You & Me

After Thursday’s practice, I’d stopped by Target for milk and cleaning supplies, and when I got home, I’d turned our townhome upside down. I’d scrubbed the counters, mopped the floors, cleaned my toilet. I even bleached my shower. Two guys created a lot of mess that drifted into the corners, where neither Emmet nor I noticed it.

After I was done, our little two-bedroom, two-bathroom home looked almost like a real estate ad. Sparkling floors, barely any furniture, and all of it cheap.

But the house was clean, and that was what was important. I bought another pillow—we only had the two—and a blanket for the couch. I changed my sheets, too. I’d planned to give Landon my bed while I slept on the couch.

I’d also picked up a bottle of carménère—after searching through all the red wine shelves for an hour—and a case of Diet Dr Pepper.

“It’s not much,” I said when we walked in. I took Landon’s duffel around to the living room and set it at the foot of the stairs. “But it works for Emmet and me. We moved last year.” I didn’t need to say anything more.

Landon waited in my kitchen, eyeing my spotlessly clean stove. It was so clean it looked unused. “I do cook,” I said. “I cleaned up last night. It’s usually much more disgusting than that.”

“Mm, I was about to check for a price sticker, but maybe now I’ll have to hire you to clean my place.”

“I could use a side gig.” I grabbed the wine and wagged it. “Are you ready for some sinning? I thought we’d drink this tomorrow, but you might appreciate it more tonight.”

Landon laughed again. Warmth shot through me, swirling up and down my spine and deep into each of my muscles. He reached for the wine and examined the label. “How did you know this is my favorite?”

“I didn’t. Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“Do you have wineglasses?”

Shit. I knew I’d forgotten something. I made a face as I opened the cabinet. I had a matched set of twelve square glasses, picked up on sale from Target a year ago on the day Emmet and I moved in. They went with the on-sale plates and silverware, the two-for-fifty-dollars matching comforters in Emmet’s and my bedrooms, and the two sets of towels I’d bought and shoved into our bathrooms. Wineglasses hadn’t been on my list that day. And I hadn’t brought any of Riley’s things to our new home.

I held out one of my cheap glasses. “How’s this?”

“It does the job.”

I did at least remember a wine opener last night. Landon tore into the packaging and then popped the cork. The wine glugged out of the bottle.

“So what am I about to taste?” I held the glass up to the light and swirled it around. It was thick, like liquified rubies steeped in oil.

“It will be strong. I apologize in advance. It also might taste a little gritty.”

“Gritty? Is it unfiltered? Am I going to be chewing on grape skins?”

“No, it’s just very rich.” Landon held up his glass for a toast. “High alcohol content, too.”

The wine hit like a kick to the face. It was thick berry pie soaked in whiskey. A sparkler I shoved in my mouth. A thunderclap in a sip. As complex as Landon. I coughed on my first swallow—like I’d taken my first drag of a joint—as Landon went and downed a whole mouthful.

“Bit much for your first time?” He grinned. I coughed. I had no idea what I’d just swallowed. It was nothing like hard liquor. There wasn’t a burn chasing the alcohol down my throat. It was like liquid velvet. Melted diamonds.

“No, I’m good.” I was still coughing. “I’m good.”

“Carménère is strong enough to bring Christ back a day early.” He winked.

I took another sip. This time, I was prepared. The flavor came in waves, revealed itself subtly. Landon was right: it was intense, but it was also delicious. “I love it.”

“Really?” Both his eyebrows rose.

“Really.” I poured more into our glasses and then grabbed the bottle by the neck. “You need to sit down before you fall down. C’mon.”

I led him to my living room and over to my small mini sectional. It had been a bargain at IKEA and was the only sectional I’d found that wasn’t sized for twenty. It just fit in my little townhome, and a year ago, I’d dropped it in its spot and hung a TV on the opposite wall, then called it a day. That was all I had in the living room. I didn’t even have a coffee table. Occasionally, I had some still life: Emmet’s duffel, or his sandals.

I set the wine on the floor between us and sank into the couch. Landon followed, collapsing into the corner with a sigh.

We lost track of time, talking about the game before veering into favorite movies and foods. I asked him what his favorite theater show was, and I thought he was going to ignite. His eyes lit up as he told me about finding out-of-the-way shows. He’d driven to Austin once to see the Nepalese original Malini. Went to Shakespeare in the Park in Dallas and got to see Hamlet performed by actors dressed as Klingons from Star Trek.

We were sliding toward each other, our shoulders sinking into the center of the couch. I had my feet flat on the floor, my boots kicked off, knees spread, but my upper body was twisted all the way toward Landon. Landon had stretched out on the wing of my sectional, ankles crossed, one arm behind his head, his glass of wine against his chest. I had a buzz building in my veins, a happiness that rooted me to the moment.

