Cottagecore: Road Trip - Dan

Cottagecore: Road Trip Chapter 13 – Beach If you can, please donate to Nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ----- "Can I ask you something?

Charlie and I had been spooning, dozing naked on top of the bedspread, a little blissed out after slow, smoldering early-morning sex. Light rain pattered on the roof and a breeze ruffled the curtains.

I was cool, except where Charlie pressed against my back. He'd pushed his hard cock between my legs, but not urgently.

"Mmmmm," I sighed. I was curious, but I wasn't ready to wake up.

He blew a laugh through his nose. "It can wait." Charlie snuggled deeper against my back.

I'd decided that I preferred to be the big spoon, but Charlie had let me lead during our lovemaking, so I wasn't going to force the issue. Plus, I liked feeling him against my back.

We dozed a while longer, I don't know how long. Charlie got restless first, rolling away from me and stretching like a cat. I gave in and rolled onto my belly, stretching. I wasn't fully awake, so maybe it was time to move a little. The rain had stopped but the air still felt cool. It was brighter than I expected.

"How can it be after noon?" I asked. "I never sleep this late."

Charlie smirked cutely. "You're one deep sleeper," he said. "Get in the shower, I'm starving." He smacked my ass, not softly, to get me going.

I faked a glower and then took a second to enjoy the view. Charlie was six feet tall and rangy, with lean but well-defined muscles. His biceps rippled and his quads flexed under his cocoa-colored skin. Charlie stretched again and snorted another laugh when he saw me eyeing him. "Get up you horndog," he said as he climbed out of bed. "No more sex until I get something to eat."

Half an hour later we were sitting on the covered patio of the resort's snack bar, watching the last of the storm blow itself out to sea. I was inhaling a crab cake sandwich and thinking about ordering another. Charlie had finished his burger.

"So I was thinking . . .." he said between fries. "Don't take this the wrong way . . .."

I looked up. "Should I be nervous?"

"Nah," he said casually, "but you might not like it."

I'd left Pete's house early Sunday morning, following him out of the mountains and into the Shenandoah Valley. We'd said goodbye to Henry the night before, after dinner and an evening eating as many blackberries as I could pick before it got too dark. Pete and I headed back to his house in town to fold laundry and pack, with promises to keep in touch all around. Pete turned off towards Charlottesville and I pressed on hard for Delaware, at Henry's recommendation.

He thought I'd like a beach town he called "Re-Homo." I wasn't sure I was ready for the gay resort scene, but the beach sounded nice. I drove without stopping so I could miss rush hour traffic around D.C.

I hadn't gained much experience driving in congestion on my road trip, but I did okay. Traffic around Baltimore and Annapolis was fast and dense, but I stayed to the left and didn't get too stressed out.

I got to the beach in the early afternoon. As I drove north along the shore, every motel's "No Vacancy" sign made me a little more nervous. I could find somewhere to camp, I was sure, even if it was another parking lot, but I'd started looking forward to Pete and Henry's suggestion that I relax and take care of myself before school. It was easier to do that in a motel room than from the back of my truck.

Henry had joked that I should spend my beach time as a boot camp to make myself "extra smoking hot" for the start of school. It was vain, but I decided to do just that. I figured that beach time, plus normal exercise and a diet of fish and fruit was the way to go. I was already pretty lean, but the last few weeks had also left me feeling pasty and stiff. Long bike rides, outdoor yoga, and runs on the beach would clear that up, I thought, and leave me looking good and feeling food for the start of the school year.

I'd driven further than I expected, about to give up and turn inland. Then, just before I passed it, a "No Vacancy" sign winked out. I lurched hard into the courtyard, hoping my luck held. My road trip had been a huge success even if I did have a few setbacks.

The property sat on a strip of land between the frontage road and the ocean. A dense bank of scrubby pines created a break from the roadway and gave the property its name, "The Pines." Behind the motor court, small cabins were spread out under massive pines and a few equally impressive oaks. The lawn sloped gently down towards the beach.

I asked the woman at the front desk if there was a vacancy.

"Sure do, hun," she said. "Some Philly folks left early, new baby in their family come early, they said. But I need two weeks from you. If you can't pay it, somebody else will." The rate was about what I expected. I decided to take the room, even though I'd have to leave a couple of days early. It looked clean and was way better than I should expect in August with no reservation.

When I got to my cottage, as the clerk called it, I knew I had made the right decision. It was way more than I needed, but that made it perfect.

The room was bright and looked towards the water. The kitchenette had an electric range and a small fridge. There was a bedroom alcove and a tidy bathroom. It smelled fresh and clean. Outside was a raised deck off a sliding door, surrounded by low planters filled with different kinds of sage and mint. A butterfly garden, maybe.

The beach was about 50 yards from my door. The other cabins were far enough away that I felt like I had some privacy. It would be a really nice place to collect myself before the start of orientation. Whether I was reading, exercising, or planning my schedule at A. Ham., I felt like I had found a great place to get ready for school.

I certainly hadn't planned to meet anybody.

"What'll your brand be when you get to A. Ham.?" asked Charlie, nibbling one of my fries after I ordered another sandwich.

I pushed my plate towards the center of the table. I was confused. "I don't have a brand."

"Sure you do," said Charlie with a warm smile. "Everybody has a brand, even if you don't know it." This is what I got from hanging out with a Stern School marketing major. He was going to be a senior.

"You're about to launch your brand at A. Ham. What'll it be?"

I shrugged, more interested in my next sandwich than Charlie's question, if I'm being honest. "I'm just . . . me," I said lamely.

