“That’s reductive.”
“It’s succinct.”
I frowned. “What about emotional intelligence, communication, shared values?—”
“Did you say ‘communication?’” Ray cut in. “Jeffrey, we haven’t had a meaningful conversation in six months until last week.”
I sighed. “Fine. ‘We bring complementary strengths—Ray is physically driven and thrives under pressure; Jeffrey analyzes challenges and strategizes.’”
“God, you sound like a job applicant.”
“That’s what this is, in a way!”
He leaned back and took another bite of his bar. “‘What’s your biggest weakness as a team?’” he read aloud.
We looked at each other.
“Trust,” I said.
“Control,” he said at the same time.
We both paused.
“Interesting,” I muttered, typingLearning to trust each other again after a breakdown in communication.
Ray raised an eyebrow. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
“It’s true,” I said, not looking up.
“Add that I can be impulsive and you’re overly cautious,” he said. “That’s honest, right?”
“I prefer to say I’m detail-oriented.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m ‘strategically spontaneous.’”
The next question read:What’s the most difficult challenge you’ve faced as a team?
I hesitated. Ray didn’t.
“Adopting a grieving five-year-old and raising him,” he said. “No contest.”
He was right. That had been the mountain we’d climbed together, hand-in-hand and sleepless.
I typed it in:Becoming parents overnight to our five-year-old nephew after a tragic accident—and building a loving, stable home for him as two gay men in Florida.
Ray read over my shoulder. “Damn, that actually gave me chills.”
“Thank you,” I said, surprised by the emotion in his voice.
Then came the final question:Why do you want to be on The Big Race?
Ray leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Because we need to find out if we still work as a team.”
I looked at him.
“That’s what this is for, right?” he added. “Not the prize. Not the travel. It’s us.”
I nodded, feeling that rare moment of clarity settle between us. I typed:
