Chapter 6
When Tean got off the phone, Jem was still inspecting the room they’d managed to book.
“This pillow is the shit,” Jem said, fluffing it for emphasis. “Squish this. See for yourself.”
“Hannah’s going over to get Scipio. She says it’s only flurries in the valley.”
“God, he’s going to be so pissed when we get home.”
“He’ll be fine. He loves Hannah.”
“Totally. And he loves sleepovers. But you know he holds a grudge. He’s going to give me the cold shoulder for, like, a week.”
Tean decided to let that pass without comment.
Jem flopped onto the bed. “I’m sorry we’re stuck here.”
“Jem, it’s not your fault.”
“It is, kind of. I mean, we wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t said yes to that batshit invitation.”
“It wasn’t a batshit invitation. Your mom said she wanted to build a relationship with you. Of course you said yes.”
Jem made a face, but he didn’t say anything. He stared up at the ceiling. Tension tightened the skin around his eyes.
Tean made his way to the bed. He sat. He squeezed Jem’s ankle, and in what he hoped was an upbeat voice, he said, “Let’s think of it as a mini vacation. This is fun. We’re in this beautiful lodge. There’s snow. We never take trips.”
“It’s expensive,” Jem said.
“But let’s not worry about that. We’re here. We had to pay for the room. So, let’s enjoy it.”
“Nope,” Jem said. “I can’t. Nothing will possibly make me enjoy this. Everything sucks. It’s all the worst. And I’m going to worry and frown and scream into a pillow until the roads are clear and we can leave.”
“We can order room service.”
Jem raised his head from the mattress. “And I want to bang.” He held up two fingers. “Twice.”
Laughing, Tean got to his feet and said, “We’ll see.”
He made his way over to the bag of toiletries they’d acquired—some of them provided by the lodge, and others they’d picked up in the small convenience store.
Jem had been horrified by the price of the deodorant, in particular.
He’d talked about it all the way from the convenience store to their room, interspersed with commentary on how easy it would have been, quote, just to take it, and how it should have been free considering what they’d paid for their room, and how he could go back right now and pick one up to prove that he could.
Bag in hand, Tean headed for the bathroom and started to get ready for bed.
It was a nice bathroom—sandy tile, a marble countertop, a big mirror and an even bigger walk-in shower.
This was in keeping with the rest of the room, with its fieldstone fireplace and ocean-sized leather sofa and wood accents that were supposed to look rustic and reclaimed.
Not that there was anything rustic about having your own wine cooler next to the microwave.
All more or less what Tean would have expected, considering the price.
Jem hadn’t been wrong; it was expensive.
But Jem had already had such a terrible night, and anyway, what were they going to do otherwise? Sleep in the lobby? There was no point dwelling on it; they might as well try to have fun.
Which was, Tean reflected, not something he’d ever expected to hear himself think.
He was mid-brush when Jem appeared in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the jamb.
He’d taken off the button-up and the chinos, and now he stood there in an undershirt and boxers printed with—what else?
—a black Lab pattern. These black Labs wore Santa hats.
“It’s a business,” Jem said and held out his phone.
Tean made an inquiring noise and then wiggled the end of the toothbrush as a reminder.
“Gerald’s spiritual coaching. Look at their website: Fitzpatrick Spiritual Coaching.
He doesn’t talk about turning people straight; it’s all ‘draw closer to the Lord’ and ‘discover the obstacles you’ve put in your own way.
’ Holy shit smackers! People pay three hundred dollars a month for this stuff? ”
Tean spat, pointed the toothbrush at Jem, and said, “No.”
“Hey!” Jem laughed. “But that’s crazy, right? How many people are going to pay three hundred dollars a month for spiritual coaching?”
“How many people pay more than that for golf lessons?” Tean asked as he rinsed his toothbrush. “Or tennis? Or sales seminars?”
“Okay, you seriously never thought you should tell me that sales seminars are a thing?”
Tean gave him a look in the mirror, and Jem broke into a big grin as he went back to his phone.
“He’s got a waiting list, Tean. He has more people who want his help than he has space for. Are you shitting me? You have to pay a five-hundred-dollar deposit to go on the waiting list.”
As the water warmed up, Tean said, “There are a lot of Mormons who would pay a lot of money not to be gay.”
“Jeez,” Jem said. “But that’s not even what he’s selling, you know?”
“I’m not sure about that. I imagine like a lot of these pseudo-businesses in Utah, he does most of his marketing word-of-mouth.
So, people tell friends and family about someone they know—he’s been a bishop, he’s been a stake president, he’s been a mission president, he received a special blessing from one of the apostles, they know someone in their ward who struggled with same-sex attraction, and now he or she is happily married. ”
Jem was making a face. “That’s, like, the grossest way of saying faggy I’ve ever heard.”
Tean put a hand under the water to test it. “Besides, putting something like conversion therapy on his website would raise a lot of liability issues. I’m not even sure conversion therapy is legal in Utah, and Gerald certainly isn’t a licensed therapist.”
“No, he’s a ‘coach.’”
“Coaching is a big business in Utah,” Tean said.
“I read an article about it a few weeks ago. They’re totally unlicensed, and although I’m sure there are some genuinely decent people in the mix, there are also a lot of scammers, and there aren’t many ways for people to get legal redress if they think they’ve been cheated. ”
“I told you I should be a coach,” Jem said. “I should teach people how to be gay.”
Tean tried washing his face, but he couldn’t stop laughing.
“Step one,” Jem said. “Cute underwear.”
“Get out of here so I can finish getting ready for bed.”