I met Charlie on my second night at the beach. I was hurt and lonely, and Charlie seemed at the time to be just what I needed. Lots of fun, good conversations, and sex with no strings attached. Or so I thought.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'd spent my first afternoon in Delaware getting settled. After a long swim in the ocean—the water seemed impossibly warm compared to the Pacific Ocean—I unpacked everything from my truck. I left my camping and climbing gear on the patio deck outside, stored my clothes in the dresser, set up my laptop, and organized my A. Ham. materials. I'd sort and rearrange everything later, I decided.

Next, I made a video call to my dad. I'd set it up the night before. Henry's comment about Dan's mom going off the rails made me worry. I'd gnawed it over on the drive to Delaware, trying to figure out how to raise it with my parents. I didn't want to tell them I'm gay over the phone. That seemed like a conversation to have in person, even if they already knew. But I had to figure out what was going on with Dan.

I didn't normally think too much about my background for video calls, but the obvious care Quentin and Tee took to frame the call when we talked last week had impressed me. I set up my laptop so the view behind me included the beach and the ocean beyond. I know my parents had worried about me over the summer so I wanted to make sure they knew I'd be comfortable between now and the start of school.

My dad took the call on his laptop. He was sitting outside, shaded by an umbrella with the river canyon behind him. It was early afternoon in California and my dad was sipping from a tall iced coffee. He closed the garage on Mondays and tried to spend the day relaxing.

The view made me a little homesick. By mid-August, the weather would be shifting towards fall at our elevation. I didn't see any yellow in the maples behind my dad, but that wasn't far off. I could almost smell the tarweed, a harbinger of autumn. I wasn't sure, but I might be the only person in California to like the smell.

After some small talk—Dad admitted the view, I told him about the cabin, Pete, Henry, and the farm—I asked, "have you seen Dan lately? I haven't heard from him in a while." I was trying to be nonchalant, but my dad didn't play along.

Dad grimaced a little. "He's been through some stuff this summer, son." Seeing the look on my face, he added quickly, "don't worry. I had lunch with him on Saturday. He's fine. He's parents have gone nuts, especially Janice, but he'll be okay. He misses you, he asked me to say."

"I miss him too," I said a little awkwardly. I didn't like how tentative my dad was being. It felt evasive.

"What's going on?"

"Well," said my dad, still stalling, "something happened up at the Resort a few weeks after you left. Dan got fired. It was public and pretty ugly. You know how thing gets around here."

I nodded. Ours is a small community, and Park administrators' families like Dan's can be under a lot of scrutiny. Plus, his parents can be a little self-righteous, so I'm sure there were plenty of folks who enjoyed Dan's scandal even if they didn't bear him any ill will.

"What kind of scandal?" Oh, Dan, I chuckled to myself, what did you get yourself into?

The corners of my dad's mouth twitched. "He got caught in bed with a married Resort guest."

"Oh my god," I groaned, laughing.

I could see relief on my dad's face. I think he thought I might be jealous. "By the guy's wife."

"Holy shit!" I didn't normally swear in front of my parents but holy shit, Dan.

"They were on their honeymoon!" My dad was definitely laughing now.

All I could do was groan and laugh weakly. "Escandolo!" I said.

My dad nodded, but was more serious. "Janice and Clyde grounded him and read through his phone. They found some, uh, graphic stuff, including stuff about you. They were not happy." He wasn't laughing any more.

"Dad. . . ." I started.

"Son, your mother and I are happy for you . . .."

I interrupted. He was on the wrong track, or at least uncomfortable for the wrong reason. I didn't want him to think I was worried they knew I'm gay, there were more important things to talk about "Thanks Dad. I figured you would be okay with it. I wanted to tell you in person, or at least Mom, but I didn't get to see her in Omaha."

"We already knew by then," said my dad. "Janice really did lose her mind. Called us screaming after she read Dan's messages. She thought we knew about you and kept news about Dan from her."

"Which you would have done, right?" I asked. It was a tangent, but I wanted to know.

"Of course, son. I mean, I'd heard rumors about Dan going back a year or more, around the time they shipped off that boy they said he was seeing."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" I asked, sort of joking, sort of incredulous.

My dad ignored the joke. His mouth tightened a little, which happened when he was upset. "It wasn't my story to tell," he said simply. "Anyway, it was only a rumor, told to me unkindly by somebody who wouldn't have minded that Clyde and Janet got embarassed. I wasn't about to go gossiping about Dan, even with you." There wasn't any edge to his voice, but I heard it anyway.

I nodded but didn't say anything, absorbing my dad's reproach. Dan was family for my parents, like I had been—to a lesser degree—with Clyde and Janice. "Dan said his parents were really upset when they found out about him and Gary, but he thought they were coming around," I said. "Do you know what happened with them?"

"I can explain some of it," said my dad. "You know we've had our differences with Clyde and Janice over the years, especially around parenting."

I nodded.

"We've known Janice and Clyde since before you boys were born," my dad said. "We've always been social, more when you and Dan and the rest of your crew were little." I knew all this. Why was my dad taking so long to get to the point?

Dan's parents thought I needed firmer rules, stronger discipline, more structure. My parents thought Dan should have been allowed to make more of his own choices, including his own mistakes. The disagreements became less acute as we got older and both succeeded, but according to my mother, it was one of the things that kept their friendship superficial.

"Well," continued my dad, "reading Dan's phone must have reminded Janice of some old arguments we had with them over the years. Somehow, she decided that your mother and I were part of the reason that Dan's had so many boyfriends." His delivery was deadpan, but his eyes twinkled and he put a hint of extra emphasis on "so many boyfriends." Did my dad just call Dan a whore?

