25. Two Years, Three Months

A week after the ice storm passed, once Thad and I had nestled back into our secluded den of blankets and hot tea and reruns of Real Housewives of New York , he made an startling announcement one night:

“I’m thinking about moving in with Bettina.” He said it confidently, as if he was thrilled with himself, but I could tell there was fear there behind his left eye; it twitched just ever so.

“What?” I almost dropped my coco.

“I mean we had such a great time together during the blizzard; she asked me if I would like to share a little rent house with her. It’s just on the other side of campus, and she’s already talked to the landlord about it and she can’t afford it on her own. So I would really just be helping her out for about a year, maybe less. And I still would be here most of the time, but this way we could have some space, you know?”

I could not speak, looking for the biggest thing within reach to gore him with.

“Now don’t freak out,” Thad continued, more fear in his voice. “I didn’t say that I would. I just thought, I mean we always just seem to be in each other’s way around here. And you just go hide in your Study at night, and I’m left in here watching TV. And, again, it would probably only be for a year, maybe less, and then she would be able to afford it on her own, so it’s not even permanent. And I think it would be really fun, and good to give us some space, don’t you think?”

I was still unable to speak, overwhelmed and possibly having a very small stroke.

“Michael, are you okay?” Thad said, touching my arm.

I bared my teeth at him and he gasped and pulled away.  

Let me state this once and for all: Thaddeus James Clayton was spoilt rotten cap to core, like a honey baked Virginia ham left in the August sun for three days. Being raised as the only child of an only child in a house of utter affluence, Thad had been brought up with the notion that he and only he existed in this world or Thadworld as he so cutely called it. It was not that the Sun revolved around Thadworld, it’s that he, Thad, got to dictated whether there was a Sun at all.

And in this world, if there was one cookie left, it was Thad’s. And if there was one life preserver left, Thad would push elderly pregnant nuns overboard to get to it. In this world, his first and foremost thought was him, him, and him, and then maybe me, but actually probably him.   

I knew this about Thad going in, and I had always found it bizarrely endearing. This made him dangerous, which I found entrancing, like having a snake for a pet, a very, very selfish snake. And as I hefted my own Versailles-sized ego around too, at least we matched in our conjoined cries of “But what about me!” And all of this was well and good until he turned on me, as he often would, in a fit of complete obvious selfishness. And in these instances, I could not fathom him at all, and then was lost.       

When I could speak all I could sputter was, “So you want to break up?” I was not sure what I was feeling, but knew it involved internal bleeding somewhere deep inside.  

“No! No,” he said, rising from the couch. “Lord no! I love you! And I’ve loved living with you! I just thought it would be a fun change for a bit.”

“A fun change? A separation?”

“It’s not a separation. I would just be living somewhere else.”

“You know that’s the dictionary definition of a separation.” I frowned at him.

“Oh, hush. You know what I mean.” 

“And a year is not ‘a bit.’” I continued.

“Okay, a while. Whatever.” He corrected, with a dismissive wave. “I mean you’re always saying I’m in your hair over here.”

“I have never said that. Never. Bald men do not use that euphuism.”

“Oh, you have too!” He sat down at the desk. “On Saturday you told me to leave you alone when you were in your study.”

“Yes, I was working on my book and you were dancing around like an idiot, poking me with a wooden spoon! Of course I told you to leave me alone!”

“See, if I had my own place like I used to, then that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“When I said I wanted you to leave me while I worked on my book I didn’t mean that I wanted you to move out.” I was forcing myself not to cry; if I cried I lost all respect.

But his pitiful look to me told me he knew I was about to lose it.

“That’s not why,” he continued. “It’s just Bettina wants to move into this cute little place-she drove me by it-it’s a little two bedroom Tudor place with a turret! And it just came open and she can’t do it on her own, and I could help her out. Plus then you and I could have some space. Two birds one stone.” He smiled.

I stared at him and willed him to disintegrate, but he did not.  

He took a harried breath and continued, “We would still spend all sorts of time together, I just would have some of my stuff somewhere else for a while.” He caught himself. “I mean for about a year.”

“You mean your home would be somewhere else? This would no longer be your home.” Still sitting, almost perfectly still, I motioned to the room.  

