Chapter four Trey
Chapter four
Trey
Iwalk into Craft Iron, already annoyed and on edge. I regret texting him back to meet me. I'm equal-parts curious and aloof when it comes to meeting Gareth again and hearing his apology. Logically, I know it doesn't matter, but do I want to see him try to explain himself anyway? Yeah, I do.
I have the upper hand in this situation. It's in a public place, so I can leave at any time. And I've put on a hundred pounds of muscle since high school, so I'm not worried about more bullying.
I scan the restaurant as the hostess approaches, but see Gareth right away. His eyes slide over me, uninterested, until they slide back to my face and widen. He drags his gaze up and down my body appreciatively and stands, buttoning his suit coat nervously.
I excuse myself to the hostess and head toward Gareth's table. He flashes me a charming, but wary smile, and the dimple in his chin is as prominent as ever. He looks like the all-American frat kid still, just aged a bit.
Damn him, he's still handsome. I was hoping for a widow's peak and a beer belly. He does look a bit soft around the middle, likely from alcohol or a desk job. Funny how those two things create the same results.
I've got an inch or two over him, though, so he has to look up at me when he shakes my hand.
"Damn man, you sure grew up," he says with a smile. One that I don't return. I shake his hand quickly and sit in the empty chair.
He sits, too, but then he leans forward. "Shit, am I supposed to pull out your chair for you? How does that work with a gay couple?" he whispers.
I hold up a hand. "Firstly, this isn't a date, and secondly, I'm a whole ass man, capable of pulling out his own chair, got it?"
Gareth's eyes widen in surprise, and he leans back. Before I can demand he get on with his apology, though, the waiter shows up and asks for our drink order. I order a bourbon neat, and Gareth orders a tonic water.
When she leaves, I wave him a hand in a "continue" motion.
He smooths his hands against the table and stares at it in concentration.
"Uh... so... okay, I owe you an apology...
" His eyes flick up to find mine. "Or maybe a million apologies.
I was awful to you. I know that. And while I could blame it on boys being boys, I now know that that wasn't it.
" The waiter returns with our drinks and he takes a sip of his water.
"Wow, I really suck at this." He clears his throat.
So far, I'm unimpressed. "Okay, so, um, after college I got married... "
"Congratulations," I interrupt with a droll tone.
He shakes his head. His neck and cheeks are turning red and he’s flustered.
It's an unexpected change of pace from the boy I knew in high school.
High-school-Gareth was always cocky and cock-sure.
"No, it's not... thank you... but what I mean to say is, I got married to the perfect woman, and had two amazing kids, but I couldn't stop drinking.
I was getting blackout drunk every night and all day during the weekends.
Lindsey divorced me and took the kids until I went to rehab.
I got into a program, and I am sober now.
But I also started going to therapy to understand why I was drinking so much... "
"What does any of this have to do with me?" I interrupt, already eyeing the exit.
He must sense that I have one foot out the door already, so he rushes to finish his story.
"I realized, in therapy, that I was drinking so much to avoid sleeping with my wife.
Because I'm not as straight as I once thought.
Back in high school? I was attracted to you.
I thought about you all the time, checked you out when no one was looking, and I resented and hated that attraction so much.
I had so much anger and self-loathing for being attracted to another man.
I married the perfect woman and had the perfect kids and career and was still miserable because it wasn't me. "
I had expected some sort of this story - it’s a typical one - but to hear that he was fighting his attraction for me? That, I didn't expect. I was small back then, thin, and brown. He was the stereotypical gorgeous jock with a new girl hanging on his arm every week.
"Look, I know you don't owe me forgiveness, you don't even owe me dinner, but I appreciate being able to come clean to you.
How I treated you has been a heavy guilt I've carried for a long time.
I just want you to know how badly I regret how I treated you, and if I could, I'd go back in time and kick seventeen-year-old Gareth's ass. "
I watch him over the rim of my glass, judging whether I believe his excuse or not. I see nothing but honesty on his face. I sigh, already knowing I care too much about people to just walk out on the man, after he apologized and came out of the closet to me in as many breaths.
