To Live Again (18 page)

“I know. I just…” I caressed his cheekbone. “I like being with you more than I like dwelling on her.”

Sailo chuckled. He kissed the tip of my nose and, as he settled beside me, said, “Give it time. For right now, if she’s on your mind, just say so, and I’ll be happy to help you think of something else.”

I laughed. “Deal.”

We lay in comfortable silence for a while. Well, somewhat comfortable. The shock from this afternoon was wearing off. The painful sense of betrayal lingered, but now guilt was creeping in. Had I driven her to cheat on me? Had that slowly growing canyon between us been because of her affair, or had it caused her to cheat in the first place?

“Greg?”

I shook myself and turned to him. “Sorry, what?”

He draped his arm over me. “You were spacing out.”

“Sorry.” I sighed. “Just thinking about…everything I don’t want to think about. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dwelling on all that shit.”

“You’re not dwelling. You’re processing.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Breakups hurt. Anybody who expects you to suck it up and move on overnight, even after you’re already seeing somebody else, is fucking clueless.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. “Yeah. I know. Thank you again, by the way. You’ve been amazing through all this.”

“You’re welcome.”

Propping myself up on my elbow, I studied him. “Why do I get the impression you’ve had your share of shitty breakups?”

“You noticed?” he laughed bitterly.

“Sorry to hear it.”

“It’s life. Hell, the last guy I dated…” Sailo whistled. “
That
ended in disaster.”

“What happened?”

He stared up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. “We’d been dating for about six months, and everything was just…God, it was amazing. The sex. The conversations. I was even starting to think this was it, that he was the guy I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And then one day, he realized he could do better.” Sailo’s lips twisted, and bitterness dripped from his tone as he added, “So he did. He left, found some personal trainer with a six-pack and a pretty face, and…well, that was that.”

“Jesus. That’s cold.”

“Tell me about it.” He blew out a breath. “Took me almost as long to get over that as I dated him in the first place. Which is kind of pathetic, but—”

“No, I don’t think so.” I laced our fingers together. “Somebody hurt you. Getting over that takes…as long as it takes.”

He turned to me, and a hint of a smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. “Says the man who keeps apologizing for trying to get over his divorce.”

Well. He had me there, didn’t he?

“Fair point, fair point. If it looks like it’s going to take twenty-five years to get over that, though, please smack me.”

Sailo chuckled. “I think you’ve got your head on a bit too straight for that, but just in case…deal.”

We shared a quiet laugh, and then we settled on the pillows. He rested his head on my shoulder, and that comfortable silence set in again.

I couldn’t have asked for a better person—male or female—to help me bounce back after Becky. He was wise beyond either of our years about relationships and their aftermath, and he knew just how to get my mind off things when I’d dwelled on them too long.

It was bizarre to imagine that if one devastating conversation in my old house had never happened, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be reeling from a divorce and the discovery of an affair, but I wouldn’t be
here
.

The question that haunted me more than anything…

Did the end justify the means?

I ran my fingers up and down Sailo’s tattooed arm. Without the divorce, the cheating, the hurt, the upheaval—I wouldn’t be here. I would still be curious about what it would be like to be with a man, instead of insatiably hooked on the way Sailo kissed me, touched me, fucked me. Things would still be the same as they’d always been, and this wouldn’t exist except in the fantasies I didn’t dare tell anyone about.

I could have done without all the heartache and headache surrounding my divorce. At the same time, I felt like I wasn’t just starting my life over again—I was starting to
live
again. After going through the motions, gritting my teeth and telling myself we’d fix things eventually, I was free. So was Becky. We’d broken out of that miserable stagnation, and for the first time in a long time, I finally felt like I was…
me
. Like I wasn’t putting on a smiling face for Christmas cards, or pretending everything was fine while I was dying inside. Instead of wondering where my life was going, I was
living
my life.

Maybe all this stress and pain were what I needed. Having the rug pulled out from under me wasn’t
fun
, but I was starting to think it was necessary. Growing pains, as it were. Something to shake me up and
wake
me up.

