This sample chapter is from Parallel Lines, available on Amazon.com as of November 28, 2023.
In unison, two falsetto voices: “Thooooooomaaaaaas!”
Thomas jumped, turned, and found himself facing two beatific men. Warren Wilson, his head cocked to one side, peered at Thomas through a pair of little round spectacles. Next to him, his husband, Ed Williams: just as diminutive and petite as Warren, palms out, waggling jazz hands.
Warren bounded forward, all knees and elbows. “You came! You came!” He wrapped his arms around Thomas and pressed one cheek against Thomas’ chest. “You are always welcome here, my love.”
Thomas relaxed into the hug. Over Warren’s shiny bald head, he could see a crowd of onlookers watching the encounter like antelopes deciding whether Thomas was a predator.
Warren released him, then went straight to his trademark joke: “And you know Ed. We look just alike, except Ed’s the Black one.”
Ed opened his arms wide enough to embrace them both. “My two favorite men in one place! Aren’t … I … blessed!” He squeezed Thomas hard and leaned in close.. “Don’t you worry,” he whispered, standing on tiptoe to kiss Thomas’ cheek. “Everyone makes mistakes, and God loves us anyway.”
Thomas’ breath hitched in his throat. The three men stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth for a few seconds longer, before Warren stepped back, raised his spindly arms to the sky, and shouted, “Now let’s get our party started!”
* * *
Hours passed: food and alcohol and dancing. Knots of people tightened and expanded; conversation ebbed and flowed. The sun slipped lower in the sky, and shadows grew longer.
With a fat full moon rising over the lake, Warren and Ed took to the stage. Following the requisite banging of the microphone (“Is this thing on?”), Warren polished his spectacles, stuck them back on his nose, and called for everyone’s attention.
“Me and Ed –” He gestured at his husband. “Y’all know Ed; he’s the Black one. We are so honored and so delighted that so many of you came out to celebrate our special night with us. Thirty years. Can you believe it? That’s two hundred and ten in dog years. We’ve been together longer than some of you have been in this world!”
After people chuckled, Ed took the mic. “So: we thank you. And those of you who have been coming to the lake house all these years are familiar with our lovely tradition. You know that Warren and I do not accept presents, because when God gave us each other, he gave us everything we needed.”
Warren bobbed his head and shrugged. “We’re also glad God gave us a little money.”
Ed rolled his eyes. “Warren…”
Warren gestured around. “For things like catering! And lake houses.”
“What Warren means to say is: we’re blessed. But beyond these things, your love and mutual experiences mean more to us than anything you could put in a box. And so we have our little tradition: ending the night with The Toast.”
One of the waiters brought them each a flute of Prosecco. Warren raised his glass to the crowd. “For traveling with us, for dining with us, for growing with us, for sharing with us … for loving us … for celebrating us …” Warren’s voice broke, and he snuffled a bit. “… And for our thirty years together …”
Ed stepped in, raising his own glass. “We thank God, and we thank all of you.”
A hundred glasses clinked together. Couples hugged and kissed. Thomas found himself standing next to Carter; out of habit, he slipped an arm around Carter’s waist.
Carter sidestepped away.
* * *
As the evening wound down, Thomas ended up sitting alone on the edge of the pier, dragging the tips of his toes through the starry water.
Ed sauntered up behind the younger man and, with some effort, lowered himself onto the rough boards without spilling his drink. “It’s past my bedtime, and Lord knows I’ve had too much wine. If I tumble into the water, you’ll fish me out?”
“I got you.” Thomas drew in a long, slow breath. “And I got a question.”
Ed looked down, sipped his drink, nodded.
“How do you and Warren do it?”
Ed gave Thomas the side eye. “Like most men do it, I suppose.”
Despite himself, Thomas laughed. “Didn’t mean that. I mean: I was five years old when y’all got together. That’s thirty years of … each other.” Thomas sighed. “Carter and I aren’t going to make it to ten.”
“Why not?”
“Because of me.”
Ed frowned. “You remember who you were when we met?
Thomas sucked in his tummy and sat up straighter. “That fat kid.”
“Pleasingly plump,” Ed said. “And at the ripe old age of eighteen, convinced that nobody was gonna love you because you were packing a few extra pounds.”
“The Big Fat Paradox,” Thomas said, laughing without humor. “The more space you take up, the more invisible you are.”
Ed considered this. “Or maybe the more invisible you expect you’ll be. But whatever the case: you remade yourself. Now you turn heads whenever you walk by.”
Thomas nodded. “There’s a difference in being visible … and being lovable.”
Ed kicked his foot in the water, disturbing the stars. “Maybe we should all focus less on doing what makes us visible and spend more time doing what would make us lovable.”
“Maybe my problem is that I’m just not lovable.”
Ed pulled back, as though offended. “I know at least three people who disagree: me, Warren, and God.” He shook his head. “I don’t think your real problem ever had anything to do with weight. I think your real problem is rooted in the fact that, at some point, you’ve believed this lie that you’re not worth loving.”
“Maybe so,” Thomas agreed. “And yet, here I am, Ed. Unable to make it work with the guy everybody loves. Unable to stop myself from doing things I know I shouldn’t do.” He sighed. “Unable to stop thinking about how things might be different if I’d just made different choices.”
For a long time, no answer. Then: “Oh, Lord, help me.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve got something I said I’d never tell anyone about. But wine has loosened my tongue about far less important things.” Ed swiped at his eyes. “And I love you so much, and I love Carter so much, and I want to see you two together.”
“Ed?”
Ed’s voice, low and soft: “If I can trust you with something no one else knows … if you can swear to keep a confidence, whatever the cost … then there’s a way to put these uncertainties behind you.”
A long silence, punctuated by the sound of wind on water. “Based on recent events, I may not be the most trustworthy guy.”
“Do you ever just listen to yourself? ‘I’m not lovable. I’m not trustworthy.’” Ed stirred, put his weight on Thomas’ shoulder, and stood up. “If that’s who you think you are, then that’s who you’ll be.”
Thomas reached out, grabbed the hem of Ed’s shorts. “I can keep a secret.”
Ed offered Thomas a hand. “Then let’s go up to the house, go down into the basement, and let me show you something no one else has ever seen.”
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