Somehow, we got to sharing memories about our sons’ first forays into football. Like Emmet, Bowen had been a little kid when he first suited up. He was always bigger than the other boys his age, and he’d been tapped for quarterback when he was four years old. At that age, quarterback meant he was the boy the coach pitched the ball to in the herd. He missed the first ten times, the ball sailing right through his hands and boinging off his little cleats. The first time he caught the pass, he was so surprised he immediately plopped to the ground on his butt.

Landon had me laughing so hard I was curled up in a ball, trying not to snort wine out of my nose.

His gaze fell to his empty wineglass as his voice choked and died. He went quiet, breathed deep.

I grabbed the bottle and emptied the rest into his glass. “Memories?” I recognized the signs. I got lost in those woods, too. Not as much over the past two weeks. Not since I’d met Landon.

“Something Bethany said earlier.” He tried to shrug it off with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

I thought back. Rewound time until I found the moment. “You wanted more kids, didn’t you?”

Every bone in his body seemed to turn to dust. Pain wrapped around him like a tornado. “I love being a father. I love everything about it. I never want it to end.”

“Riley and I were supposed to have more kids after we got our feet under us.” I shrugged. “But she said she wasn’t ready to try again, and then everything fell apart, and we…”

Emmet was all we’d ever have. He was the only proof left in the world that, once, Riley and I had loved each other.

“I wanted five boys.” Landon laughed at the look I gave him. “I wanted to play three on three with them. Basketball in the driveway, football in the backyard, soccer in the streets. I wanted three-legged races and water balloon fights. Lacrosse and kickball and dodgeball. Everything.”

“What if you got an artistic type like me?” My dad hadn’t quite known what to do with his sensitive, angst-ridden son, but he’d gamely traded in the baseball bats for the sketchpads when I was seven and drove me to galleries when I got older.

“I would have taken him to art classes and made his brothers go to his shows. Anything my boys loved, I would have loved. I used to dream about all of them when I was in college. I could see their little faces, all in a row.” He traced his finger around the rim of the glass. “Once, I thought I could start another family with someone new.”

“You’re young. You still can.”

He snorted. “I figured out pretty quickly that’s not what most guys are looking for. ‘Middle-aged man seeks husband, wants five kids. Must be good with Mormon hang-ups and a lingering celestial marriage.’ Yeah, right.”

“You are selling yourself very short.”

“I’ve looked.” He rolled his head against the couch and looked me in the eyes. “It’s not like I haven’t wanted to find a partner. I do. But…”

“What about other ex-Mormons?” I’d discovered, during my googling on my lunch breaks and in the evenings—or whenever my mind drifted to Landon—that there was a vibrant and passionate current and former Mormon LGBT group. The highest concentration of members was, unsurprisingly, in Utah, but I’d found a gathering of men and women who met regularly outside Dallas once a week. Would Landon want to be a part of that?

“The first man I dated was ex-Mormon. He helped me square some of my lingering theological issues. Ultimately, though, his beliefs boiled down to ‘screw the church,’ and what he wanted and what I wanted were very different things.” Landon downed the last of his wine. “And he went too fast for me. Physically. I wanted something slower, something more meaningful, and it… wasn’t.” His cheeks flushed. He looked down at the couch cushion and played with a loose thread. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“I’m sorry he treated you like that.” I tipped the last of my wine into his glass. “Don’t apologize. I like listening to you.”

He toasted my direction and gulped down my wine. He frowned at his fingers, still playing with that thread. Evidence of my bargain price couch. “I don’t know. I think about Bowen graduating and moving on, and, even if I did find someone who likes kids—” His eyes squinted as he looked across the couch to me. “Would you want to start over again? Have more kids after finishing with Emmet?”

I’d never thought about it. The option was closed to me, I’d thought, but if I was telling Landon he was young enough to start a family again, then wasn’t I, too?

Did I want more kids? Another round of bedtimes and baths, the terrible twos and the temper tantrums, fighting to eat vegetables, and endless nights of elementary school homework? More teenage attitude, teenage appetites, and teenage stench. But also more Saturday mornings with pancakes, and giggles, and bedtime stories. More drawing at the kitchen table. More hugs and I love you, Dad and I love you, too, buddy.

“I’m not opposed to more kids.” I stared at the wall and jiggled my leg. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to think about more kids because, as long as I was with Riley, there was never going to be even any hope of Emmet having a brother or a sister. That part of our marriage had passed.

But I wasn’t with Riley anymore. “Yeah, I think I would.” I rolled my head toward Landon as I spun my empty glass in my hands. “If I found the right person.”