One thing was for sure—it was time to start letting go of Becky and focusing on Sailo.

Slowly, so I didn’t disturb him, I turned toward him. The streetlights illuminated just enough of his face to hint at his familiar features. Watching him now, listening to him breathe, I smiled in the darkness.

A year ago—hell, a few weeks ago—I couldn’t have imagined being here.

Now, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Throughout the workday, there were landmarks that signified that quitting time was getting closer. The first break. Lunch. Second break. All I had to do was make it from one of those milestones to the next, and eventually, it would be time to hurry out to the giant parking lot and hope I made it out ahead of my thousands of coworkers.

Lately, there’d been another marker that gave me something to look forward to each day—the first text from Sailo. He usually woke up around ten in the morning, so partway between my breaks. It wasn’t quite like clockwork—sometimes he rose earlier to see his son off to school, and sometimes he slept in after a particularly late gig the night before—but once that first message came through, my day went by so much faster.

Days like today, when I still felt lost and hurt over what I’d learned about Becky, I lived and died by those little milestones. They were something normal, something to remind me that, yes, life was continuing and everything would eventually be fine.

I’ll get through this,
I reminded myself while I sucked down coffee at my desk.
She cheated. We’re divorced. It’s over.

And I had Sailo now. The thought of him brought a smile to my lips. As tough as things had been recently, I couldn’t really complain because all the chaos and heartache had made it possible for us to cross paths. Everything happened for a reason, apparently. The pain would wear off. This new life? It would be worth it. It was already worth it.

At a little past nine one morning, my phone vibrated. I flipped it over, surprised he was awake this early, but the message wasn’t from him.

Can we have lunch?

The message was benign enough. I just hadn’t expected it from Mark, my middle son. He wasn’t one to make contact out of the blue like that. Immediately, I started imagining every possible worst-case scenario that might’ve made him reach out when he normally wouldn’t. I tamped them down, though, and replied:
Sure—when?

After a second, though, I added,
Everything ok?

He responded almost immediately:
Everything’s good. Just want to get lunch.

That didn’t do much to settle my stomach. This was not like him at all.

Through a series of short texts, we made plans to meet for lunch. Then he had to get to class, and I tried to concentrate on the report I was working on, but my brain was a million miles away.

What had prompted this?
Was
everything okay? We didn’t have a bad relationship per se, but we weren’t as close as April and me. We hadn’t been in a long time, especially from the time he was twelve or thirteen. All his life, he’d been a little shy, but lively once he warmed up to people. Then around seventh grade or so, he’d started putting up walls. While both his siblings had fought and rebelled their way through their teenage years, he’d quietly avoided us. He was the kid who came home from school with one-word answers about his day, stared at his plate all through dinner, and disappeared to his room or with his friends whenever he had the chance. Now that he was in college, he dutifully visited on all the holidays, and had occasionally shown up for Sunday dinner or to join his younger brother and me for a hike, but he always seemed…elsewhere.

Becky and I had been worried sick that he was depressed or something, and we’d put him in therapy as a teenager, but the counselor hadn’t been able to pry anything out of him. He had what seemed like a healthy social circle, so we’d eventually decided he just preferred the company of his peers.

Still, I worried about him, and this text out of the blue didn’t help.

The morning crawled by, but finally, it was time to go meet him. As soon as I could, I ducked out of my office and headed down to the brewery we’d agreed on. It was a sports bar, but since there were no games today, it was relatively quiet, and I immediately zeroed in on Mark at a booth near the back.

He was hunched over a glass, both hands wrapped around it, and gave me a slight nod when he saw me. Then he dropped his gaze and shifted a bit as I approached.

I sat across from him and tried not to let my nerves show. “Hey.” I smiled. “This is a surprise.”

“Yeah.” He smiled back, but it seemed forced. “Just, uh. Hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“Well, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah. You too.”

And…silence.

We perused the menus, placed our orders with the waitress when she came by, and quietly sipped our drinks, but I struggled to find a way to break the silence. I was still uneasy, still uncertain about why we were here. At the same time, I didn’t want to pry at him to the point that he decided meeting up for no reason was grounds for suspicion. Especially if he really was just trying to spend more time together.

