Chapter Twenty-Seven Back Home
The next morning, while he was in the shower, I checked the weather on my phone. I’d been planning to cook him breakfast again, but they were calling for another big storm, and the rental only had all-season tires. I did not want to drive to Toronto on those tires in a storm. I started packing.
When he got out of the shower, he saw me and said, “Don’t we have a few hours before we have to leave?”
“There’s a big storm coming in a couple of hours. We need to leave now if we want to miss it.”
We loaded our things into the car. I laughed when I saw the passenger seat still pushed all the way back.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I said. “We don’t have time for pitstops if we’re going to beat the weather.”
We had a quick breakfast, cleaned the cottage, and left.
The sky was super dark, and I was too focused on driving and getting us home safe to talk much. But after an hour, the weather started to clear, and I relaxed.
“Hasn’t Hit Me Yet” by Blue Rodeo came on the radio, and I started harmonizing to it.
“Fuck, Craig.”
I stopped singing. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Yeah. I was in choir in high school.” And my parents paid for me to have voice lessons when I was a kid. But I didn’t want to rub his nose in the stuff my parents could afford and his couldn’t.
“Why weren’t you the singer in your band? Your voice is better than Brian’s.”
“Brian didn’t want me singing—not even backup. I’m not a front-and-center kind of guy anyway.”
“You are to me.”
Which simultaneously made me feel really good and want to curl into a ball until I disappeared. “You really like my singing?”
“If I could sing like you, I’d put it on my acting résumé.”
“If I had an acting résumé, that would be the only thing on it.”
“You got any other hidden talents?” he said.
“Yeah, but I’m saving those for our honeymoon.”
“Where are we gonna get married?”
“Well, depending on how my parents react, Timmins—unless there’s somewhere you’d prefer?”
“You’ve already planned everything haven’t you?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, yeah.”
“How long?” he said.
“Since we went to the park.”
“That was months ago.”
“Yeah, well, I knew I wanted to marry you at that point, so... I just knew, okay? The only question was whether you were gonna say yes.”
“When were you planning to ask me?”
“First time was the night you introduced me to Jack. When I fell apart on you outside the coffee shop, and you put me back together and told me why you loved me, I was like, ‘This is it. I want to marry him.’ I almost asked you right then.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Didn’t have the balls. Would you have said yes?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t think about it until we were driving to the cottage, then I figured you’d probably take over planning our wedding. That was the first time I ever thought about getting married.”
“You never came close with Tommy or Trish?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It never came up,” he said.
“You loved them, though.” He was mine now, but I wasn’t his first, for almost everything.
“I was young when I got together with Tommy. And Trish and I had serious problems, and we weren’t together long.... Wait a minute. You said the first time you wanted to propose to me was after you met Jack. When was the second time?”
“I was going to ask you at the cottage. I had this plan. After we, you know, did it, I was going to suggest we go for a walk in the woods. We’d be holding hands.
Then I was gonna let go of your hand and stop walking and say, ‘Honey kid?’ And you’d stop walking and turn to look at me.
And I was gonna go down on one knee and give you a speech.
I wrote a speech, and I memorized it so I wouldn’t have to read it off a piece of paper.
And after I gave the speech, I was going to take the ring out of my pocket and hold it out to you and say, ‘Will you marry me?’ It was supposed to be perfect.
But I fucked everything up, and we didn’t end up doing it.
And then you proposed to me. Which was not supposed to happen. ”
“You wrote a speech?”
I was looking at the road, not at him, partly because I felt embarrassed, but he sounded surprised. Touched, even.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Can I hear it?”
“I’m driving.”
“And you got me a ring?”
“Yeah, it’s in my coat pocket.”
“You gonna give it to me or what?” he said.
“But I didn’t propose to you.”
“Don’t you want me to have it? Did it cost a lot?”
“Not much. I made it.”
“Now I really want to see it.”
“It’s nothing special. Once we get home, I can give it to you, if you want it.”
“You like to keep me waiting, don’t you?” he said.
“Yeah.” Then I thought about what he’d said, and it hit kinda hard. “Guess I did, didn’t I?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He slipped his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder through my coat. “You did a good job.”
I tried to keep my eyes on the road, but everything was blurry. “Good job” wasn’t something I heard too often. Not from someone I loved.
I pulled onto the soft shoulder and turned the engine off. We were in the middle of nowhere, and this wasn’t the way I’d planned it, but it felt right to do this now.
“What?” he said.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to face him. There was no room to go down on one knee. I took his hand. He looked perplexed.
“Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re still here,” I said.
“I wake up, and I feel like I must have dreamed you, because you’re too special to be real.
My first time with you, I felt like I’d been shot, but it didn’t hurt.
You didn’t touch me, but you sent something through my soul, and it changed who I was.
I think a part of you is still inside me and always will be.
Do you remember the day I came to your place after we met, and I told you I just wanted to be with you?
I still do. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me, honey kid?”
“Wow,” he said.
I pulled the ring box out of my pocket and opened it. The ring looked cheap and pathetic, and I felt awful giving him some handmade piece of wood. He deserved better.
