34 East Bremerton

We only have a very few, simple rules. Just a handful of guidelines. Be respectful, don’t go barefoot outside when it’s 25 degrees, be home on time, leave the house on time, don’t be late for Sunday dinner at Liam and Murray’s and if you go barefoot outside in the snow again, Grayer… Most of them are just common sense though, and I don’t lack any common sense, per se… I might just be a little challenged in the area of discerning when and where to use it.

For instance: I know that when I go outside barefoot in the snow it will hurt and my feet will get cold and there is the potential for me to get sick, but sometimes that risk is worth taking so that I don’t have to make the effort to get shoes. This is a line of thinking Dominic has very little appreciation for. And lately, it’s a line of thinking that my bottom also has little appreciation for as well.

It’s hard to enforce even simple rules from a distance, however, and after The Kitchen Wall Incident, Dominic wasn’t near as adamant that we spend time apart. It was about a week before I moved into his apartment. And after that, it took a whole two weeks for us to decide we were not fitting. What with my stuff and his, it was just plain tiny. Enough room for one person and maybe a cat or a small dog if you decided not to own a dining room table, but not near big enough for two whole men plus two easels and forty-eight painted canvases. That much stuff combined in that confined a space can make even walking dangerous. Coat hangers turn into weapons of death.

So, after a trip to the emergency room involving an accident between the wall and my head, Dominic called it quits. We were going to get a house. A real, live house. It was more than just a space issue now, it was a safety issue and Dominic doesn’t play around with safety.

-----------

We were sitting on the couch watching an Ethan Hawke movie when the phone rang. Dominic patted my knee and got up to get it. Any excuse to escape the fifth Ethan Hawke that week. I kept reminding him that when you love someone, sometimes you just have to watch their movie six times in one day, but he wasn’t listening very well.

He picked up the phone and came to stand behind me on the couch. “Mmhm,” he was saying and running his fingers through my hair. “The one on the north end?” He lowered his lips to kiss my head.

“Quiet,” I mumbled, barely caring, too caught up in Jesse and Celine talking to the guy by the river.

“That’s fantastic,” Dominic said. “They took it? Finally.”

“This is where he writes them that poem about the milkshake,” I said. “That part I was telling you about.”

“Right, right,” he said. Into the phone, not to me.

I turned around and glared at him, his chin resting on my head, an elbow on either side. “Are you even watching?”

He smiled at me. “He’ll be thrilled. Yes. Thanks so much, Erin. We’ll be over first thing Monday to sign the last of it. Thanks. Yes. All right. Goodbye.” The hand holding the phone dropped down beside me and then Dominic bounded up over the couch and landed on top of me, grinning madly.
I screeched. “You’re RUINING my movieee! I LIKE this one!”

“Oh, you like all of them,” he laughed and straddled my lap. “I believe this was the one that received the… five-hundredth, was it? Absolute, Favorite, Best Movie of All Time Graeme Kinney Award.”
I strained to see the television beyond him and he pinned me to the couch.

“Don’t you want to know who that was?”

“Erin,” I said distractedly. “It was Erin. We got one of the houses on the north end. The one on Handel, probably.”

“Probably?” Dominic kissed me and then climbed off and sat down on the couch, one arm around my shoulders. He put his lips to my ear. “Hey.”

“Wha-at?” I whined. “You’re interrupting everythiiing. This is one of my favorite movies.”

“They’re all your favorites.”

“I know. So?”

“So, you’re not very happy, are you?”

“No, you’re ruining my favorite movie.”

“About the house. I thought you‘d be happy.”

“It’s tiny. It has ugly carpet.”

“I thought you liked this one. That’s why we went for it, remember? Because we both finally agreed?”

“It’s fine with me.”

“Hey.” He plucked the remote from my fingers and turned the television off.

“HEY! My moovieeee!”

He stood and took my wrist, pulling me, with effort, to my feet.

“Where’re we goooing? I wanted to finish watching. I LIKE this one.”

“So I’ve been told. I believe you, too. It’s got to be the seventeenth time you’ve seen it.”

“Fiftieth, at least. Ow, let go.”

He was dragging me toward the door.

“We’re going to walk and talk about this. I’m tired of that television.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t like the house in question. I mean, granted, the carpet in the master bedroom was hideous and it smelled like shit. But that could be pulled out. We could manage that. We could probably even manage not being in the middle of town, not having such easy access to public transit and everything. But what I couldn’t manage -- what I didn’t want to manage OR talk about -- was that this meant I was losing my studio. YES, okay? Yes, we’d talked about that beforehand. And it had been fine.. before. When moving had seemed light years away. We were never actually supposed to BUY a house. A real house on a real damned residential street.

GOD, the crazy things we do for love. Under duress, but we do them.

“Stop grinding your teeth and talk to me.” Dominic’s warm hand slid into my cold one. He’d insisted I bring mittens but I wasn’t going to wear them. He pulled my hand into his coat pocket.

“It’s called shivering and I can‘t just quit.”

“You’re wearing plenty of layers. You’d better not be shivering. Tell me what this is all about. Why are you so upset? You were fine a little while ago.”

“I’m still fine. Just… tired.”

“So you need to go home and go to bed?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Noo,” I said, quietly. The streets weren’t busy, but I still didn’t want people seeing me being, well.. topped.

We walked in silence until we reached St. Paul’s. It was getting dark and there was already a man asleep under a blanket on the steps.

“Here. Sit.” Dominic sat down and pulled me to sit one stair lower, between his knees.
I leaned my head against his thigh.

He put a hand over my exposed ear, covering it to keep it warm. “How was your day?” he asked.
I closed my eyes. “Fine. How was yours?” With both ears covered I could hear the vibrations of my own voice in my head. It was quieter in there than outside. Outside, things were brutal. Uncomfortable. Harder, sometimes, than I liked.

“Boring, but tolerable.” He shrugged.

I nodded.

“Something happen today?” He was running fingers through my hair.

I shook my head.

He combed the hair away from my forehead and we watched couples walk along the river, watched drunk, homeless people shouting. A couple of girls with backpacks passed us, laughing and talking.

“I’m losing the studio,” I whispered against his leg when they‘d gone.

He kept running his fingers through my hair and I curled one arm around his leg, pulling it close to me for warmth.

“It’s the only one I’ve ever had.”

“I know.”

“If we sign off,” I snuggled deeper between his legs. It was getting colder. “Will I really have to lose it?”

He kissed the top of my head. “We can’t afford house payments and the studio, darling.”

“I know, but...”

“We need a house,” he said, gently. His breath was soft against my scalp. Matched his voice. Easy and sweet.

“I like this one. This house,” I said.

“So do I.”

“It’s cute and.. and small. The attic will be a good studio.”

“What color do you think you’ll paint it?”

“White. Just white and keep the wood floors.”

I love the steps of St. Paul. When I was still in art school I would take my sketchpad and a pencil, or even just the book I was reading, and come here to sit. If you sit over to the side, where the man under the blanket was huddled, no one tripped over you. No one really even noticed you. It’s nice to blend in, to get lost in something as solid and ornate as St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. The way now I get lost in Dominic’s thick arms and trapped between his warm legs.

“Do you think I can do it?” I asked him. Because I didn’t. I didn’t think I could move myself from the heart of the city to a residential street with trees and birds that weren’t pigeons and nosy neighbors.

“I know you can do it.”

“I don’t.” I shook my head and caught a tear with the back of my hand.

“Come here.” He lifted me up and stood behind me, kissing my hair as he started to lead me down the stairs toward the river walk.

“There’s crazy people in there,” I said, sniffling. In the distance, there was shouting about the apocalypse and someone having stolen someone else’s cornbread.

“It’s a Friday night. Police are out. Nobody will bother us. I want to show you something.”

“What?” I sighed.

“Well, the world,” he smirked. “But for tonight, the river will have to do.” He turned to me and smiled.

I looked back at him and shrugged. “I’ve seen it a thousand times.”

We walked at a steady, fast pace to keep our blood flowing, all the way to the bridge where they hold Saturday Market in the summer. Dominic pulled me up short, stopping me just as my foot was about to step onto the grass toward a bench to sit down.

“Stop,” he whispered into my ear.

“What? What are we stopping for?”

“Shh. Just stop.”

I stood still for about three seconds before starting to fidget and then got impatient. “Wha-at?”

“Look at all those boats. In the middle of the city. And all of these trees,” he sighed happily. “We are so lucky to have so many trees in the city.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better about moving? That there are trees in the city just like there are in the suburbs? Because it’s not working, it’s just--”

“Hush,” he whispered gently. “Just look at all those trees.”

“Yeah, I SEE. They’re goddamned beautiful. I love them. Can we go HOME?”

“No. Because you’re being uncooperative. We’re not leaving until you cooperate like a proper gentleman.”

“Well, I’m not GOING to cooperate, so you’d better borrow someone’s blanket and set up camp.” I swung my hand out at all the homeless people with ratted blankets and glared at the river. I was NOT in the mood for philosophical lessons.

“If you’re not careful,” he whispered. “I’ll take you home for something much less climactic than a park full of trees. Do you understand me?”

I blinked.

“Grayer.”

“Yeah. Yes, I mean. Yes, sir.” My voice dropped and I turned into his heavy wool coat, my face red with embarrassment. I’d been sabotaging his beautiful sweetness, this quiet attempt to cheer me up -- not a very noble or nice thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into his neck.

“I know. Here. Turn around.”

I shuffled around and stood in front of him, his hands firm on my shoulders.

“When I was six, before my father left--”

“For the military?”

