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“It’s our home,” Paul said again. “Don’t make this a bigger thing than it is.”
“You’re ashamed to be seen in the same room with me. How could I possibly take that personally?”
Paul rubbed his temple. “I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth. Look, they’re going to be here any minute, can we finish this later?”
“You want me to hurry up and get my gay ass out of your Christian house?”
“Why do you have to say things like that?”
“Fine, Paul. Whatever. You’re completely fucking heterosexual.” Ian violently grabbed his iPod and magazine from the floor. “You got your wish. I’m out of here. But don’t expect me to come back.” He stormed out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.
Paul chased after him. “Ian!” he shouted from the porch. “Ian! Come back here. Ian!”
Ian disappeared around the corner.
When Paul turned to the right, he noticed four of the Worship Committee ladies had already arrived. They had just stepped out of Janice Davis’s SUV and were in the driveway staring at him. Rella Peters stood with her mouth open, holding a tray of cookies in plastic wrap.
It was well after dark before Paul heard the latch turning in the front door. He picked up the remote control and turned off the television. Ian stepped through the door and tossed his keys onto the end table like he always did. The ear pieces from the music player dangled from his front jeans pocket. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. They looked at each other a moment, saying nothing.
Ian sat down on the futon next to Paul, took a long drag from the cigarette, and then crushed it out in an ashtray-saucer. Paul took a deep breath through his nose, trying to detect the scent of alcohol. He smelled nothing but cigarette smoke. Ian seemed to be sober. He looked drained and tired. Pensive, but not angry.
“How was the meeting?” Ian asked.
“It didn’t go exactly the way I planned,” Paul said with a sheepish half smile. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”
“Yeah,” Ian said.
Paul leaned forward and spoke to his knees. “Mike Davis sent me an e-mail today. He sent this document with the ‘official church policy’ on gays in the ministry. Said he wanted me to ‘review’ it. I knew what he meant. That’s the reason I was worried with Janice here…. I just… I panicked. I should have… I don’t know….”
“Why didn’t you say that? I mean instead of just saying, ‘Get out’. That would have been a little better. I mean, it would still have been kind of dickish, but at least I’d know why.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t tell me these things, and I’m supposed to just figure out why you’re all weird on me. I’m not psychic.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went to a bar.”
“You….”
“No. I almost did. I ordered and everything. Whiskey, rocks. No one should have to deal with this shit sober. I don’t know how people do it. But I just walked away. You have no idea….”
“I’m sorry.” Paul reached over to run his fingers through Ian’s hair. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”
“I was thinking,” he said, leaning away from Paul’s touch.
“About what?” Paul braced himself for the worst.
Ian took a deep breath. “What… what do you want?”
“I want you.”
“No, I mean, what do you want? Is this just….” He sighed and furrowed his brow, trying to find his words.
Paul waited.
“Where do you think this is going? Do you think we’ll be together in five years… or ten?”