"What on earth?" I said. "How could they think you were involved at all?"

"Like I said, this goes way back," my dad said.

Five of us had been born at the Park's medical clinic within six months of each other, eight if you count the girls. We were the last babies born in the Park, before they started evacuating pregnancies for birth in the Valley hospitals. We'd grown up together. Sometimes they called us the "Wrecking Crew." Some years, we were the only kids in our grade. Even within the tight knit Park community, we were especially close. Our parents had been too.

"Hell," said my dad, "you boys were raised almost as brothers sometimes." Some weeks, if my parents were in trial, I stayed with Dan and his family. When we were seven or eight, Dan's mother had to spend the summer our of state, caring for her sick mother. It was just easier for all of us for Dan to live at my house.

It was a running family joke that Dan and I had been raised as feral children with the rest of the Park kids, despite our parents' more structured homes. It wasn't too far from the truth. There weren't enough kids for a preschool, so our parents founded one, housed in one of the Park Museum's unused workspaces. Dan's mom had been one of the lead teachers, demanding structure and discipline that most of the other parents were indifferent to.

I tried to hide my impatience as my dad continued to reminisce. "That's what doesn't make sense to me," I said. "Dan's parents know me, why would Dan and me getting together bother them so much, especially with everything else he did?"

Surprisingly, my dad got a little sheepish. "Sorry, son," he said, "but your mother and I may bear some of that blame."

What the hell? I squinted into the camera, shrugging to let my dad know I didn't follow what he was talking about.

My dad squirmed a little, and looked down before he started talking. "Over the years, we've wondered about you boys' sexual orientation, including some conversations with Janice and Clyde where we speculated aloud. That led to some arguments."

After I'd digested my dad's comment, I barked a laugh. "I'm going to need some details," I said thoroughly surprised and more than a little confused. It was one of my parents' favorite sayings when they thought I wasn't supporting an argument with enough facts.

My dad looked relieved that I was laughing. "The last time it came up, you and Dan were 13 or 14. It was at the 8th grade graduation party, so must have been 14. Everybody was having a great time, but you and Dan were off to the side a little all afternoon, playing some game together. You were with the rest of the kids, but also apart from them."

I remembered it pretty well. Thinking back, that was about then that I had first started having feelings for Dan, even thought I wouldn't realize what I had been feeling for years.

"Swimming pool basketball, "I said with a smile. "You boys kept making up new rules, so nobody else could play," said my dad.

I didn't even realize we were trying to exclude the other kids.

"Anyway," said my dad, "your mother and I were there with Janice, just hanging out and watching you play. Your mother casually said something like, `They'd make such a cute couple.' It just an observation, the sort of comment we'd been making since you boys were little."

My parents had joked about me being gay my whole life?

"Janice was livid. We were in public so she didn't make a scene, but she just went ice cold. That's not funny!' and How dare you!' and `They're just boys!' She and Clyde didn't talk to us all summer."

"Dad," I said, realizing that I was again drawing the conversation away from how Dan was doing, but needing more information, "why didn't you ever tell me that you thought Dan and I would make a cute couple?"

"Your life is your own journey, son. Your mother and I thought you'd figure out your orientation without our suggestions."

Sometimes I wished my parents were pure hippy or pure prosecutors. I hated getting caught in the middle ground.

I shrugged a smile. "It would have made things a lot easier if you'd given me a hint," I said. I didn't try to keep the exhasperation out of my voice.

"When is easier ever better?" It was one of my parents' favorite aphorisms. This time, my standard retort felt appropriate.

"Easier is better when the best solution is also the easiest," I said. This wasn't the right time for a long discussion of heteronormativity, but I wanted to make sure my dad understood my point. "Being closeted—even when I didn't know I was closeted—was isolating. It would have been easier for me to know that you and Mom supported me, to know that I wasn't alone."

"What do you mean?" said my dad, stung. "We have lots of gay friends. We're allies!"

"I'm not criticizing you, Dad," I said, and mostly meant it. This wasn't the time to talk about the difference between having gay friends and celebrating gay kids, supporting them and encouraging them and treating it like a normal part of growing up.

"It's just that it never occurred to me that Dan and I could be a couple until the night before I left on this trip. Dan didn't either. I appreciate the space you gave me to figure it out on my own, but . . ."

My dad stepped in to finish my thought as I tried to find the words. "But you think you and Dan might have had more time together if we'd told you we approve?"

"Something like that," I shrugged. "Most kids don't need to figure out stuff like that on their own. It's hindsight bias, I know, but when I thought about all the futures I had available to me, spending my life with another man just wasn't something I saw as possible. And especially not with Dan."

We sat in silence for a few moments.

"We should have done better," said my dad a little sadly. "We didn't really know what to think, you know? You had so many friends who were girls, we thought you might just be trying to figure it out over time. We were so committed to giving you space that we forgot to guide you, show you different paths."

"Thanks Dad," I said. What else could I say? They were well-intended. "So Dan's parents didn't think we'd make a cute couple. That's really why they freaked out this summer?" I said, trying to lighten the mood.

My dad laughed ruefully. "Janice and Clyde have always known that we disagree with them when it comes to religion and family. We don't question their faith, but we've had some pretty heated discussions when it comes to putting doctrine above family. It was mostly about Dan, but Janice is the brains in that family and the way she deferred to Clyde was hard to watch."

