One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

[Dewey]

"How did you feel about that?"

Cayetano Romero-Montoya looked up from his hands, gently gripping a satin pillow from India, as he lounged on the red IKEA couch pushed up against a wall. He was in the office of Dr. Paul J. Detaege. His therapist. For the past thirty minutes, they had been discussing one of their favorite topics: Cayetano's father, Alejandro Montoya.

"I was happy," Cayetano answered, speaking each word slowly and softly. "I've always wanted him to come to one of my art shows. I was just too afraid to invite him. I didn't know what he'd think. But, I finally worked up the courage. I think I had just been feeling so lonely lately, especially with the distance between me and Ethan growing." He stopped for a moment, eyes cast over, as if in thought. "It's like the lyric in the opening credits for that one show, Seventh Heaven. 'Where do you go when the world don't treat you right? The answer is home. That's the one place where you'll find seventh heaven'. And that's not to say my family's neeccessarily heavenly with me, but I knew I could depend on at least someone to come to the art show."

"We've gone over several times just how close your family is, and how much they means to you. You clearly want to involve them in the process you're currently going through, instead of pushing them away. I think that's a healthy option for you right now."

Cayetano nodded. "Yeah, I was feeling awful being ostracized from them. I felt like, in part, it was self-imposed isolation. I moved out, stayed with Ethan, and cut off all communication with them for like, five or six months. It was pretty depressing. I just wanted to be able to talk to Yeimy and Tristan again, and have my dad's approval."

"Do you think being back in your father's house will benefit you? Will meet all your needs? Emotional needs, included."

"I'm not sure." He traced the threaded patterns on the pillow's face with a finger. "I think my dad wants more than anything for me to be straight, like any dad would. Same with A.J. But I think they'll respect me regardless. It's not like they're going to shove heterosexuality in my face."

"Your brother did take you to a gentleman's club, didn't he?"

Cayetano blushed. "Well, yeah. That was around the time I first came out, though. It was still new, and they were dying to prove me wrong and say I was just confused. I think that with dating Ethan and all, they know it's not just a phase. It's apart of who I am."

Paul took the glasses from his face and folded them neatly before setting them on his desk. He always did this when there was less than five minutes left in his sessions. "I want to make sure you're taking care of yourself, Cayetano. You took one step forward in asserting your needs and wants when you came out to your family, and brought your first boyfriend home. I worry that moving back into your father's house is the equivalent of taking two steps back.You're twenty-five years old, you're having success as a beginning artist, and you have the money to live on your own. What's keeping you from doing it?"

There was a few moments of silence on Cayetano's part. He bit his bottom lip and focused his eyes back on the pillow. "I don't know. I just want my family to not be ashamed of me."

"Parents have a tendency of always providing for their children, so long as you let them. You're at your coming-of-age story right now, but it'll remain stunted if you don't continue to ask yourself the important questions, if you don't let yourself grow and see the world outside your family's circle."

"Your family is your comfort zone," Paul continued. "It's a comfort zone for everyone. You don't have to pay rent, your meals are free, and you can continue to float between the adolescent and adult realm. But you're sacrificing a lot at the same time. You're not letting yourself make decisions adults would make. You don't have your own living space, to decorate the way you would decorate it. And how would you even pursue other relationships? These are all questions I want you to ask yourself, Cayetano, and I want you to be honest about the answers." He glanced at the wall clock and then looked back to his patient, smiling. "I am happy, of course, that you've made progress with your father. I think this will give you the opportunity to have more open, heart-to-heart talks with him about what it means to be gay, and what it doesn't mean."

When Cayetano left the office, he felt more burdened than ever. He entered his car and collapsed onto the driver's seat with a frown. Was Paul right? Was moving back in with his father the worst possible decision he could make?

* * * * *

When Cayetano returned home to the three-bedroom apartment he shared with Ethan Holtcombe-Kinnear, he felt sick. He had been dreading the conversation he was about to pursue for weeks now. Sometimes, he'd even had nightmares about it. All of them featured horrible endings. He and Ethan would argue, spit venomous insults at each other, and vow to never see each other again. Cayetano knew he wouldn't be able to handle such a fate. It had almost been a year, and he'd shared so much with Ethan already. There was no one with whom he was closer. Ethan was his best friend, his confidante, and had at one time been his lover.

Now it was all over. Cayetano took a detour to the kitchen for a glass of orange juice, hoping to calm his nerves. Something caught his eye, though, and he stopped short. His heart fell. The fridge was usually reserved for displaying bills, take-out menu's, and phone messages scribbled on post it notes. Today, there was a new addition. At the top and center was a picture of Ethan and Cayetano on Valentine's Day. They'd spent it at the premiere restaurant, Four Seasons. They'd shared the same seat at a booth. In the picture, they were head to head, grinning happilly, arms around each other.

