Page 61 of Breaking Storm

He asks questions, clicking on the computer keyboard after Sean answers each one. It’s like I’m not there. I sit back, fold my hands on my stomach, and watch the ping-pong conversation flow between them. Sean mentions a building for a fitness center he wants to start up. Paul beams, saying it’s a great idea and that there’s only one in a ten-mile radius. Sean seems comfortable talking to him, especially when they find out they have the same interests. Once they agree on the type of home and the business property Sean wants, Paul saves some information on his phone, and we head out to the properties.

The idea of having his own home is a gigantic step for Sean. He’s lived in apartments his whole life. His parents lived from one paycheck to the next. I paid Sean well, but he kept his money close. Our circumstances have changed, but he’s having difficulty breaking his non-spending habit. Plus, he’s still shocked at all the money I’m giving him.

In each house, he constantly asks for my opinion, pointing out issues that don’t exist, and wanting to know what I’d change about the place. Paul shows a hint of a scowl, eyes darting between us, but remains quiet.Does he think we’re a couple? Shit! No way!I gotta make sure he understands I’m not with Sean.

We’re at the seventh house, standing in the kitchen of a neighborhood littered by white picket fences, greenery perking up the frontways, and mailboxes made of miniature sized houses. It’s a perfect motif for a new sitcom. The area is quiet, clean, and in need of a gay couple. I laugh at the idea.

Sean’s smile fades and he tilts his head toward me, asking, “What’s so funny? What’s wrong with the place?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He stands next to me, looking in the same direction, trying to figure out what made me laugh, which makes me laugh harder. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes.

“Spill, Joe!”

I open my eyes, look at Paul, and ask him, “What doyouthink of the place?”

His hand rests against his chest. “Me?” Eyes shift to Sean and back to me. “Well, I…”

“Would you want to live here?”

Paul drops his arms, steps over, and opens the French doors that lead into the backyard and says, “It’s a magnificent house. Built in 2015, one owner, the roof, plumbing, and electric work are up to date.” He pivots on his heel to face us. “A great family home with four-bedrooms.”

“Tolerant of homosexuals?”

Sean’s eyes bug out, and I smirk. This is something he did not expect me to ask, but I’m doing it for him because he never would.

Paul’s shoulders sag forward, and he eyes both of us. “Yes, very tolerant. The neighborhood is diverse.”

I smack Sean on the shoulder and say, “See? You’ll fit in perfectly.”

Sean’s eyes narrow and he muttersdickunder his breath.

Paul senses the tension because he steps back and asks Sean, “Um, I don’t mean to intrude, but if you’re worried about the neighbors not excepting the two of you—”

I cut him off. “Oh, not me. Just him.”

Paul’s face splits into a smile and he gives a confident nod to Sean. “You’ll be fine.”

Sean shoves his hands in his pockets and glares at me. I turn away and laugh. When I turn back, Sean is staring out into the backyard and Paul is staring at Sean. I smile, knowing it’s long overdue.

Continuing this line of thought, I ask Paul, “Are there any places in the area for gay guys?”

Sean walks up to Paul, offers his hand, and says, “Thanks for the showings.” He turns to me, grabs my arm, and pushes me toward the door. Over his shoulder, he tells Paul, “I’ll contact you later about the houses and business building.”

Before I can say bye, Sean elbows my back, pushing me closer to the car, and demanding, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I round the car to the driver’s side and rebuke, “What?”

“You know what, dick.”

I drop into the car, start the engine, and say, “I figured you weren’t going to ask, so I might as well.”

He yells toward the windshield. “I’m not out of the closet, Joe! Aside from you, your mom, and Teagan, no one else knows I’m gay!”

“Now Paul does.”

He slams his hand on the dashboard. “For Christ’s sake, Joe! This isn’t funny. It’s my business and no one else’s.”

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