Something Beautiful (9 page)

"I feel fine, honey. Just fine. I just want to cuddle you."

"Aw, Dunie." Micah hugged Dune closer, bit his lip and took a deep breath. "You don't have to see Gavin if you don't want to."

Dune pulled back to give him an odd look. "Why do you think I'm thinking about Gavin?"

"Aren't you? I would be, in your shoes."

Dune sighed. "Okay. You've caught me. I'm thinking about him -- trying to figure out what I should do. Part of me wants to prove how well I'm doing without him. Part of me remembers what it was like when it was good."

"Oh," Micah said.

"You think I shouldn't go back to him."

"I think," Micah said slowly, "that you know what's best for you."

Dune rolled his eyes and rocked his head in frustration, then kissed Micah's cheek and hugged his friend. "I don't know what's best for me in this case."

Micah blinked a few times. "That's a first. I don't think I've ever heard you say you don't know something."

"Remember this occasion and mark it well. The man who broke my heart is back."

"If he broke your heart," Micah slipped both arms around Dune's waist and hugged him back, "then you should stay far, far away -- and when you do see him, show off how wonderful your life has been without him. Make him green with envy and regret every moment he's spent away from you."

"That's your advice, is it?"

"Yes." He nodded firmly. "That's what I think you should do. I've learned all kinds of things since you first met me, you know. I'm not the naive kid I used to be."

"That's true," Dune said softly. "You're all grown up now. All done with school, a new job, an apartment to find..."

"Unless you meant it about me moving in with you."

"I mean it, if you still want to," Dune said. "What do your parents think about it?"

"I haven't exactly brought it up yet. They haven't said anything about me moving out. I think with Shiloh moving back on campus they find the house too lonely."

"Maybe you ought to stay with them for a few more months."

"I'd rather be with you," Micah said and swallowed hard. "If I'm with you I can be myself. You know?"

"I do. But if your parents need you --"

"They don't need me," Micah said with a scowl. "They just want to know where I am and what I'm doing. That's why I left out so much on the blog -- I knew they'd be reading it. My real journal is a lot more detailed."

"With sexier pictures?" Dune asked and chuckled.

"There are some pretty fucking sexy pictures," said Micah with dignity. "I took some great ones of Stuart."

Dune blinked. "What? You took -- what?"

"I took some pictures of him. Um. Without clothes. You know, artistic."

"Wow," Dune said. "I don't know what I find more unbelievable -- that you did that or that he let you."

"I just asked," Micah mumbled. "He's gorgeous, Dunie." He squeezed his arm around Dune's waist. "But not as gorgeous as you. I could take pictures of you, too. With or without clothes."

"I'll pass for now, but thank you." He patted Micah's hair. "Think it over, about whether you want to move in with me or stay in Walnut Creek a while longer. No need to rush."

"Okay," Micah said, and then kissed Dune lightly. "But I think I'll stay wanting to live with you. I like being with you. I told you -- you're my laughing place."

Dune smiled. "I know, honey. And I'll be around to be your laughing place for a while longer." He sighed. "It's getting late. You probably ought to head home."

Micah nodded and then kissed Dune again. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you, Dunie."

Dune smiled again, much less wearily this time. "I love you, too."

"Good night," Micah said, and got into his car.

The drive home was uneventful -- most of the traffic was headed the other way -- and the house lights were still on when Micah pulled up. He sighed: another evening of explaining where he'd been and who he'd been with, even though he'd told them before he left. It was so irritating, to be grilled constantly about his whereabouts and his friends. He wondered sometimes if his parents ever listened to anything he said, or if they kept asking in the hopes to catch him in a lie.

Well, he didn't lie. Much. They probably thought he was still a virgin, since he'd never had a girlfriend, and he carefully edited various facts about his friends so they wouldn't ask too many questions -- but beyond that, he was honest. He still went to church, he didn't drink much, didn't smoke, didn't do drugs. He just had sex with men. That wasn't so bad, was it? On the scale of things?

But it was getting uncomfortable, the way his father ranted on about the homosexual agenda in his sermons, the way his parents' friends would say "compassion" and "tolerance" as if they were disgusting traits. Micah wondered sometimes what they would say, all those people who thought he was such a sweet, good boy, if they knew he liked to suck cock.

Micah pushed his glasses up his nose, straightened his shoulders, and got out of the car and went into the house. His mother, Ivy, was still awake, reading in an armchair. She put the book down and smiled at him. "How was the party?"

"Good. Tristan and Laird are having a baby."

"Oh, how lovely. Who are they, again?"

"The Marcuses. Laird's in cancer research and Tristan's parents own the bookstore Shiloh works at."

"He's the one who's a great deal older than his wife, isn't he?"

Micah shrugged. "Five or six years, I think. Tristan's thirty-something. Do we have any ice cream?"

"There's rocky road in the freezer." She added as Micah went into the kitchen, "Your favorite."

He smiled as he took the carton from the freezer. "Rocky road is Shiloh's favorite. Mine is mint chocolate chip."

"Oh. Well, as long as chocolate in involved you're both happy. Micah." She followed him into the kitchen and sat at the bar as he scooped up some ice cream. "There's something I've wanted to talk to you about."

"Chocolate sauce?" he said.

"There's Hershey's in the fridge. Micah."

