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“I had to learn to live without you too, you know.”

I felt my long-simmering anger rising to the surface. “Ididn’t throw us away.Youdid.”

“She threatened to have an abortion if I didn’t leave you. I couldn’t live with that…”

Suddenly I saw Jackson as I had before, once again sixteen years old, this time doing the “right” thing, theexpectedthing.

“Poor Jackson, still mypreacher’s kid,” I said more sharply than I’d intended.

“Look, if I had refused, she would have had the abortion and told you anyway, which would have destroyed us. I chose the option with the least collateral damage.”

“I have to go,” I said and turned to walk away. Seeing me approach the car, Rio swung open his door, hopped out, and with more vigor than I’ve seen to date outside of sex, and despite his bad hip, he raced around the car to open the passenger door for me. This wasn’t unusual; he often opens doors and carries packages for me, but the baleful look he shot Jackson was. Jackson, for his part, glared at Rio.

As Rio and I pulled away from the curb, Jackson knelt behind his son and wrapped his arms around him as they both waved goodbye. Jackson’s love for Oren was palpable, even from the distance of the car. I marveled at that, given Jackson was a son unloved,despisedby his own father, yet he was able to love and cherish his own son.

I went back to thinking about Rio’s odd behavior. MJ had recently observed, “Jackson was always a gentleman, and that he cared for you was obvious, but he still treated you like a man. Rio treats like you’re his girlfriend.” This makes sense to me; Rio is straight, so he has only his relationships with women as a blueprint for our relationship, ergo if he is the man, I have to be by default the “woman.” But the possessiveness he’d just displayed couldn’t be traced to his understanding of the gender binary. Was he, I wondered suddenly, actuallyjealous?

“He still looks like a thug,” Rio said, breaking into my thoughts.

“Jackson? Maybe… There’s nothing of the thug in him, though. Never has been. He’s a gentleman.”

“Unlike me?” Rio shot back sharply.

“You? There’s nothing gentle about you. You’re a sexy beast.” And he is. If Jackson had been my preacher’s kid, Rio is my bad boy.

We fell silent. Rio seemed to be thinking hard about something.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Just thinking,” I said. Seeing Jackson had been like rereading an old favorite book—it’s not quite as you remembered it, and there are some favorite parts you’ve forgotten and still others you remember and still love. “He named his son Oren,” I added.

“Do you think that means anything in particular?” Rio asked in his usually incisive way.

My mind flashed back to the first terrible days after Jackson’s betrayal. I’d demanded to know what happened. He’d shrugged in frustration and said, “I love you. But now I have to love someone else.” In my hurt and confusion, I’d assumed he’d meant Kitt, but what if he’d meant Oren, his unborn son, the child he couldn’t bear to have aborted? Would that change anything?

“No idea,” I said, effectively ending the conversation but continuing to think over everything Jackson had said in our brief conversation.

Rio squeezed my shoulder. “Hey, babe, we’re home.”

I started.

“Where were you?” he asked. “You seemed so far away.”

I just shrugged, but in truth, Jackson had left me with a puzzle. When he’d raised his left hand in goodbye, I’d noticed he still had his wedding ring on. The one I’d given him. And I was puzzled by the odd possessiveness Rio had shown in front of Jackson. As for Jackson, well, I was puzzled by…everything. As I got out of the car, I wondered if it was my fate to be perpetually confused by the men in my life.

Gray (2019)

Monday, January 7, 2019, St. Jude—This morning, we were in the kitchen when one of Rio’s songs—a salsa-infused pop song of the sort popular at weddings and bar mitzvahs—came on the radio. “It’s your song,” I shouted.

He grinned. “Come,” I said grabbing his hand, “dance with me.”

He pulled away. “No. I’ve never danced with a man.”

“It’s no different to dancing with a woman.”

I suddenly remembered the time we were at a house party with MJ, and I hurt her feelings by refusing to dance with her because I didn’t want anyone to think I was straight.

“Dance with me,” I said, “and you can cross one more thing off your ‘never have I ever’ bucket list.