Some Like It Hopeless (A Temporary Engagement) (13 page)

Shane let Christian admire himself and went to find something wearable instead of the swill his beloved kept picking out.

He grabbed a shirt– not plaid, not button-up– and brought it back. He held it up and said, “What color is this?”

Christian cocked his head, taking a moment to get it right. “I’d call it eggplant.”

“You are gay. Gay! Go put that blue-checkered shirt back right now. We have standards.”

Christian glanced around the store guiltily, then glared at Shane and hissed, “Stop it.”

Shane glared back. “No one cares. Half the men in here are gay. Another quarter are metro who
wish
they were gay. And the rest are pussy whipped.”

Christian turned away, hiding the blush on his cheeks. He muttered, “And yet, this shirt is on sale here.”

“That shirt is meant to be worn ironically.”

“I like it.”

“You don’t.” Shane wiggled the hangar he was holding, tempting with eggplant. “You like this.”

Christian’s eyes darted to the shirt and then back to the God-forsaken monstrosity he was wearing.

His chin went up and he said, “I like this.”

“Gah! You are so stubborn.”

Shane came up behind Christian, holding the shirt up in front of Christian’s chest and pulling it this way and that.

“You like this.” Shane cocked his head. “It’s a terrible color for you, but you like it. I’d go with a light pink. Or coral; you’d look
amazing
in coral. But I’ll compromise with eggplant.”

Christian whispered, “Shane.”

Shane whispered back, “You can try on the eggplant or I can go find something in coral for you. Maybe a pair of swim shorts that don’t hide
anything
.”

Christian grabbed the shirt and ran into the dressing stall.

Shane went back to browsing while he waited, finding a few more shirts for Christian to try on. And a few for himself.

Shane glanced at his watch, knowing for a fact that it didn’t take ten minutes to change shirts. Then slowly made his way back to the dressing area.

“Christian?”

Christian’s voice floated over the door. “I don’t like this. It’s a terrible color for me.”

“Agreed. But come out so I can see you in something besides plaid. I’m getting tingly just thinking about it.”

Christian didn’t come out.

“You’re not even going to show me?”

“No.”

Shane flung a shirt over the door. “You need bright colors. Beachy colors. Luckily, we live in L.A. and beach colors are everywhere.”

Christian flung the aqua-blue shirt back over the door without a word.

Shane pushed it back over. “You are sticking out like a sore thumb in that costume of yours. It’s embarrassing.”

“. . .I’m embarrassing you?”

“Your
shirt
is embarrassing me. I lived with the swim shorts big enough to fit you, me, and Cassandra. I won’t even touch those khaki cargos because I’d die a thousand deaths if I saw you in a pair of skinny jeans. But, please, the shirt.
Please
, the shirt.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do, Shane.”

He knew. He knew what he was asking. He was asking for a proclamation. He was asking for Christian to announce to the world that he was gay.

He knew that’s what Christian thought he was asking him to do by wearing color.

“It’s a shirt, Christian. That’s all it is. A gorgeous shirt that does not have buttons.”

When the door opened a little while later, Shane might have gasped at what he saw. At how the color brought out Christian’s eyes and how the material outlined farm-boy pecs.

Shane whispered, “Gorgeous.”

Christian shut the door, and when he came out a few minutes later, he was back in his plaid button-up.

“This is who I am. In public. Can you love even that?”

Shane pushed down his disappointment. “I love even that.”

That stopped Christian, and he stood there, looking down at the aqua-blue shirt in his hands. “It is a gorgeous shirt.”

“It is.” And Shane bit his tongue. Didn’t say anything more. Because he remembered something about a horse and water and drinking. The exact phrase eluded him, but he knew Christian had to do it himself.

Christian hung the shirt up on the rack and Shane grabbed for it. “Then I’ll buy it. Just for the weekends, when you’re at home and comfortable.”

He’d just keep leading his horse to water. As often as he needed to.

Two could play that stubborn game.

He bought the shirt to protests, ignoring Christian until he was out the door. Out the door and mad. For some reason, furious.

He whirled back to Christian, holding out his hands, one with the shopping bag swinging in it.