"What does that have to do with me and Dan, specifically?" I asked. I know I was ping-ponging around a little, redirecting the conversation a little erratically, but my dad didn't seem to mind.

"When they read Dan's phone, Janice and Clyde jumped to a bunch of conclusions. Worst, she thought your mom and I were actively undermining them, helping the two of you hide a relationship. She called us complicit' and groomers' and similar shit, straight off cable news, just insane ranting. She only calmed down when she realized she'd caught us by surprise."

"Oh boy," I said.

"It was bad," my dad said, shaking his head, "mostly because that crazy bitch threatened us. She thought we'd helped you two when you were underaged. She lost it again when your mother called her back and set her straight, tore her a new one. I don't know the last time I saw your mom so angry."

I was shocked. My dad never used "bitch" to describe women. And if my mom had let Janice have it, that was the sort of thing that would be the talk of the town for weeks.

The whole thing was riduculous. To fill the awkward silence, I said the obvious: "Dan's older than me. If anybody would have been in trouble, it would have been him."

My dad waived me off. "She wasn't being rational, son," he said, "just lashing out."

"Anyway, I never sent Dan anything graphic."

"I'd say I don't want to know," said my dad slowly, "but your mom's a public figure and her profile's about to go up significantly. We trust you to be smart, but you're young and make mistakes. Apparently, Dan's mistake was to text some of your friends a whole lot of detail about what happened between the two of you."

I tried to ask my dad what he meant about my mom. "We'll tell you when you see you in New York. Anyway," he went on, "Janice blames you for some of this."

I wonder who Dan had told, and what he'd said. Dan's parents would never look at me the same way again. Who the hell cares, I corrected myself. If they were going to treat Dan badly, I didn't think I wanted to speak with them again. I was surprised to feel a pang of loss, and another when I thought about how Dan must feel.

"It was just one night," I said. "We didn't even do that much."

My dad cleared his throat uncomfortably. "That didn't seem to matter to Janice," he said. Then, he redirected the subject away from my night with Dan. "By the end of the call, your mother was just hammering Janice. We've barely talked since."

"Oh my god," I groaned. "I still don't understand what sent her off the rails."

"We think what happened at the Resort was the worst of it," said my dad. "Liek I said, Janice used that as an excuse to go through Dan's messages and photos. There was plenty of stuff she didn't like. He's been on lockdown all summer. No phone, no computer, no games, not even mail. They've completely isolated him."

I wondered what Dan's parents had found. "I wonder what sent them over the deep end," I wondered. "Dan's had a couple of boyfriends that his parents knew about, before we ever got together. He said they were getting better."

"I don't know the details, son, but apparently they thought he'd stopped messing around with boys. Then, it got out that he got caught with that guy on his honeymoon." My dad chuckled as I groaned again. "I don't know whether it was that the scandal or the fact that he had been with so many guys."

I'd heard stories about the Resort. I actually hoped to work there next summer.

"Dumb horny Dan," I smiled. "Poor guy."

"It wasn't just that. He'd been playing along with the Church and his Mission, but now they're questioning his faith. They felt lied to, like he was playing them."

"Of course he was playing them," I said, instantly angry. "Of course he was lying to them, on some level at least. What could they expect? They think he's an abomination, whether they'll say it or not, and he knows he's not. His choices were either to play along or walk away. Run away, maybe, but I don't see what other choice they gave him."

"Your mother and I said as much to Janice and Clyde. They didn't like hearing it." I really was done with Janice and Clyde. It hurt, but I really couldn't care less.

"You said Dan seems okay?" I asked.

"Let me back up," my dad went on. "Dan's been stuck at home for the last six weeks. Not quite iron chains or bread and water but pretty close. Well, on Saturday, I saw him driving through town alone. I ambushed him down to the Post Office. He said his parents expected him back right away, so I called them and then dragged Dan to lunch with me. I had to make sure he's okay. Janice wasn't happy but you know how she hates a fuss."

I smiled grimly. Dan's dad was an assistant superintendent at the park and his parents acted like politicians. Or minor celebrities. Still, given what I'd heard so far, I was surprised they'd let my dad see Dan without a fight. I guessed that they were trying to avoid any appearance of a scandal.

"What's he up to?" I was bursting to know.

"Bored, son. Bored out of his mind. I had a box of paperbacks in my truck for donation to the library, lots duplicates or stuff you didn't love. I gave them to Dan instead. I threw in the extra set of the Robert Jordan books, I hope you don't mind. He said he's sorry he hasn't been able to reply to you but I said I thought you'd understand."

"I guess," I nodded. Dan would probably hate most of the books, I thought. "'Woo woo magic crap' is how he used tease me about my hobby reading of fantasy and science fiction.

Given how bad cell coverage is around our houses, neither of us spent much time on our phones so I hadn't been surprised that he hadn't texted, but I'd started to worry when all my emails and voicemails went unanswered. "I've missed him a lot."

"He knows, son. Like I said, he misses you too. He's got a plan to get in touch with you once he gets to campus, but he isn't sure that will happen. His parents been working with the church to move up the start of his Mission."

"That sucks," I grumbled. "I guess I'll have to wait for a letter from New Zealand."

"Don't count on it, son," my dad said sadly. "Dan said one of the rules of his Mission is that he has to turn in all devices and stay focused on the Church. He's not even allowed to contact his family during his Mission, I think he said. I'm not sure he'll be able to write you."

Shit. I didn't know that. Dan and I hadn't had much time to make plans before I left in June.

"I can see by the look on your face that you're trying to figure out how to reach him," my dad said. He was right. "Dan asked me to tell you a few things."