Dominic’s father was in the army and when Dominic was little, he was sent off for six months. Just six months on a fairly routine trip that wasn’t supposed to be dangerous or anything. Three months later, he came back in a wooden box, shot to death in some bar brawl gone particularly bad. The worst of it was that Dominic’s father hadn’t even been involved. It was his day off and he’d just gotten caught in the crossfire. Literally.

Dominic nodded his chin on top of my head. “We were walking,” he said. “It was close to Christmas and he’d taken me out to get shoes. I needed them because it had started snowing the day before and my others had too many holes. So, for Christmas, I was getting new shoes.”

“That was all you were getting? Just new shoes?” I remembered my own childhood Christmases. Piles of shiny presents under a towering tree, sparkling with lights. Mountains of food, acres of family.

He interrupted my thoughts with a smile in his voice. “We made do. Anyway, on our way back from the shoe store, we were walking by the river. It was freezing and misting rain. We were right over there.” He pointed to a fountain across the street and down a block and I twisted my neck to see. “And he stopped me and lifted me up onto his shoulders and said, ‘Pick a tree.’”

“Stars,” I said, quietly, interrupting. “This should be a story about stars, shouldn’t it?”

Dominic laughed and nodded up at the sky. “Do you see any stars?”

I smirked at the pink night sky above us, everything, almost the moon some nights, drowned out by the city lights. “Okay,” I said. “Keep going.”

“So, I did. I picked one.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“He didn’t want to give me only shoes for Christmas. What would I say at school when everyone asked me what I‘d gotten?” He squeezed me against his chest.

“That’s a nice story,” I said. And I meant it. It was a nice story. I didn’t believe it, but it was nice.

He nodded and bent his head right to my ear. “Pick a tree,” he said.

“I’m not six,” I told him.

“No, but you’re sad.”

“What would the city say if they knew you were giving away their trees?”

He shrugged. “I already own…” He stood on tip toes and looked across the park. “That one,” he pointed. “There, next to that rose bush.”

I laughed a little and sank back against him.

“Pick a tree,” he said again, smiling.

“It’s silly.”

“Is it?”

I nodded.

“Humor me.”

I heaved a sigh and closed my eyes. “Do you really want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said. I scanned the several trees around us and then pointed. “That.”

“Where?” he squinted off into the distance, following my finger.

“Right there.”

“Well, which one? Be specific. There are hundreds.”

“I want Benjamin Franklin,” I said, seriously. “Right there.” I nodded at the regal statue of Ben Franklin, set into a huge block of stone, looking as he always does in statues and photographs. Middle-aged, long-haired, with a button down coat and bi-focals.

Dominic laughed hard and turned me around. He kissed me long and firmly and then looked straight into my eyes and smiled. “He’s yours.”

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Saturday was boring. We cleaned the house like we always do and Dominic told me no more Ethan Hawke, no more anything on television. I guess I had been watching a lot of movies, but-- I just still wasn’t used to having things like television privileges taken away. It wasn’t even because I was in trouble for anything, really. Dominic had just said, “Enough,” and so.. that was enough.

Sunday, I woke up early and begged Dominic to go to church with me. St. Paul’s. We stopped on our way back to visit my Benjamin Franklin. His bifocals are a little scratched. I should write to the city about that. I hadn’t said The Nicene Creed in a long time, or The Lord’s Prayer. It felt good.

We changed clothes and went straight to Liam and Murray’s after church. They had the kids and were all outside doing yard work so we went inside and took a nap until dinner. I always like napping there. Waking up next to Dominic with the smell of Liam cooking downstairs. Something versatile like spaghetti and meatballs, where Dominic could pick the meatballs out and just eat the spaghetti. Liam was good at things like that.

The kids were either gone or napping when I woke up, because the house was quiet but for soft murmurings downstairs and the heavy clank of pots and pans every so often. I sat up sleepily and moved toward Dominic, laying across his chest in the almost-dark and nuzzling my head under his chin.

“’Ey..” he mumbled then yawned. “Awake, darlin’?”

“Uh huh.”

He laid his hand on my cheek and made one of his sleepy, just-waking-up grunting noises. “Hungry?”

I shook my head.

“Smells like… bacon.”

“Murray said they were making breakfast for dinner.”

“Mmm.” He rubbed my back and slipped one hand down the waist of my unbuttoned jeans, resting his hand on my sleep-warmed butt.

I wiggled and smiled. “Hey,” I whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I really love you a lot.”

“Hey,” he whispered back, kind of mimicking me, but in a very sweet way.

“What?” I laughed a little.

“I really love you a lot too.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “I do love reciprocity.”

He laughed and rolled us both over, propped up on his elbows above me. He kissed me and then pushed my hair back away from my forehead with both hands. “You’re the sweetest sleepy boy I know,” he smiled, staring directly into my eyes.

I smiled back, my eyes watering. It was.. probably the smell of him unshowered. I’d gotten us out of bed so early that morning that we’d neither of us had time to shower and--

He sat up and picked me up with him, settling me into his lap, one leg on either side of him and rocked while I cried. “It’s gonna be okay, baby,” he said. Back and forth, back and forth, the rhythm helping. “We’re going to be okay.”

----------

I like Liam’s dinners. I like the meat. I like looking around the table at the people I love. Who take care of me, who I get to take care of sometimes. I like just knowing that I get to love them and that they love me back. I like that.

The kids were gone and it was a quiet meal. Liam talked about helping out down in the ER on Friday when they were short a couple of doctors and Murray talked about school and about his thesis. Mostly, I just listened and picked at my food while Dominic nudged me under the table with his foot and gave me eyes that said I needed to eat and not pick, please.

Liam was the one that said it though, and I don’t even think he was really paying attention to the eyes I was getting from Dominic.

“Eat that, please,” he said, gently, and picked a strand of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. He’d gone to get more bread and reached over me to set it on the table. “Stop picking and eat it. It’s very good, if I do say so myself.”

I looked up at him and smiled faintly, taking a bite.

The conversation welled back up and I somehow managed to eat most of my waffles and eggs, despite the ache in my stomach.

After dinner, Dominic and Liam plopped us in front of a movie and went back into the kitchen to clean up and drink coffee. That meant they wanted to talk and that we were supposed to be good and try to leave them to it for a while.

We sat on the couch, huddled under one blanket and watched Casablanca, reciting, “Here’s looking at you kid,” right in time with Humphrey Bogart. I was leaned against Murray, my head on his shoulder, only sort of paying attention to the movie when Dominic came in with hot chocolate.

“You look cozy,” he said quietly and smiled, leaning down to kiss our foreheads and hand us each a mug.

I didn’t look at him, just took the mug silently, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the movie.

“Are you not on speaking terms?” Murray asked a few minutes after Dominic had left the room.

“Huh?” I was buried deep in my mug, sleepy and thinking about, well… you know.

“You barely look at him and you came downstairs for dinner all red eyed and traumatized-looking. Are you in trouble?”

I shook my head.

“Then what?”

I shrugged.

He turned his head to look at me.

“We got a house on the north end. It’s um, nice. And it’s got a cute fridge.”

“Soo.. you’re crying about it?”

I laughed. “No,” I said quietly, snuggling closer. “But getting a house meant that we’d get one big enough for me to have a studio. Which means…”

“Aww, Grayer,” he said sympathetically. “The studio?”

I shrugged again and nodded. “Kinda sucks.”

“You’re getting a house though,” he said. Murray. Always the voice of positivity.

“Mmn.”

“Are you okay?” His eyebrows were furrowed and then he sighed at himself. “No, of course you’re not okay. Is there anything I can do?”

“No, it’s okay. I mean… well, it will be. Someday. You know, like fifty, sixty years down the road.” I smirked.

“I’m sorry.” He leaned his head against mine, still on his shoulder and we sat for a while, just enjoying each other’s company and Mr. Bogart’s deep voice.

“Should we be jealous?” Liam asked Dominic as they came into the living room.

I turned my head to look at them and smiled. Murray had fallen asleep.

“You look sweet,” Liam said, ruffling my hair.

I was tired and had been close to sleep myself before they came in.

“We try,” I said softly.

“I’m going to take him up to bed,” Liam said to me and kissed my forehead.

“But he’s all warm and stuff,” I protested halfheartedly.

“He’ll get warm upstairs.”

“No, I mean, he’s warm for me.”

“Warm? You’re worried about being warm? Get over here.” Dominic plopped onto the couch next to me and held out an arm.

I smiled at him sleepily and clambered up to his chest. He was warm. Liam tossed the blanket at us as he rousted Murray up to go to bed.

“Goodnight, Gray,” Murray yawned at me.

Dominic grabbed his arm and pulled until he’d landed a kiss in the general vicinity of Murray’s head.

“You can stay overnight, or until whenever,” Liam said. “Just shut off the lights and lock the door.”

“Indeed,” Dominic nodded, tucking the blanket up around me. “Goodnight, darlings.”

“Goodnight,” Liam tugged Murray along behind him up the stairs, their fingers laced together.

“I like them,” I whispered to Dominic once they’d gone.

He chuckled, which I felt more than heard.

“They’re nice,” I nodded.

“And good for food, hmm?”

I shrugged.

“You didn’t eat much,” he said.

“Wasn’t hungry. Did it hurt Liam’s feelings?”

“No. He was just worried.”

“Oh.” I chewed my lip and thought for a while. “He doesn’t have to worry,” I said.

“No,” Dominic agreed. “He doesn’t have to. But he does.”

“Yeah, but I just mean… I’m okay and everything.”

“Are you?”

I smirked. “Okay, no. But it’s not that big a deal.”