He’d twisted onto his side, fully facing me with his head cradled in his palm. The look he gave me was unfathomable. His eyes swallowed the lights I’d kept low. There was longing there, wrapped in an ache that reached for my heart. My lungs hitched. God, he should have had those five boys.

“If you do have more kids, we’re really going to need to get that cow.”

He laughed. Whatever had choked the air between us vanished, and I could breathe again.

We were interrupted a few minutes later by a key sliding into the front-door lock. We both froze. Jesus, how late was it? Was it already two in the morning?

Emmet tiptoed through. His eyes moved from me to Landon and back. “Uhh,” he said. “I’m not late, am I?”

It was 2:00 a.m. on the dot. “No, you’re good.” I stood and went to him, checking my son for any obvious tells. I took a big sniff, too, which was a mistake. Unwashed jock hit me square in the face. My eyes started to water, but I didn’t smell any booze or pot mixed in with the stench. “Did you have fun?”

“It was just some of the team parking down by the river. I kept an eye on them and made sure no one got stupid.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “That’s mature of you.”

He shrugged. “Bowen and I usually keep watch together, but his mom’s in town, so…” Again, Emmet’s gaze flicked to Landon. “Hey, Mr. Larsen.”

“Hi, Emmet.”

“Landon is crashing here while Bowen’s mom is in town,” I said.

“Okay. I’m going to be working out with some guys from the team tomorrow.”

“You’re not tired from the game tonight?”

“Nah, I barely played. But there’s some stuff I wanna work on with the second-string linebackers.”

“Okay. Cool.”

We stared at each other. “’Kay,” he said. “Night.”

And that was that. He shuffled upstairs and disappeared into his bedroom.

“Jesus, it’s late,” I said, turning back to Landon. “I’m keeping you up again, I’m sorry. C’mon, let me show you to the bedroom.”

Landon went ghost pale, and he boggled at me in the middle of pinching the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“I’m giving you my bed. I’ll rack out down here on the couch.”

“No,” he said. “No, no, no. I’m good on the couch.”

“You’re my guest—”

“I insist,” he said. His voice was firm. “I’m crashing at your place, and crashers always get the couch. I can’t take your bed from you, Luke.”

“I’ll show you the bathroom, then. Grab your stuff and follow me.”

He did, and he trudged up the stairs like moving took more effort than he could summon. God, he was exhausted. Why hadn’t I let him go to sleep earlier? Why hadn’t he said anything? We’d probably talk until dawn without Emmet to stop us.

At the upstairs landing, I pointed to Emmet’s closed bedroom door and the door to the hall bath, which Emmet had claimed as his. “That’s Em’s. It’s a toxic waste dump. Don’t go in there. You might not survive.”

“I heard that,” Emmet grumbled through the closed door.

My bedroom was a twin to Emmet’s spartan one: queen bed shoved against the wall, one pillow in the center, blue comforter spread on top. I had a dresser and a nightstand and a lamp, and that was it. Not a single picture or decoration or knickknack anywhere. I didn’t even have a book. My nightstand held the forty-year-old’s required items: a glass of water, my cell phone charger, and a bottle of Advil. Last night, I’d run a vacuum over the carpet and fluffed my pillow.

My bathroom was more of the same. Sink, mirror, shower. Toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. Landon had a toiletries bag with him that looked as large as Annie’s purse. He’d grabbed a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt from his bag.

While he did what he needed to in the bathroom, I stripped out of my booster T-shirt and jeans and into boxers and my own sleep shirt. I waited on the end of my bed, messing around on my phone as I listened to Landon brush his teeth behind the closed door.

He looked like the walking dead when we trudged downstairs. I thought I would be on the couch, so I hadn’t cared much about the blanket or pillow I’d bought. Now I was embarrassed by the cheap florals and the thin cotton. “Do you want me to grab something else? Are you going to be warm enough?”

“I’m good.” Landon sank into the couch and hauled one of my throw pillows into his arms. “Everything is wonderful, Luke.”

I draped the blanket over his shoulders, like I used to do with Emmet when he was little. I pretended to tuck Landon in, pushing the ends of the blanket against the back of the couch behind him. Landon’s eyes were closed already, but he grinned. “No bed bugs are going to bite me now,” he said, his eyes shut.

“Nope.” I almost puckered my lips and dropped a kiss to the tip of his nose or to the ruffle of his hair over his forehead. Remembered instinct, surely. The repetition of dad moves. The last person I’d tucked in was Emmet, and I always gave him a double kiss before he drifted off to sleep.

I backed away, flicking the lights off as I padded into the kitchen to set out Emmet’s cereal bowl and spoons. Soft snoring drifted out of the living room as I climbed the stairs back to my bedroom. I smiled.