Author's Note: I want to take a moment to thank my volunteer editor - Neuroparenthetical. This story is the twentieth piece he has edited for me. He is always thoughtful, supportive, and diligent in how he approaches the process of offering feedback and suggestions. Thank you so much for all of your continued assistance, Neuroparenthetical.
"It was a story about love... love that transcended definition. So often, love is pigeonholed into just one of the narrow categories of lust, platonic friendship, or romance. The relationship between Jude and Willem depicted a love without limits. It was transformative in nature."
"It only had to be 'transformative' because Jude was never shown as being anything more than a victim. It isn't a story about 'love,' it's a story about trauma."
"Why can't it be both? Can't people who've lived through trauma experience love? Surely, you don't think that their experiences make them incapable of such a basic human experience."
"That's not what I was saying. I was arguing that it would be better if Jude's agency is what moves the story forwards, rather than him needing another man's love to 'heal' him."
I was starting to space out as Kitty and Angela battled for the title of most pretentious housewife with an English degree from the Seven Sisters. I'd been a member of the neighborhood book club for three years, and it had always been that way between them.
The charcuterie board positioned on the coffee table was still holding up well, though the brie had been the first thing to go. Nobody needed another cocktail; that would have been my perfect excuse to go to the kitchen for a short reprieve.
As if some lesser god had been listening to my prayers, the front door pushed open. I heard my son, Nate, along with a few other boys, talking about a party they were planning to attend. They were giddy with the joy that comes with being a few weeks away from graduating high school.
I felt proud of the fact that he was graduating at all. Whereas most of the other parents had taken it for granted, we had struggled. My ex-husband and I had adopted Nate when he was ten years old; our families had told us it was insane for two guys in their late twenties to adopt a child his age. They had all wanted us to try for an infant; alas, that wasn't in the cards for us.
Nate had always been a sweet kid, but he struggled academically. With tutoring and counseling, he'd been able to get the support he'd needed to pass his classes. To be honest, I think that participating in sports had given him more motivation to not give up than anything else had.
"Howdy, Pops!" Nate yelled as he turned the corner.
The members of the book club stopped chattering as my son and his three friends came into view. They appeared to be a little sweaty; the well-worn basketball under Jonah's arm told the story. Teen boy musk quickly started to fill the room, overpowering the Chanel No. 5 that had been lingering in the air.
"Hey, son," I replied. "We're just having that book club meeting I told you about. Did you need anything from me?"
Part of me wished he'd say "yes" so I'd get the excuse I'd been looking for earlier. He paused for a moment, as if he was processing my question like it had much higher stakes than I had intended.
"No, I think we're good. I'm just going to take the guys back into the kitchen. We're going to raid the fridge to see if we can find anything good. Then we might cool down in the pool."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you need any help finding anything."
As my attention reluctantly returned to my guests, I couldn't help but notice that the five women who had just been discussing what constituted 'trauma porn' were ogling a group of young guys who'd only turned eighteen in the last few months. I was the only man in the club -- what a nice, gay privilege, right? -- and I was about ten years younger than the rest of them.
I chuckled to myself. Even when I had been younger, I'd never been into twinks. I'd gone through a phase where I'd been one, but I'd never been attracted to them. Most of my son's friends fell squarely in that category.
Jonah, Nate's best friend, who was standing by his side, had a baby face and a lean body: twink. Carlos was standing behind him. I'd seen them play water polo together. I mean, he shaved his skinny legs: twink. I didn't recognize the last boy in the group. He was whispering in Carlos's ear while a mischievous grin spread across his face.
The boys began to walk towards the kitchen - well, most of them. My son, Jonah, and Carlos charged ahead, while the mysterious figure ambled towards our group. He looked different than my son's other friends. There was no other way to phrase it, but he looked like a 'real' man. Sure, a young man but a man nonetheless.
The assembled subset of the D.A.R. was transfixed as he approached. He stood about six foot three and had a muscular build. I knew from looking at him that he must have spent more time at the gym than studying for his AP exams. His biceps were bigger than mine, although I had never been a gym bunny. I wondered who he knew from our group; it wasn't impossible that one of the women was an aunt or a close friend of his mother.
"Mrs. Langford," he said making eye contact with Kitty. "What a nice surprise."
Kitty blushed; she grasped her book close to her Dior-clad bosom. Even though she was pushing fifty, she had the glow of a high school cheerleader being approached by the captain of the football team.
"It's lovely to see you, Cooper. How is your mother doing? It's been far too long since we've gotten together. I think I last saw her at the gala for the youth orchestra."
Cooper? Cooper? Cooper! Oh fuck, that's little Cooper Crestwood?
I could see it all of a sudden. He had the same piercing green eyes and half-cocked grin. He must have sprouted six inches and put on thirty pounds of muscle since I'd last interacted with him. I couldn't recall when it had been, but it most certainly hadn't been longer than a year.
"She's doing well," he said before taking a long pause. "Wow! Just... wow!"
Kitty laughed bemusedly as Cooper's smile beamed at her with an intensity hot enough to melt butter. She resituated herself on the plush sofa, taking care to never uncross her ankles.
"I just can't believe how much you look like Holly," he gushed. "You two are practically twins. Every time I see you, I can't help but notice it."
I felt myself suppressing a smile. Holly was Kitty's twenty-one-year-old daughter who was studying at Barnard. She had always reminded me a bit of a young Audrey Hepburn; Kitty, on the other hand, looked more like a middle-aged
Katharine
Hepburn.
"Cooper Crestwood! You are too much! The words just drip from your mouth like your tongue is covered in honey."
"No, I swear. I think it every time I see you. I'm mean, if I was a few years older..."
"Cooper!" Kitty giggled; the other women followed suit, vicariously soaking up that special feeling: a man young enough to be their son stroking their ego. Kitty took a long sip from her martini.
"All of you look amazing. I feel like I've just stumbled into some sorority girls' social gathering."
Cooper's eyes sparkled as he took stock of their reactions. Lilian couldn't look directly at him; Emma's face had turned rosy. With perfect timing, Cooper lifted the bottom of his tank top, using it to wipe a smattering of sweat from his cheek.
Emma and Angela gasped ever-so-slightly. Kitty spilled a few drops from her glass onto her skirt, which she attempted to quickly blot with a napkin. Cooper held his pose for a moment too long, giving all of the women a view of his taut, muscular six-pack abs before covering himself again.