He took it out of the box and looked at it, looked at the inscription I’d put on the inside: To H. K. from T. I love you. Always.
I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He had such a poker face.
“It’s nothing special,” I said.
“It is. You made it for me.”
“People must have made stuff for you before.”
“No.”
Not Tommy? Not Trish?
“You gonna put it on?” I said quietly.
He tried it on each of his fingers. It was too small for all of them, except the pinkie finger of his left hand.
“I didn’t know what size you were. You don’t own any rings for me to measure, and I didn’t want to spoil the secret, so I had to guess.”
“It’s perfect,” he said, “and I will.”
“Will what?”
“Marry you.”
“Oh.” Real bright, Porter. “Sorry it’s a crappy ring, and we’re on the highway, and I fucked everything up.”
“You didn’t fuck anything up, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You did everything right.”
“What did you call me?”
“You heard me.” He popped his seatbelt and moved his hand to the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. He leaned in and kissed me.
He’d called me “sweetheart.” No one had ever called me that.
He kept kissing me.
“Before you get any ideas,” I said, “we’re on a highway.”
“Too bad. Guess we’ll have to stick to making out.”
And then he decided it would be a good idea to unzip my coat and slip his hands inside and—
“Eddie? You’re making me...a little excited here.”
“Sorry.” He held on a bit longer before relaxing his grip and pulling his hands out of my coat.
“When we get home, we can go as far as we want, and we don’t have to stop,” I said.
“You gonna make it home?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
I thought about finding a gas station and fucking him in the washroom or letting him fuck me. I didn’t have the balls to do that. But I fantasized about it as I started the engine and pulled onto the highway.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“Is it normal for a bi guy to prefer being fucked to doing the fucking? I mean, I enjoyed fucking you a lot, but when you did it to me, it felt so good it was unreal.”
“Most guys have a preference,” he said.
“Even bi guys?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you?”
“You can’t tell what it is?”
I could take a pretty good guess, but what he’d done with Tommy was their business. Still, I was curious.
“Was the reason you’ve never done that before because Tommy preferred to be fucked?”
“No. He wanted to. I didn’t.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know how to take that. He’d said no to Tommy but yes to me. Why? Was it just to show me I could trust him so I’d let him fuck me? If so, was it only a one-time thing? Because I wanted it to be a lots-more-times thing.
“I know you fucked Tommy a lot,” I said.
“No. Not a lot. Just, like, three times.”
“Three times?!” I looked at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Geez, Eddie. We’re a couple of fucking noobs here.”
“We can fix that,” he said.
“So can I fuck you again? I mean, not right now but sometime?”
“Sure,” he said.
I wanted to climb on top of the car and scream. Which was probably the testosterone hitting me. But I tried to play it cool.
“Great,” I said. “And you can, like, fuck me too, whenever.”
He laughed. I didn’t know what for, but if he was laughing at me, I was gonna humor him, because he’d basically promised me a good time or, actually, lots and lots of good times.
I couldn’t wait to get home.
We hit Toronto as the snow started falling. After we got to the parking garage, we had to unload the car and bring everything upstairs. It seemed to take longer than packing had, because I couldn’t stop thinking about what we’d discussed in the car.
We made four trips. Actually five, but the last one was me picking up my tap shoes and backpack. I didn’t need help, but he came with me anyway. When we got back in the elevator, he unzipped his coat, went up to me and unzipped my coat, then he slipped his hands inside and pulled me close.
He murmured in my ear. “Aren’t you nice and warm?”
My arms went around him. “Aren’t you nice and hard? Would you go all the way on a first date?”
“Depends on the guy.”
“If he really wanted you? If it was a really hot date? If he’s ready to explode?” I kissed him and let it linger.
When I broke the kiss, he said, “I’d consider going to third base.”
“What’s third base?” I kissed him, longer.
“Pretty intense fooling around.”
“Intense enough to make him shoot?”
“Definitely. Maybe a couple times.”
I pulled him in tighter and whispered in his ear. “You ever gotten off in an elevator?”
“Almost.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I was with this tap dancer, and he kissed me, and he’s so fucking good with his mouth—”
That was clearly an invitation. I interrupted him by kissing him, longer and deeper this time.
Then the elevator pinged, and the doors opened on our floor.
I pulled back a hair’s breadth. We looked at each other, then raced up the hallway to our apartment.
We didn’t make it to the bedroom and ended up getting each other off on the living room floor with our coats still on.
“Going all the way on a first date?” I said. “You’re easy.”
“I was seduced,” he said, looking all innocent. “This hot tap dancer put the moves on me.”
“You’re easy on the eyes yourself, future hubs.”
I was learning to read his expressions, and he looked sad.
I nudged him. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just picturing you naked. And I’m not pushing you to do it now.” He held me. “It’s something we have to look forward to.”
“I know. Sorry. I have to take a shower.” I disentangled myself from him, helped him to his feet, and embraced him. “You know how special you are to me?”
“Yeah, ’cause you keep telling me,” he said.
“You want me to stop?”
“Hell no.”