The Mythology of Love (Patreon)

Year Three: February 5th

Scott watched the class wander out of the building in pairs and small groups. A few loners gathered papers and rearranged books, but no one looked particularly interested in hanging out with the professor. Scott couldn't blame them. Two weeks in, they were still covering the boring bits. 

They had to understand the basics of statistics better before he could open their eyes to the way they could see the world differently through numbers… and how numbers could lie. He needed them to understand the power of numbers and learn to guard against the lies before he turned them loose on the raw numbers with redlining and crime or demographics.

One student seemed to linger a little too long. Farrukh. He was a post-grad student. Normally Scott wouldn’t recognize someone by the second class, but Farrukh was one of the international students Scott had offered to mentor. The other adjunct professors had howled in protest at the idea of taking on mentees without getting more pay. And Scott got it. Adjunct professors got paid pennies.

However, Scott was still struggling with how much of his life had become paper and numbers. The guys at the station did their best, but Scott had never fit in as much as he had pushed his way in, and he sucked at pushing now. David’s friendship was the only thing keeping him from the brink of madness at this point, so he jumped at the chance to work with people one-on-one.

Rolling the chair over to that side of the room, Scott watched as Farrukh reordered his books for the third time. He moved slowly because Farrukh pinged Scott’s military radar. Working with the police, he had seen soldiers transitioning back to civilian life, and Farrukh had the same twitchiness. He would scan the room, even when he was talking to someone. When Scott first met David, he had only been out of the Army for a few months, and he had the same habit.

But the similarities went beyond that. They were both strong, handsome men, but then the university was full of those. Maybe Scott was reminded of David because, like David, Farrukh actually looked at him instead of the chair. "Farrukh, right?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, but everyone calls me FK. You're a great lecturer." His smile was slow and soft, but there was something disingenuous about it, like it was pasted on over his real emotions.

"And you're full of shit. This intro stuff is boring no matter who presents it, but I'll knock your socks off later," Scott said. "So, you're moving over to sociology? I got a look at your records, and it looks like you have an impressive background in psychology, why the move?"

FK shrugged and watched the last of the undergrads clear out of the room. Scott let him have his silence. Even if Scott didn't understand the need for awkward silences in a conversation, his years with David had taught him to just go with the flow on that front. Eventually FK looked back toward him. "I just don't think I can deal with psychology anymore."

"Sociology is all about psychology. You aren’t going to escape human nature by looking at groups instead of individuals.” Scott smiled encouragingly, even as he tried to get this guy to see that changing fields wasn't going to fix whatever screw he had loose in his life. It would, however, force him to take a bunch of undergrad classes that he was probably not going to enjoy. Sure, he would have to take some of those undergrad classes just because admin was cranky about accepting credits from the University of Baghdad.

The irony of that was not lost on Scott. The University of Baghdad ranked much higher than Albuquerque in every independent review. 

FK studied Scott for long seconds before composing an answer. "I just want to study societies, not individuals."

Oh yeah, he was waiting for Scott to make an argument so he could counter it. Man, maybe it was built into soldiers to turn every conversation into a fucking contest of wills, but this guy was enough like David to drive Scott right up a wall. He rolled his wheelchair forward an inch.

"Why?"

FK blinked in surprise. Yep, just like David, he acted surprised when someone wanted to truly listen to his side of the argument. And if he was really like David, he was about to totally shut down and demand that Scott just sign the paperwork where it required the mentor’s signature saying that they had consulted. Thankfully, the wheelchair was a great defense against the anger of emotionally repressed warrior-types. Hell, people tended to even cut off mid-profanity when they noticed the chair.

FK leaned back in his chair and studied Scott for several long seconds. "Why are you in a wheelchair?" he asked. Okay, that was a surprise, but a non sequitur was just as much of a non-answer as David's favorite—the clenched jaw. Although, to be fair, David had mellowed in his middle age.

Scott shrugged. "A woman on a cell phone hit some ice and slammed into me in the middle of an intersection."

