I repeat, it is a short story, so those of you who don't see the point in short form fiction, keep moving. It is also romance with no mystery. What can I say? Sometimes even I just don't feel all that homicidal!
I hope to have it out sometime in March, but there are taxes to be paid (so very many taxes) and houses to be hunted (so very many houses). So we'll see.
Blurb:
Graham thinks Wyatt would feel more secure if they were married. Wyatt doesn't want to spoil Graham’s wedding plans. So who’s really doing who a favor?
Excerpt:
I was holding a
bag of frozen peas against my eye when Graham walked into the kitchen.
“No use,” he said.
“Mind control won’t work on pea-brains.”
“You’re telling
me.” I lowered the bag of frozen veggies.
“Whoa. What happened to you?”
“Tenth grade
biology.”
He dropped his
leather utility tote on the table, and moved to where I sat. His work-roughened
hands were gentle as he tipped my head back to study the puffy bruise on my
cheekbone. “Ouch. How the hell--”
“I walked into
it.”
“You walked into a
punch?” His touch was still gentle, but his gray eyes were searching.
“Yeah. I did.” I
replaced the cold bag against my hot face. “So stupid I can’t believe it.”
“What happened?”
“Mitch Frankel tackled
Richie Nunn.”
“What, your two
football stars? I thought they were best friends.”
“They are. Were.
Since they were kids. Little kids, I mean.”
“So--?”
I moved my head in
negation. “Who knows. Hormones probably.”
“Is it mating
season?”
“It’s always
mating season when you’re sixteen.”
“True.” Graham’s
smile grew thoughtful. “Five days before the wedding.”
I said shortly, “I
know. It’ll ruin the photos. Maybe we should postpone.”
I was kidding, of
course. Until I said it, I thought I was kidding. Graham thought I was kidding.
Or at least he laughed. But then his smile faded. His dark brows drew together.
He stared at me for a moment.
“You okay, Wyatt?”
he asked finally.
“Great.”
“No,” Graham said
slowly. He drew out the chair next to the table and sat down, facing me. “No,
you’re not.”
Not much for
talking, Graham, so this was a major effort on his part.
“I’m just
stressed.”
“Okay. Well…”
I huffed out an
exasperated breath as he trailed off.
“What’s going on?”
His gaze met mine, serious and steady.
I shook my head. I
didn’t begin to know how to explain this to Graham, when I was still trying to
explain it to myself.
“Cold feet?” He sounded
curious more than anything. The geologist observing shearing forces, noting
pressure and temperature.
“Do you think
maybe we’re…rushing into this?” I watched his face, but Graham didn’t give
anything away unless he chose to. Even after more than a year together, I
couldn’t always read him.
He said finally, evenly,
“You do.”
“Maybe.” I took a
deep breath. “Yes.”
“You don’t think
maybe you should have brought this up earlier?”
“Yes, I should
have brought it up earlier.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I said with a
hostility that caught even me off guard, “It was hard to get a word in edgewise
between the discussions of cake flavors and wedding favors.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I see.”
I don’t think he
did though.
Because I didn’t.
A few months before I wouldn’t have been able to think of anything that made me
happier than the idea of being married to Graham. I’d been overjoyed when he’d
brought the subject up. Proposed.
That was the official term for it. But that was before I figured out that we
were getting married for the wrong reasons. Marriage as relationship therapy.
Probably not a good
idea.
Certainly there
were cheaper methods -- given that a relatively small wedding cake started at
around a grand. Thank God it was June, because out-of-season flowers? We could
probably landscape the front yard for what we’d spend. Not that we would ever
landscape the front yard. Not that we’d ever change so much as a shrubbery or a
lighting fixture at the house on Startouch Drive
“Do you want to
call it off?” That was practical and straightforward Graham cutting right to
the heart of the matter. And cutting my heart out at the same time.
My swallow was
audible. No. I didn’t want to call it off. But I didn’t want us to be married
for the wrong reasons either. Marriage was difficult enough without entering
into it because we were afraid we wouldn’t make it if we weren’t legally bound
and gagged.
I mean, a few
years ago I hadn’t even thought marriage was a possibility. Let alone imagined
what was turning out to be my big fat gay wedding.
“I…don’t know,” I
admitted.
The planes of
Graham’s face grew harder, the lines more pronounced. But his voice was level
as he said, “That sounds like a yes to me.”
“I love you.”
“But you don’t
want to get married.”
I said again, “I
don’t know.”
“I do.” The chair
scraped noisily as Graham rose. His back was to me as he went to the sink and
stared out at the redwood deck and the green clouds of tree tops.
I rose too. “I do
want to get married,” I said. It was hard to get the words out past the increasing
tightness in my throat. “But I want it to be at the right time for the right
reasons.”
He said without
turning around, “And love isn’t the right reason?”
“It’s not the only
reason to get married.”
He finally turned.
“Then what do you want?”
“I…” I didn’t
understand the question.
That must have
been obvious because he said with that same unfamiliar hardness, “Are you
moving out?”
It felt like the gleaming
floorboards cracked beneath my feet. I unobtrusively placed my hand on the
table to steady myself. “Is that what you -- that’s not what I want. That’s not
what I’m saying.”
“What are you
saying, Wyatt? If you don’t want to get married, what do you want? What are we
doing? Because to choose not to make a commitment at this juncture feels serious
to me.”
At this juncture? He was angry and getting
angrier by the second, which I hadn’t expected. Probably because Graham had
never been genuinely angry with me before. That I was aware of anyway.
“I don’t want to
end anything.”
“But you don’t
want to move forward.”
How was it
possible that we were having this conversation? That I was somehow in the
position of being the one who didn’t want to move forward? By rights that
should have been Graham’s line. Graham was the one who had initially had
doubts, concerns, hesitations. I fell in love with Graham before Graham fell in
love with me. Not that I was keeping score. But it’s not like I didn’t
remember.
“I am committed to
us. To this relationship. I don’t want anything to change.”
He just stared.
“I mean that.”
He laughed. Or at
least he made a humorless sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh. “Okay.
You tell me what you think happens now.”
All the work he’d
put into this. All the planning and preparation. The expense. We would never
get our deposits back. It was way too late. It wasn’t about the money, but even
so, that disregard for his time and effort, that would be part of why he was so
furious, and I didn’t blame him. Why the hell hadn’t I spoken up?
“I’ll…take care of
everything,” I said. “I can call and let everyone know we’re postponing.”
“That would be
helpful.” Anyone else and I’d have known they were being sarcastic.
I said
tentatively, hopefully, “At least there’s no deposit on a reception hall.”
“Yeah, what a
relief,” Graham said coldly, and walked out of the kitchen.
