Bankers' Hours (13 page)

A woman yelled, “I can’t believe you told Claire you’re gay!”

I stopped in the middle of bending down for my pants and crept over to the door to peek around the frame.

“You had no right to inflict your perversion on our daughter like that!”

The woman yelling must have been Tristan’s ex. Claire resembled her a great deal, except Claire had been nice to me. This woman had just offended me by calling homosexuality a perversion, and one to be
inflicted
on others.
I waited, but I was ready to jump out and give her a piece of my mind if she kept going. This was his house; she had no right!

“I’m not perverted, Teresa!” he yelled back. “Why do you think I’ve never told you?”

“Because you’re ashamed?” she spat.

Her exclamations sent my mind whirling back to last December and Raymond’s ex-wife.
Shit! I hope Tristan doesn’t reconsider dating me because of her.

“Because you’re a hateful person!” Tristan countered. “All I’ve ever done is work my ass off to take care of Claire, but nothing’s ever good enough for you. So yes, I told our daughter I’m gay; excuse me for wanting to be happy for once in my life!”

“Happy?” she questioned. “You’re
happy
taking it up the ass, spreading diseases, and perverting everything God intended for marriage?” Teresa stood opposite Tristan with her hand on her hip and her attitude puffed up like a cobra’s hood. But if she spat venom like those accusations much longer, I’d have to join the fray myself. She pissed me off.

“I’m perfectly healthy, Teresa. I know how to be safe. I get tested regularly, which is something
you
should think of doing with the number of men you sleep with
.
” His reply made me feel better, but his ex was not easily placated.

She gasped and glared. “I do not!”

“That’s not what I heard. I’ve heard a rumor you’ve had three boyfriends this year alone, and all of them have lived…. In. Your. House.” Tristan growled the words he wanted to emphasize. “Who are these guys, Teresa, who you let live with you and our fifteen-year-old daughter? What if they hurt Claire?”

“They wouldn’t.”

“How do you know? Rumor has it you can’t keep a man long enough to remember his last name.”

Her teeth were clenched—I could tell from across the room. Tristan was getting to her, and she was formulating her counterargument. “Like you’re any different. All men are whores,” she argued, her words stabbing my very sensible and virtuous heart. “Gay men are no different. Is that what the Navy did to you? All those nights on a ship at sea, you had to find a way to get off so you decided to be gay?” She was laughing in her hatred. “I should have known. You always were a pussy.”

“I’ve always been gay, Teresa. The Navy had nothing to do with it. Sleeping with you was the only mistake I made, but I would never take it back because I love my daughter.”

“So you say.”

“I do!”

“So how many men have you been with, if you’re so high and mighty about my affairs? Tell me. Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred? All men think with their dicks. I bet you’ll fuck anything that moves.”

I could have jumped out of my secluded spot and argued her points, but I was curious about what Tristan would say. How many guys had he been with? I kind of wanted to know.

“Thirty-eight. Two before I was deployed, three while I was in the Navy, and thirty-three after I got out.”

“And you think you’re so much better than me!” she spat.

“I am. I have
never
brought a man to my house. I kept my sex life separate, because I didn’t want to hurt Claire. Until now, she was too young to understand anyway.”

“She’s still too young!”

“She’s fifteen and in high school, Teresa. How naive are you? She knows exactly what you do as an adult, because you don’t hide it.”

“That’s a whole lot better than sneaking around fucking in bathrooms,” she argued.

At this point, I lost my restraint and jumped into view. “We do not!” I shouted.

Both of them turned their attention my way. Teresa questioned, “Who’s this?” while Tristan mumbled, “Grant,” lowering his head and clenching his jaw. Maybe my entrance wasn’t the best idea.

Teresa argued, “I thought you said you’ve never brought a man home, Tristan? Or did you find him abandoned on your doorstep, so you brought the stray puppy in?”

Tristan threw his hands out in shock. “What?”

“You’re half-dressed and he’s in his underwear! How the hell do you explain that?”

“I….” Poor Tristan was tongue-tied, and it was probably my fault.

I explained, “My car broke down after our date. He let me stay. But there was no sex, least of all in the bathroom, and I’ll have you know not all gay men have lots of sex. Your insinuations are offensive.”