“No, that’s not what I said. This would still be my home. That would just be where I stayed sometimes.”

“But that’s what would happen. This would no longer be your home.” I looked away.

Thad sighed and rubbed his head.

This was our second time to live together since the mid-1990’s, but the first where it was rather official. When we got back together over three years ago, he continued to live in his apartment for the first year, but when his lease was up, I just let him move in as he was over all the time anyway. Thank God he didn’t have much stuff, as I already had my housed decorated to the rafters (quite literally). For the last two years we had cohabitated, sometimes for the best and sometimes not. But I loved the fact that we were living together, and that is was solid, official, living and sleeping together day in and day out like a normal couple should.   

And everything had been great for the first year: we made lots of big meals and cooked cakes and had small dinner parties. But over the last year as our forced sobriety kicked in, I had noticed him getting antsy. He seemed to have become more solitary, more distant. We still had fun, but it was quieter fun on his part. And he had been staying over at Bettina’s more and more. At first I thought it was so he could go sneak a night of drinking, but then I realized he just wanted to get away. And the fact that she still drank but he did not, made me realize that he was really working at his  sobriety. And for that I was so proud of him.

But he clearly craved something I was not providing. And because of this, I had been waiting and dreading this exact pronouncement from him for the last six months. The reality of the announcement felt much worse than I had anticipated.    

“You’re over reacting.” He said standing, throwing up his hands. “I knew you would. When I talked to Mom about this, I said you would…”

“So you’ve already discussed this with your Mother?”

 “Well, yes,” He looked scared, as he should.

“You didn’t think you should discuss this with me first?”

“Michael, I am discussing it with you now. I just mentioned it to her because she’d be the one paying for the move and the rent and all. And she said she was fine with it, so I could have my own place again.”

“Yeah, of course she is, to get you away from me,” I spat, standing. “Does she think you and Bettina are dating? Did she agree to pay just in the hopes that you’ll go straight?”

“Stop it!” He said sternly.

 I was not allowed to make fun of his family, which was a very short road for me as they were easy, awful, fodder. And I was certainly not allowed to poke at his semi-closeted status among them.   

He turned away, “Look, just forget it.”

 Part of Thad’s make-up was that he had never worked. And coming from someone who had always worked, this was a difficult concept for me to grasp initially. His parents had always supported him, paying his rent, bills, car, spending, everything. But when he announced to them that he was going to move in with me, they cut off this massive line of credit. He knew they were punishing him for being gay, for daring to live with another man, but he never spoke of it. I was proud of him for walking away from their gold coins.

What this did mean was that once we he moved in, I got to pay for him, which I was okay with as I had the desire and the money. Luckily his mother could never truly deny him and provided him a monthly allowance check to cover his basic necessities. And for Thad this included jean short shorts, fashionable fur-lined snow boots, a pile of Madonna CDs, and weekly trips to the day spa to get a pedicure and strawberry blonde highlights. I know; the idles of the rich.

Let me say this again for those in the back row: Thad, at 39, still got an allowance from his parents. I know. Now the monthly check wasn’t grand, but it was enough money to keep him bound to them like a pretty little doggie on a tony golden leash. And oddly enough, he was okay with that, as at least he didn’t have to work.

But I knew the siren song of his parent’s free money would lure him back eventually. And as we had reached this recent ‘plateau’ in our relationship where Home Depot was the highlight of our weekend, I had wondered how long it would be before he caved back to their coinage.  

I got up and started to walk out of the room.

“Don’t you want to talk about this?” Thad asked, franticness in his voice.

“No. You’ve made up your mind; I can hear it in your voice.” I turned to him but could not look him in the eyes. “You didn’t want to talk to me about this; you wanted to tell me your decision. That you’re moving out.”

“No, not really…” he trailed off.

He stared at me and I stared at the ground.  

“I’ve just liked having you here.” I continued. “I’ve liked living with you. It’s felt real, more real than it ever has over the last twenty years. If you move out, then what? It’s like we’re going backwards. And I don’t want to break up again.”  

He came at me, arms out, “We are not breaking up, okay! Stop that! This is not moving backwards, this is just doing things a little different for a while.” 

