“I’m sorry,” Graham and Archie spoke over each other as soon as the car doors shut.
“What –”
“Why are you –”
“Sorry –” Archie repeated. “You go.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“I didn’t expect Adam to give you the third degree about everything. Next week. Us,” Archie explained. “I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but still.”
“No,” Graham shook his head. “He was right, though. He asked valid questions and I should’ve had a better answer than I don’t know. You deserve better than that.”
“But we don’t know,” Archie clarified.
“I know!” Graham cried in frustration. “And that’s the problem. I leave in a fucking week, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do after that.”
“It’s not your fault we haven’t figured it all out yet. I’ve been trying not to think past next week either, so it’s just as much my fault as yours.”
“But it’s my job. I’m the one leaving. That’s not your fault,” Graham reminded him.
“Look,” Archie sighed. “I know this wasn’t on your To Do List, and I know you’ve been processing a lot during all this so…I just don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. You don't. I know you have more to figure out in life right now than just me.”
Graham sighed.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I wish I knew how to make this easier.”
He felt Archie take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay. Really. I'm glad this has been what it is, and it's okay if you can't…or, if we don't…” His voice trailed off. “I knew the risk, okay? I knew what I was getting into.”
He wanted to push back, to say it wasn’t okay. He wanted to tell Archie he was the only thing that mattered, the only thing he wanted to figure out, to hell with everything else. But he knew that things weren’t so simple. He still had plenty of other variables in his life that needed solving first, and so did Archie. He had decisions about school, he had family, he had a whole life ahead of him to build. Graham couldn’t ask him to sacrifice all that potential. It didn’t seem right.
And the way he said it – he knew what he was getting into – it sounded so final. So resigned. Like somehow he’d made his peace with it. Maybe Graham needed to do the same.
They drove back to the hotel in relative silence, music playing lightly out of the speakers. Graham had a thousand things he wanted to say to lift the mood, to ease the uncertainty, but they all felt forced. Insufficient. He wished he were the type of person to make reckless decisions, to take big risks and ignore facts for the sake of feelings, but he didn’t know how. Too many years of being careful, cautious, and conscientious had created ruts too deep for him to steer himself out of now. He felt angry and stuck, and he knew it was nobody’s fault but his own.
So he drove the well-known path back to the hotel and put the car in park.
“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” he asked gently.
“Actually,” Archie began. Graham’s breath caught in his chest, bracing for bad news. “I was just thinking, since it’s kind of a special weekend, maybe we could stay at my place?”
“Yeah?” Graham asked, perking up.
“Yeah. I’d like to show it to you, if you’d like to see it.”
“I would,” Graham answered. “Absolutely.”
A half-hour later they pulled into Archie’s apartment complex. The complex was enormous and a bit of a maze. The parking lot wove between buildings that had been erected seemingly at random until finally they reached one Archie identified as his. Graham was glad he wasn’t trying to find it on his own.
They claimed a parking spot and walked quietly through the cool night air. Archie guided them up the stairs to the third floor and led them down the outdoor hallway until he stopped at the last door on the left. A small, worn welcome mat sat in front of the door next to a pair of tattered slides. Graham took in these details while Archie fished for his keys from his pocket and opened the front door.
The apartment was a respectable size – not any smaller than Graham’s back home – and tastefully if minimally furnished. An old sofa occupied most of the living room, covered in pillows. Across the room, a large tv sat on a worn-looking cabinet, which housed a few gaming consoles and a basket of different cords and devices. Two bookshelves, crowded with books and knick knacks, flanked the tv. But the most eye-catching feature was Archie’s collection of plants.
Flashes of green burst out from all corners of the room: a peace lily rested by the window, a philodendron sat atop the kitchen bar, snake plants sprouted from the coffee table, and a garrison of succulents guarded the bookshelves. Graham smiled, reminded of Archie’s enthusiasm on their trip to the plant shop a few weekends ago, thrilled to discover one new thing about him.
“Sorry it’s not super clean,” Archie said bashfully, collecting a few glasses from the coffee table and quickly clearing the kitchen counters. “I wish I’d thought about this earlier.”
“It’s great,” Graham assured him. And it was. It was messy in that warm, lived-in sort of way, a far cry from Graham’s sterile hotel room. A far cry from Graham’s own lifeless apartment. He remembered Archie’s comments about Graham’s hotel room, about his inability to go through Graham’s things and weave together a tapestry from all his belongings, a story of what made him Graham. At the time, he hadn’t really understood his meaning, but now he got it. Before him was a whole life, a whole personality, a whole collection of things that revealed who Archie was when no one else was looking, and Graham’s heart swelled at the chance to see it.