“Insinuations?” she questioned, drawing her shoulders back, probably readying a strike. “I insinuated nothing. I’ll flat out tell you men are nothing but shiftless lowlifes who fuck around. They can’t commit long-term, because they lack the staying power. Gay men, straight men, you’re all the same. But I can see the appeal of being gay. You go in knowing neither one of you will commit, so it’s easier to fuck and run.”

“That’s not true!” I yelled as she mocked me. “I’ll have you know there are hundreds of historically documented same-sex couples who committed themselves to one another, even before marriage equality.” This was an issue I felt strongly about, for obvious reasons. “Gays have all the commitment resilience of anybody else.”

She sneered. “Doubtful because you’re men.”

This woman, in my mind, represented all the hostile people who had mouthed off about homosexuality without knowing any of the facts. She was ranting about her beliefs without basing them on truth or experience. She was the worst kind of antagonist. I had to stand my ground. I stepped closer to engage her instead of yelling across the room. “It’s true,” I said, holding my head up high. “If Tristan hid his true self all these years, it’s because of people like you who are ill informed and bigoted. Men can love each other and live their lives committed to one another, the same as hetero couples. Just because you can’t hold on to a man, doesn’t mean Tristan can’t!”

I couldn’t say I’d ever argued so emphatically about it before, but this was a topic I had contemplated myself. Because I’d been single for so long, I needed to believe that it wasn’t for nothing. I had to hold on to the hope that my soul mate was out there—or possibly standing next to me—and I wasn’t going to let this stupid woman crush my dreams.

She turned to Tristan. “Are you going to let him talk to me like that? Who the fuck is this guy?” She gestured at me with a flip of her wrist.

Tristan calmly regarded me and then turned to her and said, “He’s my boyfriend.” He lifted his arm as if to beckon me under it. I happily complied, and he hugged me to his side.

Teresa made a gagging face. “Oh, that’s just peachy. I suppose he’s moving in next. If he does, you can kiss seeing Claire good-bye. I’m not letting her come here every other weekend to see you flaunting your perversion in front of her, or hear you fucking in the next room. That’s sick!”

“Stop calling us perverted!” I growled. If she were a guy, I might have considered punching her.

“Well, you are.”

Tristan replied, “No, we’re not, Teresa. Besides, you can’t say anything. You’ve got men moving in and out all the time. Grant means a lot to me. He’s not going anywhere. At least Claire won’t have trouble remembering his last name.”

I added, “I met Claire. She seems nice.”

I shouldn’t have said that. Her face resembled a roiling volcano, and I thought if she had the ability to narrow her pupils to a slit like a snake, she would have. “You let this random guy into your house and introduced him to Claire?” She hissed her question, making my previous comparison to a cobra even more plausible.

“No, they met at the gym, and he’s not random!” Tristan held me tighter. I think he needed to reassure himself, or me, that his words were true.

Teresa put her hands on her hips and tossed her head like I’ve seen women do when they’re about step a fight up to the next level. “Oh yeah? How long have you known him, Tristan? Two minutes? He walks into the room in his underwear, and you expect me to believe this is something more than a one-night stand?” She paused and changed her expression. “You know what? I wasn’t sold on the whole gay thing, but I was wrong. This is exactly what two men would do. You play ‘daddy’ every other weekend, and then fuck the rest of the time. It’s pathetic.”

She turned to leave. Just as she got to the door, Tristan grabbed her arm and whirled her around.

“Let go of me, you faggot!” she yelled, ripping her arm free of his grasp.

“I resent the things you accuse me of. They’re unfair, and untrue.” Tristan was angry, I could tell, but he reined in his rage. “We are committed to each other, unlike the relationships you have, and unlike your father.”

She snarled, “How dare you mention my father.”

“I’m saying, I think Claire would be better off living with me than she is watching her mother drinking every night and sleeping with strangers.”

“You dare challenge me? I’ll sue your ass for everything.”

“We were never married, Teresa. You have no rights to my property. I pay you child support voluntarily for Claire’s sake, but maybe I want more time with my daughter. Maybe I want to take you to court and file for joint custody, or better yet, file for full custody and give
you
every other weekend.”