Scott wasn't bothered by the details of that accident. If anything, he was grateful that his injury had helped to repair the damage between him and David. Sometimes Scott thought he had traded two good legs for one great friendship, and that was a trade that he was happy to make.

"Most people avoid that topic, I assume you're going for a point."

FK leaned forward. "I am. Why does our society value convenience so much that someone would be on a cellphone when driving? I can't believe the woman was evil. I can't believe that an individual carries all the blame when an entire society forms a set of rules, and that individual lives by them without questioning the ultimate consequences. So what I want to know is how does one culture decide to value tradition, and another progress?"

"Gemeinschaft and gesellschaft," Scott echoed, shocked at the flow of words. Clearly FK and David were not the same. FK nodded his head, not even shielding the confusion and pain for one second before he looked away and shook his head and a wry expression replaced the raw emotion.

Scott wondered how old FK had been when the Iraq war had started. He probably grew up in the midst of chaos, so it wasn’t surprising that he struggled to understand the social forces in play. 

"Exactly. I see things going wrong. I see good men and women getting caught up in something so big that they can't seem to disengage long enough to really evaluate their own actions. What I want to know is why a culture allows that to happen."

Scott blew out a breath. That was a loaded question if he had ever heard one. "Figure that out and they're going to be throwing Nobel Prizes at you.”

This time FK’s smile seemed more genuine, even if it was still small. "I know. I know it's impossible to understand..." His voice faded, and Scott understood that FK wasn't searching for some esoteric truth; he wanted to understand something that had gone horribly wrong in his own life. It wasn't the best reason to get into an academic field, but it wasn't the worst, either.

"Hey, buy me a cup of coffee, and we can talk about specializations and see if we can minimize your time with the undergrads," Scott offered.

FK looked up, and for a half-second, Scott could see pain etched into his soul. However, FK covered that with a boyish smile. "You bet, Dr. Nichols. One cup of coffee coming up."

“Call me Scott.”

FK slung his bag over his shoulder before heading for the door. He didn’t even ask if Scott needed help, which was refreshing. Scott didn’t mind offers when he was visibly struggling with a curb or a heavy weight, but the constant offers to help him cross a room got tiring. 

“I’ll be right there. I need to make a call,” Scott said. 

“I’ll wait in the corridor,” FK said in his overly-formal English.

Scott took out his cell phone. He needed to call David and let him know he might be late. He had a feeling that FK wasn’t going to be rushed into telling his stories, and Scott had an equally strong feeling that he really wanted to know what FK was hiding behind his smile.

February 19th

“Scott, here I am.” FK waved from the table in the corner. Bracing himself on his good leg, Scott stood and pulled his wheelchair over the uneven tile threshold before dropped back down into the chair and rolling himself past to the line of people seeking their daily dose of caffeine.

“Hey, how'd it go?”

“With your help, I believe I shall be able to graduate having only mortgaged one kidney instead of both.”

Scott chuckled darkly. “Tell me about it. I'm still paying off my student loans and I have medical debts that would cripple a lesser man.” Scott wiggled his eyebrows to make it clear that he was intentionally making fun of himself. Sometimes people need to be encouraged to not get hung up on the wheelchair.  FK was uniquely unburdened by that awkwardness. Sometimes that made Scott a little sad because he could imagine that FK must have seen a lot of broken bodies before he got over that all too human discomfort at the idea of someone else’s suffering. “So, are you sticking with sociology?”

“I am. I am doing sociology with a criminology focus. And your suggestion that I minor in Arabic was both helpful and ironic.”

“Why?” Scott rolled his chair closer to the table when the guy in back of him bumped the him several times. “Was Arabic your first language?”

“No, but I was raised speaking it. But the irony comes from the fact that I tried to major in English when I was at the University of Baghdad, and I was unable to pass the tests. The professors there are strict formalists and my command of English comes from a deep and abiding obsession with American television. I found that pointing out that Americans would be more likely to use one word over another did not impress those professors. But now an American university will give me credit for Arabic proficiency, and I promise you, my Arabic is not as good as my English.”

“Your English is phenomenal, so your Arabic could be several steps below that and still be damn good. And I feel you with the professors. Sometimes giving people letters after their name makes them think they know everything.”

