by Noah Harris
“Would you like some more to drink, Dominic?”
My voice sounds a little hysterical, but only because I want my daughter to stop staring at me and I’ve never learned how to make that happen.
“Thanks, Christian!” he screams back, laughing.
The men on the porch laugh, just as fascinated by this little puppet show as we are.
But the twins and Bodhi seem awfully satisfied, just watching us out in the yard on our quilt, in the sun. Eating birthday cake as if we’re alone.
“This cake is delightful!” Dominic hollers at Bodhi, who picked it out for him. The boy just beams. He didn’t seem to be lacking any alpha role models before Dominic came to town. Which is one way I thought it would go. I thought he’d latch onto a powerful alpha presence and follow him like a pup. But honestly, they act more like best friends.
The older Bodhi gets, the less likely he is to come running in the door, breathlessly telling me everything he’s seen, done and thought since the last time we were together.
I thought he was just outgrowing it, but no. That’s his buddy Dominic now. I guess when you have all the time in the world to pay attention, you are an appealing prospect.
Over the years I’ve thought back to our own friendship. How tender and solicitous, how encouraging he was with me. All the time. I wrote that off for a long time, even after he was gone. He just wanted me, or thought he was in love with me, and that’s why he was being nice. Those first few years apart I would seize on anything that made him look bad or insincere. Anything to push away my guilt.
But watching him with Bodhi, I see so much of that same light in him. The uncomplicated delight at seemingly everything Bodhi says or does, it’s so familiar.
Which makes me even sadder for all the years we’ve lost, even more determined to pay him back. For then, for what happened, for now, too.
“Christian,” Dominic says, softly enough the crowd won’t hear. “Thank you. This is the best party I’ve ever had.”
I scoff at that. An uglier sound than I intended. I’ve seen pictures of his school buddies’ mansions, his L.A. life. He went to a million expensive soirees back then, during his sophisticated life I still don’t really understand. Saying this is better than that just sounds like a lie.
“I’m serious! I’m so happy. You have no idea what it means to be here, with all of you. When I wake up I know where I am, because it’s home. You made that true for me. You make it true every day. I used to think I would just float away, like everybody would forget I ever existed. But you make me feel real.”
I smile tightly, trying to pull out of the nosedive I’ve apparently headed into.
“It’s not quite a pool party in Santa Barbara,” I say, watching the twins across the yard putting flowers in Jonesy’s hair. “No celebs, no cocktails.”
Dominic wrinkles his nose, confused at my sharp tone.
Do I sound as mean as I feel like I sound?
“No, it’s not.”
He looks away, disappointed and confused. Shutting down.
I feel like a monster, just a little bit. But not enough to back down. I don’t need to be condescended to. This was the best I could do, and now it suddenly feels cheap. Trashy, tacky. Poor.
Part of me knows he didn’t mean it that way. Part of me knows how desperate he is for a family, and how likely it is that this was the best day of his life. Until just now.
But there’s a bigger, uglier part of me I didn’t really know was there, that just wants him to go away. Or go back to being a ghost in the house when he wouldn’t even unpack his bags.
Something has shifted in me, or maybe shifted between us. It crawls up my back, dark and gross, it makes me feel dangerous and sick. I can’t look him in the eye.
But I don’t want to. Everything is suddenly happening too fast and I don’t know who ruined it. Probably me.
“Anyway. Thanks.”
His voice is cold. I know the next thing that’s going to happen. It happened a million times before, when we were little, and I did something thoughtless or selfish. Or if he couldn’t figure out why I was suddenly mad, or annoyed. Which considering how often I couldn’t figure it out either, was probably a lot.
He’s going to get up. Make his way inside like he’s going to the bathroom or to get a drink. By the time we realize how long he’s been gone, the sun will be going down, the party will be over, the guests will be gone.
I’ll knock on his door, quietly. If he answers at all he’ll just softly say, “Goodnight.”
