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We talk about other things, like the difference between east coast and west coast bagels, the Game of Thrones finale, and how wrong it is on a scale of 1-10 that he won’t go vegan even though he knows some animals are super smart because he loves bacon (I call that a solid 6.5), and then we head out of the park.
“I’m hungry,” he says.
“Me too. How far do you want to walk?”
He looks down at his feet, and I remember what he told me on the boat—about what happened last night and how far he walked.
“Let’s get a taxi.”
We hold hands in the back seat and step out in Chinatown. The sky is indigo with dusk. The smells are exquisite as always.
“I know this amazing little place,” I tell him. “Best jiazoi in the world.”
He smiles. “I think that translates ‘dumplings.’”
“Smarty pants.”
The little place is full, but there are only seven tables, and the one we get is in the back. We place our orders, and then he takes off his mask.
“Whoa.” I mime covering my eyes. “I’m blinded.”
He gives me that skeptic’s look. I rub his leg with my foot underneath the table.
“Mr. McDowell.” I stroke his calf. “It’s so good to see you.”
We talk there for two hours, and afterward, we catch a cab in Columbus Park and go back to my place and talk some more. I paint him, and then I paint his body with my hands and tongue, and when we fall asleep that night, I think that maybe this could still be good.* * *It’s the wishful thinking that’s so common to people who need hope. Two days later, in a vote at a meeting of the board of elders, Evermore’s leadership commits to keep its status non-affirming, “respecting,” the minutes say, “the six board members who do not feel certain scripture plainly indicates a correct interpretation of the will of God on the issue of same-sex marriage. This is not,” it adds, “a statement of denial of approval on the part of the board, nor is it a treatise on this topic. It is an acknowledgment that without a vote of confidence from all fourteen board members, paradigm shifts in church philosophy and practice need not be endeavored.”
Luke shows up at my house after with a blank look on his face and crawls into bed. When I ask, he relays the unexpected vote in sparse monotone. I’m not sure if he wants my company, but I’d rather offer it than not. When I wrap my arms around him, he pushes his face against my throat and doesn’t move for what feels like forever.
“I would have to go,” he whispers after some time.
The words are so soft that at first I don’t process them. Then I do, and my gut clenches.
If I were to come out—if I were to be with you—I’d have to go.
Things are worse the next morning. Someone on the board of elders—Luke thinks a young dude who’s got a gay sister—leaked the minutes of the meeting to the Hollywood Reporter, which puts up an article that wrongly states that Luke voted against affirming. They’ve got a correction up within an hour, but the whole time, Luke is pacing the bedroom at the townhouse on the phone. And then he’s leaving.
“Sorry—I’ve got so much stuff to deal with.”
“Hey, no sorries here, guy.” I lock him in a tight hug, and he hugs me back, and there’s no way for me to know that it’s the last time for the next five days. He’s at work until eleven-thirty that night dealing with the fallout of the vote. The next morning at five, he flies off to a keynote at Yale, followed immediately by two days in Ottawa to marry a good friend from his college fraternity. In Ottawa, he doesn’t text me much—because the wedding festivities are “involved,” he says.
I’m so focused on him—so worried and in love, and so wrapped up in missing him—that it takes me until Monday morning, when Pearl makes a comment about the trip, to realize they’ve been home since Sunday morning.
“You and Luke? You got back Sunday?”
“Yeah, you know.” It’s off-handed, part of a longer story. “We got home, and that’s when I went home to Arman and…” She beams as she holds her hand up for me.
“Oh, hell. Wow, so he gave you a ring.”
She squeals. “I’m engaged!”
I ask the right questions, hit all the right notes.
“How are you?” she asks, still beaming.
“I’m not bad. How was the wedding Luke officiated?”
“It was really nice. I think Luke had a nice time, too.”
“I guess yours is next.”
“Possibly soon. We want to go and do it on the fly.”
I smile. “That’s always sounded good to me, too. Who needs a crowd?”
We chat until her phone rings. Then I walk out to my car. I think of Luke, back home since Sunday, and I have to breathe into a plastic baggie I left in the passenger’s seat.