“But not you. You don’t have the same arrogance I have seen in both my universities.”

Scott shrugged. “That's probably because I spent a large chunk of my life feeling like I didn't know anything.” Sometimes Scott thought he had a serious streak of masochism because he had always been drawn to the largest challenge he could find, even when it was unattainable. He’d almost run a marathon once, right before ending up in the emergency room with dehydration. He wished he had gone back and done it just once. He could still wheel a marathon and he had even looked at a sport wheelchair, but those things were like three grand. 

His department insurance had covered the vast majority of his medical bills, but he was still a hundred and ten thousand in debt. He couldn’t justify that sort of expense just to prove something to himself.

“I refuse to believe that. You're a brilliant man.”

Scott blushed. Maybe it was a cultural thing, but he was not used to being complimented. When he was young and went to gay bars, sometimes his ass got attention, but that wasn’t the same. “Thank you. But believe me, there are plenty of skills I struggle to master. I failed out of the police academy rather spectacularly.”

FK put his coffee cup down hard enough that some sloshed over the rim. “You attempted to be a police officer? An officer on the street?”

“I did. I actually had full use the left side of my body back them, so it's not as surprising as it probably seems right now.”

“No, it’s not your body. I just... I see that American police officers do things that I do not believe are ethical. And I know that many police officers are good people, just as many of the military who served in my country were good people. I count many of those I worked with in Iraq as friends. But sometimes it seemed as if there was a culture that made it possible for men who were not good to succeed where they should not.” FK’s expression twisted with emotion. Scott suspected this was the heart of why he wanted to study sociology. Scott couldn’t image the horrors FK had seen, especially as a local translator. 

He knew first hand that sometimes good people forgot about ethics when they had a job to do. Hell, Scott had cut a few too many corners himself. There had been a kidnapping case that he’d been asked to consult on, and he had pushed every psychological button the suspect had. Between Scott’s manipulation and David’s visions, they had found the girl in time, but Scott had violated so many ethical tenants he had learned in his sociology and psychology classes. He still felt justified, but part of him worried that it he had taken one step on onto a slippery slope.

“Good people try to keep the ethics in law enforcement,” Scott said softly.

“I think many enforcers in my country forgot that tenant.”

“Yeah, well some here forget it, too. Those of us who are on the edges of the society just have to keep pulling them back toward the moral center. Now, let’s see what your schedule looks like.” Scott gestured toward the university folder sitting on top of FK’s stack of books.

May 23rd

“I’m going to take graduate classes next semester. I’m hoping to take your application of statistics class.” FK leaned against the back of the club chair. Since Scott was hovering near the kitchen door, sitting in the living room would require turning his back on him. Sometimes David wondered if Scott was really as oblivious as he pretended. Probably. Sometimes the practical details of life slipped out of his academic brain. It’s one of the things David loved about him. He was so different than anyone else in David’s life.

“Do you hear that, David? Someone is excited about taking my statistics class.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, Brainiac.” David flipped the steaks. “He’s just being nice.”

“I assure you, I’m not,” FK said. He smiled at Scott and his mind flashed to a woman with a sweet smile and a shriveled arm. She was gazing at FK with such fondness that the love shone through the fragmented memory, and then the image vanished. David wondered if it had been a sister. That would explain his easy acceptance of Scott.

Scott glared. “He’s teasing you, FK. Ignore him.”

“No, I’m teasing you, Scott. Your love of statistics is freaky.”

“Whatever.” Scott rolled his eyes. “I’m excited to have you in class, but don’t think I’m going to go easy on you. If you want to be taken seriously, you need to start publishing. And that means you have to get the hard science part down. Too many professors foist the work off on their graduate students, but they will excoriate you if you don’t get the math right. And they won’t explain the math before they do it. I have only worked at the university for two semesters, and I am already pretty sure it’s more cut throat than the police department. It’s possibly worse than the mob.”