Thad reached for my hands and I flinched.

“I will still be here,” he said. “We will still be together and hang out, and I will still make you dinner and I’ll spend the night, and it will be just like it is now, but I’ll just have somewhere else to go every once in a while. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Look at me.”

I couldn’t. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to be alone. I was bad alone. Bad like crazy attic big box-little box-plastic bag alone. I wanted him here. But if this is what he wanted, I could not stop him. And this was a regression to me; the start of the end.

“Look at me!” he said, weaving and bobbing to catch my eyes. “It will be fine, I swear!”

I finally looked at him with deep cold in my eyes and he withdrew.

We had made it living together for just over 2 years, our longest record yet.   

27. Dinner at Eight

          Later that Saturday afternoon Thad came up to me when I back out working in the yard and asked if he could take me to dinner that evening.

          “Really? And what’s the occasion?” I asked, holding my rake suspiciously. He seldom treated me; he seemed to think that was more within my bailiwick.

          “No occasion.” He smiled. “I just thought it would be nice.”

          I agreed and he smiled and went back inside.

          My raking because seriously more introspective after that.   

          We had a default Chinese buffet restaurant that we ate at on Saturday nights when he didn’t feel up to being adventurous or I just wanted comfort food. The place was a hole-in-the-wall, decorated with the typical red and gold dragons, scenic pictures of the Forbidden City, and gargantuan fat people. The restaurant was not in a very glamorous part of town, but the food was good and the Asian waitresses were always overjoyed to see us.

          “Welcome back, welcome back,” the perk Chinese server said, seating us in a broad American-sized booth.

          We went to help ourselves to the buffet immediately, coming back with overstuffed plates of lo mein, dumplings, beef broccoli, moo shu pork, pepper shrimp, and fried rice.   

          There was small talk, but it was very small. I resented him for wanting to move out. I could not overlook that, and buying me a plate of noodles was not going to change that. At least I could look at him now, albeit with hate in my eyes. I felt so disavowed, and knew through his Thadworld goggles he could not for one damn instant fathom why.

          “Hey, get this.” Thad said which a snort. “The other morning when you were at work, I was cleaning up around the house, getting ready to make lunch. And I had made the bed and was picking up clothes and just junk and throwing stuff away and throwing stuff over my shoulder and tossing things in the hamper, when I remembered that we were out of milk. And I was like ‘Oh, no!’ because I was going to  make mashed potatoes to go with the meatloaf for lunch.”

          He looked at me wide-eyed, and I realized he was now telling the dinnertime story. So not only was he buying me dinner he was also offering the meal’s entertainment. I softened, as he was trying, and I did appreciate that.

          “Yeah,” I said, giving him the green light to continue. 

          “So I was in jeans and that bright red sweater you got me in Italy, and I just slipped on some shoes and ran up to Homeland. Anyway, I walked in and the checkers all just stared at me and like there was something wrong, and then some of the people checking started looking at me weird, and I didn’t really think anything about it except maybe they were admiring my new fashionable Bettina hairdo.” He smiled and shook his head as he batted his eyes. Bettina had done some sort of horrifying Justin Bieber aberration to his head, but he loved, so I had just played along. But it made him look like he had a recently slain muppet taped to his head.   

          “Yes, it’s very fetching Clara Bo.”

          “Thank you. Bettina did a very good job. So I walked back to milk and as I was standing there one of the workers-the short guy with the big butt-you know who I mean?”
          “Yeah, the Little Big Lady Butt Guy?”

          “Yes. So Little Big Lady Butt Guy just walked by staring at me with his mouth open. And I started to think, ‘What is wrong with these people! Have they never seen a cute haircut before?’ But I didn’t say anything to him, because he and his Big Lady Butt have always scared me. And I was about to leave when I decided we needed scallions for the potatoes, so I went to vegetables and there was this little old lady smelling onions, and she literally almost fell down craning around to watch me walk by. And at that point I wondered if I had forgotten to put pants on or something, but I looked down and everything was covered. And I looked back at her and she was staring at me over a big pile of beefsteak tomatoes, and I just frowned at her as much as I could and stomped off up to the registers.”

          “Yeah?” I said, entertained.

