69. Silas
69
SILAS
F ischer Elliot is exactly as good looking in person as he is on TV. To his credit, Graham keeps his inner fanboy in check.
Since my apartment is a mess, and there’s only a couch and the bed to sit on, we meet up with the journalist in his Eastmoor apartment. I know quite a bit about him having worked here. He has an ex-wife, a son, and a young boyfriend. He walks with a cane due to an injury he sustained while reporting overseas. What I didn’t realize was that he’s good friends with Gibson Hayes. Apparently they were college roommates.
“What I’m thinking about is a little different than a basic profile piece,” he explains to Graham once we’re settled at his dining table, which appears to double as his desk.
Graham nods for him to go on, his hand in mine.
“It’d be more a profile in courage.”
To that, Graham immediately shakes his head. “No. That’s not me. I’m not trying to make a statement or tell anyone how to live. I’ve made way too many mistakes. And Silas has been through too much?— ”
“Will you let him talk?” I say.
He looks at me. “I don’t mind explaining myself, but I’m not trying to set an example here. Also my family…” His words trail off, and I get the feeling he’s already censoring himself.
“Listen,” Fischer says. “I do have an angle. As a queer man in the public eye, I’ve had to deal with backlash, too. My relationship with my partner is unconventional, and we’ve had our fair share of shit to deal with from family, too. This is as much to do with your withdrawing your support for the human trafficking bill as it is with you coming out. It’s meant to be about pride.”
“Oh,” Graham says, though he looks slightly green.
“I’ll send it to you before I send it to my editor. If it doesn’t work for you, or you want any changes, just let me know. But this is a unique opportunity to put a human face on issues a lot of people grapple with. Family pressure. Coming out. The choice not to. The politics of pride.”
“That should be the title,” I say.
Fischer glances at me. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
“Well, he’s got a big crush?—”
Graham shuts me up with a hand over my mouth. “What’s your first question?” he asks Fischer.
“Talk to me about what it was like to grow up gay in the Catholic church.”
“That has more to do with who my family is than the church,” Graham begins, and then he goes on.
He and Fischer talk for hours, occasionally asking me to chime in. They cover a lot of ground, and I learn things I didn’t know before either. I knew a little about his sister, but Graham goes into a lot more detail, and my sympathy for the bind he found himself in a year ago grows. He was afraid to end up like her. It was the only example he ever had of what happened when someone went against his family.
Knowing she turned out all right is a big part of the reason he feels confident about the choices he’s making. So it wasn’t all about me after all, but he definitely sees me as the reward, and that’s a lot to live up to, which I don’t mind saying.
Close to five, Fischer’s boyfriend comes in, accompanied by his son. He introduces them to us. Graham and I shake hands with Matthew who gives Fischer a long hug and kiss on the cheek. Their hands separate at the last possible second as Matthew takes Vaughan into the kitchen to make dinner.
“Will you stay?” Fischer asks. “I think I have everything I need for the piece.”
Graham glances at his annoyingly persistent phone and pales at the amount of notifications filling the screen. I take it from his hand. “We’d love to,” I say, only because he needs to eat, and I could use a free meal, too.
Plus, it doesn’t hurt Graham to be exposed to a happy gay couple living their lives like any other happy couple can once they’ve decided they belong together. I doubt he’s ever seen it up close before. It ends up being a nice night.
While we cross the park to his apartment after dinner, he says. “They seemed like best friends.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think he meant by unconventional relationship?”
“I don’t know,” I say, having been wondering the same thing. “Maybe the age gap?”
“They seemed pretty conventional to me,” he says.
“Are you ready for all this, senator?” I ask, because we still have our own relationship to sort out.
We’re not too far away from the place he blew me that one day during the time when I couldn’t decide from one minute to the next whether I wanted him all over me or to stay the hell away from me.
“With all your talk about fresh starts, maybe I’ve been wondering what all the fuss is about,” Graham says .
That manages to make me laugh. “How are you planning to break the news to the senate?”
“Assuming they all don’t know already, the same way everyone else does. A late night social media post.”
I press my lips together, stop walking and turn to face him. “You’re going a little nuts with this. It’s okay to pace yourself.”
“I’ve been pacing myself my entire life.”
“Right, but it’s been a big couple of days for you. And I won’t hate you if you want to take a few more and decide how you really want to move ahead. With the senate anyway.”
“Do you mean about being out or being an Independent?”