“You’ve never worked a mob case,” David said. “Take the salad to the table, please.” He nodded toward the bowl. He tried to send mental rays telling Scott to walk. If he didn’t work on his weak leg, he wasn’t going to get more function back. Instead he rolled forward. At least FK wasn’t trying to do it for him. “I refuse to talk math all night. So, FK, what are your plans? Do you plan on staying in the States or heading back to Iraq once you have your degree?”

Only years of practice kept David from flinching at the image that blasted his mind. A man with his hands tied behind his back was on fire. The image flickered like the flame that consumed him as he writhed in pain. Thank god scent and sound never came through with the visions, but even so, the cooking steak nauseated David. He took them off the grill pan and tried to focus on FK’s words.

“I hope to get work here. Even if I don’t stay forever, I will not return to Iraq.”

David plastered a smile on and put the plate with the steaks on the counter. Scott was looking at him oddly, but David had no intention of sharing that piece of information. A man had a right to keep his secrets as long as they weren’t criminal. Given the context—FK had been a translator for the American Army and translators tended to face execution at the hands Iraqi extremists—David assumed that FK had fears for his own life if he went home. Clearly Iraq was not a topic David wanted to bring up. Ever.

“So, what is your opinion on soccer?” David asked. The mental airwaves were filled with images of various players leaping and diving at balls, all blinking so fast that it was like paparazzi flashes going off, all at once. That was a safe topic. And if Scott was going to bring students home for dinner, David needed to learn how to guide the conversation away from nightmare topics.

And that went double for FK.

May 23rd, later that night

“He seems nice,” David said as he rinsed the dishes. Considering some of the shit FK had seen, he was downright normal. Some of the guys David had known in the service… their brains had circled around the same horrifying images in a perpetual loop, and David had been trapped in that loop with them because he couldn’t escape the visions. The Army frowned on soldiers abandoning their post, and David assumed they would be unamused by his claims that he felt psychically assaulted.

“Right.” It took a half second for the sarcasm to register. Scott braced himself on the counter and stood. “I saw your face. I won’t have him back again.”

“What are you talking about?” The night had been generally pleasant, and David was irrationally aggravated that Scott wanted to pick at him about his visions. Sometimes David wanted to pretend to be normal.

Scott leaned on his forearms. “So, what did you see? I know it was bad.”

“I’m not going to invade his privacy to satisfy your curiosity.” David shut off the water.

“He was in Iraq. I can guess.”

No, Scott couldn’t guess, but David wasn’t going to enlighten him. “Then don’t ask me.” He abandoned the kitchen because he was too tired for this conversation. He headed for the living room and turned the evening news on.

Scott came rolling in after him. “I should have known better than to ask someone over. This is your home and you don’t deserve to feel uncomfortable in your own home.”

David slammed the remote down. “This is our home.”

“I never said this wasn’t my home, too. But you deserve to have a vision-free zone in your own home. I shouldn’t have brought a stranger here.” 

It worried David that Scott didn’t have more friends over. Sure, the guys from the precinct still came over on game day, but Scott spent more and more time at the university. Scott was a social man; he should have university friends. That worry wrapped around the more familiar aggravation he generally felt when Scott acted like the visions were some great curse and David needed a warm cocoa and a pat on the head. “You have a right to bring friends to dinner.” 

“You have a right to avoid getting mentally assaulted over dinner,” Scott shot right back in the same tone. “I saw your face. I know you.”

David clenched his teeth.

“Oh, and now you’re going to go all stoic because you’re too tough to admit that there is something you can’t handle.” Scott rolled his chair backward and was nearly out of the room before David could recover. Usually when David had a hard time with the visions, Scott bent over backward to be nice. He took nice so far that sometimes David felt a little like an invalid being pampered.

But this… this was not Scott.

David trotted to the bedroom door before Scott could close it. “Okay, so this is me not being stoic. It caught me off guard, and it shouldn’t have. I knew he worked with the troops in Iraq.” David blurted it all out before Scott could restart their fight. Sure enough, the words left Scott open-mouthed with shock. David leaned on the door jamb and crossed his arms. “So I confessed. Let’s hear what has your panties in a bunch.”

