Page 7 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

“Teach me how to be gay,” I blurt desperately when I finally locate my cousin in his living room.

“Drew?” he squawks, his head jolting up from where it was resting on the back of the couch.

Between his knees, his husband, Terry, pops off his dick and dives to the floor on his stomach, screeching, “Oh, my God! What the fuck?”

Fucking Lucas. What did he mean, nothing about me says ‘gay ? ’ I’ve known my cousin Shaw my entire life. I guarantee I know more about being gay than the Army Ranger extraordinaire, but fuck it all if I’m going to be the one to screw this deal up.

Moving further into the living room, I head between the coffee table and the sectional as Shaw swipes up a throw pillow and covers his lap with it. What is the big deal? It’s a dick. I’ve seen it before. Mine’s better. Case closed.

“I didn’t hear the doorbell. Did you even knock?” Shaw asks, straightening up as I take a seat on the other end of the sectional.

“I have a key, remember?” I huff, scooching back to get comfortable.

“He’s sitting down. Why is he sitting down?” Terry calls from under the coffee table.

Sighing, Shaw covers his face with one hand. “The key is for emergencies. You can’t just walk in here unannounced.”

“This is an emergency. I need your help.”

“He’s still speaking! Why is he speaking?” Terry barks from his hiding place as his hand sneaks out to retrieve his shirt from the floor.

Is he going to stay down there all day? They’ve been married for ten years, and he’s been uptight for the entirety of them. I’m surprised Shaw was even getting a beejer from him in the middle of the day with a personality like that.

“Really?” I look at Shaw as I gesture to the table.

“Terry, just come on out. You know he’s not going to leave,” Shaw mutters.

Huffing, Terry’s reddened face emerges when he pops up like a prairie dog and glares at me. “We could have been fucking. What is wrong with you?”

“I told you— emergency .”

“Wait.” Shaw squints at me. “Did you ask me to teach you how to be gay? Are you…coming out? Is this you coming out?”

Terry’s eyes go wide, and he smacks Shaw on the knee. “Holy shit! I freaking called it. Did I not call it?”

Called it? He thought I was in the closet? He might as well dive back under the coffee table if he’s that unperceptive. I came here for good advice.

“What? No! I’m not joining the club. I just need a day pass to sink a deal at work. The Hepperly throuple wants to make a three-property purchase, and yours truly has been assigned to spend the next month with them doing the viewings.”

“ The Hepperlys,” Terry parrots, pausing his shirt halfway over his shoulders. “As in the pop star, financier, and survivalist TV show host Hepperlys?”

“Are there other Hepperlys?” I throw a hand up.

Terry reacts to my sarcasm with a disapproving noise and stomps around the couch toward the kitchen area.

Running his fingers through his curly brown hair, he mutters, “That is so not fair that you get to hang out with them.” He pauses halfway to the island counter, though, and spins back around.

“Wait a minute. Why did you say you need a gay day pass?”

“Lou assigned another agent to show them the properties with me, and they, for some reason, assumed that we’re a couple, so…I just went with it.”

“You what?” Shaw gapes.

Terry scoffs, but then throws a hand out and looks at my cousin. “See? I’m not the only one.”

Why does everyone think I’m gay all of a sudden?

It’s not my fault Lucas’ opening line to Dario was a profession of his love for him.

When I said the word ‘partner , ’ I didn’t think they’d take that as a romantic partner.

Once the assumption was made, I honestly saw no other viable option considering how Destination had just shit on them.

Sighing, I scrub my face, frustrated by this interrogation.

“Look. It was out of my hands. Okay? Lucas fangirled over Dario because apparently, he has a giant man-crush on him, and then I introduced him as my ‘partner,’ but I meant work partner. Your dad said they came to us because the last agency was bigoted toward them, so I figured what better way to make them feel welcome and accepted?”

“By lying to them?” Terry chirps. “Ugh. I can’t with you.” Throwing his hands up, he stomps deeper into the kitchen. Hopefully, he’ll stay there.

“So…not only do you now need to present as a gay man, but you need to present as a gay couple with…” Shaw trails off. “Wait a minute. Isn’t Lucas that guy who kicked your ass last year?”

“He did not kick my ass.”

Why is he laughing? It wasn’t funny then, and it’s not funny now.

“Oh, man. I can just imagine what my dad thinks about this.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, shifting on the cushion at the thought of steam coming out of Uncle Lou’s ears. “Can you help me or not?”