"Hey."

Cayetano's shoulders jumped at the greeting from behind. He turned around, to find himself staring at a semi-tired Ethan, stethoscope around his neck, still garbed in his white doctor's jacket. No words had yet formed in his mouth. He'd parted his lips, but silence was all that escaped them.

Ethan's eyes went past Cayetano to the picture. "I found it while going through some papers and receipts."

"I had almost forgotten about it," Cayetano said finally.

"Yeah, me too."

"It almost seems like it was from another time." They both stared at each other in the dim lighting of the kitchen, neither wishing to affirm the statement. Instead, Ethan issued forth a sound akin to a "hm" and strode to the pantry, where he retrieved a box of Cheerios. Cayetano watched him for a moment, and then proceeded with his earlier task of getting a glass of orange juice.

"Where've you been all day?" Ethan poured the cereal into a bowl, until the tiny O's spilled over onto the counter.

"I had my meeting with Paul. I was at my family's, too."

"Oh yeah? Are you hanging out there more now?"

"My dad's been better about things. I think he's coming around. I never thought I'd see the day."

Ethan nodded, added milk to his meal, and then leaned against the counter as he ate. "Well good for you. I'm proud of you. And happy for you."

"How are things with the internship?"

"They're all right," Ethan said, crunching away on a spoonful of Cheerios. "Busy. Hectic, rather. I'm on my feet all the time and they're starting to hurt. I had to invest in new shoes this morning. Hopefully, they'll do me better. I enjoy it, though. I like fast-paced work environments. It keeps me mentally stimulated, which I like."

Cayetano quietly sipped at his orange juice. "Yeah, it seems hectic enough. I feel like I never see you anymore."

Ethan glanced over at him, and then looked back at his bowl. "Well, I'm sorry. I tried to warn you." A faint smile graced his lips.

"I know. I guess I didn't think things would be like this with us, barely catching each other every day. I don't even remember when was the last time we had a meal together."

"It's just something we have to learn to adjust to. People do it every day."

"Are you sure it's convenient for you right now?" Cayetano bit his bottom lip. "Is this just too much for us right now? I feel like there's this distance between us and I don't know what it is. We hardly talk to each other anymore. I don't the relationship is working for us.."

Ethan contiuned calmly eating his snack, not making the slightest hint of having listened to Cayetano until he swallowed his current spoonful and lifted his eyes. "Are you wanting to break up, Cayetano?" The only implication that he might be perturbed by the realization appeared in the way he narrowed his eyes when posing the question.

Cayetano frowned, and it deepened by the second. "No, I don't. Of course not. But--" He sighed and set his glass down. "You have to be feeling the distance, too. It can't just be me. We don't do things together, we don't have mutual friends who we can hang out with, we hardly leave the apartment. You clearly hate half my family. I hate that you work around the clock and don't have time for a relationship. Everything's just a mess right now."

"So that's it? You just give up on us and run away from the problem? This isn't going to make the whole coming out thing any easier for you, Cayetano. You're still going to have problems. Taking me out of the picture isn't going to lighten the load for you. And it breaks my heart that you think our relationship's some big mess. It's called an obstacle. Everyone comes across them now and then. A little bump in the road. Those who really care about their relationship, though, work through them. They don't run away at the first sign of trouble. They stick to it, because they love their partner that much."

"I'm willing to fight for us," Ethan went on. "I'm willing to make it work. I'm willing to make whatever changes need to be made. But I can't be the only one fighting. So don't give me this shit about how it's not healthy for us right now, or how it's what best for us. It's what's best for you. It's what you want. And if that's really how you feel, and you're ready to just walk away from it all, I won't stop you. But if there's even the slightest bit of doubt in your mind..."

Cayetano's eyes were clouded with tears. They started to slowly trail down his face now. "Some days, I feel like you hate me.."

Ethan set aside his bowl. He furrowed his brow, the lines of his face distorting. "And you know what? Some days I feel like you don't even care about 'us'. Your brother beat the shit out of me a few months ago, just in case you forgot, Cayetano. He and his little homophobic gang of thugs cornered me, and beat the shit out of me. They called me a fag, among other things, told me to stay the hell away from you, and threatened my life. They said if I didn't stay away, they'd kill me. And I told you all this. And what did you do? You did nothing!You think moving in with me mended things? You were completely apathetic about it! You didn't say shit to your brother, and I know you sure as hell didn't even bring it up to your dad. And now you're just running back into their arms like the lovesick spaniel you always are with them, pretending like nothing happened. And it pisses me off. So yeah, maybe things have been a little distant between us since then. Maybe they should be."