He dropped his overnight bag by the couch and walked to the bookshelves to see its contents more clearly – a photo of Archie with friends at what looked like an arts festival or street fair, ticket stubs to a concert for a band Graham had never heard of, a metal for cycling race Archie must have competed in, and a surprising collection of manga and what appeared to be queer romance novels.
“I didn’t know you were a reader,” Graham observed, scanning the titles of a few books.
“I dabble,” Archie answered from the kitchen. He finished throwing a few things into the dishwasher and came to join Graham at the bookshelf. “After that whole…incident you heard about at dinner, I had a lot of trouble sleeping. Eventually, I got sick of scrolling on my phone so I picked up this book I’d bought when I was out one day with friends, and it was really good. I found out it had a sequel so I got that one. Then I just went down a rabbit hole.”
Graham pulled out one of the novels and looked at the cover. It showed the silhouettes of two men in a tender embrace, the fire escapes of New York crisscrossing the page behind them.
“Were they any good?”
“I thought so,” Archie answered. He rested his chin on Graham’s shoulder, his body pressing against Graham’s back. “But I'm kind of a sucker for a good love story.”
“I can see that,” Graham chuckled. “You know, I’m just now realizing, I don’t think I’ve ever read a gay romance.”
“Yeah?” Archie asked.
“Yeah,” Graham confessed. “I haven’t read one. I haven’t seen one. I’m sure that's a lack of effort on my part more than a lack of options.”
“I don't know, they aren't exactly mainstream.”
“I guess not. Still, I never sought one out.”
“How come?” Archie asked.
Graham returned the book to the shelf and thought for a moment, resting his hands on top of Archie’s.
“I guess they never felt like mine before. They didn't feel relevant.”
“You weren't even a little curious?”
“Well,” Graham paused. “I mean, sure, I've watched a little gay porn here and there.”
“Oh, is that so?” Archie’s voice was warm with amusement.
“I wanted to see what the fuss was about.”
Archie laughed, his body shaking against Graham's. “And?”
“It's better in person,” Graham quipped. “But, I don't know, I guess I just always associated gay guys with sex, not with romance. Does that sound horrible?”
“Not really,” Archie assured him. “I think a lot of people do. I think most of the time gay men are portrayed as these shallow, hypersexual creatures. We focus on these hot, naked bodies and forget that there's a whole person underneath. Like, God forbid we have needs and aspirations and feelings. And romance? Forget about it.”
Graham laughed.
“What?” Archie asked.
“Sorry,” Graham said quickly. “That's just the first time you've ever sounded Italian.”
Archie barked a surprise laugh. “Oh, fuck you!”
“Fuhgettaboutit,” Graham teased.
Archie growled and brought his arms up under Graham's shoulders, wrapping his hands behind Graham's neck.
“Don't make me go Dominic on you,” he joked.
“You wouldn't,” Graham smirked.
He felt Archie press up behind him and grind his hips into Graham's backside. Suddenly, he felt hot breath on his ear.”
“Try me,” Archie purred.
Graham exhaled and relaxed, the tension draining from his arms and shoulders as he melted onto Archie's grasp. Finally, Archie released his arms and kissed the back of Graham's neck, nibbling on the back of his ear. His hands traveled down Graham's stomach.
“Can I ask you something?” he heard himself ask.
“Of course,” Archie answered against his neck.
“That story from dinner…about the married guy.” He felt Archie’s posture change behind him. Not stiffen, not flinch, just still.
“Yeah?”
“How come,” Graham continued, “you never told me about him before?”
Archie sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I was embarrassed. I mean, it’s really embarrassing. It was stupid and reckless and…” He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to think of me as this dumb kid with terrible judgment. I didn’t want you to think this was just that, repeating itself with slightly different packaging.”
“Archie,” Graham turned to face him, his hands resting on Archie’s sides. “I have never thought that.”
“Thanks,” Archie said flatly, his eyes fixated on the floor.
“Do you…want to talk about it?”
Archie shrugged. “I don’t know what all there is to say. You got a pretty good rundown at dinner.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Grindr. Big surprise.”
“Was he, you know…” Graham paused. “Older?”
Archie nodded. “He was in his forties.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
“Oh,” Graham grimaced, the answer souring his stomach. “That’s…I hate that.”