          He smiled broadly and took a breath to continue, “So the tall hunky brunette guy was checking me out.”

          “Robert.”

          “How do you know that?” He stopped dead in his story.

          “They have name tags. He’s worked there about two years. He always talks to us when we’re there. I think you went to high school with him.”

          “I did not.”

          “Are you sure? Maybe you just forgot and you actually made out with him at a party and later tried to sell him weed out behind the band building.”

          “Oh, ha ha,” he deadpanned. “Becky never should have told your mother that.”

“But she did.” My ire was creeping out.

“Fine, whatever,” Thad said with a dismissive wave of his fork. “So lookit, Robert is checking me out, and he’s just looking at me all funny, like craning his head and bugging out his eyes, and I literally am just about to yell ‘What the Hell is wrong with you!?’ when I reach over to get my wallet out and as I turn my head I see that I have one of your giant dirty white tube socks hanging over my shoulder.”

          "You're kidding?" I burst out laughing.

          “No! And there I was,” Thad continued loudly, “thinking everyone was looking at my new fabulous haircut, when they were just looking at this filthy white tube sock of yours that I must have picked up off the bedroom floor and thrown over my shoulder and meant to toss into the hamper, but instead wore to the store like it was some kind of crazed Michael Jackson epaulette, brandished against my bright red sweater like I was an insane person!”

          We laughed uproariously.

          “So what did you do?” I wheezed between breaths.
          “I just bugged out my eyes, burst out laughing, and ran out of the store.”

          “You’re kidding? You didn’t even get the milk?”

          “No!” he stammered between breaths, “And I didn’t tell you becasue I was so mortified! But that’s why on Tuesday you didn’t get mashed potatoes with your meat loaf, just Pizza Flavored Combos!”

          “I thought meat loaf and Pizza Flavored Combos was a weird choice!”

          “I was just too embarrassed to tell you…and now I’m so mortified I won’t go back into Homeland!  I’m scarred! Scarred I tell you! All because of one of your dirty tube socks!”

          We laughed till we cried. We laughed so hard the table next to us looked over, and then the next. But I didn’t care. I had not laughed like that for a few days. It made me feel alive again. 

          “That is so hilarious…” I said once I could catch my breath. “So, so hilarious.”

          “I know!” he said wiping his eyes. 

          We both breathed heavy for a few minutes and ate a few more bites before I just blurted out, “I don’t want you to move out.”

          “I know.” He said soberly. “But it won’t be bad.”

          I looked him the eyes and saw there not a hint that he would budge. That crushed me inside. I was not going to be able to win this one no matter how much I sulked or fought.   

          “Then I guess I will just have to deal with it,” I sighed. The resignation hurt, but I didn't seem to have another choice.

          “It’ll be fun,” he said, upbeat. “Don’t worry about it. You will see me just as much as always, I swear.”

          He then changed the topic to talk about Ma’am and her latest run-in with the law: she apparently had been pulled over after running a stop sign in Nichol’s Hills, no driver’s license, no insurance card, and a Mai Tai in a big glass in hand. And somehow she got out of it with only a warning.

          As we talked, I could tell he was working to be sweet as possible, to ease me into the change. I didn’t want to, but I made myself pretend to enjoy the evening.

          All night he was charming, and all night I just wanted to cry.      

26. The Gaybor

         Sometime during early December a rather handsome man moved into the two-story white colonial down the street. Over Christmas break Thad and I saw him walking a big dog and we waved. Well, actually I waved and Thad frowned at me. But the guy waved back. I said I was just being neighborly, but Thad didn’t buy it. The guy was about our age, good shape, a striking fellow. And apparently single except for the drooly mastiff.

          Two days after Thad had announced his possible move out; we had still not discussed it any further. But by his sweetie-sweetie demeanor I could tell he had continued to plan it. I had come to no peace about it at all: I just wanted it to go away.

           To this end, I had avoided Thad as much as I could. My logic was that if he was that sick of me; let’s see how he fared through my chosen absence. And on this Saturday morning it was nice enough that I could hide from him out in the yard. As typical for Oklahoma weather, in the period of three days, the horrible February ice storm had been replaced by pleasant forty degree sunshine. Spring was on its way, harkened by the tiny pointy heads of the crocus and jonquils just emerging in my gardens.  