"I'm listening." There was a can of chocolate syrup behind a jar of mayonnaise. He poured a generous amount onto the ice cream.

"You're twenty-three now," Ivy said. "You've had quite a few adventures, but it's time to think seriously about your future."

"I'm very serious about my future," Micah said and sprinkled some extra walnuts on top of the ice cream. "The job at the
Chronicle
is great, Mom. It's exactly what I'm good at and it's a really good salary."

"I mean your personal future. Not just your career. We know you've never really been comfortable around girls, but you have to get over that, darling. You have to think about finding a wife."

Micah swallowed hard and coughed on a partially-chewed bit of almond. "A wife?" he said when he'd stopped coughing.

"A wife. A mother for your children. It's the next step in life, sweetheart. I wish more of your friends would set an example and get married, but I suppose it's good you see Laird and Tristan's marriage. Being around them makes it seem not so scary, doesn't it?"

"Um," he said.

"I hope she doesn't have any brothers," Ivy added, shaking her head. "I can't imagine what her parents would have named them."

"She only has sisters," Micah said. "Rory and Dallas."

"You've met them? Are they single?"

"No, they're both married. Dallas is the one with twins -- I went to the christening, remember?"

"Oh. Well. Anyway." She dismissed the Rigbys with a shrug. "Do you remember the Harrises? Bill and Sharon?"

"Vaguely." Mostly he remembered a tall man with a deep, not-often used voice and a tiny woman who always sang "O Holy Night" at the Christmas service with lots of vibrato.

"Their daughter, Bonnie, is done with school and has just started working at one of those Internet companies. She likes computers, too. You're taking her out Friday night."

It was a good thing he had nothing left to choke on -- this definitely would have killed him. "I was going to spend the weekend in the city, looking at apartments."

"You can do that Saturday. Friday night, you're taking out Bonnie. Maybe you'll hit it off. Maybe you'll like each other. Maybe you'll date."

He looked unhappily at the bowl of ice cream. "Maybe," he said faintly.

"If you're not going to eat that, put it back in the freezer, please."

"Okay."

His mother came to him and held his chin gently in her fingers. "It's better to marry than to burn, darling," she said. "Remember that."

"I remember," Micah said, and she smiled and kissed his forehead and started up the stairs. "Mom?" he said, and Ivy turned around.

"What, darling?"

"Do you ever miss Rebecca?"

Her smile disappeared and her face went pale. She turned and went quickly up the stairs.

I guess not,
Micah thought and took the ice cream to his room. He turned on his computer, eating ice cream while it booted up, and opened his email program. He usually deleted emails from unfamiliar addresses without opening them, but one caught his eye: the address was "rweaver" and the subject line was "Hey, mini-bro."

He heart pounded a little harder as he opened the email.

Micah --

I know it's been forever. It's taken me that long to stop being angry at the parents and to work up the courage to talk to you again. I miss you like crazy, and Shiloh said you wanted to hear from me. So here I am.

I don't know what she's told you, so here's my life: still married to Justin, despite all the dire predictions. We just had a baby girl. Her name is Katherine and we're calling her Kitty. I'm attaching a picture. She's got Mom's eyes.

Justin got a job teaching at UC Santa Cruz and we moved down over the summer. It's amazing here: so casual and simple. It's a lot like Seattle, really, but with a lot less rain.

I miss you. I want Kitty to know her uncle. Maybe someday her grandparents, but we'll see how that all works out. I'm not going to hope for too much from them.

Anyway. I love you. Answer me when you're ready.

Love,

Rebecca

Micah opened the picture Rebecca had sent. It was a plump-faced baby, with big blue eyes like his mother and Shiloh and himself, a tight cap of dark hair, freckles across her nose and a wide, toothless smile. Micah smiled, biting his thumbnail, and then hit the Reply button. He typed fast:
Of course I miss you. Kitty's beautiful. I want to see you as soon as possible. Love, me
, included his cell phone number and his work number, and hit Send before he could think about it any further.

It was a common enough story, he supposed, for a preacher's daughter to go wild: sneaking out of the house, drinking, drugs, stealing from Ivy's purse as well as Micah's allowance, coming home reeking of marijuana smoke and beer, screaming fights at two in the morning. Finally, their parents had enough, and shipped Rebecca off to Seattle to live with a childless aunt and uncle, and attend college under their supervision.

The weekly bulletins from their aunt hadn't been hopeful: more fights, more stealing, more drug use. Rebecca wouldn't go to church or even to school. And then quite abruptly: "Rebecca has run away and gotten married."

His parents never spoke her name, her pictures were put away, and their other children were forbidden to contact her.

Micah had been only sixteen at the time and missed his sister dreadfully. There had been times he'd been afraid of her, times he'd hated her -- when she was stoned she'd been terrifying, she would punch him, slap him, twist his arm behind his back -- but when she was sober he'd never felt closer to anyone. He'd almost told her he thought he might be gay more than once, but lost his nerve each time.

Shiloh had said Rebecca had read his blog -- his trip would give them something to talk about until they were comfortable again. And there would be the baby, and he'd want to hear about Justin: Aunt Olivia had had nothing good to say about him. Micah didn't even know how they had met or where they'd gotten married or what he did for a living aside from Aunt Olivia's disapproving, "He teaches pop psychology."