I watch him over the rim of my glass, judging whether I believe his excuse or not. I see nothing but honesty on his face. I sigh, already knowing I care too much about people to just walk outon the man, after he apologized and came out of the closet to me in as many breaths.
We may be more progressive as a whole, but it can still be very tough for a gay man to feel comfortable being "out".
"Tell me about this program?" I ask, settling back in my chair.
"Program?"
"For the alcohol."
He perks up, a smile causing crows' feet to form around his eyes. That might be gay lesson number one - skincare.
"Oh, it's a program like AA. It's why I reached out to you. We're supposed to confront the things we did in life that were shitty and ask for forgiveness from the person and then forgive ourselves. Shame is a big factor in alcoholism."
I nod. Take another sip of my whiskey, and then stop a server walking nearby. "Would you take this for me, please. I've changed my mind."
"Sure," he says, at the same time that Gareth says, "Oh, you don't have to."
I fold my hands and rest them on top of the table. I may not trust him fully, but I'm not so much of an asshole to drink alcohol in front of an alcoholic.
"You're forgiven," I say, simply, just as our waiter comes up to take our order.
The shy smile he gives me and the way his cheeks pinken shouldn't be as charming as they are. I decide after I order that I'll see how this dinner goes and decide if I'll take him on as a client or not.
"Have you come out to anyone else?" I ask quietly after the waiter leaves. The shy smile I enjoyed a second ago vanishes.
"No." He shakes his head, looking around the restaurant before continuing. "I'm still just trying to figure it out myself. I did some research online, and it's all so confusing. Top, bottom,switch, verse, pansexual, queer... I don't know how I fit into any of that."
I nod.
"That's common."
"It is?" God, he looks as hopeful as a puppy.
"Most people start only knowing that something feels 'wrong'. Except it's not wrong. It's like you're wearing clothes you know don't fit you, but you don't know what other clothes will fit better until you try them on. You only know the ones you're wearing now, or being called 'straight' doesn't fit."
His jaw hangs open as he leans back in his chair, obviously shocked.
"That's it. That's exactly it. I never knew how to explain it. It's not like I was imagining sleeping with a guy when I was with my wife, just that it felt 'wrong'. When to most of the rest of the world it's completely 'right'."
Our food comes, then, and we eat in comfortable silence. Our eyes play a game of tag. I look up to see him already looking at me, only for him to drop his eyes back to his food and vice versa. When we're both pleasantly full, silence lulls between us. He's asked for forgiveness, and I've given it. I still haven't decided to take him on as a client. Forgiveness and the vulnerability that sex work needs are still oceans apart. But I also know I don’t need to decide right now, or even today or tomorrow.
"Tell me about your kids," I offer, wondering what kind of dad Gareth became. I know his was always hard on him, demanding the best. He had to be the first on the field and the last to leave, working harder than any of the other kids. Would he be the same or take the opposite approach?
He transforms in front of my eyes from a tense dinner date to someone completely in love. His eyes soften, his shoulders sag, and the dopiest smile spreads across his plump lips.
"Micah and Lily. Micah's eight and Lil's five. They're the loves of my life." His eyes sparkle as he talks about them, and I find his passionate ranting kind of, stupidly, attractive. He tells me all about their personalities, quirks, hobbies, friends, and favorite foods. I don't think I've ever seen a man so unabashedly in love with his own children.
Mine would parade me around, I realized later, as a way to earn social clout."Look at what great people we are for adopting an unwanted brown baby."They never even gave me their last name and would introduce me with my full name, Malaysian last name included.
Whatever. It irritated me, but never really bothered me. I couldn't understand needing external validation like that, even as a teenager.
When the check comes, he's taken by surprise and reaches for his wallet, but I steal the receipt book before he can, putting my card down first.
"No, Trey. I want to pay. I asked you to dinner... it's my apology..." he stumbles over his words.
"It's a tax write-off," I say, nodding at the waiter to take my card.
I don't want to end this dinner with an argument, and he looks visibly distressed. Adult Gareth wears his emotions on his sleeve. It's kind of refreshing to see him acting so authentically. It's another mark in the Green Column in my mind.