While raking leaves out of a flowerbed near the front sidewalk, the new neighbor jogged by with his big dog. But having my iPod headphones in I didn’t hear him, and not seeing him, almost backed-up directly into him. So we did a whole One Hundred and One Dalmatians tie-up with the leash, except with only one dog and two gays.

          Extradited myself, I apologized and he apologized and we laughed and he introduced himself.

          “Hey, sorry about that. I’m Steve. Steve Banks. I just moved in down the street.” He put out his hand and we shook.

          “Yeah, yeah. I’m Michael Stiles. We’ve-I’ve- seen you down there.” I had no idea what to say. I was out of breath, wearing a stupidly tight 80’s shirt, and completely flummoxed by the handsome man in tiny shorts standing in front of me. And his dog was growling at me, probably mad that I had just stomped on two of its paws.     

          “It’s a great neighborhood,” he said.

          “It is. It is a great neighborhood.” I was really just speechless. The man was very good-looking up close, which caused me to blush as I was an idiot around handsome men. 

          “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I just moved to Norman from Tulsa. I teach up at the University.”

          “You do! That’s great! So do I. Welcome to it.” I could talk work, no problem.

          “Thank you, thank you.” Steve laughed, “I guess a lot of faculty live around here? I’ve already met a few. What department are you?”

          “English. I’ve been there since 2000. And you?”

          “Architecture. Yeah. I haven’t seen you around…”

          “Well, it’s a big campus. Yeah, it’s a great place…”

          At this point I heard the screen door slam behind me with what sounded like a gale force wind. I turned: there stood Thad on the porch, nostrils flaring, telephone in hand.

          “It’s your mother!” he shrieked holding the phone away from him like an actor brandishing a sword in a Grand Guignol tragedy. He stomped back inside and the screen door slammed again.  

          I looked to Steve and embarassed said, “I…gotta go. Nice meeting you.”

          “Yeah, yeah. Nice meeting you.” He said. “Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime.” And then to the dog, “Come on Ennis.” 

          And I knew I shouldn’t, but then I watched him jog away, knowing Thad was watching from the window. As I slowly tilted my head back to the house, sure enough, there was Thad in the window, his face a Zulu mask of horror.

          I just smiled. He was the one moving out. He deserved it.  

          “Where’s the phone?” I asked as I walked in, a catbird seat look on my face.  

          “I told her you would call her back,” Thad snapped, lips pursed.  

          “What did she want?”

          “Oh, I don’t know. And who was that?” He said, hands on hips, eyes wide and crazy.

          “That’s the new neighbor. I literally just ran into him.” I said snugly. “He’s faculty at OU too. Architecture.”

          “Really?” Thad said walking up to me, circling. “He’s handsome.”

          “Well, I guess so.” I had to force myself not to giggling. “We just met, I mean I literally almost fell into him, I was raking…”

          “Yeah, I know. I saw the whole thing,” Thad said like a 70’s TV detective. “The whole thing.”     

          “Would you stop it! I’m allowed to talk to the neighbors. That’s why they call it ‘neighborly.’” Who was he to tell me what I could or couldn’t do-he was the one moving out. I was enjoying the look of pain on his face.

          “Is he gay?” Thad asked, pretending to straighten pillows on the couches.

          “Oh yeah,” I said with full vengeful gusto. “His dog’s named Ennis.”

          “Ennis? Like Brokeback Ennis?” Thad gasped. “Oh, yeah, he’s gay.”

          “Yup.”

          “I don’t think you should be friendly with him.” Thad said seriously, eyes wide like the Garden Rapist.   

          “And why not?”

          “You know why. That’s just trouble. You know it. You’re not allowed to talk to him.”

          “Oh, I’m not am I?” I laughed, “And how’s that?”

          “You’re just not.” Thad smiled at me, shaking a bit. “Nope.”  

           “Huh,” I said cockily. I looked Thad in the face, and with my eyes tried to convey this thought: ‘You have fun moving out, but I’ll be here -with him.’

It worked as Thad began to pace back and forth muttering to himself.

