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1
“I’m not catastrophizing,” Teancum Leon said as he wheeled his luggage into the lobby of the Santaland Resort and Convention Center, conveniently located in the middle-of-nowhere known as Auburn, Missouri. “I’m simply stating a fact: by coming to rural Missouri, we’re statistically more likely to be murdered by hillbillies.”
His husband, Jeremiah Berger, who went by Jem, smiled at an elderly couple passing them. But he said, “And.”
“And if that murder were to be preceded by events like those inDeliverance, which, by the way, I still don’t know why you made me watch—”
“Because it’s amazing.”
“—then we shouldn’t be surprised.”
When Tean paused to orient himself in the hotel lobby, Jem reached over to smooth down his collar. “And.”
“And we would likely end up being made into masks of human skin.”
“You didn’t even watchTexas Chainsaw Massacre. You said it was too scary.”
“So, you can see my point: this is objective reality. That’s all.”
Jem considered him. He seemed to be speaking to himself when he said, “We should have gotten you more tweed.”
Tean blinked. “What?”
“More tweed. You’re this bigwig—”
“I’m not and have never been a bigwig.”
“—specially invited to attend a prestigious conference—”
“Missy invited me to be on her panel, Jem, at the annual conference for a third-tier association. Most of these people are hucksters. And I’m not even the keynote speaker.”
“—and we should have gotten you those pants the horse guys have to wear, the really baggy ones. Only out of tweed.”
“Jockeys?”
Jem smirked. “Boxers, but I wanted to surprise you.” Before Tean could formulate a reply to that, Jem caught the eye of an older woman passing them. “This is my husband,” Jem said. “Teancum Leon. He’s a bigwig speaker who got invited to be on a panel.”
The woman smiled at them and gave Tean a second look.
“I’m not—” Tean began.
“You can have his autograph for five dollars,” Jem said over him.
And because he was Jem, the woman laughed. She even touched Jem’s arm as she passed.
When Jem looked back at Tean, he said, “What?”
Tean refused to answer, but judging by the grin playing behind Jem’s beard, Tean thought he already knew anyway. “And I don’t know why I have to wear tweed—”
“You’re not wearing tweed,” Jem murmured. “A problem I intend to solve.”
“—when you get to wear—well, that.”
Thatwas a neon pink and greenBeverly Hills 90210t-shirt that fit Jem like a dream and vintage Adidas shorts (gray and purple because, well, Jem) and flip-flops.
“I seem to recall the last time I bought you a pair of shorts being told, ‘I have chicken legs,’ which, for the record, I disagree with, and I like how you look in shorts.”
“That’s not the point,” Tean said. Although he felt like he might have lost track of what the point actually was.
