Kept Man: Firsts and Forever Stories

He got to his feet and called, “Good job, baby!”

It was a tiny accomplishment in the grand scheme of things, but seeing him happy for me felt wonderful. I ran down the path, then up the stairs and into his arms, and he lifted me off my feet. As I wrapped my arms and legs around him, he asked, “How was it?”

“It was so fun! Everyone is really nice, and Skye was serious about there being all different skill levels. His husband Dare is hilarious. He kept making stick figures out of every medium Skye introduced. And the owner of the gallery is so sweet. His name is Christopher Robin Andrews and he’s this super famous artist, but he’s also the most down-to-earth person ever. We’re making these mixed media sculptures out of found objects, and you should see all the stuff in the workroom! I’ll take a picture next week, and—wow, I’m totally rambling.”

Micah laughed as he carried me into the house. “I’ve never seen you so excited, and I’m absolutely thrilled it went well.”

“It was incredible. I’ve never actually taken an art class before, and it was so great to be around other artists to share the process and learn from them. Skye is an inspiration, and he’s so supportive. We talked about Sutherlin before class, and he encouraged me to apply. He said he’ll even write a letter of recommendation and help with my portfolio. It’s too late for fall semester, but I still have a few weeks to apply for mid-term, which starts at the end of January, and—I’m totally rambling again.”

“Good. I want to hear all of this,” he said, as he carried me down the hall. I wasn’t sure why I was letting him do that, except that it felt wonderful.

“I want to thank you, Micah. I never would have found the courage to do this if it wasn’t for you, and it feels like the start of something big. If I use the momentum from this class to apply to art school and actually get in, it’ll change my entire life. It’s all a bit terrifying, but it’s so exciting, too. Just the thought of getting to take a bunch of classes and learn and grow as an artist—it’d be a dream come true.”

“We’re going to make it happen, baby. I promise you. I’ll help in any way I can.”

I nuzzled his hair and murmured, “That means a lot.” We’d arrived at the back of the house. When he put me down, I turned to face the patio and whispered, “Oh Micah, it’s so beautiful.”

He’d draped the patio and the potted trees with strand after strand of twinkle lights, so it was all lit with a soft, golden glow. He’d also created a makeshift bar, and a little, round table was set for two with a white table cloth, fine china, and a pretty flower arrangement. To complete the scene, accordion music was playing in the background.

As he pulled out a chair for me and I sat down, I asked, “What’s the occasion?”

“I decided you need to go on more dates, so that’s what we’re going to do. Tonight, we’ll be dining at a bistro in Paris. Wait for it.”

He produced a five-foot-tall, clearly homemade cardboard cutout of the Eiffel Tower from behind the potted plants and leaned it against the front of the bar. It was wrapped in twinkle lights, and when he plugged it in I grinned and told him, “All of this is fantastic. Thank you.”

“It was fun.”

He served me a champagne cocktail, then put a fancy little plate of canapes on the table and said, as he sat down across from me, “Full disclosure, I don’t know shit about French cuisine and only had a few hours to pull this together, but I gave it a shot.”

“It’s absolutely perfect.”

It really was, too. He’d made a delicious cheese and caramelized onion tart for dinner, served with a green salad. Then he brought out a tray of luscious cream puffs for dessert, which he admitted had come from the bakery department of the store that had delivered the flowers and groceries.

When we finished our meal, he said, “This is only half of our date. I’m being very traditional tonight and going with dinner and a movie. Shall we?” He gestured toward the house, and I grinned and linked my arm with his.

When we reached his home theater, he fired up the commercial-grade popcorn popper. Then he stepped behind a counter at the back of the room and indicated the display of candy he’d set up while I was in class. “What would you like? It’s fine to say all of it, just so you know.”

I selected a pack of red licorice and smiled at him. “You thought of everything.”

“I tried.”

The delicious aroma of popcorn filled the air. After he poured two sodas, then filled two paperboard containers with popcorn, I followed him to our seats. The theater held a dozen built-in black leather recliners in three rows. We sat in the front row, and I put up my feet and got comfortable while he picked up a remote and pressed some buttons.