“Step two, insert cock in mouth.”
Tean very gently—very sweetly—shoved him out of the bathroom and shut the door.
Instead of washing his face, he decided to rinse off, so he started up the shower.
He was quick, and the water was wonderfully warm, and the body wash and shampoo smelled like grapefruit.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Jem was on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, phone forgotten at his side.
“I’m sorry,” Tean said.
Jem rolled onto his side. His eyes were usually the blue-gray of storm clouds, but tonight they looked darker.
“About Brigitte and Gerald,” Tean said. And when Jem still didn’t say anything, he continued, “About the conversion therapy. That’s awful. They should love you for who you are.”
Jem scratched one eyebrow. “A thief?”
“You’re not a thief. And you know what I mean.”
“So they’re raging homophobes. Who cares?”
“Well, I do. And it was wrong to invite you up here and then spring that on you.”
“Tean, it’s fine. Honestly, I’m more annoyed we wasted a whole night driving up here. And now we’re stuck. And God, I didn’t even ask you how much dinner cost.”
“If you want to talk about it,” Tean said, “or if you want to tell me how you’re feeling, it’s totally fine. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid.”
“It’s not a big deal, babe.” But then Jem said, “She didn’t even come back to the bar like she promised.”
“Something must have happened.”
“I’m just saying, if she keeps disappearing on me, I’m going to grow up to have some serious fucking issues.”
The words were light. Like a joke.
Tean pulled on a pair of black briefs and sat on the bed. He put his hand on Jem’s thigh. He moved it slowly back and forth.
“Anyway.” Jem cleared his throat. “No more family dinners. And I mean it—you need to make sure I don’t cave. She’ll have some bogus explanation. Something came up. She got sick. It’s all bullshit. She could have called.”
“We didn’t have any service.”
“She could have tried the bar. Or the front desk. She could have sent Gerald with a fucking message.”
“I know tonight was a disappointment. I wish it had been different.”
Jem reached back and punched the pillow a few times like he was trying to fix it.
For someone so averse to physical activity that he had once bragged about the Saturday he hadn’t left the couch for twelve hours, quote, not even to pee, he had nice arms: big but not too big, muscled in a way that was unmistakably masculine.
He put his hands behind his head. His biceps looked huge.
And staring up at the ceiling, he said, “I’m going to pay her back. ”
It took Tean a moment to say, “What?”
“All that money. If Gerald has his panties in a twist because of it, I’m going to pay her back.”
“I don’t think they want you to pay them back, Jem.”
“I didn’t ask for that money.”
“I know.”
“She sent it to me. She mailed me those fucking checks even when I wasn’t cashing them.”
“Some couples have a hard time talking about money, and if we take Gerald at his word, he controls the finances. Maybe she wasn’t completely honest with Gerald about why she was sending those checks.”
“Maybe?” Jem raised his head because apparently this comment was too much to be believed.
“Of course she lied to him. She definitely didn’t tell him that she stole my identity and ruined my credit score and, oh yeah, fucked everything up for me so bad that I’ll never be able to have a normal life.
” He punched the pillow again. Moved it around. Squished it under his neck.
“Jem.” But then Tean stopped. “Is that what you think?”
“He wants to know why I didn’t go to college. I didn’t go to college because I didn’t graduate high school because I was in kiddie jail.”
“Hold on—”
“I didn’t go to college because I couldn’t read because I had a fucking learning disability and nobody caught it or cared because I was in one bounce house after another.
” He was staring up at the ceiling again.
“Sorry, Gerald. That’s why I’m not a lawyer or a doctor or whatever.
I mean, what did she even fucking tell him?
She put me with a nice family because she was too young, and I managed to fuck up my entire life all on my own? ”
That probably was what she had told Gerald. At least, that’s what Tean would have guessed, based on how the evening had gone. But he only said, “Do you really think your entire life is fucked up?”
Jem didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, though, in a tired voice, he said, “Swear jar.”
“We’re not doing that right now. I asked you a question.”
“Okay, but we are doing it, because the swear jar is serious, and you said one of the five-dollar ones, and this is literally our Disney fund. And you know it costs extra to take Scipio.”
Tean sensed the bait and avoided it. Instead, he said, “I don’t want to minimize the disadvantages and the challenges and—and how awful your childhood was, Jem.
I don’t. Because I know I don’t even know all of it.
And because I’m so proud of you for turning out to be such an amazing man in spite of it.
But whatever you’re unhappy with in your life right now, I want to work on it.
We can make it better. I know the call center isn’t your favorite job.
What about going back to school? I know we’ve talked about it before, but—”
“No.” Jem’s eyes looked dry, but he wiped them anyway. “No, the call center is fine.”
“I don’t want you to spend your life doing something ‘fine.’”
“God, how do you manage to make invisible air quotes sound petty as fuck? That’s, like, a gift.”
“Jem.”
“It’s fine. It’s all good. He just got under my skin.” Jem patted the bed. “Lie down.” When Tean didn’t move, he patted the bed again and said, “Come on, lie down.”
So, Tean stretched out next to him. Jem’s breathing sounded loud in the room. Where his arm touched Tean’s, his body was rigid.
Finally, Tean said, “The pillows aren’t great.”
“Yeah,” Jem said.
And it felt like even longer before Tean said, “Also, swear jar.”
“Doesn’t count. It’s too late.”
Tean ran his hand down Jem’s arm. Faint blond hairs tickled his palm. His fingers skated across Jem’s knuckles, and he whispered, “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” Jem said. He rolled out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”