“I didn’t seem to mind at the time,” Archie rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe I just have daddy issues.”
Graham felt his arms flinch slightly at the joke. He wasn’t sure why. No doubt some long-ignored, homophobic ramblings he’d heard about gay men from the Church. But another, darker thought crossed his mind. A question. Was that part of Graham's appeal? Was he just an opportunity to indulge a fantasy as opposed to a real option? Was he just an escape from Archie's normal life – normal relationships, normal dating, normal hookups – with no long-term considerations or consequences? The idea hit him like a fist. It couldn't be true, could it?
Archie must have felt this reaction, because he immediately looked up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…that’s not what this is. I swear that’s not my…my type or anything.”
Graham smiled, nodded. “I believe you. I mean, you haven’t even called me ‘Daddy’ once.”
Archie laughed, a response that lifted the heaviness from the air. “Do you want me to? I could try it if you want me to.”
“God, please don’t,” Graham chuckled.
Archie leaned forward, resting against Graham’s chest. Graham tightened his arms, holding him close, letting the contact, the pressure, the weight sooth his anxieties from moments earlier.
“I hope,” Graham began, “I haven’t…made you feel like he did. Like that whole situation did.” Graham felt a pang of guilt as he considered the similarities. The age gap. The isolation of it all. “You…you’re not just some secret I’m holding on the side.”
“Graham,” Archie looked up, cutting him off. “He lied to me for two months about being married. You’ve been nothing but honest with me since day one. You’re not the same.”
“You still deserve better,” Graham mumbled.
“How?”
“You deserve something more. Something…sure.”
Archie looked at him, his eyes heavy, hard to read. “Maybe. But where would be the fun in that?”
Graham laughed, a hollow humorless sound. He felt the weight beneath Archie’s comment, the longing behind the laugh. The desire for something stable, something certain. Something Graham didn’t know how to offer.
What was he supposed to do? Move to Des Moines? Leave behind his life, his job, his son, for some five-week fling with a guy who might decide in a few years he didn’t want to commit to someone rapidly approaching middle-aged? How could he justify that decision? How would he ever explain it to Eli? To Julie?
The other option wasn’t any better. Asking Archie to uproot his life, leave his friends, his family – estranged or otherwise – felt unfair, unthinkable.
“I’m sorry” Graham repeated, holding Archie against his chest.
“You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” Archie said. He wrapped his arms around Graham, and for a long moment they stood there, feeling the gentle knocking of heartbeats, feeling their chests rise and fall with breath. Archie nuzzled further into his chest, feeling uncharacteristically fragile. Graham leaned down and kissed the crown of his head. His hair smelled like rosemary and tea tree oil, fresh, herbal, masculine.
Eventually, Archie pulled back and looked up at Graham, his face carefully composed. “Can I show you the bedroom?” He asked, his voice low.
“Yes, please,” Graham nodded.
Archie’s bedroom was simple, just a bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. A few more plants were scattered about, contrasting against the blond wood furniture and the black duvet, but Graham hardly had time to notice. He was too busy helping Archie undress, slowly, languidly, pulling off belts and peeling off jeans until they both fell naked onto the bed.
They moved without urgency, without hesitation, like what had once been a strange fascination had now become a familiar delight, like a favorite ice cream or a cold beer, something one craved after a long, hard day. They kissed, letting their hands work over each other with tenderness and care.
Afterwards, they lay sprawled across the bed, Graham on his back, Archie resting across his stomach, drawing a lazy figure-eight across his sternum.
“Damn,” Graham marveled. “I think we keep getting better at that.”
Archie chuckled. “No notes.”
For a while, they rested, listening to the sound of the other's breathing. It was growing late, and between the dwindling effects of the night's alcohol and the emotional burden he’d been carrying, Graham found himself dangerously close to sleep.
“You know,” Graham mumbled, his voice heavy with drowsiness. “To your comment earlier, this hasn't just been about sex…for me.”
“I know,” Archie mumbled, his own voice thick and hazy. “Me neither.”
It was an honest answer, one that should have warmed Graham’s heart or filled him with relief, and yet it had an opposite effect, settling into the base of his stomach like a leaden ball, heavy and indigestible, raising a flurry of other questions, more complicated ones that, at the late hour, he had no idea what to do with; and so, he let them float through the air like fireflies, making their presence known, fading into the background, until eventually he drifted off to sleep.