Tristan’s challenge only made Teresa seethe. “Oh really? What court is going to grant you rights? You and your transient lover?”

“We’re getting married,” I blurted, stepping up to Tristan and looping my hands around his arm. He blinked at me in surprise. I wasn’t sure why I said it, but the heat of the argument had gotten to me.

She threw her head back and laughed uncontrollably. “Married?” More laughing. “That’s rich!” Still more laughing. It was bordering on ridiculous.

“Yes, married,” Tristan interrupted her self-satisfaction. She was way too pleased with what she presumed was outlandish. “Just because you don’t agree with it, doesn’t make it less true.” Although the fact that I had blurted the solution out in defense of Tristan’s fatherly honor
might
be an indication of fabrication. I couldn’t believe he was going along with it.

Teresa stopped laughing. She eyed him and then glared at me. “You’re kidding.”

“No, we’re not,” Tristan asserted. “We’re getting married. We’re committing ourselves to one another until death do us part, just like so many others in the country who’ve been given the legal right to do so.”

“When?” she scoffed.

Tristan hastily said, “Tomorrow!”

I quickly came to his rescue with logic. “Tristan, honey, we discussed this.” I patted his chest, and he looked at me curiously. “Tomorrow isn’t the seventeenth.” I moved my attention to the dumbstruck ex, whose gaping mouth could catch flies. “Tristan’s been so excited to tie the knot that every day feels like the eve of our wedding day. I’ve reminded him several times that it’s still a week off. He’s just so excited.” I giggled to play up the story.

“Oh, how wonderful. Two fags exchanging vows? Please. It won’t last. Tristan is too selfish, and you….” She paused. “You’re too young to understand what marriage is about. He’s got a kid, you know? What guy jumps into a marriage with a workaholic weekend father and doesn’t realize his mistake two weeks later? I give you three weeks, and this little farce will dissolve on its own. Marriage between men?” I heard her hysterical laughter long after she slammed the door on her exit.

Tristan released me, and we faced each other by the door. “What have I done?” he asked.

“What have
we
done,” I corrected.

He blinked. “Why did you say that? Why did you jump in and validate it? I could have called her later and told her I was angry and said things I didn’t mean. She’d laugh at me, but I could have handled it.”

I slouched, feeling rejected for my support. “I didn’t like the things she said. They weren’t true. She made me angry.”

“Angry enough to say you’re marrying me?” His voice contained an edge I didn’t like or expect.

“A long-term relationship was your idea! I just went along with it.”

“Out of anger.”

“No!” I protested. “Out of haste. Yes, I rashly jumped into an argument I knew nothing about, but it wasn’t completely blind. You said yourself you wanted this relationship to deepen into something permanent.
You
said I should think about what I wanted in life because
you
wanted to grow old with someone.
You
said I meant more to you than a one-night stand and that’s why you wouldn’t fuck me on the first date.
You
said all those things, Tristan, so excuse me if I got caught up in the moment and agreed to marry you on a whim. People do it all the time, don’t they? Couples get drunk in Vegas and end up in an all-night chapel or something, don’t they? We’ll just be another one of those couples. But if you really don’t want to marry me, then we can just do what you said and call Teresa. We can say it was a mistake. We can admit to being sexaholics who fuck in bathrooms.”

I was on the verge of tears. Maybe I
had
been reckless, but after citing my own points for marrying him I felt so emotional I needed to cry. I tried to dash away, to hide in the bedroom until my emotions settled, but he grabbed my arm and spun me to face him.

I think he was going to yell, but his expression softened, and he loosened his grip on my arms. “You’re shaking.”

“Duh! I’m freaking out!”

“Oh, Grant,” he sighed. Tristan took me into his arms and held me tightly. He rubbed my back and kissed my temple. “I’m so sorry. I should never have argued with Teresa in front of you. It wasn’t fair. She’s not a nice person. I knew she’d react like this when she found out about me, but I didn’t think it would escalate the way it did. I’m so sorry.”

I sniffled and buried my face in his neck. He smelled like pancakes.

“What was the comment you made about her father?”