It was Mark who finally spoke. He took a long swallow from his soda, then pushed the glass away. “So I talked to April the other night.”

Well, that was a surprise. He and his sister had never been all that close. “Oh. How’s she doing?”

“Good.” He watched himself fold and refold his fingers on top of his untouched menu. “She’s, uh…she’s good.”

I studied him, not sure what to say.

Abruptly, he lifted his gaze and looked me in the eye. “Is it true that you’re gay?”

I nearly choked. “What?”

“April said…she told me…”

I winced. “Oh. She did?”

He nodded slowly. “So, is it true?”

He held my gaze, and I had no clue what answer he was looking for. His tone was flat, his expression blank. How would he react if I told him the truth? I couldn’t lie to him, though. And if April had already tipped my hand, then there was no point in hiding it anyway. Shit. This is what I needed. First I’d found out my ex-wife cheated, now my son knew I was seeing a man.

“Well…” I hesitated. “I’m not sure if I’m gay, to be honest.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Huh?”

“I mean, I guess I’m bisexual? Maybe?” I shook my head. “I’m still kind of working it out, I think.”

“Oh.” He lowered his eyes, wringing his hands on top of the menu. “So is that why you and Mom split up?”

Ha. No.
Someone
had a boyfriend, but it wasn’t me.

I swallowed the bitterness and shook my head. “No. I think Mom and I just reached a point where…” I tapped my thumb on the edge of the table as I searched for the words. “Sometimes people just don’t…” Christ. How was I supposed to explain this to him when I didn’t fully understand it myself? Why
were
we divorcing? Why
had
she cheated? Finally, I sighed. “I don’t know, to be honest. I guess we both just realized we weren’t as meant to be as we thought.”

He lifted his gaze again and studied me for a long moment, as if searching for a sign that I was bullshitting him. I didn’t break eye contact. I wasn’t bullshitting him. That was the best answer I could come up with, and in the absence of any other explanation, I believed it.

“So, what?” he asked finally. “You and Mom broke up, so now you’re gay?”

“Well, no. I’ve known for a long time that I was attracted to men. So after we separated, I…” Decided to go get laid? Decided it was time to hook up with a dude? How the fuck was I supposed to word this?

“And now you have a boyfriend.”

I swallowed. It was hard to think of Sailo as my boyfriend—weren’t we just friends and fuck buddies?—but that wasn’t something I wanted to explain to my son.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, bracing for his response. “I do.”

He held my gaze for a long moment, his expression offering nothing, until he finally whispered, “Me too.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“Me too.” His shoulders slowly sank as he softly said, “I…have a boyfriend too.”

I leaned forward, resting my arms on the edge of the table. “You’re gay?”

My son nodded, and when his eyes flicked up and met mine, he released a breath, one he seemed to have been holding since
long
before today. “Yeah.”

“Oh. I…I had no idea.” I paused. “How long have you known?”

“Since junior high. Seventh grade.”

I swallowed. “All this time?”

Eyes down, he nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Mark. My God.” I reached across the table and squeezed his arm. “Disappointed? No, not at all. I—” I paused, my mind flashing back to all those years when he’d been so quiet and distant. How he’d withdrawn…right about the beginning of seventh grade. When he apparently figured out he was gay. Barely whispering, I asked, “Did I ever give you any reason to believe I’d be disappointed if you were gay?”

Cheeks darkening, he lowered his gaze. After a moment, he shook his head. “No. But I guess…I mean, how many dads want their sons to be gay?”

My heart clenched. “Jesus, Mark. I don’t think I ever gave it much thought, to tell you the truth. I just wanted you kids to be happy.” I cleared my throat. “The hardest thing in the world was seeing you unhappy when you were a teenager, and not being able to do anything about it. There’s no way in hell I’d have been upset about you being gay—I just wanted you to be all right.”

Mark swallowed hard, as if pushing back a lump. “I feel stupid for never saying anything.”

