Page 17 of Gift of You
He glared at me, but I continued to wait for his response, feeling an odd sense of calm. It was usually me freaking out, blowing things way out of proportion and overthinking, but this situation wasn’t about me and my feelings. It was evident he was experiencing some things that were new to him, and the last thing I wanted to do was make the entire situation harder for him by making a bigger deal than it needed to be.
“It made me want things that I’d never wanted before.”
“Things with a man?”
“Yes.”
“With me?”
“Yes, dammit!”
“And that upset you?” I didn’t want to be hurt by his answer. It was obvious that it was a yes. It was written all over him. The question was, was he upset that he was attracted to a man or was he upset that he was attracted tome?
He stood up and began to pace, running his fingers roughly through his hair. “It’s confusing. How can I feel this way when I’ve never even looked at a guy like that before? I’ve been in love with Ally for almost twenty-five years, and then I read one gay sex scene and have dinner with a man, and I’m rocking a hard-on in another guy’s living room.”
He stopped pacing and turned to look at me, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just revealed. Was he hard now? I desperately wanted to look, but if he caught me, I thought there was a good chance it would scare him away.
I stood and walked slowly toward him, trying not to make any sudden moves. He was shifty, like a caged animal, and I put my hands in front of me to show him I meant no harm.
“Are you upset because you have feelings for a man? Or because it’s for someone other than Ally?”
His shoulders slumped and his chin dropped to his chest. “I don’t know. Both, probably.”
I studied him, trying to put myself in his shoes. What must it be like to find out that a concrete part of who you were was maybe not so concrete after all? I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t know I was gay. There were certainly times when I hid it, but it was always a fact of who I was. How would I feel if I found myself attracted to a woman when I’d never felt that way before?
The thought was unsettling.
“How can I help you? Do you want to talk about it?”
He glared at me again. “Do you really think I’m the kind of guy who wants to talk through myfeelings?” He said the word “feelings” like its letters were filled with venom, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I suppose not. But Iamhappy to answer questions, if you have them?”
“No. No questions. I just need the space to think.”
“Alright.” I stood. “I can take a hint.” I crossed the room, heading toward the door, but I couldn’t resist sharing a parting thought. “I know it’s a lot to think about, and honestly, I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in your position, but I can tell you that being gay... well, I’ve never regretted who I am. I might sometimes have wished people were more accepting—and thankfully that’s getting better than it was when I was growing up—but I’ve never wished not to be gay. I’ve enjoyed quite a few men over the years, and I’d never want it any other way.”
He eyed me, but his expression was unreadable, and he didn’t offer a response. “Merry Christmas, Matthew,” I said softly, and stepped back out into the cold night air.
14
MATTHEW
December 27
I spentthe day after Christmas attempting to avoid thinking about Louis. I was wildly unsuccessful.
With it being the day after a holiday, business was slow, so work didn’t provide a suitable distraction, and on the few occasions a customer did enter the store, I found myself disappointed that it wasn’t Louis walking through the door. Which was ridiculous. I’d told him I needed space to sort through the turmoil in my head, and I couldn’t do that with him right next to me. He was a distraction. He made me feel things. Uncomfortable things that I didn’t want to address.
I thought about him anyway.
In between failed attempts at not thinking about my predicament, I’d also finished preparing to record the audiobook. A part of me had wanted to avoid the book altogether, to contact the author’s PA and let them know I’d be backing out, but after Louis had left Christmas night, the damn book had plagued me, just sitting there next to my chair as if it were staring at me, daring me to finish it. After glaring atit, I’d picked it up, and had immediately been pulled back into the story. I’d finished reading around midnight, and damned if I hadn’t needed to take care of another raging hard-on. And I wasn’t even willing to discuss the fact that the image I’d had in my mind as I was doing so was of a slender bald man in black horn-rimmed glasses.
So yesterday, with the day mostly free from distraction, I’d begun my digital reread of the book, underlining and highlighting bits of text on my iPad using the system I’d devised to help me bring life to the characters. I’d worked on it most of the day, and had even recorded several chapters in the wee hours when I hadn’t been able to sleep. Feeling a sense of gratification that I’d finally accomplished something positive, I’d crawled into bed at two a.m. only to spend another forty-five minutes staring at the ceiling thinking about... you guessed it, Louis.
This morning, I woke up to four inches of snow and a headache. After clearing the walkway and stairs that served the upstairs units of our building, I shoveled the sidewalk outside the storefronts as well. I’d hoped the physical labor would put me in a better mood, but a little over an hour later, I was just as pissy and my headache was threatening to turn into a migraine.
I took some ibuprofen, then stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run over my aching muscles for a solid five minutes without moving. Everything felt heavy. My muscles. My thoughts. My heart. And damned if I wasn’t tired of feeling that way. I’d never been one for fits of exuberance, but I’d certainly felt happiness in my life. Contentment. Peace.
