Page 37 of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang Us, Daddy

After seeing how torn up I was about what happened between us in the kitchen, the Bens backed off. They retreated, holed away in their bedroom, not making a peep. That lasted for all of two hours before I barged in and told them in no uncertain terms would I stand for the silent treatment. I had done nothing wrong, and they were treating me like I was diseased. The moment I voiced my concern, they told me the only reason they’d been avoiding me was because they were worried I would kick them out.

Never. I made it clear that no matter what, I’ll never ask them to leave, because this is where they belong. I’m their home. Not this house. Not the great city of Tallulah. Me. Nathan St. James. Wherever I am, that’s where these boys belong.

I still have to remind them from time to time, but I think they’re starting to believe me. And when they don’t believe me, I prove it by watching them work each other over, offering commentary throughout. I don’t know that I’ve said the words “good boy” more than I’ve said them this past week.

The boys have something special planned for me after work, and I can’t wait to see what it is. All Bennet would tell me is they made it for me a few days ago. I’ve been on pins and needles since leaving the house.

“Can I be honest with you?” I ask Pastor Brooks. It’s been yet another disappointing session. His wife couldn’t make it today, so we’ve spent the past forty-five minutes tap dancing around the issues, and I’m at my wit’s end. I offered to reschedule, but he declined, claiming he had a pressing matter to discuss, but so far, all we’ve discussed has been the weather.

“Yes, sir,” he says, nervously darting his eyes at me, then back at an uninteresting inspirational quote poster I’ve got hanging on the wall.

“You’ve been skirting around the issue for almost an hour. I can’t help you if you won’t let me, Pastor Brooks. You rarely speak in the sessions with your wife, and now you’re spending what little time we do have?—”

“I’m not gay,” he interrupts me.

“I never said you were, son.”

“You didn’t have to. Everyone always says it. That’s why our church numbers are down. No one wants to hear the Gospel from someone they think is gay.” He looks up at me, his eyes pleading. “I have overcome.”

“Have you, though?” I lean forward, resting my arms on my thighs. “Whatever you say stays in this room. It’s just between us.” I reach across the coffee table and squeeze his knee. “It’s okay, son. It’s okay if you’re gay.” His jaw trembles, but he bites his bottom lip to keep it in place.

“It’s not,” he says, staring down at his shoes, unable to look me in the eyes. “It’s not okay for me to be gay. My dad taught me that when I was little. As soon as he realized I was different, he nipped it in the bud.”

I cock an eyebrow. “How?”

The color has all but drained from his face, and he’s wringing his hands together roughly enough that they’re sure to be red by the time it’s over. “He made me . . .you know. . . with a woman. A lady from church. He told me she wanted to lead me back to God’s path.” He closes his eyes, breathing deeply with each inhale, like he’s trying to steady his racing heart. “I can still see her sometimes. The way she stared at me when I—” His voice cracks, and he quickly shakes his head. “The point is, it’s not okay for me to be gay. It never will be.” Leaning back on the sofa, he stares up at the ceiling. “I stopped praying for Him to turn me straight a long time ago. My same-sex attraction isn’t ever going away, but if God can just turn me bisexual or pansexual or any of the other sexuals, that would be enough to get me to the finish line.”

“It doesn’t work that way, son,” I tell him, trying to sound supportive. “Sexualities don’t suddenly shift on their own, divine intervention or not. If you’re gay, nothing is going to change that.”

He sniffles, shaking his head. “I could be demisexual. They don’t have sexual attraction without a deep bond in place first.” He dries his eyes with his palms. “I could be demi, couldn’t I? If I just try to love my wife a little harder, maybe I can finally be attracted to her. I saw some people mention they can’t even achieve an erection until feelings are involved. Maybe that’s my issue. Maybe me and Mal just don’t have that emotional bond we need to get me to the finish line.”

My heart skips a beat. Demisexual. I’ve never worked with a demi client before, and, while I’m firm in my belief that PastorBrooks is a solid six on the Kinsey scale, my mind lingers on the topic. From what I know, demisexuals can be straight, gay, bi, or any other shade of the rainbow. I’ve never been one to look at another person lustfully—not until meeting my wife. Then, when the feelings tapered, so did my need for sexual gratification. Could I be demisexual? Is that where my erectile issues stem from?

Changing tactics, I say, “Tell me about the boy you’re trying to convert. You said his name is Darren?”

Any worry Pastor Brooks may have felt vanishes at the mention of his friend. “I’ve known him since he was a kid. When my dad was still our church’s pastor, Darren would always sit in the front row with me. I’d catch him looking up at me with adoring eyes, and no matter what topic my father was preaching against, all I could do was look back at my little buddy and smile.” He grabs a tissue from the coffee table and wipes his eyes. “I didn’t think I was going to make it, those four years he was away for school. He’s friends with your son, actually. Darren told me Tatum’s trying to help him land a job stocking shelves at the Walmart on Highway 80.”

My heart thunders in my chest. That’s where the Bens work. That’s the agency. Tatum’s trying to get the kid a job working for a hitman agency? Alas, not my circus, not my monkeys.

“He’s the sweetest kid,” he continues. “I’m going to lead him back to his intended path, and we’re going to be lifelong friends. I just know it.” The desire in his voice is undeniable, but I don’t press the matter. The pastor isn’t ready for those truths yet. He’s so deep in the closet, he’s . . . well, he’s whatever you find deep in a closet’s corner. My mind’s still spinning too quickly from the thought I could be demisexual to craft a clever quip. “He lives with his parents, across the street from me, but I’m hoping one day he can buy the house next door. Then we can spend the rest of our lives side by side.”

“And where does Mallory fit into this equation?”

He cocks his head to the side and stares at me, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“Son,” I say, my voice firm but not unkind. “You talk about Darren the way most men talk about their wives. Do you think there’s a chance?—”

He holds his hand up, shaking his head fiercely. “Don’t even think about it. I know what you’re about to insinuate, and I’ve heard it enough from Mal to last me a lifetime. There’s nothing going on between Dare-bear and me. We’re brothers in Christ. That’s all.”

“So, Mallory believes you may be harboring feelings as well?”

“No matter how many times I tell her, she refuses to listen. She barely even pays attention to me at all anymore. Heck, she moved into the guest room the day Darren moved home from college.”

“It sounds to me like she’s creating healthy boundaries. I understand you’re going through emotional turmoil because of this, but you’re dragging her along for the ride. Is that really fair to her?”

He stares at me like I’ve just slapped him. “You act like I lied to her about it or something. She knew this was my burden when she agreed to marry me. I’ve never lied to her about my walk with God, or how His walk has led me over the rainbow. I have overcome.”

Clearly, we won’t be getting anywhere today, so I offer him a nod and we confirm next week’s session, then he heads out.

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