“Well, maybe it wouldn’t be to someone else, but to you it is. Which is fine. And people who love you will worry about you when you’re sad and upset because that’s what they do. Even though they don’t have to.”

We sat and watched the credits roll for a little while before I spoke again.

“I’m not used to all this… this family stuff.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You know, like… all the taking care and stuff. I mean, I understand me and you taking care of each other, because… well, that’s just what you’re supposed to do when you’re in a relationship. But they,” I nodded at the stairs. “They don’t have any reason to take care of me, or to love me. They just do it.”

“That’s the way things work,” Dominic said, running warm fingers through my hair and tracing the edge of my ear. “You find that core group of people, the ones who will take care of you and love you no matter what, and you stick with them. Whether that’s your blood family or people you meet in college, whatever. But people need that.”

I nodded. “Are we sleeping here tonight?”

“Mmm, I think.. no. We need our own bed tonight. Some familiarity, hm?”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay then.” He shifted and put me on my feet, standing up behind me and patting my bottom. “It’s late. Shoes and socks while I shut down the house. And here,” He wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. “Take that with you. Oh, and…” He smiled down at me and then kissed me. Long and warm. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispered.

I was going to be okay. Going to. And I knew what that meant. I’d taken English class in elementary. That was future tense.

I was going to be okay.

Not now, but later.

----------

“It’s NOT that late!”

He was valiantly trying to jolly me through our nighttime routine.

“It’s only 10:00 and going to bed at 10 when you’re an adult is like going to bed when it’s still light out and you’re a kid.”

“Is 11:00 bedtime, or isn’t it?” he asked as he laid my pajamas on the radiator and stepped around me to brush his teeth. I’d gone from brushing my teeth to sitting on the counter and, having been kicked off, was now biting my fingernails on the floor.

“But it’s not 11:00,” I said, reasonably.

“Get up and put your jammies on.”

“I think I should shower.”

“I think you should put your jammies on and go get into bed before I lose my patience.” He was smiling, but it was one of those, you-aren’t-getting-off-the-hook-just-because-you’re-cute smiles.

“But it’s only 10:00!”

“I’m not having an argument with you over what time it is. I’m telling you to put your pajamas on.”
I stood up and growled something that MAY have been MILDLY mean and menacing, but not really. I mean, barely.

Dominic reached out and grabbed my arm, leaving his toothbrush to dangle from his lips while he swatted me. “Enough,” he said through the foamy toothpaste. “Jammies. Now.”

I snatched my pajamas from the radiator and stomped into the bedroom, bouncing down onto the bed to pull my socks off, but I’d only just hit the mattress when Dominic, who had so rudely followed me, yanked me up and marched me to the corner.

“Think about who makes decisions about bedtime,” he said simply and swatted me. It’s so hard to take him seriously with toothpaste all around his lips though. I mean, honestly.
It took until he was completely ready for bed and had fallen silent for me to get repentant enough to whine at him.

“I’m sorryyy. I’ll go to bed now.”

“You’ll go to bed when I tell you you’ll go to bed. Hush.”

A corner is the worst place to try to marinate a terrible mood and when he FINALLY called me to come out, I was less angry and much more ready to sleep.
I stood in front of him and stared at my sock feet.

“You don’t get your way whenever you want it anymore,” he said gently, pulling me down onto the bed.

“I know.”

“You’re not going to push me over. When it’s time for bed, it’s time for bed.”

“It just seems… early.” I sighed and laid against him.

“It’s 10:55 now, hardly early. Grab those.” He nodded at my pajamas, still at the foot of the bed.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as he pulled my pajamas over my head.

“For what, exactly?” He sat on the edge of the bed and held the pants out for me to step into. I held his shoulder and did.
“Not going to bed.”

“Would you like it if I let you get your way every day? Everything you wanted you’d get?” He pulled me back onto the bed and held my chin so I would look him in the eyes.

I stared at him.

“Is that what you want from me when you push? Your way?”

Well, I thought so. I mean, wasn’t it what I wanted? I didn’t want to be in bed right then. It was anti-climactic. The notion of discipline was steadily growing less and less romantic and I just plain didn’t LIKE being told what to do most of the time. But even considering all of that…

“I don’t know.” I fumbled with the hem of his shirt and tried to avoid his eyes.

“Look back here at me. Is that what you want? How would it feel to be cut loose? To be allowed to do whatever you wanted?”

“Good, I guess.” I shrugged, chewing my lip.

“Stop that.“ He thumbed my lip from between my teeth. “Would it?”

“I’d get to stay up late and eat cookies instead of dinner.”

He nodded.

“But..” I started chewing my lip and he pulled it out pointedly and Looked at me.

“You’ll chew it off. Stop. You can talk to me without doing that. I’ve seen you.”

“I’d get crazy again,” I said.

“Crazy?”

I looked at him hard for a moment and with concerted effort, kept from crying. “You wouldn’t, would you?” I whispered. “Let me do whatever I wanted? You wouldn’t give up?” I swallowed.

“Is it what you want?”

I shook my head.

He lifted my chin again and held it. “I didn’t think so.”

“I’m sorry.”

He rubbed at tears with his fingers and watched me sympathetically, falling apart yet again.

“You wouldn’t?” I asked.

He shook his head firmly. “I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t.”

“I know.”

----------

The next day was Monday and this Monday meant one thing only: losing my beloved studio.
34 East Bremerton, brick with a red door and one huge window facing the street outside. Cement floors, stained dark with everything from paint to wax. So hot in summer that the patch of floor under the gaze of the window would burn my bare feet.

I got spanked on Monday for going outside barefoot.

I wasn’t even surreptitious enough to fool myself, either. I was just mad.

Dominic had rousted me out of bed too early, he’d made me eat a breakfast I didn’t want and THEN all I had to wear was this terrible old St. Louis T-shirt that’s old in a bad way, not a good one. After that, I rammed my head into the wall while I was brushing my teeth and searching along the floor for a lost contact. And once the contact was officially proclaimed MIA, I slammed my finger in the cabinet door getting a new one.

It was just about time to go and I wanted to get the mail. I get it every morning. I like getting it. And my shoes were right there. I could have slipped them on pretty easily. They needed to be on my feet anyway because I was leaving in only a few minutes. But I was mad. The kind of mad where I tend to do whatever I can to attract Dominic’s attention.

He was in the kitchen when I stomped back in with the mail. I smacked it onto the counter and it slid, hitting the wall. There was no way he wouldn’t know just how mad I really was.

“Get me the spoon, please, Graeme,” Dominic said, mildly from the kitchen table. He was behind the newspaper, drinking coffee at intervals.

“Wh-- why?” I asked, turning and gripping the counter with both hands.

“Because I told you that the next time I caught you going barefoot in this weather, it would be the spoon on your bare behind. Get it now and take it into the bedroom. You can find a corner until I get there.”

I stood and stared at him, positively stunned.

Spoon? The wooden spoon?

I swallowed hard.

The spoon was a character of myth. An evil, yet ultimately empty threat. Wasn’t it?

“Right now, Grayer.” He lowered the paper and Looked at me over the top of his coffee cup, none too amused.

My stomach dropped and I gaped at him. “I didn’t MEAN--”

He set his cup down with a clunk that made me jump. “Right now.”

--------------

I did a lot of things to cope before Dominic. Throwing clay bowls and things was probably at the top of the list, then maybe painting or drawing and after that, driving. I used to drive all over the countryside when I needed to think. Up into the mountains, along little dirt roads, sometimes to Seattle, just for a change of scenery, or to the ocean to dig my toes in the sand, to feel real and connected to something again.

But since Dominic, there wasn’t so much of that raw need anymore. I felt connected lately. Connected to another person, something that was a little foreign and a lot nice. Mostly.

And then, on the other hand, he never really went away. He was there in the morning, nudging us through our daily routine and he was there when I got home at night or we met up at Liam and Murray’s for dinner.

He picked me up at lunch that day and we signed the papers. It was done.

I had been emotionless about it. Dominic had kept asking if I was okay and I had kept saying that yeah, yeah, of course I was okay. It wasn’t that big a deal, right? It was just a studio. And he didn’t believe me, but it wasn’t really the time or place to rehash the whole ordeal. He dropped me back at the studio after we’d picked up food at a drive-thru, and went back to work, smiling and reminding me of dinner with the Henderson’s at 6:00.

“The Henderson’s” was the joke of a family name someone had come up with at dinner a few weeks earlier. At the time, it seemed like we needed one. And it had stuck.

I assured him that I remembered and would, indeed, be there.

I shoved my key into the lock and pushed the door open, throwing my bag onto the couch nearby and running a hand through my hair. It was dark inside and I went for the light.

“Hey.”

“SHIT!” I swear I jumped half a mile and almost died.

Gareth stood and put his hands up, smiling. “Just me. It’s just me.”

“Oh, my GOD, Gare. You cannot keep doing that. It kills me every fucking time.” I clasped a hand over my heart and sank onto the couch.

He’d been sitting on the floor behind the kiln, reading, and I hadn’t seen him. He had a habit of scaring me like that and since the first time, I no longer believed it was an accident.

“Sorry,” he grinned.

“What’re you doing here?” I asked., irritably.

“Thought I’d come say hi,” he shrugged.

“Yeah, well, you made an impression.”

“Listen,” he sighed, plopping down next to me and laying with his head in my lap. There’s nothing like a good best friend to make you find that the world might be a bit more tolerable.

“Huh?” I asked. I plucked at his eyebrows with my fingers and he wrinkled his forehead.

“I, well, I got some school news and I thought you should be the first to know,” he said, looking up at me, gauging my expression.