I shook my head. “No, there’s no reason to feel stupid.” I squeezed his arm again and then withdrew my hand. “I don’t think it’s easy for anyone to come out to their parents.”

“No, it’s not. And I didn’t want to be gay. I didn’t want to think about it. So I guess I started pulling back from everyone.” He ran an unsteady hand through his dark hair. “And then when I got to where I accepted it about myself, I didn’t want to tell anyone.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.”

“No. I…kind of had the same thoughts.”

He met my gaze. “You did?”

“Well, yeah. When I realized I was interested in men, I was already married to your mother, so I couldn’t really tell anyone anyway. Not without hurting Mom, or making anyone think I was planning on cheating on her. Which, for the record, I never did.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “I never thought you did.”

“Just making sure that’s clear. I don’t know why I’m so worried anyone will think I did, but…”

He laughed dryly. “But part of coming out seems to be thinking everyone will think you’re the worst person on the planet?”

“Yeah. Kind of.” I exhaled. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“You’re going through it too. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

I nodded. “And you know, I don’t envy you for all that hell you went through when you were a teenager, but I do envy you for figuring this out about yourself now. Instead of when you’re, you know, my age.”

He watched me silently for a moment. “But you knew? When you and Mom were still married?”

“Sure.” I shrugged. “I’d been in denial for a long time, I think, but finally admitted it to myself, even though it was a moot point. Or, I
thought
it was a moot point.”

“So, you and Mom…” He gnawed his lower lip. “Be honest—
is
that why you split up? Because you’re gay?”

I shook my head. “No. It was never an issue.”
Was it?
“I loved your mom, and I always will. After we decided to separate”—
after your mother threw me out
—“I just decided it was time to see if I really am interested in men. And it turns out, I am.”

“Oh.”

Silence set in again. I wanted to bat it away, physically chase it off with my hands like a cloud of smoke in the air between us. I’d been hoping for way too long that Mark and I would find a reason to open up to each other—I wasn’t ready to let it go now.

And once again, it was Mark who finally spoke.

“I was going to come out to you and Mom,” he said. “I’d been thinking about it for a while. But then you guys separated, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“Worse? My God, no. To be honest, this is a huge relief.”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve been worrying about you for years. We knew about the depression, and Jesus, we tried everything we could to help with that. But—”

“You and Mom helped a lot,” he said quietly.

“But you were still afraid to tell us you’re gay?”

Mark sighed, his shoulders sinking a little. “It…was a little more complicated than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it wasn’t just you and Mom.” Mark took a deep breath and, with what seemed like a lot of effort, met my eyes. “I was afraid to tell you guys, but it wasn’t because of anything you or Mom did. My therapist said a lot of it was the depression talking.”

“The depression was that bad?”

“Still is.”

I reached for my drink, needing something to moisten my parched mouth. “I had no idea. I mean, I knew you were struggling, and—”

“Nobody knew,” he said. “Dr. Sandler was the only one. Because I didn’t tell anyone. I felt stupid and helpless, but that was the depression talking too. That was one of the things she and I worked on for a long time. Knowing when the depression was telling me lies.” He sighed. “She thinks being in the closet made the depression worse, and the depression made being in the closet worse, and it was just this awful cycle. I didn’t want to be gay, and the more I tried to tell myself I wasn’t…” Mark shook his head. “So it was rough.”

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “I can’t even imagine. And you’re still struggling?”

“I probably always will,” he said softly. “But she’s got me on some antidepressants. And they help. I still have bad days, but it’s not like it was before.”

“Good. Good.” I paused. “Listen, if it gets bad, you know you can call me any time. Day or night. Come by my place, call me, text me.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ve always known that.”

“But you’ve kind of shut us out the last few years. Did I…did we make you think you couldn’t come to us?”

“No. It’s hard to go to anyone. I mean, do you have any idea how hard it is to tell someone that your own brain is telling you you’re a worthless slug?”

I flinched. “I can’t imagine.”

“Most people can’t.”

“Can I ask you something about the depression?”