“You won’t wear a
shirt
. You’ll never hold my hand out in public, will you? We’ll always be this, won’t we? A gay man and his friend who must be straight because he has no fashion sense whatsoever. That’s what you’re protecting when you won’t wear a
shirt
.”

Christian looked alarmed. “Not here, Shane. Please.”

“You’re protecting your image. God knows why you’ll even be seen with me, I must be so embarrassing to
you
.”

He turned in a circle, his arms still out wide, showing Christian that nothing would happen. No one would look at them, no one would be shocked. Not here. Not in this strip of boutiques in L.A.

When he was looking back into Christian’s embarrassed eyes, he said, “This is who
I
am. Will you love even that?”

Because, dammit, he wanted that proclamation. He wanted the words.

Out in public. Out
loud
.

And he knew he’d never get them from Christian.

Shane fell against the building, looking down at his feet. He sighed. “I’ll make you a deal. Here, in L.A., where you can’t throw a beach ball without hitting a gay or lesbian couple, we will be out. And when we go to Utah to meet your family, I will be your friend. Who has a girlfriend.”

He pulled out his phone, flipping it to a picture of Cassandra and holding it out to Christian. “Who has a picture of his girlfriend, even.”

“The classic beard.”

“She’s not my beard, because I’m not hiding. She’s your beard. . . No, that’s not right. She’s my beard, for you. . . She’s my beard because you’re hiding. . . She should be your beard.”

Christian started laughing, coming to lean against the wall next to Shane. He looked down at the phone, at Cassandra who was loved. At Cassandra, who would probably have a few choice words about being anyone’s beard, let alone his.

Christian said, “Just when I start thinking this is never going to work between us, you do something that makes me never want to let you go.”

Shane’s head came up and he turned his head slowly toward Christian. “The feeling is mutual.”

Christian said sadly, “It’s never going to work between us.”

“It would work if you would simply put the shirt on.”

“I know you’re joking, but that’s what I’m talking about. What you want, I can’t do.”

Shane said, “I’m only kind of joking. All my problems with us would disappear if you would just take this ugly shirt off.”

Christian shook his head, rolling his eyes at Shane, and Shane said, “I don’t know why you are so afraid of people knowing that you’re gay.”

It was the second time Shane had said that today, maybe even the third. Third time to call him gay and Christian’s stomach still turned at it.

How could Shane
not
be afraid, how could he not be ashamed?

Shane watched people walk by and said, “If everyone disappeared off the face of the earth, and it was only you and me forever, which shirt would you wear?”

“You are really hung up on the shirt.”

“It’s your symbol. It’s the flag you wave to show everyone that you are what they want you to be. I hate it. Because no one cares.”

“Some people care.”

“Name one.”

Christian ticked up fingers as he said, “My dad. My mom. My three brothers and my sister. My two grandfathers, my grandma. My umpteen nieces and nephews. My aunts and uncles and cousins. My friends back home.”

“You think they would all care that you were gay?”

“Yes.”

“And they’d do what about it? What level of care are we talking about? Whispers at family reunions when you show up with your boyfriend? Beat it out of the both of us when they see us kiss?”

Christian folded his arms. “No. They wouldn’t try to beat it out of me. Or us.”

“Then why are you
afraid
?”

“Because I don’t want to disappoint them. I’m not afraid of them; I just don’t want to hurt them.”

Because Christian knew what disappointment looked like on his family’s collective face. He’d seen it, he’d heard that awful silence, and could imagine it even now. Because he was afraid they already thought he was gay. Because he was afraid it was something you couldn’t hide, no matter what kind of shirt you wore.

Shane said, “It must really suck to be born into a family where so much is expected. To want to please those you love and continually fail at it. Because the expectations are impossible to live up to.”

“That’s how it is for everyone. All parents have expectations for their children.”

“No. It’s not like that for everyone. I forget sometimes how lucky I am.” He sighed. “And I don’t want us to be like that.”

Christian looked at the expression on Shane’s face and laughed. “You’re talking about the shirt now, aren’t you?”