Shaw studies me for a moment and then guffaws. “Oh, brother. He doesn’t know, does he?”

Pious people practice vows of silence. Right? You’d think that would mean some kind of higher power would be in their favor, but it does zilch for me at the moment, producing another round of laughter from Shaw.

Sighing, I get up and head to the fridge. If they’re going to torture me, they could at least offer me a beverage. “I’ll tell him,” I throw over my shoulder. “Just…after I get on the plane.”

Terry frowns at me when I pull a beer out of the fridge and pop the cap off. As soon as I set it on the counter, he slaps his palm over it and whips it into the garbage can like it was a dirty diaper. Can you say dramatic?

“Cranky much?” I challenge. “ Sorry I interrupted your fucking.”

“Uh, hello. Not fucking because of you . This was the first time we were both home together in two weeks.”

“Well, then make this quick, so you can get back to it. How do I pull off looking like a boyfriend?”

“Oh, my God,” he laughs, covering his mouth like he’s containing excitement over a secret. “You don’t need to know how to be gay, you need to know how to not look like an insensitive asshole.”

“What?”

“You don’t date. You’ve never dated in all the years I’ve known you.” Glancing over at my cousin, he calls out, “Shaw? Help me out here. Am I right?”

No shit, I don’t date. Terry’s not getting a rocket scientist award from me for that remark. I watch Shaw tromp into the kitchen and impatiently wait for one of them to offer something helpful.

“Drew, gay, bi, pan people—anyone who’s attracted to men—you can’t just lump their behavior, looks, or idiosyncrasies into a collective. That’s insulting, even for you.”

“Ugh. You know what I meant,” I say, speaking to the ceiling because it might listen better than these two. “Only the Hepperlys and Terry think I’m into guys. I just want to keep it that way until they buy some islands, which, I might add, will bulk up your inheritance.”

“You are so disgusting,” Terry mutters and stalks off to do the dishes, angry style.

“Gee,” Shaw deadpans, grabbing a jug of orange juice from the fridge. “That is so thoughtful of you, but I think I’ve done all right without waiting for Dad to kick the bucket.”

I drum my fingers as he drinks straight from the container.

Silently, I note that Terry flashes him the stink eye.

I know Shaw is right. No two gay men are the same.

Some freak out over beer bottle caps being left on the counter, while others drink directly from orange juice jugs.

Got it. That’s just human nature, sexual preferences aside. But Terry’s right, too. I don’t date.

While I have an inkling of what it might be like to date a woman, I have no freaking clue what it looks like to date a guy.

The part after dating, I fully comprehend.

Look at these two ill-matched people, bickering over stupid shit all the time.

Look at my parents—copacetic enough as long as they each avoid the other’s lengthy list of triggers.

Marriage is chaining yourself to the idea of tolerating a bunch of crap no sane person needs in their life.

That is why I don’t date. And yet, every single one of my friends has fallen down that pit of despair, even my favorite cousin.

At least he and Terry don’t have kids, so I can still hang out with them without having to hear how they can try to squeeze me in around playdates and little league schedules like my other friends.

And that’s only if and when they can find babysitters.

I stand firm. Marriage is a chain. Children are the anchor attached to it.

I am perfectly fine being a parasail zipping by unfettered, even if it does occasionally get boring and lonely.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Shaw digresses.

“Just be attentive. Look like you give a shit about everything Lucas says or does. Everything he doesn’t say or do.

Include him in the conversations. I’d tell you to throw out stories about things you’ve done together as a couple, but—” he holds out a hand, “—here we are.”

“I can be attentive.”

“Newsflash,” Terry pipes in, violently scrubbing a dish. “Attentive means thoughtful. Pulling out chairs, getting his favorite coffee, and rubbing his shoulders when he looks tense. Doing things without being asked.”

Shaw sidles up behind Terry just then and starts kneading the muscle at the side of his neck as he places a kiss on his cheek. Terry visibly relaxes, his mouth ticking up at the corner. That is so needy— gross .

“So, I’m supposed to be an emotional support dog for the most aggravating man on the planet?”

“You made the bed, bro,” Shaw laughs. “It’s your choice if you want to sleep in it.”

Terry chuckles silently along with him. One minute, he’s shrieking, the next he’s in stitches over my misery. Why did I come here?

“I’m glad this is so amusing to both of you. Is this any way to treat the best man at your wedding?”

“That was not by my choice,” Terry voices, not even trying to mumble under his breath.