In the morning, he’ll pretend none of it ever happened. I’ll go for my morning run. When I get back, he’ll have the twins dressed for the day and Bodhi’s lunch and snack all packed.
He won’t look me in the eye, or really address me directly at all, unless he has to. He’ll be embarrassed and ashamed for who knows how long, maybe enough that he’ll just move on.
Find some other place to stay that won’t change shape on him so suddenly.
Or else he’ll work hard on getting past it, forgiving me and trying to understand my side of whatever just happened. Not too long after that, he’ll figure out a way to see it from an angle where I’m not the bad guy.
He’ll believe I wasn’t even really being mean, he just took it too seriously. Or he did something wrong without knowing it. Anything to say I told you so.
“Everybody always moves on eventually, you just took longer than most. At least you didn’t get me thrown out this time.”
He won’t say it to me, but he’ll think it. Over and over, until he’s finally mad enough to disappear again.
I’ll know I did that.
I still won’t know why.
It’s all so obvious, it’s a fight we’ve rehearsed, planned out, executed a million times since we were only a little older than Bodhi is now. I start feeling guilty and angry just thinking about where it’s headed, mad at him for stuff he hasn’t even done yet. For mistrusting me like that.
I gather my legs underneath me to run before I make it all worse. But before I can leap away he’s got one hand on my elbow. His eyes are infinitely sad but loving too.
“Hey. Don’t do that. Please. I wouldn’t lie to you. Don’t you get that this is all I ever wanted? I’m here, on a quilt in the sun, with Christian Keller, on my birthday. There’s kids, and our friends, and there’s cake. I dreamed about this. Lots of times. Like I had fantasies about it, but I also literally dreamed about it. At night. I want to pinch myself right now just to make sure it’s real. So please don’t act like I’m just being nice. That really hurts, Christian.”
I freeze, half-crouching as he whisper-yells all of this quietly enough that only Goodboy picks up on any tension.
“Look, we’re a good team and I love your cubs and I’m very happy here. But it’s hard to stay that way when you’re constantly acting like I’m a liar. Or like I don’t really mean it. You told me to unpack, I unpacked. You told me to pay for less stuff, I did that. You told me you were still in love with Ernest, for God’s sake. I accept that too. I’m running out of ways to prove it.”
My legs are starting to cramp, but I can’t move.
“Prove what?”
“That I’m all in. That I’m not going anywhere. It’s the scariest thing in the world, in my whole life. And I love it more than anything. Just saying it. I won’t leave. I will be here, however you want me to be here. Forever. You think it’s all about some crush I had when I was fourteen, or like I’m an alpha sniffing around some omega, or like I’m settling for this situation because I can’t get better. I know what you think and all those are wrong. What I am is waiting. As long as it takes. Just tell me what you need so I can give it to you. Please.”
The whisper arcs upward into near-speaking volume at the end, and I know he’s serious.
I just don’t know what to do about it.
It certainly feels like a proposal, here on the ground, in front of our family. Even if it’s just a proposal to keep doing what we’re doi
ng, there’s a finality to it. I haven’t imagined feeling that safe since Ernest and I were barely adults, talking about getting married and being together forever. A very long time ago.
It just sounds preposterous. He can’t really know what he’s saying. He’s never been in a relationship before, not really. He’s in love with the idea. He’s in love with hearing himself say these words, make these pledges. Getting me, finally.
“You can stay as long as you want,” I hear myself say with a fake smile. “Of course you can.”
It’s not an answer. It’s the only answer he’s going to get.
Dominic’s eyes flicker with anger for a moment. Not at me, just the disappointment of it all. I know that.
I can’t change it.
With all the world dangling from this sudden moment, I’m ashamed to say I’m not thinking about us at all. The family, our history, my husband. The kids, how much they’ve come to adore him. None of that.