"I don't think I'm going to like this."

"No son, you won't," said my dad. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

My dad said that Dan had decided to commit to the Mission. "He knows it's going to be hard. And he's sorry that it will probably hurt you. But he said that's the decision he made."

Shit, I thought again. "Dan being Dan," I said with a forced smile. Dan never did anything halfway. It was one of the reasons I find him so attractive.

"I don't think he has much faith left," my dad said, "but he's going to try to follow his church's teachings as he's directed on the Mission. That means he's not going to try to get around the restrictions on contacting you once his Mission starts."

That stung. From our last conversation, I didn't think Dan had any faith left. Was he really going to give up on me, or hope I waited for two years, just to confirm what he already knew. My dad smiled thinly. "He thought you'd understand."

"I don't think I do," I said, holding onto my hurt. "Dan's gay, he knows he's gay, he likes being gay. I understand that he wants to make his parents happy, or at least not piss them off too much, but I don't see why he's going to play along for two years without so much as a letter to me."

"Don't give up on him just yet, son," said my dad. "Dan really does hope to have to get in touch with you from Utah, even if his Mission is accelerated. He thought he might have a day or two."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was going to have to be careful, I realized. I was ready to condemn Dan without knowing everything. It would be really easy to jump to conclusions without enough information.

"If you see him again . . ." I paused, "if you just so happened to bump into him," I suggested, hoping my dad heard my encouragement, "tell him I'd love to hear from him, even if he called on your phone." Hint, hint, Dad. I even waggled my eyebrows.

"Sorry, son," Dad said with a sad smile. "I tried to get him to use my phone to call you on Saturday, even if I knew Janice would never forgive me. Dan wouldn't do it. He said the only reason his parents allowed him to go get the mail was his promise not to try to break their rules. Seems like his plan for Utah is his best bet."

I sighed, feeling defeated.

"There's more," said my dad. "Dan said he didn't want you to wait for him. He said he doesn't know what's going to happen, but he didn't want you to put your life on hold because of him. Have fun,' he told me to tell you. Live your life.'"

Tears spilled down my cheeks, unexpectedly. I hadn't felt this sad in a long time. Not since I'd felt so alone, before I'd accepted that I'm gay.

"Are you okay, son? I don't know the last time I saw you with tears in your eyes."

I didn't say anything for a second. Why was I so sad? I'd spent the summer acting like Dan was a possibility, and he was still a possibility. But I hadn't let my feelings for Dan get in the way of having a lot of fun. I could still have a lot of fun, and then Dan would be back. Still, two years was a long time to hold onto feelings. It felt like Dan was choosing something over me.

"I was so scared to tell Dan I'm gay," I said. "We'd grown apart and I thought it was because he knew and didn't like me. He though I'd heard about his boyfriends and didn't like him. We laughed and laughed . . .." I choked another laugh, through more tears.

"Dan didn't tell me any of that," my dad said.

"We'd both been keeping our distance, and then we had one night together." I paused, breathing.

"That's all we had. We knew it would be hard, with him in New Zealand, but we both knew we'd be there at the end, or at least that we'd try. Now, I don't know. It feels like Dan's saying he won't be there, or maybe he'll only be there if he doesn't find faith. It feels like he's cutting me loose."

"You love him," said my dad. Not a question. "As more than a friend."

I nodded. "I thought he loves me too, in the same way, but I don't know any more."

"I'm sorry, son," said my dad. "Does it help to know that your mother and I love you very much? That we're sorry for this to have happened?"

I thanked him. It did help, if not very much. I suddenly wanted the call to be over, but my dad kept talking.

"I don't want you to think I'm defending Dan here, but he wanted to make sure you know how much he misses you. He didn't use the word, but I think he does love you too, as more than a friend. His situation is just hard."

I nodded. "If you see him again," I lied, "please tell him I do understand. I love him, I'll miss him, but I understand."

My dad wasn't buying it, but he didn't call me on it. "Just tell me that you'll be alright, son," he said quietly.

"I think I'll be okay," I said. "Dan and I didn't have any concrete plans together, just the possibility of the future. We knew it would be complicated, but I guess I was just hoping that we'd have some time this fall to figure things out before he left for New Zealand."

My dad nodded. "Dan said something similar. When I asked how he was doing, he said his biggest regret was that he might not be able to talk with you before he left."

I sighed again, shaking my head. "Two more years. Before I left, we agreed to have fun this summer, not to worry about being exclusive. I've had some fun . . ." my dad started to hold up his hands in a "Too Much Information" gesture but I just kept talking—"and it sounds like Dan did too. Sounds like he thinks I shouldn't stop."

"I don't know about that," said my dad. "He said he'd hate for you to wait for him and miss out on the full college experience." My dad shrugged. "He had a bunch of other reasons too. It all made sense, and he may even have believed it, but I've got my doubts." I raised my eyebrows and my dad shrugged again. "It was what I'd expect him to say, rationalized and intellectual and thoughtful . . ."

"Typical Dan," I interjected with a forced smile.

My dad nodded. ". . . but I don't think it'll be any easier for you to hear than it was for him to say."

I exhaled, really wanting to be done with the conversation but needing to hear the rest. "Go on," I said.

"Before I give you his reasons, I want you to know how sad he seemed. Like you are now, I think." My dad suddenly seemed exhausted too. Resigned, almost hopeless. "It wasn't easy for him, you need to know that. I'm not worried about him, at least not for his safety or anything drastic, but if he sticks with his plan, I think he's going to have a long couple of years in New Zealand. Lonely years."

Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. It wasn't what I wanted for Dan. It wasn't what I wanted for me, either, but I knew I'd be okay. I thought about how isolated he'd be in New Zealand, cut off from everybody he knew and maybe forced back into the closet.

"Did Dan say what he was going to do? I mean, is he going to be out on his Mission? I know his church is modernizing some on gay stuff, but I can't imagine they'd allow him to serve on a Mission without repenting. It's against doctrine, not just a forbidden practice."

"Dan didn't say, son," said my dad. "From his tone, thought, I think you're right. He made it pretty clear that he'll have to go back into the closet and maybe more, but we didn't get specifics. I was so low after he explained his thinking, I couldn't ask for any more details."

"He was noble about it, wasn't he?" I was trying to be wry, but I'm sure I just sounded sad. I knew Dan well enough that my question was basically rhetorical.

My dad chuckled grimly. "Of course." He knew Dan pretty well too. With each reason, my dad held up another finger: "`It's not fair to Jon to ask him to put his life on hold while I'm on my Mission; Jon needs to live his life to the fullest, without waiting for me; long distance relationships are hard enough when we can communicate freely, and I won't be able to do that; college is when we grow the most and we shouldn't put our personal growth on hold . . .."

I zoned out. My dad kept talking, listing more of Dan's reasons, but I didn't hear them. Everything Dan said was logical and reasonable and made perfect sense. Maybe it was even true, or at least irrefutable under the circumstances. Without my leaving A. Ham., or Dan dropping out of BYU and abandoning his Mission, and probably his church, and maybe even his family, what else could we do?

If it all made sense, why did it hurt so much?

I realized that my dad had stopped talking. After a few more seconds of silence he asked gently, "what are you thinking?"

My mind was swirling. I was sad, hurt, angry . . .. Tears kept falling.

"All I can think of now is how mad I am. At Dan, at his parents. Goddamned Janice. Dan had boyfriends before me, and after me too. Why cut him off from me?" I realized I was spiraling a bit.

"It's both of them, son, Janice and Clyde. I tried to talk some sense into them when this all started, but

you know how they are, so worried about how people see them. I guess they'd rather people think they're fools than bad parents."

"It's worse than that," I said in a moment of realization. "This is a performance. Dan said they were worried about how the local church looked at them. You know, bad parents raise gay kids, bad parents tolerate gay kids, that sort of shit. I think they'd been decent to him because the other stuff was private but Dan getting fired meant they had to make an example of him."

"Jesus," said my dad, shaking his head. "I think you're right. They want people to think this is how to be good parents."

Irrationally, I flashed to anger. Having a gay kid didn't make somebody a bad parent, but my dad cut me off before I had any momentum. "I'm just telling you I think you're right about how they see things, son. I think they're damned fools and I told them so."

I deflated a little. My dad was right, he didn't deserve my anger. I really was spiraling.

"Don't think that I didn't stick up for you, son," my dad said. "I gave them both an earful."

"Yeah?" I asked. Before he switched careers, my dad had worked as the county's lead prosecutor. An earful from him would have been a lot. "What did you say?"

"Let's just say I don't think your mother and I are going to get an invite to their Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve parties this year."

I wanted details.

"I told them they were making a mistake, not just about Dan but also to blame you boys for whatever happened. Dan's as fine a boy as I know and you think the same of Jon,' I said. They're both 18, old enough to make their own mistakes but young enough that it won't matter in the long run.' I'm sorry if that sounds condescending, son, but I was hoping to make them see reason."

"But it didn't help," I said with resignation.

"Well," said Dad, "they saw the logic of what I was saying, but they couldn't get over their emotions. In their world, Dan's got to marry a woman, and they're dead-set on bulldozing anything that gets in the way."

"What does that mean for Dan?" I said, more to myself than as a real question.

"Take this with a grain of salt, son," said my dad, "but they think Dan is willing to try. They'd been arguing for days by the time I talked with them. It sounds like they finally wore Dan down, at least based on what he said at lunch."

"Jesus," I muttered.

"Don't worry, son. Dan was mostly himself when I talked with him on Saturday. Sad for sure, but I think he's also resigned to try to see this through."

"Don't I get a say?" I eventually managed. "I mean, I know I don't, but still . . .." My mind was spinning, and I couldn't hold onto a thought. "Every one of Dan's reasons is right, but he's still wrong. Totally wrong." I'd knew I'd have to spend some time thinking through what this all meant but at the moment I was just lost.

My dad just nodded. "None of this is fair, especially for you," he said. "I know that sounds selfish given everything Dan's going through, but I've got to tell you, I don't know if I'll ever think of Clyde and Janice the same way again."

As my thoughts swirled, I switched over to problem-solving. "What do you know about Dan's access to his mail?" I asked.

"What are you thinking?" said my dad slowly. "I can see you planning something."

"I just wonder if they're opening his mail from BYU." I was already thinking about PhotoShop and where I might find a color printer at the beach.

"I wouldn't try it, son, even if you get some bonus points from me for trying. If Dan got the letter, I don't think he'd change his mind at this point. But I don't think it would work, anyway. Janice is reading all his mail before he gets it. And BYU doesn't send letters postmarked from Delaware."

"Do you think I could change their minds? I just want to talk with Dan a little, or get a message to him. They've known me my entire life, what do they think I'm going to say that's so scary?"

"It's worth a shot, son, but don't get your hopes up. It's been a little while since I've talked with either of them, but I don't think they'll change their minds. It doesn't make any sense, but I think they feel betrayed by you. No harm in trying but their pride's wounded and you know how they are."

