delicious, but Reid talked too fast and too much, then fell quiet. His leg bounced frantically all through their meal, but Reid seemed to be trying his best to act as if nothing was amiss.
Joaquim’s question didn’t only seem benign, it was born of genuine caring. He’s absolutely clueless as to why it pushed Reid’s button so hard: in response, Reid dropped his fork with a clatter, muttered something under his breath, and stalked off to the kitchen. They weren’t yet finished with their meal, and Reid was already packing the food away and cleaning.
“Reid, come on,” Joaquim tries. Reid’s shoulders bunch under the faded black T-shirt he only wears at home. The seam is ripped where the inside tag was, and there’s a hole in the front. It’s soft as hell.
“Don’t patronize me,” Reid says, his voice barely audible above the rushing water from the faucet. The warning in his tone is clear.
“I’m not. I’m not.” Joaquim insists. He doesn’t dare touch Reid; he skirts the breakfast bar so he’s in front of Reid and tries to catch his eye. “I don’t understand what I’ve done. Why can’t I ask if you’re okay?”
“Because you need to trust me! Fuck,” Reid turns the water off with a vicious twist of his wrist. His hands are still soapy. “No one trusts me to know myself, when I’m okay or not.”
What the hell? Joaquim is reasonably sure that his question had nothing to do with trusting Reid with himself.
“Man, come on. It comes from a place of caring. You said you needed support systems.” Joaquim gestures at himself. “I’m right here! How can I help if you won’t let me ask if you’re okay?”
“You’re not supposed to! I come to you.”
Okay. No. Joaquim bites his tongue in time. This is not how he understands support. When he’s with his divers, it’s his responsibility to read them, to offer encouragement or calm when he senses their anxieties mounting or when they panic. Joaquim’s not about to tell Reid how backward and irrational he’s being. In Joaquim’s experience, arguing with someone when they’re being irrational isn’t productive.
Is judging Reid as irrational condescending? Joaquim closes his eyes and rests his palms on the counter top, trying to settle himself enough to think. Reid’s anger comes from something. Strong emotions always have roots.
“Reid, is this really to do with me?” Joaquim asks, fully aware that the question might make Reid angrier. He promised Reid honesty and he promised himself that he’d ask questions.
Reid’s hands are in fists and his eyes on the ground. Joaquim aches to touch him, to remind him of the connection between them and of the solid presence of his body, a tether to his self, a self in love with Reid’s.
“I need a minute,” Reid says. He doesn’t meet Joaquim’s eyes; he wipes his hands on his pants and walks past him through the condo and out the back porch. Stunned, Joaquim doesn’t move. He has no means of transportation other than Reid, so he has nowhere to go. Following Reid is out of the question.
The silence is too loud and weighty, so, with nothing else to do, Joaquim settles onto the couch and flips through Reid’s recordings. There’s nothing new. Joaquim shakes his head and turns on the guide. He channel-surfs mindlessly. Obsessing over the fight leads him in circles, guessing what Reid might be thinking or doing, which leads back to annoyance and frustration, which is best solved or worked on with Reid, not when his imagination is spinning its wheels in what ifs.
“Hey.” Reid says. Joaquim wakes from a light sleep when Reid shakes his shoulder gently.
“Oh god.” Joaquim sits up and stretches. His neck is kinked from falling asleep at a weird angle. “What time is it?”
“Late.” Reid won’t look at him, but his voice is no longer brittle. Joaquim grabs his hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you here so long; will you be in trouble?”
Joaquim checks his cell. It’s well past when they lock the dorm doors, but he’s not working in the morning.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Reid sits next to him and sighs. His eyes never lose their power when they meet Joaquim’s directly. Joaquim wonders if being with Reid will always be like this: a punch to the gut of tangled feelings that make him helpless. Joaquim doesn’t mind helplessness, so long as it’s mostly the good kind, the heady helplessness of falling in love or the release of control that comes with being with someone trusted.
“I’m sorry,” Reid says. “It’s not about you; you were right.”
Reid’s apology is so direct, it takes the wind out of Joaquim’s annoyance—and he’s half awake and has had time to simmer down.
“Do you wanna talk or go to sleep?” Joaquim asks. Reid shrugs. “Can we talk tomorrow?”
“Yeah?”
“Promise me? I don’t want to let this go without figuring it out.” Joaquim can only be honest. “But we’re both tired and things are okay. Right?”
“Yeah,” Reid says. He takes a breath and repeats himself, sounding more confident.
In bed that night, they don’t speak. They don’t make love or fuck or even kiss, other than a chaste goodnight kiss. But Reid holds Joaquim on the edge of too tight, which is enough to communicate uncertainty. Nothing said can prove his constancy at this moment. Joaquim’s had years of watching his parents practice constancy. He’s never needed to do so himself, but with Reid, he will. They will. He doesn’t want to imagine not being with Reid, so it’s time to begin practicing.
