Page 4 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

The kids took it well. They had gay friends, and they’d grown up around my close-knit group of gay single dad friends. Fortunately, my kids were wise beyond their years, which made me nervous about the kinds of shit they were looking at online. They’d even heard of Milkman! Lucy told me she was sex-positive, something I wasn’t ready to hear my thirteen-year-old daughter say.

But it was good news overall on what’d been a shitty day.

I drove back to my house, where I’d be spending the night alone. I deleted the Milkman app, refusing to get tempted.

I lived in an old colonial-style house from the late 1800s and had fixed it up over the years. It was spacious with unique built-ins, creaky wood floors, and a large fireplace. But being there alone, I felt the quiet. Not like I was angling for someone to move in. I meant what I’d told Vernita. My marriage flamed out, and I wasn’t looking to try again. True, a big part of that flameout was because I liked dick. But even taking my sexuality out of the equation, I could never master the balance between career and family.

I spent the rest of the evening prepping for the upcoming city council meeting. My inbox was inundated with questions and comments about the article. People calling me a slut and a bad father, but then also ones supporting me against this intrusion into my personal life. It was only the first night. The article was less than twelve hours old. It would blow over.

It had to.

I worked in my office well past midnight, struggling to focus. I had to talk to someone about this. I texted my best friend Dusty.

Leo: How’s the beach?

At first, I wondered if he was busy or even up, but this was Dusty. In no time, those three magical dots jiggled in the text chat.

Dusty: There are kids having a bonfire outside.

Leo: Kids?

Dusty: Early 20s. *shakes fist* Get off my beach!

He sent me a gif of an old man shaking his fist, then a video from his window of the kids in question partying around a beach bonfire. I used to envy him for living on the beach, but his neighborhood had the nonstop energy of a crowded college campus.

Dusty: I still can’t get over people legally smoking weed. Remember how we used to have to sneak it?

Leo: Kids today will never know.

We could spiral into an unending discussion on nonsense like usual, conversations pinballing around different topics. But I had other things on my mind. I linked to Damian’s article.

Leo: The state of my political career.

I waited for his reaction. This was a judgment-free text chain, but even still, I had that inkling of worry.

Dusty: Your dick is front-page news.

Leo: Unfortunately.

Dusty: Slow news day?

Dusty: Good Lord, this article is horribly written. Rufus could write better essays.

Leo: Rufus is getting his piece published inThe New Yorker.

Rufus was the name of Dusty’s imaginary dog. Whenever we saw a crappy movie or show, or he noticed a shoddy carpentry job, he loved to say, “My dog could do a better job than that.” He said it so much that one day I asked what his dog’s name was, and Rufus was born. Rufus could do anything.

Dusty: This is not journalism. Even I know the difference between they’re, their, and there.

Leo: They wanted to get it up fast since the election is coming up.

Dusty: You okay?

Leo: I’m embarrassed.

Dusty: Don’t be. Sounds like once guys go Leonardo, they don’t go Backonardo.

Leo: That was terrible.

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