I just snickered.

          “Trouble with a capital T!” Thad said walking out of the room, shaking his finger.

          I found the phone and called Mom back.

          “Hello?” she said, then accidently hung up the phone.

I sighed and called her back.

“Hello?” she said again.

          “Yeah, hey. It’s me. You hung up on me again.”

“Oh, I just can’t figure out this new phone,” she said.

“Yeah, okay, fine. What did you want?”

          “ What you are talking about?” she asked.

          “You just called. What do you want?”

          “I didn’t call you…did I? I thought you called me,” she said in that confused elderly way that was becoming more common with her.  

          “Thad said you just called.”

          “No, no, I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

          I rolled my eyes, knowing Thad had lied just to have an excuse to walk out on the porch and break-up me talking to the Gaybor.   

          “Okay, it must have been a mistake. I’ll talk to you later.”

          “Well, while I have you on the phone, have you talked to your sister about this little Mexican boy she’s thinking about adopting? Smith is just livid…”

          “Mom, Mom,” I interrupted her. “Let me call you back.”

          “Well, do.”

          “I will. Bye.”

          I hung up and Thad walked by, heading to the Kitchen.   

          “Mom didn’t call,” I said. “You just lied to get me inside.”

          “Trouble with a capital T” he said with a frown and a shake of his crazy finger.

          I just giggled but tried not to let him hear me.  

28. Oliver Branch

           I have always been amazed at how stupid some undergraduates think I am. Sitting in my office grading the first round of papers from my Shakespeare’s Comedies class, I was absolutely appalled. Did these people think that I could not spot internet plagiarism? Did this one guy actually think that I would buy that this was his own original theory on Shakespeare’s use of twins, and not one just culled from Wikipedia’s Comedy of Errors page? Which is was, word for word. Really?

          My office phone rang, “This is Dr. Stiles.”

          “And this is Dr. Branch,” My good friend Oliver laughed melodiously. “You always sound so immensely professorial on the phone. I mean you can just hear the elbow patches on your corduroy jacket sing. ”

          “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I said. “How are you?”

          “Better now to be talking to you. Wanna do coffee?”

          “Sure.” I pushed the papers away from me in disgust. They could wait.

          I had met Oliver a number of years ago, after he took a position in the University Library. He was my age, our Humanities Librarian, having moved up from New Orleans after finishing his Ph.D. at Tulane in Literature. He was a good friend who had gifted me with Charlotte Bronte almost immediatley after mreeting him. He was also the biggest closet case I had ever met. And by biggest I’m talking walk-in closet sized. Oliver was gay as Christmas, gay as pink ink, gay as the day is long, but not really, poor thing. Like Hitler, Oliver too was closeted.  

          “It is charming, Spring and all,” Oliver said in his sweet as sassafras southern drawl. As we walked toward the Student Union he dramatically bowed to an emerging flower garden, and quoted, as was his way. “I wondered lonely as a cloud over vales and hills, until I came across a host of golden daffodil.’”

          He was a petite specimen of a man with a shock of dyed blonde hair. His attire was always early 80’s goth band, with a selection of silly jewelry. He was not as much handsome as he was interesting to look at. He winked up at me and I smirked back.

          A group of frat boys shuffled passed and one of them snickered.   

          “Stop it,” I snapped, embarrassed. I always tried to pass on campus. Oliver did not. Ever.

          “What?” Oliver pirouetted over to me, “May we not dance to the Rite of Spring?” He smiled, obviously enjoying my discomfort, and curtseyed.

          “Oh for God’s sake Branch, man up.” I snorted and stomped ahead.

          “Come back Jimmy Dean! Come back!” he called melodramatically, following me like one of the lost flock from Swan Lake.   

          Nothing had ever happened between Oliver and I, and not because I hadn’t tried. He used to be one of my drinking buddies, but each time he had just had enough liquor he would want to talk about Jesus and how Jesus wanted him to be straight. And there’s nothing more of a buzz kill than having Jesus appear at the bar after about 9 or 10 drinks. So we had always stayed platonic, which was for the best as he was a flat mess.

          Settled in a high-backed dark oak booth in the Union food court, we sipped our coffee and watched the students pass. 