“School news?” I asked.

“Um, yeah. For my masters, you know?”

“Yeah, who gets a masters in philosophy anyway. You don’t even use your bachelors.”

“I got accepted to Harvard,” he said, carefully.

I was staring at the ceiling when he said it and I blinked once.

“Graeme?” he said, quietly.

“Shut up,” I whispered. “I hate you for a minute.”

“I know. But you’re going to cry.”

He can always tell. Though I can’t decide if I cry because he tells me I’m going to, or if he just knows. Probably a little of both, I guess.

Either way, I started to cry. He didn’t sit up and he didn’t grab me to hold me, though he did wrap one arm around my waist from where he was laying and squeeze me hard.

“I hate you,” I whispered with little conviction.

He reached up and swiped handfuls of tears off my face, doing nothing but moving the wetness around.

“I’m losing my studio AND my favorite friend. In one day,” I groused angrily at the ceiling. “Either someone is plotting against me, or my fate is to die of suicide at an early age.”

He pinched me hard for saying “suicide”, but I wasn’t paying attention.

“You’re losing the studio?” he asked. He did sit up for that.

“The story’s too long. I don’t feel like telling it.” I gulped on sobs and leaned my head into his chest.

“It can’t be that long. You guys got a house then, huh?”

I nodded into his shirt.

“Where at?” He rubbed my back.

“Who cares?”

“Me. Where at?”

“North end.”

“Sweet,” he said. “You love it?”

“Hate it,” I choked. “Hate. Fiery, burning, passionate hatred.”

“Strong words.”

“Fully intentional.”

“Mmm,” he said, neutrally.

“I hate my life and I want to die,” I said pathetically, sniffling and throwing my arms around his neck.

“Quit saying that. It’s irritating. You know I don’t like it.”

“Why else would I say it? I hate you anyway.”

“I know.”

We sat that way for a while, saying one or two words every so often. I tried to get myself together, not that it mattered all that much, and he rubbed my back while I did.

I sat up once I thought I’d be okay and rubbed my eyes. He smiled at me.

“I need to go,” I said.

“Where? You’re usually here until five.”

“Yeah, but.. I just need to drive for a while. I can’t-- I can’t be here right now.”

“People in your state need coffee and chairs, not cars and open road. Where is there to drive to anyway?”

“Oh.. you know.” I shrugged and stood up, straightening my t-shirt a little, though it was wrinkled beyond what I could smooth and I really didn’t care.

“No. I don’t.”

“Just one of my drives. I just.. go. Wherever. That’s the point. Being free to go wherever.”

He sighed and stood up, looking me over. I waited patiently for the Gareth Brayer seal of approval and finally, he nodded.

“All right.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead, then took his keys out of his pocket. “I need to work at 3:00 anyway, but we’re going to talk about all of this. Tomorrow,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” I nodded.

“Call me,” he said.

“Why can’t you cal me-ee?” I whined.

“Because I called you last time. See you later. Wear your fucking seatbelt, hm?”

---------------

I drove to Sherwood and into Tigard, then Newberg and up through the hills of West Chehalem. I ended up at the ocean in time to watch the sunset.

Winter is off season at beaches, of course, and the sea here is cold even in August, so in mid-February it can edge toward unbearable. All of the little streets and highways were bare but for a few year-round residents who looked haggard and colder than I was in my car, with the heater turned up high.

The beaches were dead.

The coast of Oregon isn’t the type to be snowy and frozen-looking in winter. Just wet and windy. It was raining as I parked and got out of the car.

I took my shoes off as soon as I reached the firmer, wet sand, past the dirt of last summer’s tourists. My toes curled in tight at the cold and I gasped, but resolved to keep my shoes off. It was an important part of the whole experience, I reminded myself harshly.

I watched the waves slide in, half absorbing into the sand and half sliding back out. I walked as close to them as I could without actually allowing them to touch my toes.

I scowled and scuffed at the hard sand under my feet.

That studio is mine, I thought. It’s in my name. I’ve practically lived there for half a decade and losing it is like losing a five year old kid I raised from birth. And sure, there’s a replacement in order, but it’s a baby and it’s not the same baby. It’s still in-utero.

I found myself braving the barnacles in my bare feet and climbing onto some rocks overlooking the water to sit. I was starting to shiver, but didn’t much care. One foot bled a little from a particularly fierce barnacle.

I thought about the house. It’s old kitchen fixtures. The fridge it came with was one of those vintage, bubbly looking ones from the fifties, back when things had lots of rounded edges and lots of turquoise trim. Like those old chrome trailers and toasters. The kitchen walls were peeling gold and green vegetable wallpaper.

In the living room there were scratched wood floors, worn and faded so you could see the precise layout of the previous owner’s furniture. Rugs, couch, chairs.

“Maybe we’ll refinish them,” Dominic had said.

But maybe we won’t, I thought, rolling up my wet pant legs There was history in the marks on the floor. It felt like we might lose something if we did too much to them. Like the house might lose something and suddenly become one of those lifeless, empty houses that creep you out just to stand in, much less try to sleep in.

I laid out our furniture in my head. Dominic’s old red couch that we both loved and the gold chair from my studio that only I loved. The television and our coffee table. I put our dining room table in the kitchen and sat at it with our dishes and our silverware and a glass of our water.

I closed my eyes and thought about the trouble I’d be in when I got back home. Probably a lot of it and I felt a pang of guilt that Dominic was worrying about me. Enough to make me wince on.

I put our bedroom together and it was full of warm colors. Browns and greens, greys, oranges. Earthy tones that make you feel connected to things -- everything -- the same way sandy toes do.

I saw myself waking up next to Dominic in our soft, familiar bed surrounded by new walls. He smiled at me, sleepy like he looks on the weekends when he’s well rested and easier on the world around him. Slower moving.

I kept him that way in my head for a while and shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. And when I’d memorized his nice weekend face, I placed my studio alongside it. I looked at them, back and forth, and wondered about picking, about whether it was a contest and whether I needed to choose.

And then it just occurred to me. Like falling asleep, it happened without my knowing.

He wasn’t asking me to choose. He never had been. I wasn’t being made to compare, to weigh attributes.

I remembered something he’d said right after he’d told me of his final decision. We were in the car on one of our Sunday drives, half real estate looking and half just taking in the countryside. Temporarily losing the drone of city buildings and endless pavement.

I had my feet on the seat and he didn’t look over from the road, just pushed them down with one hand and patted my knee.

“It’s my studio,” I was saying. That had been the mantra for weeks. My, mine, me.

He was quiet, his hand still on my thigh and his eyes thoughtfully following the road.

“It’s my decision,” he said quietly. He took my hand into his and squeezed it hard.

I glared out my window.

“I don’t like this decision,” I said angrily.

He smiled faintly and if I didn’t know he’d pull over and give me the blistering of my life, I might’ve slapped him for being so patronizing. “You don’t have to like it,” he said, sighing. “You just have to do as I tell you and remember that I’m doing it for both of us.”

“But it’s my studio,” I said again, more petulantly.

“And I make the decisions,” he said.

I blinked on that as it ran through my head. He made the decisions. He thought about things, he weighed pros and cons, he took my thoughts and opinions into account and then decided.

So, maybe he was just making the decisions like he was supposed to. And they weren’t decisions made strictly for me, they were made for both of us, taking both of us into account. I wasn’t just me anymore, I was part of something. Part of Dominic and Graeme.

I bit the inside my cheek until I tasted blood, then licked at it and rubbed rain off my face.

I was hungry.


And in huge, huge trouble.

It thudded in my stomach like a rock as I climbed down, further cutting my frozen feet on the sharp barnacles, then grating salty sand into the cuts as I walked back to my car to turn my phone on.

---------

There were no missed calls as it was only 5:45 when I got back to the car. But I was still late and that meant I was in trouble. I wondered briefly for how long I could keep myself from calling Dominic.
I got about half an hour before I pulled over at a fruit stand, still closed for the season.

The phone only rang once and he picked up.

“Graeme,” he said. Yeah, I was in trouble.

“Dominic?” I sniffed back either cold or tears, it was hard to tell.

His voice softened immediately. “Honey, what’s the matter? Where are you?” he asked.

“I think I‘m gonna be a little bit late,” I said, softly.

“You’re already a little bit late. Graeme Evan, where are you?”

“I’m coming home right now, I swear!” I said quickly. “I-- I just needed time to think and I know I’m in huge trouble now but I didn’t think I’d be gone this long or I lost track of time or.. something. Nothing bad happened though! I just needed to see the ocean.” It took me until the end of my breath to realize I’d started crying.

Dominic heaved a sigh on the other end of the line and I closed my eyes to imagine his movements in my head. The phone clamped between his shoulder and ear while he stirred something on the stove and motioned to Murray to put more tomatoes in the salad.

“Grayer, what am I going to do with you?” he asked, quietly.

“I don‘t know!” I buried my face in my hands.

“Oh, Grayer,“ he smiled a little and in my mind he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes to think. “Hey, hey. Okay, shhh,” he whispered into my ear. “You’re okay, sweetheart. Nobody’s hurt? Nothing bad happened?”

“No, sir,” I sobbed. “But I’m really, really sorry.”

“I can hear that, darlin’. But now probably isn’t the time to have that discussion. Listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Uh huh.” I swallowed.

“Where are you right now?”

“I don’t know. A fruit stand on the way home.”

“I don’t like the idea of you driving home in this state.”

I swallowed hard and rolled my eyes. “Would you rather I slept in the car on the side of the road in the middle of the woods?”