“If you have to wear those ugly shirts to be happy, then okay. I love you. Not, I’ll still love you. Not, I love you anyway. But, I love you
because
you wear those ugly shirts. And I will make fun of you for it, absolutely, but I won’t take it as a sign that you don’t love me.”

“Good. Because that’s not what it’s saying.”

Shane grabbed his own shirt, pulling it from his body and saying, “And this fashionably colored shirt doesn’t say I don’t love you.”

The smile started before Christian could call it back, before he could even think what it meant to be smiling stupidly at the man next to him.

He looked this way and that, at the people passing them, and saw that Shane was right. No one here cared.

His family would; he wasn’t wrong about that.

But here in L.A., where the sun shone and the people were busy with their own lives, no one cared.

And here in L.A., where his family didn’t live and couldn’t be hurt, Christian smiled at the man he loved.

Shane held the phone up and snapped a picture of Christian before he even knew what was going on.

“Now I have a picture of both the people that I love. My friend, Christian, and his lovely girlfriend/beard, Cassandra. I need a new phone, these pictures are terrible. And fyi, don’t take it as a sign that I don’t love you if I accidentally burn this shirt. I can find better-looking plaid than this.” His eyes lit up and he pulled Christian from the wall. “I know a store we might be able to find something.”

Shane’s warm hand was on Christian’s arm, pulling him toward another hellish round of shopping and– Christian was pretty sure– neon plaid.

Christian took the phone from Shane as he was pulled along. Looking at the picture that was worth a thousand words, and Christian said, “I’d wear the aquamarine shirt.”

“What?”

“If it was just you and me, forever. I’d wear the aquamarine shirt.”

Shane blew out his breath and said, “I knew it.”

The shirt wasn’t neon plaid, although it was much brighter and “beachier” than Christian was used to. And while it did feel like a step in some direction he wasn’t sure he was ready for, he did look good.

He looked good and he knew it. And he hated that.

But he could wear it in L.A. and not stick out like a sore thumb.

He could even wear it to a Sunday dinner at Cassandra’s, and Christian almost laughed at calling their gathering a Sunday dinner, almost forgot about the dread that would surely be involved at a Sunday dinner at Cassandra’s.

He’d grown up with Sunday dinners. A night when all the family came home to pot roast, sweet potatoes, pie if his Dad could be talked into it at church in the morning. His mom had always refused to make pie crust, always said just because she hated pie crust didn’t mean she loved her family any less.

Just meant Dad was the one to make it. And Christian had loved that. Had loved how they were a team, had always wanted his own team.

But there had been dread at those family dinners as well. Dread was just a feeling Christian wasn’t ever going to get away from.

It was inside him.

Shane pushed his key into Cassandra’s front door, saying over his shoulder, “She’s going to love it. The color!”

Christian wasn’t sure if Shane was blind where Cassandra was concerned or just insanely optimistic, but Christian wasn’t going to hold his breath waiting for Cassandra to love anything about him.

Just Christian’s lot in life that he’d fallen in love with a man. Who already had his team.

Shane called out, singing, “Cass! We went shopping!”

A soft “in the bedroom” called back, and they followed her voice, Shane jabbering non-stop, and Christian wondered if maybe he wasn’t so blind where she was concerned, after all.

Christian was used to dread and feeling out of place and slightly unwelcome. He was just wondering why dinner was here and not at the penthouse. Did penthouses get old?

When they entered the bedroom, Brady was getting out of the bed.

A naked, clearly-I’m-in-the-middle-of-something Brady was just standing up, and he walked past them, calmly and unconcerned, to the bathroom.

The blood rushed out of Christian’s head and for a second he thought he was going to faint.

Cassandra smirked at them and stretched. “He works out.”

Shane gurgled.

Christian focused his eyes on Cassandra, only slightly less embarrassed at finding the sheet outlining her body, and said, “I’ll wait out in the living room.”

And since he had no delusions about Cassandra, knew that had been her plan all along. Didn’t even need to see the sparkle in her eye to know it.

Shane was still standing there, mouth gaping open, eyes glazed. Christian heard him say to himself, “How can he be a shower
and
a grower?”