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“He didn’t apologize,” I stated.
“He wanted to,” Dad insisted. “He tried. He called.”
“But he didn’t. If he felt he was wrong enough to call me, he could have apologized, Dad.”
“But…”
I held my hand up. “Love you, Pops, but I’ve got a job to earn back.”
I turned and walked out of the house. I imagined my father was probably watching me leave, his brain ready to explode, but he kept quiet.
The sun was shining, a wonderful sign from the universe. Today was going to be a great day; I could feel it in my soul. I started the Jeep and glanced in the rearview mirror. “He could’ve apologized,” I said.
CHAPTER TEN: Cole
I moved my cell phone from my ear, staring at the screen when it went blank. I’d just been rebuffed by a boy who I hadn’t even wanted to call. I’d been encouraged by Marla to give him a second chance, but now I regretted my decision. How dare he tell me he was passing on working for me. I didn’t need some head-in-the-clouds punk around me, anyway.
I stared out the picture window at the rolling waves and seabirds floating on air without moving their wings, effortlessly sailing the steady gusts of a summer breeze. The view was breathtaking, but I wasn’t feeling uplifted by any of the beauty in front of me.
After speaking with Marla and deciding to take her advice about calling Chad, I’d spent the prior evening thinking about him. I wondered what he was like, how it would be to have him around the house all day, and I fantasized about him sexually as well. There was no doubt that the neighbor boy was possibly the most beautiful creature I’d laid eyes on in years.
Chad appeared to be everything I wasn’t. He was a blond. I had black hair. He was boyish and energetic, similar to a newborn colt on a farm. I was mature, boring, probably jaded. Whereas he radiated sunshine. I felt like radiation from a nuclear meltdown. He seemed hopeful and joyous. I hadn’t felt joy in over two years.
Marla had been wrong and I would be smart to move on from the neighbor boy and grow a set of balls so I could take care of my own property. I was a grown man. I didn’t need some punk-ass surfer boy underfoot trying to run my show. I could handle my affairs without some snotty-nosed child. No matter my name-calling, Chad was stuck in my brain. All I had to do now was keep him the fuck away from my heart.
“You liar,” I muttered, catching my reflection in the glass of the door. “You’re just pissed because he didn’t come crawling back for a job.”
My eyes surveyed my new home. Marla had done a bang-up job with the interior. She knew my taste and had set up a home I could be proud of and would take little fuss to maintain. Unlike my pretentious New York apartment, I wanted a beach house that was inviting and simple.
The design crew had painted the interior walls bright white to match the bleached oak floors. Everything was light and airy with a clean and vibrant look. An oversized white sectional was paired with two navy side chairs and matching blue pillows were strewn across the sectional, tying the furniture together.
The kitchen, also all white, had a large island in the middle of it with a white quartz countertop. The sides of the island were wood-paneled and painted blue to match the chairs across the room.
Large canvas pieces of art adorned the walls. Abstract oil paintings of boats and ocean waves gave a modern feel to the house without being too beachy. The space looked comfortable without being too simple or too rich. I liked the inviting nature of my new home. But why did it feel empty?
I slid the large sliding glass doors open, the sounds of the sea immediately invading the quiet. The salty breeze filled my nostrils as I inhaled deeply, calming my sadness before I went to the dark place. I couldn’t bear another moment of melancholy, but couldn’t stop the train I was on, heading straight down the tracks to a town named Misery. Population one.
I had it all. Money, health, reasonably good looks. I knew people found me nice-looking. As awful as it sounds to think about oneself in those terms, I knew attractive people knew they were attractive. Society tells and shows them through experiences. Life is easier for beautiful people. My mother used to tell me that as a child.
“People will recognize your looks, Cole,” she’d lectured me. “It will be your job to show your appreciation through your actions. Remember to be kind at all times. That way, your beauty is enhanced.”
As a little boy, her words fell on deaf ears. As a teenager, I began to understand that being pleasing to people’s eyes had certain advantages. If you also came across as kind and took the time to acknowledge people respectfully, the world was your oyster.
But I had become jaded in New York City, where being attractive was the prerequisite in a city full of extraordinary beauties. I began to see that how I looked had little to do with my personal needs of wanting love. I saw how pretty people were disposable to each other. If all you were was the image you presented on the outside, you were doomed.
Alan, my ex, had become fearful of aging out of what’s considered desirable in the gay world. He couldn’t find happiness at having had his time in the spotlight and accepting that we all age. I wanted to slow down, to settle down, to live as a family would, happy in our maturity and the fact that we had one another.
Whereas I understood I had been lucky to be considered handsome, I wanted to be more than that. I wanted to be happy and fulfilled. Being with Alan was what had finally brought me the real success I craved, a good relationship, a chance at a family. Or so I’d thought.
And now here I sat. I was thirty-seven and single. My relationship had not been what I thought it was. I had not managed to cross over from the single life of a gay man in the world’s best city to reaping the rewards of my hard work by having a perfect life as a married couple. In fact, Alan had refused to marry me. He’d been resistant to the idea from the get-go despite me asking, suggesting, giving the benefits of, and anything else I could think of. That hadn’t stopped him from marrying the man he left me for within six months, though.
Marla was probably right. Moving wouldn’t solve the real issue. I was still bitter over my breakup. I was angry Alan found someone better in his eyes. I hadn’t been enough, despite giving all I had to that relationship. Life was unfair, as far as I was concerned. Mom had been right that I needed to offer Alan something more than my looks. I thought I’d done that, but apparently, I was shut off. Only surface deep with my vulnerability.
Alan hadn’t left me for no reason and I knew it. I could complain, commiserate, point, and blame, but I was as much at fault as he was. He just had the balls to say enough already, and he left. He knew that letting go, really letting go, was an impossibility for me. I didn’t trust I was enough for anyone. I pushed people away and sabotaged my own happiness.
Moving to a new location and attempting to leave that Cole behind in New York wouldn’t change a damn thing. I was the one that needed to change, to trust, to believe I was worth something more than my money or looks.
When your father emotionally abandons you when he discovers your sexuality at thirteen, and then your mother lacks the backbone to stand up to him, your teen years can suck. Mine did. And then, finally, the one man you choose to trust also leaves you… you begin to give up. That’s where I was. On the verge of giving up.
