The Gift

The Gift

Jonah usually hated shopping, and today was proving no different. He’d never felt a need to buy a Valentine’s gift. He’d given a few bouquets of wilted flowers in overly cute pots or with teddy bears stuffed among the blossoms to girls in high school and college. He’d had to at least try to look normal.

He was normal, that’s what Noah kept saying. “You’re gay. You’re my submissive. Samuel and I love you. You are not broken.” Noah went off the deep in about the latter. Jonah had always thought writing lines was silly, a childish game played between couples who liked silly, school punishment scenes, but Noah had been serious. “I’m not spanking you for this. Spanking is about arousal, physical contact, and your place in this relationship. It won’t train you to believe in yourself. Write.”

Jonah had filled notebooks with every sentence ever written on gay pride. He could recite the damn things in his sleep. “Loving is never a sin. My partners love me for who I am. My lovers are men; that is not a crime.” Jonah hated the sight of those notebooks; his hand ached at only a glimpse of the cover. Had it helped? Maybe. The little notes Noah and Samuel had been tucking into his lunch bucket helped more. It was silly, but he’d carefully folded each sheet of pastel paper and placed it in his breast pocket. They loved him, and he had nothing for them for Valentine’s day.

Flowers seemed trite. The endless adds for florist with smiling couples were starting to make Jonah nauseous. Roses were not a girl’s best friend, or maybe that was diamonds. A tie or a sweater seemed so impersonal. He’d sent a sweater to his father at Christmas; the box had been returned unopened, a fresh shipping label slapped across the address. 

Jonah walked down the aisle of the mall: more sweaters, tacky kachinas for the tourist trade probably made in China, electronic gear too complicated for Jonah to find the on/off switch, and kitchen gadgetry that would never leave the box. This wasn’t counting the stores dedicated to the teenagers who roamed the mall’s corridors in packs, laughing and shouting without a care in the world. Two teenage boys passed Jonah, their heads drawn close, studying something on a smart phone. Hair around his shoulders, the taller laughed and reached around and pinched his friend’s rump. They were in public. Jonah looked over his shoulder, scanning the crowd rapidly. No one noticed; no one said anything. Jonah leaned against the glass, pretending to study the display of chocolates. This wasn’t Texas. It was OK. They wouldn’t be hurt.

Jonah took a long, slow breath. This was Noah’s advice. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’re here, not in Texas.” Samuel had adapted; he’d embraced his new world. Why couldn’t Jonah? Why did he shake and sweat and damn near hyperventilate? This wasn’t Texas. He had a new passport to prove it. Jonah shoved his hands in his pockets and strode down the corridor, his eyes not seeing the shops with their bored help and the teenagers clustered around the latest skimpy fashions. Outside he leaned against the sun-warmed hood of his car, the typical dust covered and battered four by four of New Mexico. He looked up into the perfect blue sky. This was home. These were his mountains; this was his sky. They couldn’t make him go back.

Jonah wrenched open the car door and collapsed onto the seat. He gripped the steering wheel, but didn’t start the car. No gift, he still had no gift. Jonah palmed his phone, staring at the number for interminable seconds before touching the screen to dial. “Hello,” Jonah mumbled as an overly cheery voice answered. 

“Jonah?”

“Blade.”

“What’s the matter? Where are you?”

“I’m in New Mexico; I’m fine.”

Blade snorted and laughed. “And I won the lottery yesterday. Spill it, Jonah.”

“I can’t do this.  I can’t find a gift.” It sounded so stupid to say it aloud. He was falling apart over a Valentine’s gift, but it was Blade who was the insane one. Jonah remembered Blade at Milton’s. The redheaded maniac would tease and bait until Milton would grab him, and then he would say the most outrageous things, thoughts that Jonah would never say aloud and made Jonah blush to hear secondhand.

“You can’t do what?” Blade asked. Jonah thought he heard a door open and the sound of water. “Jonah, talk to me.”

“It’s nothing. I was just over thinking.”

“Jonah, don’t hang up. Where are you? Where’s Noah?”

That wasn’t Blade. The voice was deep and even over the phone, authoritative and reassuring. “Ryan?” Jonah asked. He hardly knew Ryan, Blade's partner. Why was he on the phone?

“Yep. So why am I dripping all over my bathroom floor with soap in my eyes talking to you on the phone?”

Blunt. Jonah remembered he’d been told Ryan was blunt. Jonah took another of Noah’s deep, cleansing breaths. “It’s nothing. I just wanted to ask Blade for advice on a Valentine’s day present.” It was about as big as falsehood as Jonah could tell, but he was an adult. He was capable. He could manage something as silly and worthless as gift buying.

“Jonah.”

Jonah felt the growl through the phone. It was exasperation, protection, caring, and dominance all wrapped into one word, and it went to the center of Jonah, to a part of him he didn’t understand but was the essence of his being.

“Yes, sir.”

“I prefer Ryan. Where are you?”

Jonah looked out the car window. He was parked on the north side of the mall. A giant cinema complex, advertising sixteen screens, loomed in front of him. He could just make out the interstate in the distance. “In the parking lot at the mall.”

“Why?”

“I wanted a gift; I wanted it be perfect. I can’t do this; I’m no good at this. I can’t even manage a gift for Valentine’s day.” Jonah fell silent at the embarrassing self-recrimination that had flown from his mouth. He was a useless man.

“Jonah, I’m a disaster at shopping. You’ve given Samuel and Noah your love and commitment. You don’t need to give them anything else.”

“But--”

“You could never give Samuel anything in Texas. I’m working on the Texas project. I understand or as well as anyone who hasn’t lived that horror. I know you want it to be special, but the three of you together make it special. I’m only managing a feeble box of chocolates for Blade, and I’ve lived all my life where I can give my boyfriend a gift. Now don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“But--”

“No buts. Go home and do what you do. If you were Blade you’d be sprawled on the sofa with the TV on too loud and a pretend air of disinterest on your face before you’d hurl yourself at my arms. You’re Jonah. I expect such overt displays are difficult for you. Maybe a glass of wine by the fire with soft classical music or a quiet meal in the kitchen with the gentle harmony of three men cooking who know each other well.”

Samuel loved the kitchen with the windows facing the west and the spectacular sunsets, and Noah had brought in wood yesterday for the kiva fireplace. They’d sit and watch the flickering light, no need to talk. The dog would come in and push his way onto the sofa, his head sprawled across Samuel’s lap. Jonah wanted to be home. Samuel would be there already, puttering around the kitchen, barefoot with paint on his shirt. The house would smell of spices and wet paint. Noah would be coming home. He’d kiss Samuel’s cheek and wrap his arm around Jonah and kiss his forehead. He’d still smell of the burrito he ate almost every day from the traveling chow cart.

Jonah put the key in the ignition and pumped the accelerator twice as the car sputtered to life. He wanted to be home. He was going home. “Yes, Ryan. I’m going home.” Jonah slid the phone to the off position. He wanted his kitchen. He wanted his fireplace. He wanted his men.