“Nice. Slightly misogynistic, but what male doesn’t use references to female bodies to try and emasculate other men?”

“Um, me?” David was almost sure there were no female bodies in that comment at all, but he was having trouble tracking this conversation. He went over and sat on Scott’s bed so they were eye to eye. “What the hell is going on with you?”

For a second, Scott was all outraged angles and stiff spine. But then he started to wilt. “Oh man. I was so excited that someone didn’t treat me like a leper. I found one person who seemed to actually want to be near me, and I didn’t stop to think what it would do to you to have FK around. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Hey.” David moved to kneel in front of Scott. “I meant what I said. I want you to have friends over.”

“But—”

“No,” David said firmly. “I hate it when you treat me like I’m fragile. You are disabled because of the chair. I am disabled because of these visions, and we both make it work.”

Scott huffed. “You should be able to pretend to be normal at home.”

The way Scott couldn’t. David could practically hear that in the silence that followed his statement. If David could trade places, he would in a second. But that wasn’t an option. “Neither of us is good at normal,” David said. “And the only way for me to avoid visions is for me to turn into a hermit who shoots at trespassers from the porch of his hillbilly cabin in the swamp. I don’t think that would be a good look for me.”

“I don’t know. You’d look hot playing a banjo.”

A bark of laughter slipped out before David could catch it. He ended up spraying Scott with spit.

“Say it, don’t spray it, Parsons,” Scott complained.

David stood. “Dork. Come on, let’s go watch the news.”

There was nothing they couldn’t handle as long as they stuck together—not even FK’s horrifying memories.

November 12th

Scott looked up when someone cast a shadow over his computer. His office was large to accommodate his wheelchair, but none of the tenured professors had wanted it for two reasons. First, it was right off the lobby so it had zippity do dah for privacy and second, the window faced the back of large sign giving the history of the building. It made the space resemble a black hole during an eclipse.

That’s why Scott left the door open most of the time. The lobby had big windows, and it let him get a little natural light. At least until a student blocked it.

Scott blinked, his vision blurry from staring at the computer too long. “FK!” he smiled and leaned back in the chair.

“I bring quzi and falafel.” He held up a plastic bag with white take-out containers. The smell of spice started to drift into the room, and Scott realized he was starving. He brushed the notes for his proposed class to one side so they would have room to eat.

“Food. Gimme.”

FK laughed. He was a beautiful man when the sorrow fell away, leaving the man he would have been if not for the war. “You are predictable.”

“When it comes to good food, hell yes.” And FK had introduced him to a new world of spicy, nutty, fruity main dishes. Iraqi food had officially replaced Mexican in Scott’s heart… and his stomach.

FK pulled plates out of one of the bags before unpacking the food.

“So, do you have any plans over the holidays?” Scott asked.

“I have a statistics professor with high standards. I am going to study for his final.” FK had an exaggerated seriousness that made Scott laugh.

“You have an A in the course. I think you’re safe.” He was one of Scott’s top students. Hell, he was at the top in most of his classes, and the university held him out as proof that the mentorship program worked.  Scott was pretty sure FK would have succeeded with or without any mentoring. He had a strength and grit that few people could match.

“I still plan on studying. Do you have plans?” FK dug into the meal.

Scott’s mind when to his mother, but she was off with her newest boyfriend. Maybe he was being pessimistic, but given how often she switched lovers, he was a little surprised she hadn’t been killed by some jealous man.  “David and I plan to have a turkey dinner on Friday.” 

“Tell me if this is an unacceptable question, but…” FK frowned.

“Are David and I lovers?” Scott asked. He was used to everyone making that assumption, and while it still stung, the question had lost the power to gut him. “No. We’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and he took me in after the accident. In fact, he’s spending Thanksgiving with his parents and his younger sister’s family.” David had invited him, but that was a level of domesticity that made Scott uncomfortable. He had once made a fool out of himself because he let himself wallow in fantasy, and he couldn’t let his heart go back there again.

“Oh.” 