We may be more progressive as a whole, but it can still be very tough for a gay man to feel comfortable being "out".
"Tell me about this program?" I ask, settling back in my chair.
"Program?"
"For the alcohol."
He perks up, a smile causing crows' feet to form around his eyes. That might be gay lesson number one - skincare.
"Oh, it's a program like AA. It's why I reached out to you. We're supposed to confront the things we did in life that were shitty and ask for forgiveness from the person and then forgive ourselves. Shame is a big factor in alcoholism."
I nod. Take another sip of my whiskey, and then stop a server walking nearby. "Would you take this for me, please. I've changed my mind."
"Sure," he says, at the same time that Gareth says, "Oh, you don't have to."
I fold my hands and rest them on top of the table. I may not trust him fully, but I'm not so much of an asshole to drink alcohol in front of an alcoholic.
"You're forgiven," I say, simply, just as our waiter comes up to take our order.
The shy smile he gives me and the way his cheeks pinken shouldn't be as charming as they are. I decide after I order that I'll see how this dinner goes and decide if I'll take him on as a client or not.
"Have you come out to anyone else?" I ask quietly after the waiter leaves. The shy smile I enjoyed a second ago vanishes.
"No." He shakes his head, looking around the restaurant before continuing. "I'm still just trying to figure it out myself. I did some research online, and it's all so confusing. Top, bottom, switch, verse, pansexual, queer... I don't know how I fit into any of that."
I nod.
"That's common."
"It is?" God, he looks as hopeful as a puppy.
"Most people start only knowing that something feels 'wrong'.
Except it's not wrong. It's like you're wearing clothes you know don't fit you, but you don't know what other clothes will fit better until you try them on.
You only know the ones you're wearing now, or being called 'straight' doesn't fit. "
His jaw hangs open as he leans back in his chair, obviously shocked.
"That's it. That's exactly it. I never knew how to explain it. It's not like I was imagining sleeping with a guy when I was with my wife, just that it felt 'wrong'. When to most of the rest of the world it's completely 'right'."
Our food comes, then, and we eat in comfortable silence.
Our eyes play a game of tag. I look up to see him already looking at me, only for him to drop his eyes back to his food and vice versa.
When we're both pleasantly full, silence lulls between us.
He's asked for forgiveness, and I've given it.
I still haven't decided to take him on as a client. Forgiveness and the vulnerability that sex work needs are still oceans apart. But I also know I don’t need to decide right now, or even today or tomorrow.
"Tell me about your kids," I offer, wondering what kind of dad Gareth became. I know his was always hard on him, demanding the best. He had to be the first on the field and the last to leave, working harder than any of the other kids. Would he be the same or take the opposite approach?
He transforms in front of my eyes from a tense dinner date to someone completely in love. His eyes soften, his shoulders sag, and the dopiest smile spreads across his plump lips.
"Micah and Lily. Micah's eight and Lil's five.
They're the loves of my life." His eyes sparkle as he talks about them, and I find his passionate ranting kind of, stupidly, attractive.
He tells me all about their personalities, quirks, hobbies, friends, and favorite foods.
I don't think I've ever seen a man so unabashedly in love with his own children.
Mine would parade me around, I realized later, as a way to earn social clout. "Look at what great people we are for adopting an unwanted brown baby." They never even gave me their last name and would introduce me with my full name, Malaysian last name included.
Whatever. It irritated me, but never really bothered me. I couldn't understand needing external validation like that, even as a teenager.
When the check comes, he's taken by surprise and reaches for his wallet, but I steal the receipt book before he can, putting my card down first.
"No, Trey. I want to pay. I asked you to dinner... it's my apology..." he stumbles over his words.
"It's a tax write-off," I say, nodding at the waiter to take my card.
I don't want to end this dinner with an argument, and he looks visibly distressed. Adult Gareth wears his emotions on his sleeve. It's kind of refreshing to see him acting so authentically. It's another mark in the Green Column in my mind.
"Alright, well, I'm getting next time," he says.
And I think he's right.
I think there will be a next time.