“You’re already out, so…”
With our gazes locked, he says, “I’ve spent a lot of my time—way before I met you—trying to fit my feelings into the box of what I’ve been taught to think. I’ve found workarounds like Avery, and I’ve spilt a million hairs when I talked to the press. I’ve looked for the good in what’s bad on its face, and I’ve been able to live with that. But the most confident—the most myself I’ve ever been is with you. And it feels fucking good , Silas.”
“Even though your dad?—”
“Baby. My dad’s called me five times today. I think we’re gonna be all right.”
What? “How?”
He holds out his arms in a gesture of pure surrender. “I don’t know how. I don’t know anything.” He points toward the Eastmoor. “But I want that . I want you . I want a family who accepts me. They don’t always have to like me or understand me, but I don’t want to have to worry that a part of me I have no control over is a dealbreaker. I feel like—I don’t know—like I made it to the other side. And people might hate me here, too, but I don’t hate me anymore. And that’s not nothing.”
“No,” I agree, stepping up to put my arms around him. “It’s everything. ”
“I love you,” he whispers as we hug tightly. “So, so much, Silas.”
“You never stopped,” I coach him into saying.
He laughs softly. “No. Of course not. I never will.”
“I never will, either,” I say with complete certainty. Because if I can forgive him for what he’s already done, there’s nothing he could do that could turn off these feelings. I know his heart. His loyal, courageous, and fragile heart, and I’ve never loved anything more. On paper, he’s all wrong for me. But out here in 3D and vivid color, he’s exactly what I told Drew and Ollie—perfect.
All of this—all of who he is now was there all along, buried beneath a pile of family expectations and societal pressure, but that green-eyed virgin with the beauty mark had me from the first index card, or thereabouts. He might not have always given me everything, but he’s always given me the real Graham Lawther. While I can’t say the same for myself, there’s not a hateful bone in this man’s body. He’s way too good for politics.
“I don’t want you to move to Florida,” he says.
Letting go of him, I sigh, giving him a long look, assessing the state of us, all the things he’s still got to go through—the things we still need to go through. “I’m not leaving tomorrow,” I remind him. “But we can do this.”
“I’m not sure I’ll make it three years. Three years , Silas.”
I nod. “I know. It seems like a lot.”
“It feels like a punishment.”
“Except it’s not really about you,” I say.
“Will you be…I mean… Are you planning to…”
“Work as an escort?” I ask, assuming that’s where this is going.
He only stares at me.
“Is that a dealbreaker?” I ask.
He grimaces, shifting on his feet. “No. I don’t have any dealbreakers with you. I just want to know.”
“The answer’s no. For now.” I say honestly. The cost of living in Florida is significantly lower, and the concierge job pays well. The free shifts I’ll be pulling at the retirement community teaching exercise classes will get me a significant discount on Trixie’s upkeep, too. At the moment, I think I can make ends meet. But I’m not closing any doors. I want to go to school. I want a whole new life.
“You’ll talk to me, though?” he asks. “If you’re thinking about starting again?”
“If you promise no secrets, I will, too,” I tell him.
“I promise,” he says quickly.
I grin. “So do I.”
“What if we don’t make it?”
“I think we will,” I say.
“I’m gonna have to lock my dick up again.”
“You make it sound like you don’t want to. You and I both know you love it.”
“ Love isn’t the right word…”
I lower my voice. “But it suits you, puppy.”
It’s dark, but by the way he drops his head, I can guess he’s blushing. When he looks at me again, his eyes are bright and shining. “Because I’m Catholic?”
“Because you’re a bad Catholic.”
He laughs. “I just take what I like and leave the rest.”
“I like the way you think,” I tell him, moving close again. “I promise I won’t make you miss me any more than what’s absolutely necessary.”
“Necessary for who?” he asks, clearly pouting.
“It’s three years potentially, like you said. I’ve gotta make sure you keep coming back.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Then you shouldn’t worry, either. I’m yours. We’re gonna be together. For as long as you want me.”
“Forever then,” he says.
I nod. “That’s my goal. Meanwhile…let’s make a plan.”
His relief is evident in the smoothing of his forehead and the way his tense shoulders drop. “We will. After we see what the hell my sister wants.”
“Sounds good.” I wrap my hand around his and give it an affectionate squeeze.
He glances at me and smiles. I return it. Together, we head west, leaving the Upper East Side behind us.