“Tell me if this is an unacceptable question,” Scott said, “but are you uncomfortable around gays?” Up to this point, Scott had avoid the topic because he didn’t want to know if his favorite mentee was a homophobe.

“No. I often suspect my father was an admirer of Mirza Husayn Ali. He taught us to respect everyone’s choices.”

“Mirza Husayn Ali?”

“The founder of the Baha’i faith. I don’t know how they feel about homosexuality, but when I started reading some of Ali’s teachings on equality and education, I could hear my father’s voice.” FK smiled, but there was a sadness there.

“Is your father still around?”

FK shook his head. “He was not a supporter of Saddam Hussein, and Saddam Hussein was not a supporter of him.” FK fell silent, and Scott was glad David was not anywhere near. The pain of that one line made it perfectly clear what had happened. “I think my father’s death is when I started becoming a man who did not have a country. How could I belong to a place that did not want me? How could I be proud of it?” FK poked at his quzi. 

Scott got it. “David might not be gay, but I am,” he said. “I watch politicians say things about me, about the gay community, about the black community and people of color and immigrants, and I feel the same way. How can I be part of a country that doesn’t want me in it? And then I remember I’m a stubborn bastard and if they don’t want me, I’ll change the damn country into one that does. I’ll vote for progressive candidates, and I’ll protest, and I will explain to anyone who will listen that democracy requires respecting each other’s choices.”

FK laughed. “You are determined enough to make the world bend to your will.”

“Not always, but I try,” Scott said. “I never stop trying.”

After they’d finished lunch and FK had headed to his afternoon classes, Scott couldn’t concentrate on his syllabus. He kept thinking about Phaeton.

Phaeton had wanted to prove the world that he was Helio’s son, so he took the sun chariot. After all, Helio’s true son should be able to drive the powerful horses. But they were too much for him. They flew higher and created lands of ice and cold. They dove back toward Earth and created deserts. Zeus eventually threw a lightning bolt and killed the boy.

So many people did that—they destroyed themselves in an attempt to prove themselves. Scott had profiled so many criminals who fit that exactly pattern. Smart individuals who thought they couldn’t get caught, idiots who didn’t consider the consequences, and insecure individuals were the three big categories of criminal. 

FK had every reason to be insecure. He could have vowed revenge against those who had killed his father and thrown himself into that war. He could have denounced his father and tried to prove himself the better Iraqi. He hadn’t. Instead he was at the university admitting that he didn’t understand the world and searching for answers. He was a good man. Scott should text him and invite him over for Thanksgiving. If David could gorge himself on two holiday meals back to back, so could Scott. 

December 25th

“Happy holidays, honey,” Cassandra said. Scott smiled into the computer’s camera. 

“Happy holidays, Mom. So, where are you?”

She looked at him, her gaze flat. “I’m still in Denver. You ask like I move so often that you can’t keep track of me.” 

On the other side of the room, David rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah. Scott knew exactly what David thought of his mother. It wasn’t like Scott was a huge fan of the insidious streak of conservativism running through David’s family.

“No, I just thought you might have gone somewhere special for the holidays.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like I believe in all the Christmas mythology. Christmas trees and a Jew coming back from the dead—I don’t see the appeal.”

“I like the idea of forgiveness, of a God that doesn’t think we need to earn forgiveness, but who believes we deserve it.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Have you joined one of those Christian cults?”

“Mom, you consider Lutherans a cult.”

“Look up the definition of cult, Sweetie. They are one. So, do I need to hire a deprogrammer and come kidnap you?”

Scott held up both hands in the universe gesture of surrender. “No deprogramming required. I am still free of any organized religious affiliation.”

She huffed.

“I smell something burning. I’ve got to go, Mom.”  Scott disconnected the link. He loved his mother, but she wore him out sometimes.  David sat on the couch next to Scott and offered him an open beer. It wasn’t even noon yet, but Scott during the beer anyway. He’d earned it.

“We should invite her to my parents’ place for Sunday mass. It would be so much fun watching her head pop off,” David suggested.

“You’re assuming she would be the loser. She might verbally shred your mother so badly that your mom killed herself.”

