We’ve been binging the show since we got up this morning for no other reason than that it’s nice to lounge around. We were going to head down to the gym two hours ago, and yet, here we are. Fortunately, the gym in the building never closes, so we can go at any time.
Julian’s phone rings, and he shifts to reach for it. I know from experience that Julian paces when he talks on the phone,so I lean forward, allowing him space to get up. He does, leaning down to kiss my forehead, and then answers the phone.
“Hey.”
I lean back on the couch, bringing one of the throw pillows under my head so I can still watch TV, but my focus is on Julian as he wanders around.
I’m not sure who he’s talking to, and at first, the conversation sounds like hockey talk. Which means unless I’m hearing both sides of the conversation, I have no idea what they’re talking about. I’m not well enough versed in hockey to even guess.
Instead, I just listen to Julian’s voice. His laughter. I watch his facial expressions as he smiles, laughs, and just listens.
But their conversation turns to something else, and I concentrate a little more on what he’s saying.
“It went really well. The kids are definitely motivated and spent a lot of time commenting on the season and players in the league. They’re betting on Vegas to win the Cup this year, which means they’re not paying attention to Toby. They’ll learn eventually.”
In reference to the kids, I’m guessing he’s referring to the group of high school kids in a hockey league that he met up with for a hike a few days ago. I’m not sure who else he could be referring to.
“Nah. You know, I almost called you,” Julian says. “They started asking some weird, almost provoking questions about being on a team with gay men and your junk being checked out.”
I raise a brow. What the hell?
Julian laughs. “Nah. As it turns out, someone there is gay and apparently… I don’t know. Had some misgivings about whether he’d be accepted on a team? I never truly understood what Keno meant, but once I realized that the guys asking the questions weren’t being assholes, but trying to reassure someone else there, it felt… heavier but better at the same time.”
I frown. Why didn’t he say anything to me about this? I specifically asked how the hike went, and he did talk about it, but he didn’t say anything about this at all.
Once more, a pit forms in my gut. Shouldn’t these be the things that partners share?
“Yeah. It felt good to confirm that having a gay man on the team is no different from having a straight man on the team. But I was so irritated at the questions initially, I was borderline chastising them. It felt like irrational anger I couldn’t quite control, though I immediately felt better once I realized why they were asking.”
If he was upset, why didn’t he talk to me about it? I close my eyes and try not to let it bother me, but this moment reminds me of the time he introduced me to his friends as his friend. It’s like we keep taking steps backwards, and I’m not sure why.
Did I trigger this? Was it something I said? Am I trying to move us too quickly, and this is his way of pulling back a little?
My stomach twists, and I tune out his words. Instead, I listen to the tone of his voice mixed with the television commentary while trying to convince myself that this isn’t something I need to be concerned about. I’m getting ahead of myself. Everything isfine.
Itisfine. That’s the absolute truth.
I let those words run through my head like a scrolling marquee. I’m startled when the couch dips and my eyes fly open. Julian smiles as he climbs on top of me, lying on my chest and wrapping his arms under my shoulders.
This means something more than him not telling me when there was a conversation that upset him. Right? He’s choosing to take comfort from me. He doesn’t seek comfort from anyone else.
I hug him tightly, kissing the top of his head. I hook the leg he’s not pinning beneath him over the back of his calf.
“You know,” Julian says quietly, “I’ve wished for this very thing for so long. People talk about being touch starved or whatever, but I don’t think that properly describes what I feel. It’s not about touch. It’s more about affection and taking comfort in a specific someone’s arms. Does that make sense?”
See? This is fine. Everything is perfectly fine! I take a breath. “Yes. I agree.”
“You okay?”
Am I brave enough to say something? I’m shit at initiating conversations when something is bothering me. But I need to. That’s what you do in a relationship.
“Why didn’t you tell me that something about your hike bothered you?” I blurt, hearing the hurt in my voice. “Why aren’t you comfortable enough to confide in me?”
Now I’m holding my breath. It feels like everything inside me is filled with pressure against glass and it’s cracking. Getting ready to shatter.
Julian adjusts his arms under me so he can push himself up onto his forearms and look down at me. I try to keep the emotional tears from my eyes. When I’m frustrated with myself, tears form. Which only frustrates me more. It’s a vicious cycle.
“I’m sorry,” Julian says. “I promise, it has nothing to do with whether I’m comfortable sharing something with you.”
