My Wildest Date

“Just breathe between sentences, okay?” Dwayne motioned for me to slow the word vomit spewing out of my mouth. His amused grin belied his annoyed tone and motherly palm.
“Sorry,” I said, not sorry at all. “I guess you had to be there. It was the most incredible day I could ever imagine.”
Thanksgiving was a couple weeks ago, and perky festive tunes rang throughout the diner. I’d just talked through Dwayne’s coffee, pancakes and eggs without touching my own plate. He had practically licked his clean as Katie, our regular waitress, pried it from his bony fingers. They exchanged a wry glance before she shuffled off to her next table.
None of that mattered.
I walked Dwayne through the weekend with Carter and the kids, ending with a Picasso-like portrait of Saturday’s lawn-mowing, leaf-pile-tossing, picture-perfect day. Carter had had his older son, Cade, on his lap as they made meticulous lines in the grass with the riding mower. Carter was determined to get one last cut in before winter grabbed us by the, um, throat.
Meanwhile, I was responsible for watching three-year-old Christian. Not to be outdone by Carter’s heroic, ride-on-my-lap dad trick, I had taken my little monster to the man-sized pile of leaves and tossed him in. The pile shook with his giggles. Before I knew it, we were both rolling around, tossing leaves at each other and crying with happy laughter.
That’s when it happened.
I looked up from the flurry of tiny hands and fluttering leaves and time froze. It was as if someone had pressed a button on a magical camera and everything paused.
In that moment, I had everything I’d ever wanted.
I had a partner who loved me, two beautiful boys whose smiles filled my soul in ways I’d never experienced, and hope for an incredible future.
Despite his palm-waving, Dwayne couldn’t quell my excitement.
I could see in the tiny, upturned lines around his eyes that mirrored his smile that he didn’t want to either. He was happy for me. He was nearly twice my age, but he was my best friend, the one person in the world I could tell everything and know I would never be judged.
Um, okay, that’s not exactly true. I knew I would be judged. It’s what we gays do, isn’t it? Our DNA requires it. It’s science.
Anyway.
Dwayne’s judgment wasn’t snarky or self-interested. It was borne of genuine empathy and concern, like a brother or father—or true friend.
“You’ve been dating how long now?” he asked as he eyed me over the rim of his chipped coffee mug.
“Three months.”
My alarms were starting to sound. Where was he going? Was there a lesson coming from the sensei that would sober my giddy mood?
He nodded sagely. “That’s a good amount of time. Just guard yourself.”
“What do you mean?” I hadn’t intended to sound defensive, but there it was.
“I don’t want to see you hurt. That’s all.”
“Hurt? Why would Carter hurt me?” I really didn’t like this conversation anymore. Maybe his judgment was judgy, after all.
Dwayne set his mug down and leaned forward. “Michael, you’ve barely slept a night at your own place since you met him. Things have moved so fast I can barely keep up. I know it feels wonderful right now, but Carter’s life has complications. That can change things over time.”
“Complications?” Now I was totally defensive.
His palms flew up in a don’t shoot the messenger motion.
“I’m happy for you, really. Just try to take things one day at a time, alright?”
I had no idea what he meant, but nodded as if Confucius himself had just granted his wisdom.
In my moment of Zen-like confusion, Katie’s hand found my shoulder. She leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Sweetie, don’t listen to him. It’s wonderful seeing you so happy.”
I reached up and gave her hand a squeeze and smiled up in thanks. Dwayne downed the last of his coffee, tossed his usually healthy tip on the table, and began scooting out of the booth. “Gotta run,” he said. “I’ll talk to you soon. Have fun with lover boy.”
Now that I could do.
Maybe Dwayne’s sensei abilities were spot-on after all.