I’m thinking about all the things he does even when I’ve asked him a million times not to. Loading the dishwasher wrong, or paying for stuff I can afford, or letting me sleep in on weekends. I’m thinking about how he’s constantly cleaning up the place, like it’s a pigsty he can’t stand to be in. The million, billion ways he tries to be nice that just feel like charity.
I’m thinking of Ernest in heaven looking down at us and saying, “I like that guy.”
I know he would. I always wanted them to meet. Dominic’s so, so careful about keeping a place for him in the house, in the kids’ hearts. Respecting my marriage, like there’s a third man in the house, because that’s what it feels like.
They would have loved each other.
But for some reason the idea of Ernest seeing us together, even if he supported it, hurts too much to bear.
But that’s it. That’s the tiebreaker. We have somehow managed to work our way back to being friends, and we like each other now at least as much as we ever did. Probably more. I trust him, even with my kids, which would have sounded impossible with anybody a year ago. But if it feels like cheating to consider what he’s all but offering, that’s a good enough sign to drop it.
“I mean, please stay. Forever, sure. This is your home.”
It’s not enough, it doesn’t clean up nearly enough of the damage. But at least he won’t disappear now. I’ll find some way to make it up to him down the line.
Even if it turns out to be letting him do something nice, as hard and strange as that thought sounds. He nods, aware that I’m trying, and throws himself across the yard at the kids. Hooting and hollering to get them singing “Happy Birthday,” carrying the twins on his shoulders as he dances.
Even if he’s mad at me, for the time being, it’s nice to see them so happy with him.
Poppy tosses him a tiny smile, around her sippy cup.
With his back to me, I can’t tell if he noticed it or not.
I hope he did.
“Kiddo. What was that?”
Goodboy corners me in the kitchen a few minutes later, closing the sliding door so they can’t hear us.
“What do you mean?”
I fuss with a platter of cookies and fruit, refusing to look up until he puts one big hand on my shoulder.
“I have really good hearing, you know.”
I sigh, nodding.
“I do know. And I have no idea. I love having him here. The kids are obsessed with him. I can finally breathe again. I sleep something approaching a healthy number of hours most nights. He has changed my life, just by being here. In just a few months. I’m incredibly grateful to him.”
Goodboy nods, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“But I…sometimes it just makes me feel so ashamed. I never left town like he did. Which was also my fault. He had this whole life. I just feel like the same kid I was ten years ago.”
“How good could that life have been, if he ran here screaming to get away from it?”
Goodboy is very into letting people make their own decisions. Unless he catches you deciding not to do the same.
“I know he’s happy here. I know we both are, we all are. But I can’t seem to be at peace with it. I get in my head and it starts being about money, or when we were kids, or…”
“When we have a million different reasons for doing something, I have found, it’s usually because we can’t admit the one real one.”
I lean back on the counter, half-heartedly pretending to be annoyed, not relieved that he’s giving me advice about this. I think, not for the first time, how crappy it is that I never wonder about his life until he’s helping me with mine. He’s got his whole life out at the ranch and all the shifters that don’t want to live in town, but he seems pretty lonely.
Does he really enjoy being single, alone, taking care of everybody but himself? He certainly seems satisfied. But still, I’d like to see him with somebody.
“So what’s the real one, Goodboy?”
He can tell from my voice that I sincerely want to know what he thinks.
“The way he looks at you has changed. I think you know that. He used to look at you like a hungry dog, hoping for scraps. Now he’s letting himself want you again. After what happened, that’s a huge step. Last time he was attracted to you, the world ended. Be mindful of that.”
I nod. It’s hard to hear out loud, but that doesn’t mean I hadn’t noticed.
“I think you both knew where he was heading out there. I don’t think he meant to open up quite that much. But you weren’t making it easy on him.”
I have to smile. It’s true that I cornered him, even if it was an accident. But Goodboy holds up a third finger, counting them out.