          Oliver was blathering on about some new lace he had bought, “And it wasn’t exactly jacquard, but it was close, and the most lovely lilac color…”

          “Thad wants to move out.” I interrupted.

          “Really?” Oliver stopped, hands dancing mid air. “What brought this on? Is he back on the bottle?”

          “No.” I said sternly, not sure if I should continue. Oliver and Thad hated each other; and I assumed it was not just jealousy over me, but a deep seeded real hatred of everything the other stood for. They could not even speak politely in society, as it was always pointed between them. I was used to it, but I knew there was no way Oliver was going to go easy on Thad. But Oliver was my only really gay friend, even though he wasn’t, and I desperately wanted someone to talk to.   

          “Well, you said it wouldn’t last.” Oliver sighed.

          “It’s not that we’re breaking up. He just wants to move in with his friend Bettina.”

          “That Nubian coiffer?”

          “Yes.”

          “She scares the bejesus out of me.”

          “She should. She’s scary. He’s been hanging out over there more and more, and then he spent almost the entire ice storm at her house, and they just had a ball. A ball! And now she wants him to get a house with her, and he wants to move it. So we’re not breaking up.”

          “But he is moving out?” Oliver asked, one lone perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised.

          “Yes.”

          “That’s the bad thing about being gay.” He looked dramatically away, running a thin white hand through his hair like Daisy Buchanan.

          “And what’s that?” I sighed.

          “No permanence. Since there’s no gay marriage or adoption in Oklahoma, there’s nothing binding you together. It just makes the gays all floaty, just float over here and float over there. Nothing solid. Can you see a married couple with kids announcing, ‘Oh, one of us is moving out.’ No. That would be the end of that. But not, not with the gays. They just floaty, float, float.”

          “You know that’s why the State keeps us like this, not stable, so we’re not a threat. For as long as we can be looked on as party boys-no marriage-no kids-they don’t have to take us seriously. But there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Why haven’t you taken him up to Connecticut or Vermont or another of those gay marrying maple syrupy states and married him then? It wouldn’t count here, but at least it would count somewhere. It would give you some legitimacy. That piece of paper.”

“I’ve been okay with it being how it is. I’ve liked it like this…” I trailed off.

“Do you want to marry him?” Oliver asked, tapping a perfectly manicured nail to the table.

“Yeah…Yes,” I paused. “Just not right this minute. I mean by the time the Supreme Court finally makes gay marriage legal all over the country and all the states, including Oklahoma have to agree, I’m sure I’ll be ready by then.”

“So then just enjoy it. You said things had been kinda sang froid lately. Maybe this will be good for you two. Let you two know where you want to go. What you want. And if you’re not breaking up, the space might be nice.”

“You think?”

“Maybe it’s like separate bedroom. Couples do that. My parents have separate bedrooms, always have. Maybe this is just a natural progress, a lessening of the nesting. The next phase. But instead of separate bedroom you have separate flats.”

“Yeah. I guess. But I don’t want separate places…”           

“That which does not kills us makes us stronger,’ Mr. Nietzsche,” Oliver said tapping his head. “I guess this will really let you know if you want to be together or separate.”

“Huh.” I looked away.

Oliver cleared his throat and I could tell he was now uncomfortable with this: he could only briefly mainline gay before his God guilt kicked in. But he had given me some good advice: Maybe Thad moving out was the right thing for where we were right now. I certainly didn’t want to get married. I felt a bit better.  

“So I met this totally hot girl in the library the other day,” Oliver began without a whit of irony. “And she came up to the Reference Desk and she was, like, so into me.” He flattened his little lady hands on the table and smiled wide and joyous.      

I wanted to laugh, as I was pretty sure he was still a complete virgin, but I just played along as I always did. “Really?” I asked. “What did she look like?”

“Straight black hair like Tuesday Addams, and the wardrobe to match! Cute black babydoll dress, three-quarters length, with a little pink ruffley hem. I mean just precious. Precious!"

“Sounds precious.” I said.

“Oh, and her breasts,” he cooed. “Her breasts were huge! Huge! Both of them!”

“Nice, nice,” I said, using my coffee cup to cover my smirk.