Free With or Without You by Brian Farrey Page B

patience and trust. Given what I know about his past relationships, he should be a paranoid recluse fighting off anyone who tries to get close to his heart with a torch and a pitchfork.
    But he let me in. He saw something in me that could be trusted.
    And I almost interrupt with the need to confess: I’ve taken advantage of his trust. I can see when he wants to question me and then backs off, worried that questions will mean he’s letting his fear rule his life. He refuses to let scars from his past relationships influence how he treats me. And instead of just coming clean and answering his questions, I keep quiet. It’s how I’ve kept who I am a secret.
    It’s how I make this work.
    But I can see in his eyes: That all changes—here, now.
    I nod vigorously. “Yes. You’ve done all that.”
    Erik sighs, nervous words earthquaking from his lips ashe looks me right in the eye. “I need to meet your family.”
    When you put white light through a glass prism, it separates and you see it for what it really is: a spectrum. For the first time, Erik’s holding me up to a prism. I’m about to be what I really am. Ready or not.
    “Evan, you’ve met anyone who means anything to me. But I don’t know anyone in your life. I know about your sister, the silly but serious photographer. About your parents, the button-down grocers. About Davis, the goofy best friend. I don’t know them. And I get the idea that none of them even knows I exist. I don’t know if you’re ashamed of me—”
    “Of course not,” I say, drawing him in close, my hands meeting on the small of his back, fingers locking to prevent escape.
    I’ve brought us here and I should put an end to it and explain everything. Being loved by Erik has given me courage.
    But not as much as I’d need to have this conversation. I squeeze. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
    Erik shrugs. “If you were still in the closet, I’d understand. But you’ve been out to everyone for years. You’ve had several chances this past year to introduce me. Yet you never have. I’ve always made excuses for you. Now … I’m out of excuses. I need to know that I’m part of your life. Your whole life.”
    Please don’t make me do this. Don’t make me show you who I really, really am.
    I owe him honesty. I opt for spinelessness. “Erik, it’s not that easy.”
    He steps away from me, nose wrinkled, head shaking. “No, Evan. It’s never that easy. But I’m tired of feeling like a dirty little secret. I think I’ve earned more than that.”
    There’s an edge to his tone that apes fury but is diluted by uncertainty. We’ve never fought, never raised our voices to each other. I feel like all of the confidence I get around Erik is being leeched away. I might as well be back in school with Pete towering over me, laughing and pointing.
    “You have.” I reach out and touch his arm. He doesn’t recoil, so I step up to him again. “I’m sorry. You’re right. This is stupid. I love you so much I should be telling complete strangers on the street.”
    Erik looks at his feet. “No. You should tell your family.”
    I nod. “Yes. And …”
    I can’t fucking believe I’m saying this.
    “… and how’s this to start? With Dad laid up, the ’rents are crazy. But … dinner with Shan. How about Tuesday? Tuesday night?”
    He scans my face, looking for something to collar his fears. I smile a meek promise: This is just the beginning. I swear .
    Then he rolls his eyes. “If you weren’t so damned cute …”
    I fake a jab to his chin. “But here’s the deal. You’re cooking. I want your famous chicken cashew. And there shall be no broccoli. Thus spake Evan.”
    I’m pushing it—you don’t tell a nurse/fitness guru to hold the broccoli. But he squints with a threat that carries all the potency of a casual breeze.
    “You drive a hard bargain. Okay. Tuesday. Six. Here. Chicken cashew.”
    I raise an eyebrow and he slumps exaggeratedly.
    “No broccoli,” he whimpers.
    The