“You may not remember this as well as I do. But I met you when you were still getting over him. Your pubescent angst…”
He cracks up as my face crumples. I hate that word. Hate it. Pubescent.
“Sorry. But you were ragged about this guy. Two years after he disappeared, you were still in pieces. I think it would be asking a lot of yourself not to take that into consideration too. You didn’t know you loved him until you lost him. Until way after he was gone, in fact. You grieved. You loved someone else. You lost him, too. Just having this guy in your house is really brave, Christian. I don’t know if you really get that.”
I certainly hadn’t thought about it like that.
“After Ernest, I felt like a major fool. Just going through life believing in fairness and good things happening to good people. Like a sucker. I was so angry with myself for putting my faith in things that didn’t care about me. Fate, or destiny, or love…I try not to be cynical. But there was a time that was really hard.”
Being a shifter felt like salvation, because it explained so much. Falling in love with a man, realizing this power I had. Wanting to be loved. All of it was one glorious new thing.
I didn’t spend any time hooking up with guys and feeling guilty about it. I didn’t store up any of that fear or shame. I just went from being straight and terribly unhappy and confused to being gay, and a shifter, and part of this new family. To being in love. Right to starting my own family. I got to skip all the messy parts.
But Goodboy’s right. There is a mess here, nevertheless.
“I would suggest that losing some of that innocence wasn’t a bad thing. The world has always been hard. You just didn’t know quite how hard it could be until you lost him.”
And not just that, I know he’s thinking.
Ernest died because he started taking too many shifts at the plant. We know that to be the case. There are safety lawsuits still ongoing about it.
But he only got to that point because we were broke, because somebody took our money and didn’t take very good care of it. Somebody said they would take care of us, these finance people who made promises and wiped us out. After almost a decade of working hard, saving up, doing everything right. And then he died.
Trusting other people with our future, being betrayed by them, would have hurt badly enough. But in my
heart, it feels like part of a larger offense. I trusted the universe, my husband, and these strangers, with my life. If that was foolish, the only way to keep it from ever happening again was to be smarter. I can’t lose anybody else. If that means being a little less trusting, so be it.
Well. Even Goodboy seems to think that’s a good idea. Which surprises me a little. Not that he thinks it, but that he’d say it to me.
“But as far as this guy out here…”
Goodboy leans in close, quiet, just in case anybody overhears. I can smell his aftershave, his minty breath. His rangy body radiating heat like a comforting campfire.
“That guy is great. He loves you more than most people will ever be lucky enough to be loved. He’s here and if that’s not enough to help you figure this one out, then I’ll say it again, you don’t remember what you were like when we found you. How sad and wide-open and terrified you were. I know, and Ernest always knew, that if it weren’t for him you’d have gone to your grave pining after this guy. This guy who is currently out in your yard.”
My eyes go wide. He’s right. I had forgotten that part. Years of marriage, falling in deeper and deeper love with my husband and kids, had nearly erased it. But there it is now that Goodboy’s pointing at it.
I would have done anything, made any deal, suffered any pain, to get Dominic back. Before I even knew I was gay, or what that really meant, I knew his leaving ripped a hole in me as big as the sky. It wasn’t romance, and it wasn’t guilt, it was something more. He was my brother, the other half of me. And he was gone. That hurt as much as knowing it was my fault.
“Goodboy. Holy moly.”
He laughs, throws his head back, nodding.
“You honestly didn’t remember? It was the most dramatic thing I’ve ever seen. Cleopatra and Julius Caesar, Romeo and Juliet, all at once. You were wasting away.”
I hadn’t forgotten, exactly. It was just so long ago, I was so young…it didn’t feel anything like Ernest. Our marriage, our love, was deep. It was real, and huge. It felt like the ocean. My grief over Dominic was more like a wild thunderstorm. A hurricane. It had to have felt very real at the time, but it’s like Goodboy said, everything felt super real at the time. I was becoming a teenager. That’s what it’s all about.
