“No. I made this for you.” Ian rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re older than me.”
Paul had forgotten all the simple pleasures of being part of a “we:” sleeping like spoons, telling your dreams to someone when you wake up, being comfortable around someone before you’ve combed your hair, communicating completely with half sentences and facial expressions, the joy of not having to do or say anything.
He was constantly inspired by Ian—his spontaneity, his playfulness, and his unique outlook on life. Yet it was still his beauty that completely engaged his imagination. Paul loved Ian because he was beautiful, and Ian was beautiful to Paul because he loved him. He did not know which came first or where one stopped and the other began.
Sara had been beautiful to Paul, but not a true beauty. She would never have been confused for a runway model. Ian could be. (A “male model,” people always say, because beauty is a woman’s job and male beauty an aberration.) Paul felt like the popular kid in school for the first time. There was only one problem: he couldn’t tell anybody.
Sara had been his girlfriend, then his fiancée and his wife. Everyone knew about their status. To the world Ian was nothing more than his employee or a student. No one would have any reason not to go after him and steal him away. Paul had reacted so strongly to Ian’s beauty that he could not imagine anyone—male or female—feeling any differently. Paul still found it hard to believe that someone so attractive could possibly fall for someone like him. One day Ian would wake up and realize his error too. When he did, there would be fifty guys waiting. Paul saw predators everywhere.
Women of all ages instinctively flirted with Ian. Paul didn’t mind that. It wasn’t a threat. The real problem was the men. Whenever Ian smiled at a male church member or shook his hand, Paul watched for extended glances and meaningful laughter, and he saw them everywhere. It didn’t matter if Paul knew the man to be straight, happily married with five kids. A nod and a grin became a seduction, a mere prelude to a passionate embrace, an invitation to a bedroom or a dark corner.
During the week, the church was a predominantly female environment, and Paul was comfortable as Ian roamed around the building, doing his work. It created no anxiety. On Sundays, however, he found it hard to let Ian out of his sight. He stood in the doorways and around the corner from the rooms Ian cleaned. If a conversation with a man during coffee hour went on a bit too long, Paul would approach and tell Ian there was a bathroom somewhere that desperately needed immediate cleaning. He was a guard dog, circling, monitoring. He had never been so driven to distraction by jealous impulses before. It made him feel out of control, and he hated it.
The Lunchroom
One of the most famous mountain aphorisms is that “the only Zen you find at the tops of mountains is the Zen you take up there.” Another way to put it is, “That which you are seeking is causing you to seek.” It was the lesson Dorothy learned in Oz (at the top of an enchanted mountain where she melted the Wicked Witch). The corollary is that unless they are surprised out of their complacency, people generally see exactly what they expect to see and no more. A mountain could stand right in front of them, and they might never know it is there.
The spontaneity and lack of pretense that so inspired Paul also drove him crazy at times. Ian was social and talkative and a complete open book. He loved to chat with the girls in the office, especially with Julie. Paul had not hidden the fact that Ian had moved in with him. The staff, and eventually the entire congregation, knew. But Paul hoped he could preserve the illusion that Paul and Ian were a bit like a father and an adopted son.
But nothing could stop Ian from talking about his life with Paul and the things they did together. When Julie talked about her husband or Emily about her boyfriend, Ian would jump in with, “Paul does that too,” or “I can never get Paul to try anything new,” or “Paul snores like a steam engine.” Paul was just waiting for the day when he would casually mention which side of the bed he slept on.
Fortunately, he had one secret weapon—Ian’s face. The women in the office were all so infatuated with Ian that they were entirely blinded to the seemingly obvious fact that when talk turned to boyfriends, Ian immediately thought about the minister. They simply never made the connection.
One day in late December, as the staff was getting ready for lunch, Ian came in from shoveling the church walkways. His nose and cheeks were red. He sniffled and jumped up and down to get the circulation moving.
“It’s freezing out there,” he said.
“You poor thing!” Marlee said. “Do you want some hot chocolate? We have some mix in the religious education office closet.”
“Thank you,” he said.
As Marlee heated the hot chocolate in the microwave, Julie brought Ian a box of tissues.
“Be careful you don’t get sick. There’s a flu going arou
nd,” Julie said.
“Here,” said Emily, “I’ll hang up your coat.”
Paul stood at his regular place at the back of the table. He opened a paper sack and took out the pair of sandwiches Ian had packed for them that morning. He placed one at Ian’s regular spot then sat down to watch the privately amusing spectacle of the women flirting with and babying his lover.
Emily handed the mug of hot chocolate to Ian. He sat down, cradled it in his hands, and let the steam warm his face.
Paul unwrapped his sandwich, lifted the upper slice of bread, and eyed the ingredients with suspicion.
“Why do you put this stuff on my sandwich?” he asked Ian.
Ian rolled his eyes. “Take the avocados off, I’ll eat them.” To Julie he said, “It’s no fun cooking for him because he doesn’t like anything.”
“Are you saying I’m boring?” Paul asked.
“Yeah,” Ian said. “But in a good way.”
“There’s a good way?”
“It’s endearing. It’s cute.”
Julie and Marlee laughed. Paul smiled, but he hoped Ian could read his subtext, which was: “I might have to kill you if you call me cute in front of people again.”