Chapter 1 #6
“We need to pick a different year to celebrate. Eighteen was the worst. The moms wouldn’t let us out of their sight after the bleacher thing. I remember writing you so many letters and finally just breaking down and telling you I love you.” I didn’t want to say it first, but I did.
“Did not. I told you first.” He says it with confidence, but he is absolutely incorrect.
“No, you didn’t. You never once said that.” I’m a little indignant. I know I said it first. “I sent you a letter and every time a word ended in ILY I made it all caps. I talked about famILY a lot in that letter. You figured it out because the very next one you said it back.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I said I-L-Y. I. Love. You,” I say. “And then you said I love you.”
“I don’t remember that letter. And who puts it in secret code? I agonized over saying it first.” I put the Jeep in drive. “Where are you going?”
With the door off he can press in against my leg, and his shaft is starting to thicken. “Down boy, I’m going home. To get the box of letters.”
“You still have those letters?”
A little indignant, I say, “Of course I still have them. What else would I have done…” Hell, maybe I am the weird one. “I mean, of course you would get rid of the letters after a period of time. It’s been years, I guess it’s kind of silly to keep them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lach. I have mine but they are at Mom’s in a box. I’m not going over there at one a.m. to prove a point.”
“Fine. Tomorrow. We can stop by on the way to the airport.”
It takes less than half an hour to get home, get clean, and into bed. Pete rolls over, slipping under my arm to curl into me and rest his chin on my shoulder. “When did you know, Lachie? When did you know I should be yours and you should be mine?”
“I’ve always known. I can’t remember a day in my life where you weren’t my person.”
Our mothers had a ball putting together a slideshow for our wedding, hundreds of photos of us together, first sharing a bassinet as newborns, then in diapers, always side by side, the angel baby and the black-haired devil.
“Waking up one day in love with you seemed natural, inevitable. When did I start dreaming about your lips and how they would feel against mine, imagining what it would be like if you liked me like that too? Probably fourteen. I remember figuring out what gay meant, and that it was different to be gay. I was never afraid of coming out, I was terrified that you weren’t like me.
I spent at least a year convinced that you would like girls and only girls. ”
Pete asks, “No regrets?” He always worries that I’ve missed out, knowing the way I did that he was mine. I didn’t miss a thing. “You don’t regret not playing the field, and checking out your options?”
“Never. I’ve never wanted to kiss lips other than yours.” I snuggle in, and with the lights off, drifting into sleep is inevitable until he speaks.
Pete whispers, “Me neither.”
Moonlight filters in the window. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Now that we’re married, I want to tell you a secret, but I don’t want you to be angry.”
And now I’m wide awake. I can’t remember the last time I was angry with him.
“The year we were eighteen and no one would let us out of their sight because of the bleacher thing was hard but the year we were apart was worse. You broke up with me. To sow my oats. Sow my fucking oats, Lachlan. You broke my fucking heart. I loved you so much and you told me to go fuck other people to see what I was missing. It took me months of absolute misery to figure out what you were up to. I thought you really wanted to sow your oats, and that fucking hurt.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” I have apologized before, but if it hurt him half as much as it hurt me, I should do it a few hundred more times.
“I saw you walking in the rain. It was pouring, it was cold and miserable, and you were walking so slowly, you didn’t even try to get out of the storm.
I was bundled up and freezing and there you were, soaking wet in a t-shirt and shorts.
It was like you were being punished for something, but asking for a harsher sentence.
I went outside because I thought no one would be able to tell I was in tears if I was in the rain.
I saw you and you were so damn sad. You looked like I felt, heartbroken and devastated.
I knew then that you missed me—maybe even loved me like you had said. ” Pete lets out a long slow breath.
“Lach, babe, all I have ever wanted is you, and you broke up with me and told me to fuck other people.” There is pain in his voice. It’s been years, but in some ways it is still fresh, and I did that to him.
Pete swallows hard, his eyes a little shinier than usual, and whispers, “After seeing you like that, I would call you and tell you about the dates. Every Saturday night I’d call you, worried sick that you would be out on a date and not answer.
But you always answered. I would tell you about how much my Friday date sucked and how miserable I was, hoping you would have me again.
I died a little every time you wanted me to be out with someone who wasn’t you. ”
“It was horrible.” My Pete out with other people. It was the right thing to do but it was the worst year of my life. Well, it was supposed to be a year but I’m weak where he’s concerned.
Pete starts again. “I couldn’t tell you the truth before now because you might have dumped me again and tried to make me kiss other people.”
I reach over and turn on the dim bedside lamp so I can see his eyes while he talks.
“You told me all about them. You dated women and kissed men. I remember. You even had that one date who brought their sister along, so weird. Toward the end there was a guy, and he sounded perfect.” And I hated him so much.
Pete’s eyes lock onto mine, thinking back, remembering, then speaking.
“You had some magic number in your head. I didn’t know if you were waiting for a certain number of months, or years, or how many dates I was expected to go on before you would take me back.
You just said I needed to go out and meet people and go on dozens and dozens of dates.
So I dated a lot, so I could get back to you.
Every Saturday I would tell you my tale of dating woe, then I would say, have I dated enough yet?
You always said no, that we were too young to be exclusive, and you needed me to be sure that we were meant to be together. ”
I nod. I remember all of it, in far too much detail.
“Then I went on several dates with the same guy and those dates were good. That guy—”
“Brian,” I interrupt. “His name was Brian. You met him in the spring, bumped into him a few times, had a meet cute after he almost spilled coffee on you. You pretended to like coffee when he asked you out for one, and at the end of the semester you said he was good dating material, ‘the kind of guy who grows into being a good husband.’ I remember.”
Fucking Brian. What an asshole.
“I was desperate, Lachie. I needed to make you feel something, jealous, angry, sad, anything was better than being told to run along and have anyone but you. I changed your description, but when I talked about how great Brian was, I was just telling you about you. You are wonderful, so Brian was too. Brian was smart, dedicated, honest, sexy as fuck, and thoughtful. It worked, hinting that I thought I could have feelings for that guy, telling you about our dates. That third Saturday I said, ‘Let me love you, and only you, Lachlan?’ and you said yes.”
Of course I said yes, he’s the best half of my soul.
“Lachie, babe, I never went on any of those dates. Sometimes I would hide in the library or go to the locker room. But I never went on a date. Not one. They were all complete fabrications. Total lies. I’ve never gone on a date with anyone other than you, and Bekka Drake, of course.”
I’m sorry, what? No dates? “What about Brian?”
“There has never been a Brian, never will be a Brian, all I’ve ever wanted is you. I made up dating other men and women so I could get back to you faster. I didn’t need proof that I’m bisexual, it was enough that I knew who I wanted.”
My chest aches with too many emotions to name, but one keeps rising to the surface.
“You could have told me before. I’m not… mad.” No, it’s pure unadulterated love I’m feeling.
“Not a chance. I decided a long time ago to tell you once we were married.” He kisses me and waits for me to turn the light back off as he settles in for sleep. He snuggles into my chest and is starting to make sleep noises when I whisper, “I loved you first, Golden Boy.”
I’m content, and sure he’s asleep, until he says, “I’ve never loved anyone but you, Golden Child.”
Then he holds me a little closer, squeezes me a bit tighter with his heavy arm slung across me, and I slip into a dream about his lips brushing against mine.