“Lose the tone,” he said, firmly. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“Sorry..” I was sorry. Tired, wet, cold, tired. Tired. And sorry.

In the background I heard arguing and something banged loudly. “Murray, come over here,” Dominic said sharply. “That is enough.”

“I don’t WANT to!” Murray was saying.

The scene was familiar and I rubbed tears out my eyes, smiling a little.

“Corner,” Dominic said, firmly. “This minute.”

“I’m sorry, Gray,” he said into the phone again. “Liam had an emergency call so it‘s just Murray and I. Now, listen. I don’t want you to make any stops on the way home unless you need to use the bathroom and if you aren’t here by,” he paused. “Nine then I’m going to take off my belt, do you understand me?”

My eyes went wide and I gasped involuntarily. “I’ll be there by 9:00,” I assured him.

“Well, all I can do is trust you because my driving out there to find you won’t really help anything. Can I trust you?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I love you.”

“Are we staying at Liam and Murray’s tonight?” I asked.

“From the looks of things,” he said. “No stopping, Graeme. Express trip home. Right now. Drive carefully. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I did drive carefully. I stopped once to go to the bathroom and then kept right on again until I reached the outskirts of town. By then I was exhausted. My clothes were still damp, but with the heater turned up all the way I wasn’t as cold as I had been before. My feet were cut up though and I knew I’d be in huge trouble for going barefoot on top of everything else. It was an ongoing “conversation” between the two of us.

All the lights were on at the Henderson’s and I steeled myself as I parked my car behind Dominic’s and got out. It was 8:43.

Dominic was sitting on the couch watching television and drinking tea when I walked in. I looked at him and toed my shoes off by the door.

“You went in the ocean?” he asked, eyebrows raised at my damp clothes.

I shrugged and walked to him. He sat up more and pulled me down into his lap where I curled up and buried my face.

“You’re soaking wet,” he whispered.

“Rain,” I said.

“Spanking,” he said.

I cringed.

“You’re about to be in more trouble than you know what to do with,” he sighed.

“Yes, sir.”

He was hugging me close and breathing into my hair.

“Where’s Murray?” I asked.

“Not your business.” Dominic sat me up on his lap and undid my jeans.

“Right now?” I asked.

He shook his head. “A shower first.” I raised my arms and he pulled my shirt over my head.

“Will you shower with me?”

“No. I need to check on Murray and do a few other things.”

He stood up, sliding me to my feet as well and helping me out of my jeans. I shivered.

“Come on, kiddo.” He led me into the bathroom and sat me in my underwear up on the counter while he ran hot water for a shower.

I closed my eyes and let him run his fingers through my hair as he waited for the water to get warm.

“All right,” he stood up and pulled the curtain back. “In you go.”

-----------

Murray was crying upstairs when I got out and Dominic was back on the couch, looking exhausted. He’d laid pajamas of Murray’s out for me on the coffee table and on the end table next to him was a vicious looking wooden spoon. The bowl was huge and just flat enough to really hurt, I could tell.
I bit my lip and eyed it, which Dominic saw and ignored.

“Put jammies on,” he said.

“What’s wrong with Murray?” I asked as I pulled on the pants he’d laid out.

“He says he’s having a bad life,” Dominic said mildly. “Hush and put on your pajamas.”

“Did you spank him too?” I looked at him tentatively before yanking my socks on.

“Is that any of your concern?” Dominic asked, taking my wrist. He led me to the couch and pulled me into his lap.

I shrugged.

“It’s not,” he said, tugging the shirt over my head. He squeezed me tightly when he was done. “Why am I going to spank you?”

I took a deep breath and looked back at him. “We aren’t gonna talk about it?”

“We are talking about it. You didn’t tell me where you were going. You drove two and a half hours out of the city and if you’d gotten into a wreck or something had happened, how would I have known where you were? You didn’t think. You didn’t stop to consider any of this, did you?”

“I DID think!” I said. “Just… not about telling you where I was.”

“Don’t get smart with me. You didn’t think about what you were doing. You just took off. Why, exactly?”

“I needed to think about stuff!” I wiggled. Suddenly his legs seemed so much harder.

“What stuff?”

“You know what stuff!” I sighed.

“Would you like to continue talking about this? Or would you rather climb over my knees right now and talk later? It’s up to you.”

“I want to go to bed,” I whined.

“And that isn’t one of your options.”

“Nothing bad happened while I was gone though! I went there AND came back -- all in one piece!”

“But for the grace of God,” Dominic said, sternly. Then he scooted forward on the couch and tipped me off his lap. “Stand up.”

“NOT already!”

“Why am I going to spank you?” he asked as he held my hands aside in one of his and then brusquely lowered my sweatpants.

“I don’t know!” I snapped. “You won’t let me TALK about it!”

“I’m asking you to talk about it right now. Why am I going to spank you, Graeme? And if you smart off again you can go to the corner with soap.”

“I was late,” I said.

He paused, obviously waiting for me to add more to the list. “Why else?” he asked.

“I didn’t tell you where I was going.”

“Continue,” he said, pulling me back into his lap, my bottom now bare.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I walked in the rain, I went barefoot on the rocks and cut my feet.”

At that he lifted my feet and peeled off the socks I’d put on. He ran his fingers over the small gouges and breathed with irritation.

“They aren’t that deep,” I said, quietly.

“That isn’t the point, is it?”

“Well, they aren’t.”

He was quiet for a few moments as I leaned against him and he thumbed over the cuts on my feet, feeling them and thinking more than looking. Finally, he spoke.

“Why did you run away?”

“I didn’t ‘run away’,” I said sulkily. “I went away. To think.”

“You ran away. Why?”

“To THINK,” I said sharply. “Your ears are BROKEN.” I wrestled myself off his lap and fell onto the floor.

Dominic sat up and looked at me. “This isn’t a production with you in the starring role,” he said to me. “Stop the theatrics.”

I was starting to get a little worked up, having fallen on my butt and with the way he was talking to me without getting upset at all. Just making me sit on his lap. It’s frustrating trying to do battle with a pacifist.

Reaching down, he gripped me under the arms and pulled me back into his lap where I did my best to bite back tears and succeeded moderately.

“Why did you run away?” he asked again. He thumbed one tear off my cheek and pushed the hair back from my face.

“I was mad.”

“Why?”

“Why do you THINK?”

“Why, Grayer?”

“You’re MAKING me give up the studio.”

“I am?” He turned me around a little to look at him. “I’m making you give it up? No input from you whatsoever? I just woke up one day and decided to torment you by making you give up the studio?”
I dropped my head and tears dripped from my eyes as I tried with all my might to keep them from doing exactly that.

“We decided on that house together, didn’t we? That was the one we really wanted. The other one, on State Street was nice, hm? But we decided on the one in the north end. Because both of us like the north end and because it was a good house. An attic for your studio once we renovate it, wood floors and tile in the bathroom. Was I mistaken when I heard you tell me that you wanted it?”

I stared at my hands in silence, sniffling.

Dominic raised my chin. “Was I?”

I HAD wanted it. It’s just that now, faced with the bare facts of the matter, I wasn’t sure if I STILL wanted it. Or, if I did, whether or not I wanted it over my studio.

“I wanted it then,” I whispered.

“You knew then what you know now. That buying the house would mean losing the studio. Didn’t you?”

I nodded. “But I didn’t think about it that much! I didn’t think about how much I loved the studio. Maybe more than the house.”

“Should we live in the apartment forever? Is that a good idea?”

“It makes you tense,” I said.

“And you?”

“I guess I get mad at you easier and stuff,” I mumbled, shrugging.

“What did we decide together about buying a house? In the very beginning, when we first started talking about it, what did we decide?”

“You decided,” I said.

“No, I’m not talking about any decisions I’ve made. What did we decide? Collectively, together.”
I shrugged and he locked his arms around me.

“To buy a house because we needed one.”
Dominic nodded. “That was a collective, you and me decision, wasn’t it? I have veto power in the end, but that decision wasn’t one I made all by myself, hm? Because moving our whole lives somewhere else is big and you need a say in it.”

“Fine. I changed my mind.”

“No. That’s not the way it works around here. We talked about this, long and hard, we decided it would be the best thing for us. For our relationship. And so we pursued it. That decision is made. Done with.”

“Why can’t I change my mind?!” I asked, leaning hard into his chest and bursting into tears. “Why can’t we keep the studio AND the house?! I’ll work harder, I’ll sell more stuff. I can DO it. Really, I can. We can keep the attic as storage and I’ll keep the studio…” I trailed off into sobs.

It wasn’t about it being unfair anymore, because I knew what he was asking of me was fair. I had agreed to it. And I had agreed to it because I knew it was the best thing for both of us and because, really, I did like the house. I did.

“We don’t need to work any harder than we do, sweet boy,” Dominic whispered in my ear. “You work like crazy already and I won’t have us spending anymore time apart than we have to. We need to give the studio up because it’s not realistic. It’s asking too much of both of us. I know it’s what you want and I know it doesn’t feel good to let it go, but I don’t put my foot down just for the hell of it, do I?”

I didn’t answer and I didn‘t point out who‘s house he‘d just said, “hell” in..

“You’ll tell Mr. Winner that you’ll move out at the end of the month. And it will be okay. We’ll be okay.” He massaged deep circles into my back and occasionally raked his fingers over the shirt I had on, giving me goosebumps.

“Calm down,” he started saying over and over. “Calm down, calm down, kiddo. Calm down.”

I did, gradually, and he pulled me back after a few minutes, looking me over and wiping tears off my cheeks. He picked up my damp shirt from where it was still lying on the floor and held it to my nose while I blew.