David seemed to think about that. “I’ll bet on my mother. She’s quietly vicious.”

“Family,” Scott said wearily. Sometimes he wasn’t sure how any of them survived it.

“Here’s to chosen family.” David held his beer bottle up, and Scott clinked his. 

They both drank before Scott asked, “How did your Christmas Eve dinner go?” David was out of the house before Scott woke up, and when he got back from his run, he’d retreated to the upstairs. That usually meant his parents had said something particularly conservative or weirdly pro-bad-police. That always put David in a foul mood.

“Great,” David said, sarcasm dripping off the word. He sighed and drank more beer before he added, “Cece has been hanging out with Danielle.”

Cece. David’s little sister Cece… and Danielle? “Ex-wife Danielle?” Scott asked, sure he had misheard.

“Yep, that’s the one.” David looked like he had just bit into a pickle. He hated pickles.

Scott wasn’t sure what to say. “That’s weird.”

“That’s exactly what I said, but apparently they’re friends now.” David drank more beer. “Friends who discuss me.”

“Would the appropriate response here be condolences or an offer to get you a gift certificate for therapy?”

David laughed. “Both?”

“I can do that,” Scott promised.  “Seriously, thought. Why is your sister hanging out with your ex-wife?”

“I have no idea, but they are coming up with some crazy ideas.”

David’s tone of voice set Scott on edge. He was working up to something really bad. Scott could hear it. “Poison in the Kool-Aid crazy or dyeing each other’s hair crazy?” Scott asked with the caution another man might use to disarm a bomb.

“They’ve decided I’m gay and that’s the only possible reason why I would have left Danielle.”

“She cheated on you,” Scott said, indignant for David. The bitch had cheated and then she had dragged their divorce through the mud, the courts, the precinct. If she could find someone to air their marital problems to, she did. She’d been a bitch.

“It wasn’t like she was getting much satisfaction in our bed,” David said with another unhappy frown. “At the time, I had not come to terms with my raging case of asexuality.”

“She was still a bitch,” Scott said. 

David shrugged. “I can’t get too upset with her for wanting sex, although cheating was a pretty asshole move.”

Scott grunted his agreement, but since David didn’t seem to want to engage in any ex-wife bashing, he changed the subject. “How did your parents take it?”

David wrinkled his nose. “When I said I wasn’t gay, my mom was so relieved that I took offense.”

That sounded glorious. When David had invited Scott to come along, Scott had almost accepted. Now he was glad he had opted to stay home and read academic journals about the application of chaos theory to theoretic statistics. “You had a happy Christmas Eve.”

“Anyway, I’m not telling you this just to complain about my family. I’m scared that one of them is going to say something that hurts you.” David rubbed his neck, a sure sign that he was seriously worried. 

“They think you’re off being gay with me, don’t they?”

“Yeah. And I don’t want one of them catching you off-guard with some stupid comment. Or accusation. Coming from them, it would definitely sound more like an accusation.”

Three years ago, the irony would have been a knife to Scott’s heart. He had wanted David to love him so much that he’d been blind to the fact that David did love him. Worse, he had completely disrespected the fact that David just wasn’t a sexual man. Sure, he knew that David’s marriage had lacked much physical intimacy. They were good enough friends that he’d known about that. But Scott had assumed the same thing his family was assuming now. He thought that David’s rejection of Danielle meant that Scott had a chance. That was real irony. And the fact that Scott would have fit right into the family dinner with all the baseless assumptions really highlighted what an asshole he’d been.

“They can’t say anything that will bother me.”

David gave him a worried look.

Scott held out his hand. “Really. We love each other. Your family can think whatever they want, but I know that our relationship perfect the way it is.”

David took his hand and squeezed it before letting go and clapping his hands together. “Right. So I want to open some presents.”

Scott laughed. David looked like a kid on Christmas. This was exactly how he wanted to spend his holidays. Love conquered all—a person just had to respect the form of love he’d been offered. Scott had finally learned to do that. If he could find a grand romance, that was fine. But if not, he was happy with David. And if sometimes he wished he had more, that never meant he would discount what he had now.