Page 70 of Pride High 2: Orange
December 20th, 1992
Anthony shivered as he pedaled down a neighborhood street on the east side of town. He had to be the only idiot riding a bike this late in the year, but he was desperate. Christmas was less than five days away, and he still hadn’t figured out how he was going to fulfill his promise to Cameron. All they needed was somewhere private where they wouldn’t be interrupted. If his current plan didn’t pan out, maybe he’d try hitting up the school janitor so his first time could take place in the boiler room.
Which would defeat the point because he wanted it to be romantic. A motel was ideal. He had swallowed his pride already and asked both of his older brothers if they could get him a room. No luck there. Anthony had even called a few motels, using a deeper voice when attempting to make a reservation, but they all wanted a credit card. That had made him second-guess the entire scheme. Maybe he should sneak Cameron into his room one night and put on some music. Easy and done. But then his mom had mentioned that their relatives were coming to stay for the holidays, including his dumb cousin, so no. Cameron’s house was out of the question. His boyfriend was spending as little time there as possible with his homophobic dad in town.
Anthony was down to his last hope. His bike skidded to a halt outside a small house, warmth flickering in his chest before a gust of wind made him shiver again. He pushed his bike up the driveway and used the kickstand to park it next to a car, relieved that Charles appeared to be home. In fact, there were two cars in the driveway, meaning his husband was likely there as well. That was exciting. Anthony hadn’t met him yet.
He hurried to the front door and knocked, confused when it opened and almost immediately shut again. But not completely.
“Anthony!” Charles said, not hiding his surprise. His face was squished between the door and frame. “What anunexpected visit,” he said, putting emphasis on the last two words as he glanced over his shoulder.
Oh god… Anthony hoped he wasn’t interrupting the same private intimacy he was seeking. “Is this a bad time?” he asked.
“Not at all!” Charles said. “Would you mind waiting here for a moment?” He began to close the door again before seeming to hesitate. “My goodness, you’re shivering!”
“I’m okay,” Anthony said with chattering teeth.
Charles glanced over his shoulder again and seemed to relax. The door finally opened all the way. “Get in here, you poor thing.” Charles ushered him inside. He was fully dressed—thank goodness—in a loose-fitting lavender sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans. “Oh how darling!” he declared when shutting the door behind them. “I just adore the pink scarf. And are those actual mittens?”
“Yeah,” Anthony said, holding them up. They were knitted from the same yarn as the scarf. “My Great-aunt Dorothy made them for me as a Christmas present last year. I told her my favorite color is red, but maybe her eyes are going.”
“Or maybe she realized that you’re a friend of Dorothy,” Charles said with a twinkle in his eye. He gestured to an old-fashioned coat rack. “Hang up your mummy wrappings. I’ll make you a nice warm cup of tea.”
Anthony stripped off his winter gear, noticing that his fingers were just as pink beneath the mittens. He couldn’t wait to wrap them around a steaming hot mug. Charles led him through the antique-filled living room to a small kitchen. The remnants of a shared lunch were still on the stove.
“Is your husband here?” Anthony asked. “I’d love to meet him.”
“He’s very elusive,” Charles said as he busied himself at a counter. “Perhaps some other time. What brings you to my humble abode? All by yourself, no less! I hope everything between you and Cameron is still going well.”
“We’re great,” Anthony said. “I’m just freaking out about his Christmas present.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“It truly is the thought that counts,” Charles said as he placed a kettle on the stove. Then he carried a tray laden with cups, spoons, and honey to the table before he sat. “I often get caught up in the gift-buying aspect of the holiday. As you can see from the front room, I’m a material girl. Most of those antiques were gifts to each other. Which is fine, but I’ve realized over the years that I don’t really care what Lover Boy gives me.”
“Lover Boy?” Anthony repeated with a gleeful smile.
“My pet name for him,” Charles said with a youthful flush of color. “Don’t ever call him that yourself. I have exclusive rights. Anyway, whenever a special occasion rolls around, I become eager to express the depth of my feelings, which has grown increasingly difficult the deeper I fall in love with him. Did you realize that it never truly stops? I’ve been delighted to discover that I love him more with each passing decade.”
“That’s good news,” Anthony said. “But also hard to imagine because I already love Cameron so much.”
“Ah yes, those early feelings are especially intoxicating. Drink deep from that draught, but do not despair when sobriety shocks you out of your blissful stupor. There are plenty more benders in store for the dedicated heart. But only if you’ve met the right bartender.” Charles grimaced. “Perhaps we’ve exhausted that particular metaphor. All I am trying to say is that love continues to evolve as the years go by, aging like a fine wine. Ah! We’re back to alcohol again. Maybe it was an appropriate comparison after all.”
Anthony laughed. “That sounds amazing, but I’m still looking for a place where someone my age can drink. That’s why I’m here.”
“I won’t buy you alcohol,” Charles said, his forehead creasing in concern.
“It’s not that,” Anthony said, already fighting against his own embarrassment. “Cameron and I need somewhere private where we can—” The kettle began to whistle, cutting him off.
“Say no more.” Charles stood and rushed to the stove. “But hold that thought.”
He returned with the kettle, pouring them both a cup while deep in thought. “I used to date an electrician who was going through a divorce,” Charles said before sitting. “He was still living with his wife, and my prudish roommate didn’t allow me to bring anyone home. The only viable option for privacy was the electrician’s utility van. That was thrilling, but only at first. I grew tired of having to pick copper wires out of my hair. So I understand your frustration. I’d never stopped to consider how difficult such things would be for teenagers. Then again, isn’t there an opportunity between the end of school and when your parents return home from work? And what does any of this have to do with a Christmas gift?”
Anthony squirmed. “It’ll be the first time we’ve umm… shared a drink together. Or with anyone. We want it to be special. No rushing or worrying about getting caught.”
“I see. Although I fail to grasp what any of this has to do with me.”