“You aren’t going to get away with running from what hurts and scares you. You aren’t going to get away with not calling to tell me where you are either. Or walking in freezing rain -- barefoot, no less. Especially not after the spanking I gave you just this morning. We’ve had all of these conversations more than once and we’ll continue having them until there’s no longer a need.”

My lip quivered and I refused to look at him, but I nodded.

“Come on then,” he said quietly and helped me to my feet, then took my hand and drew me across his knees.

“Down you go, kiddo. That’s a boy.” He patted my back, adjusted my weight and pushed my t-shirt far up off my back.

Somewhere along the line Murray had stopped crying. I didn’t know when because I’d stopped paying attention to anything but Dominic and I what seemed like hours ago.

“Why are you getting a spanking?” Dominic asked from above me. He cleared his throat.

“I disobeyed about being barefoot,” I started. “And I walked in the freezing rain when I knew I wasn’t supposed to and I didn’t call, I ran away.”

“What do you do instead of running away?” he asked.

“Talk to you.”

“And are you allowed to interrupt me at work?”

“Yes, sir,” I said softly.

“So you should do it then, hm? Say, when a favorite friend drops in to give you some sad news and it hits you pretty hard?”

I swung my head around to look at him and he Looked back.

“I love you and I want to take care of you, but I can’t unless you let me.”

And then he started spanking.

I jumped at the first smack and kept jumping as each new one lit it’s own fire in my bottom. He wasn’t moving quickly, he wasn’t lecturing as he kept up the steady pain. He just spanked and spanked and spanked until I started pleading.

“Dominiiic,” I whined. I kept it quiet because I always hated admitting, even to myself, that it was too much. More than I could handle. “Stop, sto-op! Pleease stop? It hurts!”

But he didn’t stop. He shushed me and kept going. I started to plead more loudly and I put a hand back that he deftly pinned down with his free hand.

“Keep your hands still,” he said sternly. There was a pause and I looked back to see him pick up the spoon and raise it.

Just the sight was enough. I burst back into tears and kicked, cried and screamed until it was over. It felt like the worst spanking I’d ever had.

Immediately after he finished and I was completely gone in hysterics, coughing and spitting and choking, he drew me up into his arms and surrounded me tightly.

“Oh, Graeme. Grayer, Grayer, Gray. My poor kiddo.”

He smacked my back pretty hard saying, “Breathe, darlin’. Breathe. It isn’t so bad you need to keep from getting air. Come on.” He managed to coax some normal breathing but I kept crying hard for twenty minutes or so until I heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Dominic…?” Murray’s voice was close. FAR closer than I liked or appreciated and I hid in Dominic’s chest as he grabbed and threw a blanket over my red bottom.

“Murray Allen Gilbert, you take your bottom straight back to bed,” Dominic said fiercely.
I tensed and he felt it, rubbing my back again.

“But I’m thirsty!”

“And this is the third time you’ve been thirsty in the past two hours. You should have been asleep ages ago. Upstairs. Bed. I’ll be up in a while.”

“Dominiiic!”

“I’ve half a mind to bring your paddle with me. Is that something you’d enjoy at midnight on a school night, Murray?”

The sound of footsteps ran back upstairs and Dominic called after them, “Stay there. I wasn‘t kidding about the paddle.”

I’d stopped crying at the sound of Murray, in self preservation mode, and once he was gone I took a deep, shaky breath.

Dominic squeezed me tightly and tucked the blanket in around my shoulders. “I talked to Gareth today,” he said quietly.

My ears perked up and I remembered what Dominic had said right before he‘d started spanking me.

“He was worried about you,” Dominic said. “He told me you used to take a lot of these drives to make yourself feel better?”

I nodded.

“Do you feel better because of it?”

I shrugged. In a way, I did. It had, as usual, helped me figure some things out. Namely, that I wasn’t allowed to march off and leave unannounced. But also all the time to think just brought some things into perspective. Like how much I love Dominic and how he does always try to do what’s best for me. For us.

“I’m not taking away your long drives,” Dominic said sympathetically. “But I am telling you to run them by me. To get permission and to let me know exactly where you’ll be and keep your phone charged and on at all times.”

I nodded.

“And as for leaving without calling or telling me where you were going, you can hand over your car keys to me for a week. And,” he said. For this he lifted my chin up and looked at me. “I have had more than enough of your bare feet tramping all over solid frozen ground, so you can wear your socks and tennis shoes all the time except for sleeping and showering. All other shoes off limits, only your tennis shoes.”

Now, that was a blow to my person. I gaped at him and a fresh tear trickled down my cheek.

“Noo..”

He nodded firmly. “Yes, indeed. This is the third time I’ve had to spank you for going barefoot and it’s going to stop. You will lose all your shoes but the tennis shoes until I feel like I can trust you to use better judgment. And you will wear your shoes at all times. In the house, at the studio, everywhere. Am I clear?”

I fell back against him a little angrily. He KNEW how much I hated shoes. He knew I couldn’t STAND to wear them at the studio most days, much less at HOME. I was outraged.

Sure, I’d hand over my keys. I mean, that would suck, but I wouldn’t die for one week. But my SHOES? All of them except for the pair I hated most? I sank into his chest, terribly remorseful but nursing a little residual fury.

“Do you want to talk about Gareth?” he asked me, rubbing my shoulders and tucking the blanket back around me.

I shook my head. “How long do I have to stay in tennies?” I asked forlornly.

“Until I can trust you,” Dominic said.

“When will that be?”

“When it happens. It will happen. You just worry about obeying me. That’s all.”

It didn’t feel like all.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry I made you worry and-- and that I ran away and didn’t tell you and I got all wet and.. I’m sorry I went barefoot.”

“I know you are,” he said quietly. “And that’s over. We’re all better.”

We sat for a while longer before he reached for the remote and turned on the news.

“I need to go see Murray, darlin’. Lay here and I’ll be right back,” he said, moving to stand up.

“Dominiiiic…”

“Shh. Lay down.”

I laid down gingerly on my stomach and he spread the blanket over me, tucking it in and kissing my cheek, now all dried with crusty tear stains. “Be right back. Try for some sleep, why don’t you?”

I nodded.

I tried to stay awake long enough to hear some of his interaction with Murray, just for curiosity’s sake, but sleep was too close. I woke up as Dominic eased me into his arms to carry me upstairs. I heard Liam whispering nearby and Dominic picked the blanket back up to cover my still bare bottom.

“Goodnight,” Liam whispered, running a hand over my head. He smiled wearily.

“Mmnn,” I grunted and shut my eyes again.

“It’s past your bedtime,” Dominic whispered as he took me up the stairs and into the room that had been mine for a while. The bed was made and the covers were turned back.

“I’m going to stand you up to put on some boxers. Come on.”

I wobbled sleepily, but stepped into the boxers he held out and only hissed a little as they grazed my sore bottom.

“All right,” he said softly. He was holding the covers up. “Get on in there, sleepy boy.”

I fell into bed gratefully and cuddled up to the cool sheets and pillows.

“Come t’bed?” I mumbled, still feeling Dominic’s presence somewhere nearby.

“Working on it. You sleep and don’t worry.”

“Can’t ‘thout you.”

He chuckled and bent to kiss my ear. “Shh.”

It took forever and I dozed while he changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth and turned out lights around the house, but he finally crawled into bed with me and I scrabbled blindly for his chest as soon as I felt the weight of his body on the bed.

“Murray go t’sleep?” I yawned widely.

“Eventually, I’m sure,” Dominic said. He stretched beneath me and then wrapped an arm over my back.

“Upset?”

“Rather. Shh.”

“Why for?”

“Bad night, love. Sleep.”

“He get in trouble, or what?” I wanted to know. It seemed like I should know.

“If you keep talking you’ll wake up and if you wake up I’ll have a devil of a time getting you back to sleep. So,” he pulled me closer and rested a hand in the small of my back, too close to my bottom for me to continue arguing comfortably. “Hush and go to sleep. Immediately.”

I laughed into his chest. “How’re we gonna get home tomorrow in time to change for work and, you know, like take showers and stuff like that? If I’m late to the studio because you’re making us spend the night here you can’t spank me, you know. And you’ll be late to work. How much vacation time do you have? Maybe we should go home-- OW!”

I heard the rumble of Dominic’s laughter. “You’ll be sleeping on the floor in a minute if you don’t hush up.”

“You would not!” I whined.

He swatted me again, trying not to laugh too loudly. “Quiet. It’s late. Why are you worried about me getting to work?”

I slid my hand up Dominic’s shirt. He was warm and hairy and I like to twirl my fingers through it because it makes him wince, but he usually lets me keep it up for a little while. “Maybe I just like to sleep at home,” I whispered.

“Well, what would you get at home that we don’t have here?”

I grinned and considered for a moment or two. “Well,” I pulled really hard on the hair near his nipple. “I can’t have my way with you here.”

“Ow, Gray!” he smacked my hand through his shirt and then dug it out, firmly laying it across his chest where it could do less harm. I could have sworn he was getting hotter.

“Liam and Murray are all the way down the hall,” Dominic said, finally. Like he was just offering me some information. Like what I did with it didn’t really matter. Whatever, either way.

Yeah. Whatever.

“But are they sleeping?”

“You certainly aren’t.”

“Maybe I need to be sleepy first.”

“And I wonder how you’d propose I make that happen…?”

I let out a heavy sigh. So put upon, I am. “Yeah, I am an awfully hard customer.” I led his hand straight to The Source of the Matter and he rolled his eyes, audibly.

“You can do better than that,” he chuckled. His eyes were closed. He was tired, but not too tired if he was encouraging me. “You’re a creative genius,” he said. “Put it to work.”

