Page 43 of After the Rain

"Kids are usually better at accepting love than adults are," Kane observed, carefully disconnecting the plumbing from the sink. "They don't get hung up on the packaging."

"Cooper likes Ezra," I said slowly. "A lot. He talks about him constantly, and he was devastated when our library plans got cancelled. I think he already knows something's different, even if he doesn't have words for it."

"Kids are like that," Jazz said. "They can sense when the adults in their lives are struggling with something, even when we think we're hiding it perfectly."

We finished demolishing the bathroom as the sun was setting, three years of ugly design choices reduced to debris bags and open space. Standing in the gutted room, I could finally see its potential—a spa-like retreat with a clawfoot tub positioned under the window to catch morning light, separate shower with custom tile work that honored the house's Victorian character, double vanity with period-appropriate fixtures and enough space for two people to get ready without choreographing around each other.

"You know what this room needs?" Jazz said, surveying our destructive handiwork with satisfaction.

"Everything," Kane replied promptly. "Literally everything. Plumbing, electrical, flooring, walls that aren't just exposed studs..."

"Besides all that," Jazz said, rolling her eyes. "It needs someone to enjoy it. All this beautiful restoration work is meaningless if you're too scared to actually live in the space you've created."

The observation hit like a well-aimed hammer blow. I'd been building this house for three years, creating spaces for the life I wanted without having the courage to actually live that life.

After Kane and Jazz left, I sat on the front porch steps with a beer, exhausted but oddly peaceful. The house felt different after a day of work with friends who understood both my renovation goals and my personal struggles. Three years of careful restoration, and I was finally starting to understand that I wasn't just fixing a house.

I foundmyself sitting in a waiting room forty miles from Cedar Falls, palms sweating as I stared at a magazine about mindful living that I couldn't focus on.

Dr. Marlow's office was nothing like I'd expected. No leather couch, no intimidating diplomas covering the walls. Instead, it felt like someone's comfortable living room—soft lighting, overstuffed chairs, a small fountain that created gentle white noise in the corner.

"Wade," she said when she came to get me, and I was surprised that she looked like someone's favorite aunt rather than the stern professional I'd imagined. "Thank you for coming. I know taking this step isn't easy."

We settled into chairs positioned at an angle to each other, close enough for conversation but not so direct that it felt like an interrogation. She had a yellow legal pad but didn't immediately start writing.

"So," she said with a warm smile, "tell me what brought you here."

I'd rehearsed this moment for days, but sitting there, the prepared words scattered like leaves in wind.

"I think I might be... I don't know what I am," I said finally. “Not that long ago, I kissed a man, and now I feel like everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong."

"That sounds overwhelming," she said, her voice carrying no judgment, only curiosity. "Can you tell me about that experience?"

So I did. I told her about Ezra, about the river, about the kiss that had shattered my understanding of myself. I told her about my marriage to Sarah, about how it had always felt like performance, about Cooper and my fears for his wellbeing if I turned out to be something other than what he'd always known.

Dr. Marlow listened without interrupting, occasionally nodding or making small sounds of understanding. When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.

"Wade, can I ask you something? Before this experience with Ezra, had you ever found yourself attracted to men?"

The question hit like cold water. "I... I don't know. Maybe? I mean, there were times when I'd see a guy and think he was attractive, but I assumed everyone did that. Like, objectively handsome, you know?"

"Mm-hmm. And how did those observations make you feel?"

"Confused, mostly. Like there was something wrong with me for noticing." I paused, remembering. "In college, there was this guy in my architecture program. David. I found myself looking forward to group projects because he'd be there, and I told myself it was because he was smart and easy to work with."

"But?"

"But I had dreams about him. And not just friend dreams." The admission felt like pulling out a splinter. "I convinced myself it was just... I don't know, curiosity or something. Guys experiment in college, right?"

"Some do. Others use that assumption to explain away feelings they're not ready to examine." She leaned forward slightly. "Wade, sexuality isn't a switch that gets flipped one day. For many people, it's something they discover gradually, sometimes over years."

"But I was married for fifteen years. I have a son."

"And how does having been married to a woman change how you felt when you kissed Ezra?"

The question stopped me cold. Because it didn't change anything. The kiss had felt like coming home, like discovering a room in my house I'd never known existed.

"It doesn't," I said quietly.

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