I did know. "I don't want to make anything worse for Dan," I said, "but I'd sure like to talk with him." Even saying it, I knew it wouldn't work. Dan's mother was as stubborn as anybody I'd ever know and his dad viewed things in stark terms, black or white, right or wrong.

"Do what you think is best, son," said my dad after another 15 minutes of talking through ways I might reach Dan. "I trust you. This is just rotten for you, I know. You're caught in a two-year hole, between Dan's faith and maybe his family. I'll tell him what you have to say if I can see him again. And I will try to see him."

After we hung up, I had a proper cry, my first in a long time. I'd collapsed on the bed, curled up on the crinkly pale blue bedspread, I sobbed for the relationship it felt like I'd lost, not just whatever might happen with Dan in the future but also our friendship. I couldn't believe I might not talk to him for two more years.

I also cried for Dan. He must feel as bad as me, or maybe worse. His parents had bullied him back into the closet, which couldn't have been easy given how much confidence Dan had in June. If he was as sure as my dad said he was about trying to make his Mission work, Dan's parents must have done a real job on him. He had to be hurting bad.

Slowly, I cried myself out. Anger replaced sadness. Or not replaced, I guess. I was still plenty sad.

Better to say, anger shoved sadness aside and stood up to be heard.

Fuck Clyde and fuck Janice and fuck them both together! How dare they treat Dan like this. I knew they'd be embarrassed by Dan getting fired for fucking around with some guy on his honeymoon. (A voice deep inside me was laughing my ass off, wanting to hear the whole story.) Add that to their shame for having a gay son. But how the fuck could they justify bullying Dan and cutting him off from his friends.

I also raged at Dan. How could he throw me away like this? No message, no call, no explanation. Wasn't I more important than his fucking Mission? Or a church that treated him like absolute shit, called him an abomination, which he didn't even believe in? What was he going to do, marry a fucking woman and settle down in the suburbs? It was fucking ridiculous!

And I raged at myself. I was being unfair to Dan. Selfish. Dan didn't choose his parents or their religion or their rules or prejudices. He didn't ask for any of this drama. The price he was paying was certainly higher than anything I would ever experience. Who the fuck was I to feel sorry for myself when he was being treated like a prisoner in his own house, by his own parents?

Finally, I just raged. My dad was right, none of this was fair! Why was Dan's gayness, or mine, anybody's business but ours. We were 18, adults. We should have freedom to love openly, without fear of judgment or discrimination. Why should Dan or I have to hide who we are, or who we love, or who we just decide to fuck, in order to please other people? I shouldn't, and Dan shouldn't either.

After some time, my tears stopped. The ache in my chest remained—pain for myself, pain for Dan, and pain for the two of us together. I'd feel that ache for a long time, I guessed. I don't think I fell asleep, but I did settle into a series of breathing exercises I sometimes used to calm myself.

Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold.

Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold.

Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold.

I watched the sun siink towards the horizon, slowly finding calm. Well, maybe not calm, but regulation. No more sobbing, no more fist-pounding on the mattress, no more snot-covered beard, at least not after I washed my face. Still, looking in the bathroom mirror, I was a mess. My face was puffy, my cheeks were blotchy and red, and my hair stood up at funny angles.

Staring into the mirror, continuing my breathing exercises, I felt something shift. I made myself a silent vow. I wouldn't let this pain or sorrow or rejection control me. Fuck Janice. Fuck Clyde. And fuck everybody who thought like them, too. Did that include Dan? I couldn't know if he's really abandoned me until we could talk. No, not Dan.

My normal reaction, at least before I came out, would have been to swallow my emotions whole—bottle in the pain and sadness and anger—so nobody could ever see them. Instead, I decided, I'd embrace my feelings, these lows with the highs. I'd carry on because of what this rejection made me feel, not despite it. As stereotypical as it was, I'd use this pain to help me face the challenges ahead.

Starting tomorrow, though. I'd face my challenges tomorrow. Tonight, I just couldn't.

I'd planned to explore the town around the Pines that evening, but there was only so much I felt up for that night. I bought a cheeseburger dinner at the resort's snack shack and ate at the patio table outside my cabin. I fell asleep on top of the bedspread, fully dressed.

I hard about drinking the bottle of wine I found in the cabin's fridge. I had a glass—my mom would have derided it as a "tropical chardonnay"—but poured the rest down the sink. Even an ocean of wine wouldn't make me feel any better.

As usual, I woke with the sun, feeling better than I had any right to feel. I was a little foggy, but my head cleared with a cup of coffee. Loss and anger and isolation lanced through me when I thought about Dan, but I wasn't going to let that stop me.

I walked down to the verge of clipped grass above the beach and ran through an abbreviated yoga routine. By the time I was done, the sun had risen above the horizon, and I was dripping sweat. I was tired but I felt mostly normal, only occasionally distracted by pangs of sadness and anger and loss.

After another long swim in the ocean, I grabbed a breakfast sandwich from the Pine' snack shack. It was better than it should have been, but it was expensive and wouldn't do anything to help me with my beach body.

Without asking why, I found myself in a mood to put things in order. First, I checked my climbing ropes and cleaned and oiled the hardware. I packed it all away, not sure when I'd climb again. Same with my backpacking equipment. I cleaned out my tent and scrubbed the Wisconsin mud off my boots and other gear.

The stove took the longest. I had to clean the summer's accumulated soot off the fuel jet, lubricate the pump, and deep wash my pots and pans. I hung my sleeping bag in the closet to air out, figuring that I'd wash it for storage once I got to A. Ham.