Twenty-five
Well past sunrise, Reid wakes up curled on the very edge of the bed. His grandmother’s room overlooks the porch, so sunrises from bed are a distinct possibility. Somehow, the sound of the ocean isn’t the same in here, probably due to the proximity.
Reid peeks over his shoulder. Joaquim curled up on his side, around a pillow, his back to Reid. He reaches out to touch a mole on Joaquim’s shoulder blade, ready to trace a wake-up path to other ones on his back, when he remembers last night. He’s going to have to face his own music.
Joaquim’s body is beautifully settled into the rhythms of his deep, sleeping breaths. Reid is no longer angry. Well, he’s a little angry at himself. If I wake Joaquim with kisses, will that be enough? Will he remember the apology from last night and let it stand?
Eyes closed, Reid scoots closer to Joaquim and puts a hand on his hip. He promised to talk to Joaquim. And even without that promise, the
y should talk. Joaquim is the potential for a healthy relationship, finally.
When Reid’s body heat comes into contact with his, Joaquim stills and then stretches. Joaquim’s body is a luxury: muscles tensing and loosening, all stunning bones and inviting skin. Reid wants. He wants to glut himself on this man, to soak up every moment with him while he can.
“Morning?” he whispers. His hand slides from Joaquim’s hip to his stomach under his belly button.
“But will it be a good morning?” Joaquim arches a little, rolling his body, sinuous and promising, against Reid’s. Reid puts his face between Joaquim’s shoulder blades, as if he could breathe in the balm of that teasing, that ease. He kisses up to Joaquim’s neck and then bites lightly.
Nothing more needs saying. Reid loves the hush, loves the ease and intimacy, loves the way Joaquim takes him so far out of his head and into his body he hasn’t any words.
They linger after sex and, when Joaquim’s stomach rumbles, get out of bed. Joaquim showers first while Reid makes coffee.
“Mmm, warm,” Reid says, taking Joaquim’s casual kiss as they pass in the hall. Joaquim’s face is still damp from the shower. “I made coffee.”
“Thank you,” Joaquim says.
A little later, out of the shower and with coffee mug in hand, Reid meets Joaquim at the table on the porch.
“You made breakfast?”
“It’s just eggs,” Joaquim says.
“Thank you,” Reid says and means it.
“I never use to eat eggs like this,” Joaquim says. “In Brazil it’s not really something we eat for breakfast. Bobby is addicted to these egg sandwiches he makes, and he started making them for me too.”
“And now you’re addicted?”
“I wouldn’t say addicted. Sometimes it’s just nice to have someone make you something simple but good.” Joaquim isn’t laying traps; these aren’t loaded eggs, a passive-aggressive power play like Felix would have made. Reid can eat these without nagging worry or prickling anger summoning his defenses. They’re just eggs.
“With Felix, it wouldn’t have been like this,” Reid says.
“Hmm?” Joaquim’s eyebrows are a question. He swallows. “Aren’t all relationships different?”
“No. I mean, yes. They are. What I mean is that, when Felix and I fought, even after one of us gave in, it could go on for days. Some things never went away. These eggs would be a way to show me that he was a better boyfriend. A reminder that whatever I’d done, he was being… um, what’s the word?”
Joaquim shrugs.
“Magnanimous. At some point, he’d remind me. Maybe when we were fighting again, or later that day. Like setting little traps. That he’d done this nice thing for me despite whatever.”
“He sounds—”
“I did it too.” Reid doesn’t want to hear Joaquim’s judgment; it would apply to him as well. “It’s the way we were together. We weren’t trying to be assholes. It’s just how we were.”
Joaquim takes a long sip of his coffee and inspects the gray morning. Blankets of clouds cover the bay, touching the horizon as far as he can see. Maybe it’ll rain today. A rainy day indoors with Joaquim would be nice.
“I don’t do that,” Joaquim says at last. “The eggs are eggs.”
“Yeah,” Reid says. He bumps Joaquim’s foot with his own. “I love that.”
“So, if you make me eggs, will I have to ask?” Joaquim is matter of fact; there’s no anger in his tone.
“I hope not.” Reid tries to smile. “It’s so different with you. I don’t want to be like that. I haven’t felt… pulled? I guess that’s the word. Felix and I kept pulling each other into that. But it’s a pattern, right? A habit? I don’t want you to second-guess everything I do. But I promise I’m going to try not to do that passive-aggressive shit.”
“A promise to try sounds good,” Joaquim says.
Reid is swamped in gratitude. “Trying to explain feelings and actions and reactions and motivations is so complicated, man.” He pushes his now empty plate away.
“I think you did pretty well,” Joaquim says.
Reid shakes his head. “I meant, there’s shit we have to talk about still. Have you ever tried to plan out what you want to say, only half of what you’re feeling contradicts the other half? Like the rational and irrational parts of your brain both want to speak.”
