Page 92 of The Falcon and the Foe

“Ready for the movie?” Russ asked the boys. He brought out a popper, drizzled it with oil, and soon the sounds and smells of buttery popcorn filled the house, pushing out the smell of pizza.

“Have a great night. I’ll come over in the morn—” I stopped at the foot of the living room. “Is that Meryl Streep?”

“Yeah, she’s in it. She plays the Aunt, I believe.” Russ emptied the popper into a large, red bowl.

Be still my heart. There was a Meryl Streep film performance I didn’t know about? It was a blockbuster, so at least she was getting paid. From the still, she looked like she was having a hoot.

“I didn’t know Meryl did kids films.”

“Did you want to watch?” Quentin asked.

I knew I should leave, that I had overstayed my welcome. But I was a gay man obsessed with Meryl Streep, so I was obligated to fix this cinematic blind spot.

“I’ll watch for a little bit.” The rain that began to pour down made this an easier decision.

The boys sat together on the couch. Russ and I flanked them on the ends. A mass of blankets covered all of us.

Sometime in the middle of the movie, the boys fell asleep, and my hand found Russ on the back of the couch. Our fingers interlocked. Again, so easy, so intimate, as if this was something we’d done for years. Movie night and dinner with the boys after a day of work, Russ pouring us a glass of wine as we rehashed the workday before settling into bed together.

It sounded nice, though none of it was real.

When the movie was three-quarters over and the boys were zonked, Russ rustled them awake and hustled them off to bed. I had dozed off, too. The food, the rain, it lulled me to an easy sleep.

“Hey, why don’t you sleep here?” Russ stood over me. “You’re zonked, and the storm is raging outside. That’s not a good recipe for driving home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. That’s why I mentioned it.”

“Thank you.”

I lay down on the couch and pulled a blanket over me, when I noticed Russ wasn’t moving.

“Did you want to put linens down? I’m fine with just the blanket.”

“I had another idea.” His deep voice sent my heart racing.

“A guest room?”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “My room.”

“Uh, we shouldn’t. Our sons will be down the hall,” I croaked out.

“All we’d do is sleep. Promise. If something should poke you awake, ignore it.”

That’d be mission: impossible. I was only human.

“The truth is,” he said. “I’ve had my best sleep with you cuddled next to me.”

Even though we were in a tiny tent on a lousy outdoor mattress, I slept like a damn baby that weekend. On those occasions where we had sex at my house, we’d sink into a blissful nap that never lasted long enough.

Russ extended his hand, his eyes wide and blazing with intent. Everyone should be looked at this way at least once in their life. I was tired, so I didn’t try to fight it.

And the truth was, I didn’t want to.

I really didn’t want to.

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