I also did a mini-tune of my bikes. They didn't need much work, although I had to replace the rear brake cable and pads on my mountain bike. Those Utah slickrock trails had taken their toll. Still, by the late morning, my equipment was clean, organized, and ready to be stowed in my truck's storage bins.

It wasn't lost on me that I was literally packing the summer away. With all that I expected from A. Ham., I didn't think I'd use the gear much until next summer. Well, I decided, this we as good a break as any, the right way for me to end my summer and get ready for school.

My mom jokes that my mind works like a rock-tumbler: put something rough and ugly in, let it grind away for hours or days or weeks, and something polished and shiny comes out. As I cleaned and organized, I let my situation with Dan and his parents grind around in my head.

I held out hope that Dan would be able to reach me from Utah. Maybe his Mission wouldn't be accelerated, or maybe he'd just be able to find a moment to reach me somehow. What I kept cycling back to, though, no matter how many ways I tried to get around it, was how far out of my hands everything was.

I couldn't change anything that mattered. Dan's parents were out of my control, Dan's reaction to his parents was out of my control, Dan's church's rules were out of my control, and Dan's plan to follow the rules were all outside of my control. I could remind Dan that I love and support him, if I could get him a message, but nothing more than that.

Unfortunately, that was as far as I got with my Dan Problem. I'd started to compose the letter I'd send to Dan's parents, and Dan's letter too, but I thought it unlikely that they'd ever give my letter to Dan. I also decided against trying anything tricky. I didn't owe Clyde and Janice anything—not honesty, not trust, not even respect—but they were gatekeeping my access to Dan, so I couldn't openly antagonize them.

As I worked, I veered between anger, sadness, frustration, resolve . . .. I knew I shouldn't let despair take over, but I couldn't help but think I was out of choices. "There never was much hope," I thought at my bleakest, "just a fool's hope." Well, Frodo had survived and so would I.

The anger was harder to quell. It was impotent, and fading, but every so often, I just stopped to curse everyone. I knew tantrums weren't going to solve any problems, but I admit to imagining a few revenge fantasies. Dan and I ended up together and his parents begged us both for our forgiveness. It was possible, I thought ruefully, but not likely.

By the time I'd finished with my gear, I was crawling with pent up emotion. I thought a long run up the beach might help. The ebbing tide left the packed and the fresh smell of salt in the air. I ran until the beach dead-ended at a rock-wall barrier to a marina, then turned around and ran back to the Pines.

Afterwards, as I rinsed off in the outdoor shower, I wondered if the run had been a mistake. My body was tired, but I'd spent another few hours mulling my situation.

"Stop thinking," I told myself. "Keep doing."

I borrowed a bucket and some cleaning supplies from the resort's staff and drove my truck to a car wash about 20 minutes inland from the beach. I washed the truck inside and out, front to back. I didn't have steam-cleaning equipment to do a full detail, but over the course of a few hours, I got the truck cleaner than it had been since before I left California. I distracted myself with loud music.

Inside and out, the truck sparkled. The funky smell I'd picked up in Wisconsin was gone, and so was pounds of sand, dried mud, and leaf litter, to say nothing of a continent's worth of insects that had been stuck to the grill. Rain only cleaned so much.

As I cleaned, I started to make firmer plans for the ten days before the start of orientation. I'd drive up to New York the next Thursday, where I'd meet my parents the night before the A. Ham. First Year dorms opened. We'd have the campus mostly to ourselves for five days, until the upper-classes arrived. Courses would start the next Monday.

In the meantime, I decided, Henry's plan was a good one. I'd missed the farmer's market the day before, so I picked up some basics at the grocery store—coffee, milk, eggs, a bunch of bananas, and some berries, that sort of thing. There was another farmer's market midweek, but I wanted some staples in the meantime. I kept hearing about "Jersey tomatoes." If they were half as good as Pete's garden I'd be surprised, but the grocery store produce was sad enough to convince me to wait.

Next, I stopped at the fish market the resort's desk clerk recommended. Growing up, I lived too far from the ocean to eat much fresh fish at home, other than the trout we caught. Here, I figured, if I asked enough questions I could find plenty of marine creatures to grill. Luckily, the fish market had some nice local produce too.

Back at the Pines, I wrapped a half-dozen couple ears of corn in foil and carried that, the striped bass I'd bought, and a bag of briquettes out to the grills. What I didn't eat I could use later in the week. I'd mashed some garlic with butter and lemon juice, and some dubious looking red pepper flakes that were left in the cabin, to season the fish. The salesman at the store told me that I didn't even need butter for the corn. "Picked this morning," he'd said. Good enough for me.

A good looking African American family was just sitting down to their dinner at one of the picknick tables beside the grills. The dad and their college aged son were shirtless and the mom was wearing a sparkly tank top, fancy and casual at the same time. Incongruously, she was also wearing a plastic bib printed with images of crabs. On the table was a platter of sliced tomatoes, a grilled steak cut into strips, and a wrapped basket leaking steam.

As I got ready to start my fire, the dad spoke up. "Use our coals, son. Plenty of heat left if you give them a good blow."

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This is the first of three planned beach chapters, which were all originally one chapter. I'll publish the next few pretty quickly and then introduce Jon's roommates.

In the meantime, thanks again to all of you for your comments. There was so much interest in Dan that I decided to move this chapter forward in the narrative. Please let me know what you think and if there are things about which you'd like to know more.

cottagecore.stories@gmail.com

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