I giggled as his fingers poked at my rib cage from both sides. I scooted as close to his ear as I could and whispered, “Fuck me.”

“I can’t hear you when you curse,” he said piously.

“Fuck me,” I said again.

Hey, it’s not like I couldn’t tell I was making an impact. There was a flag pole in his pajamas. And what else was I supposed to say anyway?

He smacked my bottom hard and I whined.

“Pleeaase?”

“Oh, Grayer Evan,” he sighed.

I buried my face in his chest to laugh so that it wouldn’t be too loud. “You’re hard as a cast iron skillet, Dom’nic!” I whispered loudly. “Don’t ‘Grayer Evan’ me!”

“All right, you monkey, you,” he said huskily. In one move, he was on top of me, pinning me to the bed on my stomach. “You don’t know what you’re in for, brat.”

“I’m not going to the studio tomorrow,” I giggled as he grabbed both my wrists in one of his and held them.

“Oh, you aren’t going anywhere tomorrow. I‘ll make sure of that.”

--------------

“I can’t do this,” I whispered as it started to ring. “You do it,” I said to Dominic. “YOU do it. I ca-- Hi, Mr. Winner?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” He always sounded angry. It drove me crazy. I wanted to send the guy flowers, send him to the Oprah show, ANYTHING if he’d just pretend to like me, at least.

“Uhh, th--this is Graeme Kinney from uh, 34 East Bremerton?”

“The one who plays that rock and roll all the time? Because I‘ve had words with you and--”

“No, that’s the people above me. Hammons.”

“Oh. Then you’re the one who sliced open his own arms and ruined the linoleum so I had to call the ambulance.”

“What?” I gasped allowed and tried not to gag. Talk of blood makes me faint and the visual wasn’t helping. Mr. Winner’s fucked up idea of a guessing game was making me nervous, too. I scrambled around in my brain for anything that would set me apart from the rest of his apparently unstable tenants. I was used to these drawn out phone calls, but they were different each time. I was always surprised at the depth of Mr. Winner’s cynicism and general moodiness. In short, he was a grouch.

“You been doing any drug deals lately?”

“No.”

“Breaking windows? Kicking out plumbing?”

What? Who kicks out their own plumbing?

“No!” I said, indignantly.

“You been housing too many a’them stray animals, haven‘t you?”

“No!” I sighed. GOD.. Then it hit me. “I left the water on in the dark room and flooded the whole floor,” I said quickly.

“AGAIN?!” he demanded. “I thought I told you the last time--”

“No,” I said, forcefully. “NO. The LAST time. That was me. Remember?”

I caught a glimpse of the Look Dominic gave me and tried to regulate my tone. He was making breakfast in Liam and Murray’s kitchen. Scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.

“Oohh…” Mr. Winner groaned. “You. You called me last week because of the cockroaches and week before that about those people with the rock and roll and ’fore that you called about the sink not working and the heater going dead.”

Yeah, it’s not the best studio. In fact, in retrospect, I guess it kind of sucked.

“Yeah, well, I don’t play loud rock and roll, Mr. Winner, do I?” I asked reasonably. “And when was the last time I tried to commit suicide, hmm?”

“Okay,” he conceded, sighing. “So, why are you calling THIS time?”

“I’m moving out at the end of the month.”

“Oh, good god,” he groaned. “You’re going to leave me STRANDED like this? With no tenant to take your PLACE? This is my LIVELIHOOD, you know. This is how I make my money. You can’t just up and--”

“I’m paying YOU, Mr. Winner,” I said, calmly. “And I’m moving out at the end of the month.”

“Who will I find to rent the space?!”

Like that’s MY job?

“It’s fucking downtown!” I said, harshly. “Everyone and their goddamned dog is going to want to rent the space. This isn’t MY fault, all right?”

Dominic snapped his fingers at me to catch my attention and I got a glare the size of Antarctica. Nearly as cold too.

I took a deep breath.

“Look, I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to, okay? It’s important. I don’t want to do it, but it’s.. it’s out of my hands. So, we’ll all just have to cope, won’t we?”

“Tenants,” Mr. Winner growled. “Damned tenants.”

“The end of the month. Everything will be gone by the 31 and it will be clean, all right? Is there anything to sign?”

“Well, hell, I don’t know. Nobody ever TELLS me ‘fore they leave. They just up and do it.”

“I’m telling you. Is there any paperwork?”

“I guess not. I want that key back though. Too many times people got to keep their keys and they wandered back sometime when nobody was lookin’ and just stayed forever without me having any idea. OR they stole everything they could find. So, I want my key back.”

“You can have it back. I’ll push it through the mail slot when I leave.”

“Yeah, well… All right.”

“Bye, Mr. Winner.”

“Yeah, bye. DON’T leave that water on again, or--”

I hung up.

“That man cannot have any friends,” I glared at the phone in my hand before shoving it back into it’s cradle against the wall.

“Come here,” Dominic didn’t turn from the frying bacon, just pointed at the floor next to him. I remembered the colorful incident on the phone from moments before. He didn’t like fucks and goddamns while we were in Liam and Murray’s house. He really wasn’t a huge fan in general, but I was allowed when it was “appropriate”, when it wasn’t disrespectful and wasn’t offending anyone else.

“Whyyeee?” I whined.

“You know exactly why. Come over here.” He was rummaging through a jar on the stove full of cooking utensils. He pulled out a rubber spatula.

I took one look at it and my lip poked out.

“Here,” he pointed. “Now. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Dominiiic…”

“If I have to come get you, darling, you’ll be sorry.”

I scowled and went to him.

“You don’t talk that way to people on the phone, or ever.”

“He DESERVED it! You don’t know what he was saying, do you?”

He took my arm, turned me and smacked me hard with the spatula, a good ten or twelve times until I was biting my lip and squenching my eyes shut.

“Sorry!” I said quickly, reaching behind me to try to rub out the sting. “Really. It wasn’t nice, I know.” I took a deep breath. “Sorry,” I said again, more quietly.

He caught my hand before I could rub, and slid the spatula back in with the rest of the spoons and scrapey things then turned me back to him. “I’m very proud of you for making that call. You didn’t want to, but you did it and I’m very proud.” He hugged me tightly and then pulled away. “But you don’t talk that way. That’s not how a person conducts a telephone conversation. So, I want you to go face the corner, please, and think about that for a few minutes while I finish breakfast.” He pointed to the empty corner.

I gave him a plaintive look which he met with a hard nod and kissed my forehead.

“Go on.”

It wasn’t that long and he told me again, once he called me out, how proud he was of me and how this was hard, but it would be okay.

“Yeah…” I shrugged and leaned into his hug.

As long as he didn’t use that spatula again, I guessed it would be okay.

-----------

I went to the studio in the evening because Dominic had a meeting. It was nice to be back there as it got dark and watch the night life start. Lights came on, people walked past the window with their friends, singing and laughing and carrying coffee. It had been several months since I’d seen that happen.

I cleaned up my paints once it got dark and curled up in the corner with a mug of coffee and a book from one of the shelves. “On the Road” or one of those ones I’ve read a million times. One of those comfort books a person reads again and again; whenever they need the reassurance of familiarity.
I pretended for a while that Dominic and I had never met, that I hadn’t called Mr. Winner and that I could keep the studio forever.

Why hadn’t I come here? I wondered. When Gare kicked me out last October, why hadn’t I come here? I could’ve slept on this gold couch and been creative 24/7. I could’ve lived here and been fine.
And what if I had?

What of us? Dominic and me.

I leaned my head back against the wall and moved to scratch my foot, somewhat hindered by the shoe I found there.

“Blehh.”

Why was I keeping my shoes on anyway? Dominic wasn’t around. He wasn’t coming to pick me up, I‘d taken the bus. In fact, I was on my honor to return home by 9:00. I would, too. I’d promised and had no intentions of doing otherwise.

But why was he trusting me to obey when I hadn’t, just the night before? And why was I planning on it? What did he hold over my head? Was it because he spanked me? Was that the only reason?

No. I loved him. I wasn’t afraid of him. It was, well, yeah, in part it was fear of being spanked that kept me from explicitly disobeying him, but that wasn’t all of it. It was also… also… just that I loved him. I didn’t like to scare him by being late. I didn’t like him to worry. I liked him to be happy, I like him to be happy with me… and why did I like that?

Well, I loved him.

A year or so back, Gareth had painted on the wall, “Love is all you need,” and that line from Moulin Rouge that, at the time, wasn’t nearly as overused as it is now: “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” And underneath those, a million other things. For some reason, he’d even memorized that verse, that “Love is patient, love is kind…” verse and it was painted in long, crooked lines across the wall.

He was going through some fucking cheesy love phase then. “In love” with a guy called Spud who had bad hair and smelled terrible, always of black licorice and pot smoke. I didn’t love him. The relationship lasted about three weeks and was in the very immediate wake after Marc, when Gare was still suffering the leftover tremors of heartbreak. So, what are you gonna do? Deny the guy wall space to grieve?

He was, I mean. Grieving. Not much more. It just came out as love for some half-witted, badly smelling thrift shop throwback.

Oh, Gareth.

Love isn’t all you need. You don’t have to listen to Dr. Laura to know that. You need other things too, like stamina to stick it out, work through things. You need commitment, which isn’t the same as love. And you need tolerance. Other people are always quirkier than you are and it takes a certain amount of tolerance to deal with even those things that seemed cute and endearing the first five times. Also, the greatest thing you’ll ever learn may be the whole love bit, but it’ll also be the hardest thing to learn. Yeah, the best. But the most life-fucking, too. And the most risky. And.. and the most devastatingly worthwhile.

