Strong Enough

“Oh, Jesus.” He opened his door. “Come on, let’s go.”

I decided not to tell him my gut was saying he needed to buy that house. For whatever reason, Derek had been holding himself back from things he really wanted his entire life. Maybe it was a fear of failure or of disappointing his father, but I felt like he’d never allowed himself to be the person he was meant to be. And if he didn’t listen to his heart and his gut, the real risk was that he could wind up unhappy, always wondering what if, regretting the choices he’d made.

The more I learned about Derek, the more I wanted to help him.

I felt like he’d just shown me the way.

“This can’t be right. One hundred-twenty-five dollars for a pair of shorts?”

Derek gritted his teeth. ?

?Okay, will you please stop looking at price tags? Just stop.”

I felt bad for being such a pain. We’d been at Nordstrom for an hour already and I hadn’t even tried anything on. “But I—”

“Look, it’s necessary. Clothing is necessary.”

“But not clothing this expensive. Ellen was telling me about this store with nice things for not much money called T.J. Maxx?”

“That would be cheaper, yes, but the quality won’t be as good. Things will wear out faster, and you’ll spend more money in the long run. Look at it as an investment in yourself.”

I shook my head. “My butt is not worth hundred-dollar shorts.”

“I disagree. You’re going to try those on, and if they fit, I’m going to purchase them for you, along with a few other things to get you through summer. Then we’re going to get lunch, because I’m hungry and if you keep freaking out over price tags, I might actually starve to death.”

An argument was on the tip of my tongue, but I stopped myself. Derek had said that it made him feel good to do things for me, and I knew what he meant, because I liked doing things for him, too. I wished there were more of them I could do. I nodded, but I felt really uncomfortable that someone else had to pay for my clothes, and didn't know where to look when he was swiping his credit card.

Derek understood. “Here,” he said, handing me the bag. “And don’t say a word. I know how you feel, okay? I’d feel the same way. But this is an investment in the future.”

When he phrased it that way, I felt better. “Thank you.”

We went to lunch, where I ordered something called mac and cheese, which I’d never heard of but Derek assured me was delicious. He was right. I could have licked the plate.

While we ate, I made him practice his Russian words and taught him two more: pozhaluysta, which meant please, and spasibo, which meant thank you.

The best part was paying for lunch. I insisted on doing it, and although Derek put up a fight at first, he eventually relented. It cost me almost forty dollars, but I’d never been happier to spend money in my life.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said as we walked to the car. “You should be saving your money. You saw how much that laptop costs.” He was referring to the computer I’d drooled over in the Apple store.

“I saw. And I’ll get there, because I do plan to be very careful with money. But there are so few things I can do for you, and you’re doing so much for me, I really wanted to treat you.”

A couple minutes later, we got in the car and he put a hand on my leg. “You’re doing a lot for me, Maxim. More than you know.”

No words could have made me happier.

Twenty-Seven

DEREK

The rest of the week went by way too fast. I went to the gym early each morning before work and Maxim worked late at the bar every night. We didn’t even see each other. By the time he got home, I was already asleep, and I woke up so early, he was still in bed when I left. By Friday morning I was tempted to wake him, but I didn’t want to be an asshole. Hey, I know you just got home like three hours ago, but could you roll over and blow me? Thanks. Appreciate it.

Instead I got myself off in the shower to the memories of us, but it wasn’t even close to the real thing. I wanted more of the real thing.

In fact, it was a little disturbing how much I wanted more, and how quickly the days were zooming toward the two-week cut-off. Because we weren’t even doing anything! What good was letting yourself be gay at home for two weeks if the person you wanted to be gay with was never there?

By Friday evening, I was frustrated beyond measure. After work, I’d taken a run (even though I’d already worked out that morning), washed my car, vacuumed all the carpets, and taken the rugs outside to beat them. None of it relieved the tension.

I realized I hadn’t eaten dinner—my appetite had been strange lately, I was either ravenous or so distracted I forgot to eat—so I showered, shaved, and dressed, then went to The Blind Pig for dinner. I had to see him.