Page 3 of Party of Three

“Same thing,” Buckley whispered into his ear.

2

After their first date, Mateo had a crazy dream about Buckley that inspired the first couples costume they wore to a Halloween party together. It was aGame of Throneskind of thing, which was weird because he’d petered out on the show after the third season.

In the dream, he was riding a horse through deep, dark woods, when suddenly there was a burst of light in the branches above. Buckley came floating down toward him, a cross between Cupid and some magical wood nymph, smiling and shimmering and shedding flecks of silver and blue that happened to be the same color as the polo shirt he’d worn to their first coffee date that afternoon. He raised some kind of wand and suddenly a burst of light enveloped Mateo. The horse was gone. The woods were gone. And he woke up painfully hard against the mattress and convinced that the guy with whom he’d only spent two blissful hours at a Laguna Beach Starbucks the day before was going to change his life for the better.

And he was right.

“Maybe shirtless was too much,” Buckley said at the kitchen table. He was nibbling on a tray of cantaloupe Mateo had cut for him. This was their ritual—they’d fuck like animals and then he’d make his luscious power bottom boyfriend some food. “Like, maybe next time I’ll come to the door in a tank top and you can peel it off me really slowly. What do you think? A little more resistance might amp the whole thing up. I’m thinkingmaybe it went too fast this time. Delayed gratification is better gratification, right? What do you think?”

Mateo smiled. Typically, Buckley would ask him what he thought of something about three times before finally letting him answer. Twice meant he was still worn out by passion.

He set a glass of juice he’d blended for him on the table, then bent down and kissed his boyfriend on the forehead. “It was perfect,papi. You don’t need to change a thing.”

“Even the best sex could use a little fine-tuning.”

“Not sure that’s possible if it’s the best.” He kissed him again, this time on the lips. “And trust me, it’s the best.”

Mateo was telling the truth, but he also wanted Buckley to get off his own back. No man had ever done what his first real boyfriend had done for him, created a safe space to not just share, but act out his deepest fantasies. But he was pushing himself too hard, never giving himself credit for a job well-done.

They came from different backgrounds, to say the least.

In the beginning, it had seemed to Mateo like his boyfriend’s childhood had been the better one. His parents had worked themselves to the bone to support their kids while preaching fire and brimstone to them morning, noon, and night, while Buckley’s lived off the sale of their start-up, got stoned at lunch, and sent him to schools where the teachers put flowers in the students’ hair every morning.

But parents who set you free to be yourself at an early age sometimes forgot to give you the attention you needed, and he figured that’s why Buckley sometimes talked and moved at a mile a minute, afraid of being forgotten or ignored.

He’d spent a fair amount of time around Buckley’s parents this past year. They were nice enough people, supportive of Buckley’s sexuality. But they only paid real attention to him when he was being funny or putting together some special project for their house. The minute Buckley started talking aboutsomething serious, something that might qualify as a personal problem, Mitch and Dana got distant. And kinda bored. There was no other word for it. The thought they might have treated Buckley this way when he was a little boy—like he was a friend who was supposed to entertain them and not their child—made Mateo’s heart heavy.

As a result, grown-up Buckley was so busy trying to make everyone else happy, Mateo sometimes was left wondering if Buckley was truly happy.

“I’ll tell you what I’m more worried about,” he said. “Our little role-play days are feeling kinda one way. When are we doing one ofyourfantasies, babe?”

“You’remy fantasy,” Buckley said with a sweet smile.

Mateo pinched one of his baby cheeks, which was what he always did when he knew Buckley was being evasive by putting others’ needs ahead of his own.

“Besides, it’s your birthday. This weekend’s all about you. Remember, your sister’s picking you up at seven tomorrow and driving you to the hotel because I have to get there early to set up.”

“Don’t worry. I saved all five instructional emails.” He winked. Really it had been three, but who was counting? Each one had made him smile. “Anything else I should prepare for? A water gun salute maybe?”

“I’d prefer the details of your shindig be kept under wraps until the final hour.”

“Gotcha.”

He turned to the cutting board he’d laid out earlier. On weekends and in between study sessions, he always prepped food for them both. Buckley’s shifts as an EMT had him crawling home at all hours, ready to scarf down leftover doughnuts for dinner if it was the first thing within reach. He also hated vegetables, so Mateo was always looking for ways to sneakgreen things into dishes he already loved. This week’s recipe was a healthy version of a taco—the meat was ground lamb, and he was blending it with zucchini he’d diced so small he’d barely know it was there. “Sapphire Cove,” he said as he started chopping again. “Lotta drama at that place. Hope it doesn’t fall into the sea before tomorrow night.”

“Alright, now. It’s had its moments, but it’s doing great.”

And the general manager was an old high school friend of Buckley’s, so he’d probably been able to finagle a great discount on something really classy.

Lose the snark. This is going to be the best birthday you’ve ever had.

But there was a dark edge to his gratitude. He knew why the love of his life was really knocking himself out for his birthday this year. To make up for the two people who wouldn’t be there—the parents who’d told Mateo his relationship with Buckley wasagainst God.

“I’m so psyched, babe. Seriously. Nobody’s ever thrown a party like this for me before.”

Had he washed the second zucchini? He couldn’t remember, so he ran it under the faucet. Something next to the phone caught his eye. An orange envelope. It looked familiar. It should, he realized, as he picked it up. The handwriting on it was his. The bright yellow sticker was covering up the Oceanside street address right underneath the name Jeff Braxton.

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