“I guess.”
“I worry that I won’t always be able to tell them apart. When I’m angry especially, but later too. Like, therapy is all, ‘your feelings are valid.’ Not because they’re right, but because you’re feeling them. They’re happening. Don’t tell yourself you shouldn’t have them. Nancy always tells us that ‘should’ ought to be classified as a bad word. Even if your feelings or reactions make no rational sense, you need to look at what happened to figure out where they’re coming from.”
“Okay.” Joaquim settles his elbows on the table and meets Reid’s eyes.
Reid runs a shaking hand through his still-damp hair. “Like, if I said, when you did X, it made me angry. That doesn’t mean you actually made me feel angry. It means my reaction was anger. With my family, with Felix, everyone was always saying, ‘You make me feel.’ But really, it’s ‘When you did this, I felt.’”
“And those are different?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Joaquim mulls this over. Reid gives him some time.
“I’m not saying you should tell me what to say when we’re fighting. Because if I’m already angry I don’t think that’ll go over well. But I’m working on it. Maybe later. Or I’ll try to figure it out. That’s why I left yesterday. I know that I’ll keep going; I’ll pick and pick and push when I’m mad or fighting. I can’t be rational. The best I can do now is walk away.”
“Okay,” Joaquim says.
“You don’t have to keep saying okay. I’m not… I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me or, like, offer a differing opinion.”
“So if I say okay again?” Joaquim’s eyes crinkle with his smile. Reid grins back. “I’m not saying it just because, Reid. You’re telling me about yourself. I’m learning.”
“But is this too one-sided for you?”
“Uh, what?”
“I’m always an issue.” Reid touches the tines of his fork, the edge of the plate, the bumpy plastic of the yellow and blue-striped tablecloth.
“You are not!” Joaquim protests. “It’s not like people know how to balance a teeter-totter right away. You gotta learn that shit.”
“A teeter-totter?” Reid cracks up.
Joaquim tosses a balled-up napkin at him. “What do you call them, then?”
“Seesaws.”
“Whatever. You get my meaning, right?”
“Yeah.”
They both rise to clear the table at the same time, as if planned. They do the dishes together, and then Reid goes into the bedroom. It’s not too hot today, so he opens the sliding glass doors all the way to let in fresh air and the sounds of outside. When Joaquim comes to investigate, Reid pulls him into bed.
“Reid.” Joaquim squirms when Reid pins him, then laughs when Reid tickles him.
“I know. I’m not changing the subject.” Reid leans down to kiss him. Outside, the leaves catch the patter of the first raindrops. Reid exhales and kisses Joaquim again. He lies next to him and touches his lips and nose and, when Joaquim closes his eyes, his eyelids. The rain comes louder, and it feels as if, in the whole world, it’s only them. Reid pulls up the sheet as a colder wind comes in.
“With my family, with Felix, ‘Are you okay?’ is code. It means someone else knows better than I do if I’m okay. It’s not a question when they already have an answer.”
“So when they ask, it really means they know you’re not?”
“It means they think they know,” Reid corrects him. The smal
l changes make a big difference in meaning to Reid, who has learned that managing relationships involves precise words. Otherwise there’s too much room for making meaning that isn’t there. “It can be anything from placating to condescending. No one really cares what my answer is, because they don’t trust me to recognize whether I’m okay or know what is good for me.”
“That sounds frustrating,” Joaquim says. His voice is as quiet as the moment calls for, under the cocoon of the sheet and in the privacy of the rain.
“And maybe sometimes I don’t. For a long time, I didn’t. I couldn’t see patterns; I couldn’t see the way my behavior looked to others. But what’s the point of going through everything I have, all the therapy, and looking at my own patterns and behaviors if no one else is going to do the work too?”
“Your parents, you mean?” Joaquim says.
Reid cocks his head. “Oh yeah. Not you. It’s not just being cyclothymic. We have bad patterns, all of us, with how we communicate. As a family, we could have done a lot of work together on recovery. But to them, I’m the sick one. I’m the one who needs help. They’ve suffered too.”
“What the hell, no they—”
“Well, yeah, they have. Not like me. But watching someone you love go through what I did, they’re living through it too… they did. But I’m the cause. I’m the root. I’m the one needing fixing. I’m patient zero.”
“Don’t you…”
Reid waits patiently while Joaquim works out what he wants to say.
“That sounds lonely.”
Reid swallows hard, eyes burning. “It is.”
“When I asked if you were okay. Is that, like, a trigger?”
“Have you been doing some Internet research?” Reid works to keep his tone teasing, so that Joaquim doesn’t think he’s taking offense.
“Yeah, of course.”
Reid closes his eyes. Of course. Of course this man would care enough to try to learn and support and be actively involved. God knows what wrong information he’ll get from the Internet, but fuck. At least he’s trying.