By the time Dominic answered the phone, I was crying. God, it must’ve been time for my fucking period. I was a basket case.

“Baby,” he said in his best stage whisper. He’d left his meeting to talk to me. I was only supposed to call for emergencies and damnit, damnit this was an emergency!

“I love you,” I sniffled through my tears, wiping them off on my sleeve. I swallowed on the stickiness in my mouth to say more and he whispered a sweet, “Shh…” into my ear.

“Are you at the studio?”

“Uh-huh. I just-- I just… you shouldn’t have to make me give up the studio and I’m sorry I made you make me. I want to do it. I love you. It isn‘t, I mean… It‘s not just my studio; it’s our studio. And we‘re both giving shit up.” I choked a little and cleared my throat.

“Shh. Sweet boy.” I could see him sitting in the old newsroom, just outside the conference room door. “Go on home now, hmm? I’ll be there in about an hour.” He was smiling. I heard it.

It was only 7:30, but I didn’t argue. “I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too. You’re my favorite.”

I laughed and swallowed again. “Favorite what?” I asked pathetically.

“Favorite everything,” he said, softly. There was a quiet, easy pause while I collected myself. He waited, just letting me hear him breathe for a good 60 seconds or so and then said, “Go on home, darling. I’ll be there in no more than an hour, I promise.”

“All right,” I nodded hard. “But I’m okay, I really am. So don’t leave the meeting on account of me.”

He chuckled softly. “Too late. Go on.”

“I really am okay.”

“I can tell,” he smiled again. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Bye.”

“I love you,” he breathed and hung up.

------------

I’d fallen asleep on the couch by the time he got home, wrapped in blankets, tennis shoes sticking out. He didn’t drag me up or make me move, just nudged and maneuvered, sliding underneath me so that I lay on top of his chest.

“How was the meeting?” I asked.

“Brilliantly dull,” he smiled, kissing me full on the lips and with fervor.

We lay in silence for a while and he rubbed my back, stealing some of the blanket to cover his shoulders. He was cold from being outside, his cheeks rosy and making me shiver every time he moved them over my head.

“I’ve made us miserable for the past, like, three years,” I said, finally.

“Have you? Has it been that long already? Three years?” he smirked.

“You know what I mean,” I whined, trying not to laugh at his poking my ribs. “I’ve made us miserable. I wouldn’t give up my stuff for us. It’s not even my stuff, not just mine. I was being selfish. Bad selfish.”

“It was hard. I understand that. It is hard. You can’t just hand over things like that without a second thought. I know that. I just wanted you to consider us and you have.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“It’s all right,” he kissed my temple.

“Is it?” I asked him, wanting to believe.

“Do you trust me?” he asked into my ear.

I nodded.

“It’s all right.” A pause. “Do you believe me?”

I nodded.

It’s been a long time now, for us. For Dominic and I. And I’ve been told before that I’m abused, that when Dominic takes away my decisions he’s taking away my basic rights as a human being. He’s brainwashed me so that he can control my every move, beat me into submission.

But that night, the first time I really felt myself submit of my own volition. The first time I really, honestly, gave up what I wanted for us, that was when I really began to realize what we were about.
Not Dominic spanking me and not the power exchange -- though I seriously get off on it -- we’re about each other. We’re about the greatest things we’ve ever learned. Loving each other and being loved in return.

So, he spanks me when I do something we’ve agreed I won’t do. So, I do things we’ve agreed I won’t do. What people don’t understand is the irony: this is the freest I’ve ever felt. This is the most liberation I’ve ever known. I can’t expect them to understand, I guess. And they don’t need to.
We do. And that’s enough.

----------

“Wake up, sleepy head,” I whispered into Dominic’s ear. “Jesus loves yooou.”

He groaned and rolled away from me so I straddled him and sat on his butt. Hey, it was a last ditch effort.

“Come on, pleeease?” I whined.

“We went last week,” he mumbled through the pillow he was holding over his head.

“I wanna go this week too. I like the building. I like being up early on Sunday. I like walking around before most people are up and you know, feeling productive. You’re the one who always wants me to be productive at god awful hours of the morning. You should be all for this!” I’d started bouncing up and down on him and he was trying to get a good enough hold on me to drag me off. It wasn’t working.

“Come to church with me and I’ll suck you off,” I grinned, grabbing his flailing arm and holding it to his back.

“That is an ungodly bargain,” he said. “If we go to church after you’ve sucked me off, we’ll probably be struck by lightning.”

“It’s gorgeous outside,” I said.

He made whining noises into the bed and slumped limply. “You’re not going to get off, are you?”

“I’ll suck you off and iron you a shirt to wear.”

“Oh, I can hardly contain my joy.”

I tore the pillow off his head and bit his ear. “You are SO coming to church with me.”

“Do I have to take a shower?”

I lifted his arm and smelled. “Yes.”

He sighed and sat up, resignedly. “Then I want my blow job in the shower.” He stood up, threw me over his shoulder and tickled me mercilessly all the way to the bathroom.

----------

Church was nice. It’s not something I love, not something I’d done two Sundays in a row since I was a kid, but I like it. The liturgy grounds me and the act of going makes me feel good. Like I’m awake and alive and doing something worthy of being up so stinking early.

Afterward, I begged Dominic for ice cream. He argued that we hadn’t even had lunch yet, so… of course, I suggested we do so immediately. We ate at a little pub on Hawthorne, then started back for the car.

“Let’s walk a while longer,” he said as we neared the car, nodding across the street to the river.

I nodded and we walked across to the river walk.

“It’s starting to get warm, I think,” I said.

“Saturday Market will be back soon,” he nodded.

“When?” I asked. Saturday Market was when summer started. It meant that things were going to get warmer and greener and that we’d survived another winter.

“Next week, week after,” he shrugged and gripped my hand, pulling it into his pocket.

I leaned against him as we walked.

“Let’s go see Ben,” I said.

He looked down at me and grinned.

“And your tree, too,” I added.

“Yeah, my tree’s right over there.” He pointed.

“What? Where?” I squinted in the direction of his finger.

“Right there. Next to the bridge.”

“That is NOT your tree,” I said indignantly. “That’s just a tree. Your tree is next to a rosebush.”

“No, that is my tree.” He nodded resolutely. “I think I should know. It is mine, after all.”

“No, it’s not! Your tree is within sight of my Benjamin Franklin and my Benjamin Franklin is on the other side of that bridge where you can’t see it yet!”

“You’ll be able to once we get up there.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t own a tree, do you?” I asked.

“I own that tree!” he said, pointing back at the damn bridge.

“No, you don’t! That’s someone else’s tree. Probably just the city’s. Yours is on the other side of the bridge, next to a rosebush. You don’t own a tree, DO you?” I asked, looking up at him pointedly.

“I do too.”

“You’re only holding out for yourself,” I smirked. “It doesn’t do me any harm if you don’t, it just means you made up a story to make me feel better which is SO darling and sweet and mushy-gooshy of you that I can hardly stand it.” I grinned and he grabbed me, tickling until I laughed so hard I thought I’d never catch my breath.

We fell onto the cold, wet grass and lay for a moment before we realized just how wet it was, then we found a bench and sat down.

I moved close to him for warmth. I never wore enough layers and it drove him crazy. But it offered a good excuse for public affection.

“You made that story up,” I said. “didn’t you? You made it up to make me feel better. It never happened.”

He was silent, staring out at the boats on the water. “I did get shoes for Christmas,” he said, finally.

“And that was it?”

“That was it.”

“So the story was about stars,” I said. “I knew I heard it somewhere.”

He turned to me, grinning lopsidedly. “There are no stars here. Too much light pollution.”

“But if there were it would’ve been a story about stars, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t know that, would I?”

We watched the boats pulling in and out and the occasional person or two passing in front of us. Two homeless people stopped to ask for change and Dominic forked it over both times. I love him for always having change to give away. If you lived in this city, you’d know just how much money it required.

“Dominic,” I said softly after a while.

“What?” He rubbed my thumb, still held tightly in his coat pocket.

“Pick a boat.”

“What?” He laughed.

I moved closer into his side. “Your tree story was ridiculous, so pick a boat. If I get Benjamin Franklin, you should get a boat.”

“You can’t just give away other people’s boats, you know,” he smirked.

“It’s no different than trying to steal the city’s trees,” I pointed out.

“Hmm.. you’ve got me there.”

“So, pick,” I said.

“Well…”

“I like that one. The Beast,” I pointed at the boat floating past us and tried not to laugh. Who names a little fishing boat The Beast?

“Now, don’t influence my decision,” he said, swatting my hand down. “I can pick by myself.”

I laughed and waited.

“That one,” he said. He was pointing at a group of larger white boats with big blue decks.

“Those are those terrible tourist attractions!” I said. “Only people from out of state ride those.”

“I guess we ought to make a lot of money then, shouldn‘t we?”

I gasped and smacked the back of his hand. “That is NOT the reason you were supposed to be picking one!”

“Oh? Then what was the reason?”

I wasn’t sure what the reason was. I thought and then stood up.

“I guess it was more of an ulterior motive than a reason,” I shrugged. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

“Why?” he looked at me suspiciously.

“People who go to church take naps on Sunday afternoons. All that preaching probably wears them out.”

“Naps?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Something tells me you’re looking for more than a nap…”

I smacked his arm again. “Don’t be all loud about it! Come ON.”

If I’m not mistaken, he broke the speed limit once or twice on the way home. That rebel. Really, someone should do something about him...