"I'm sorry, Ethan. What can I even do? A.J.'s not going to listen to me. He'll probably continue threatening anyone in my life who even appears to be gay."

"That doesn't mean you have to stand for it."

Cayetano sighed. He was torn. Seeing that picture on the fridge reminded him that there were indeed good times in his relationship, highlights. Though those times were far away now, he did remember that once, there was laughter in their lives. Once, they adored each other's company. Once, they couldn't stop thinking about each other.

He remembered the first time they kissed. It was at an outdoors art show, during farmer's market weekend. Thanksgiving was nearby, and they were picking up ingredients for the pie they wanted to bring to Cayetano's family. They momentarily stopped by an artist's booth, who had agreed to showcase three of Cayetano's works, to expose his name. Good news had been received; someone had purchased his watercolor of jazz night at a cafe. His first sale.

"Congratulations," Ethan had said, grinning at him, eyes bright. And then he'd leaned forward, and pressed his lips against Cayetano's.

The feeling had been amazing. Cayetano still remembered it even now. The butterflies in his stomach. The surge of warmth that raced throughout his body. His palpitating heart.

He remembered the first time he spent the night at Ethan's apartment. They had cooked dinner together, pasta with pieces of white chicken. They had laughed at each other's mistakes, had spent more time paying attention to each other than to the pots of boiling water on the stove, and had enjoyed their final creation on the rug in front of Ethan's fireplace. Cheese and wine followed. They were both suckers for foreign cheeses. Every week, they picked out a new block. That night, Cayetano believed the choice had either been Smoked Gouda or Gorgonzola. The wine had been Cabernet Sauvignon.

For hours, they just remained on their backs on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as they traded stories of their childhoods, their dreams, and their secrets. They held hands throughout it all, fingers laced together and squeezed tight between. When Ethan had asked Cayetano if he wanted to spend the night, the latter hadn't even thought for a second before uttering an urgent "yes". And the night ended with many other first's.

Now, nearly a year later, Cayetano stood before the man he once thought he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. A part of him still did want this.

"Maybe I just need a break..."

Ethan rinsed the cereal out of his bowl, and placed the items he'd used in the dishwasher, before slamming the appliance's door shut. He pushed past Cayetano, not even looking at him. "If that's what you want, then fine." There was nothing more but his footsteps over the hardwood floor, and then the pound of his door as it swung to a violent close.

Cayetano brought his hands to his face, leaning against a wall as he sank to the floor.

* * * * *

[Dewey]

It was dinner time in the Montoya household, and in the absence of their domestic servants, who had finally received long awaited vacation days, Blanca was left to cook for her siblings. She leaned over the kitchen stove, sweating, and stirred a large pot of soup loaded with chunks of beef, vegetables, beans, and rich spices. In an adjacent pot, yellow rice sat idly, steam arising from the cracks in its formation. In the oven, a pork shoulder baked, sweating just as profusely as its chef. To many, it might’ve seemed like a Thanksgiving dinner. To the Montoya’s, it was just another evening meal.

Cayetano shuffled into the kitchen, then, hands buried deep inside his pockets as usual. Blanca glanced over from her culinary creation, and lowered the grills’ temperatures from high to low. “Did A.J. send you in to check up on me? Tell him it’s almost done.” She spoke in rapid Spanish, and the words were coated with just a touch of venom. Her hands shot to the cabinets, from which she produced a stack of plates.

“Actually, I just came in for some water.” Cayetano always felt intimidated in Blanca’s presence. She was crass and bitter around the clock. He knew that being a single mother who worked full time as a waitress most likely attributed to her attitude, but he didn’t have the interpersonal skills to carry a conversation with her nonetheless. Now that he thought about it, no one in his family seemed to have these skills.

Blanca offered him no reply. Instead, she disappeared into the dining room to set the table. When she returned, she fetched more plates, glasses, and now silverware. “You’re back here now? I thought you’d be the first to finally break free.”

Cayetano poured himself some water from a filtered pitcher, and then looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she said. “No one here’s in a hurry to move out. Lisette tried by going to Paris, but even she came back. The minute I can, I’m out of here, though. I don’t even know how I’ve lasted this long.”

“I wanted to be here,” Cayetano said. “I wanted to be close to the family.”

Blanca’s expression exuded something between disbelief and disapproval. “Did you break up with your boyfriend or something?”

“It has nothing to do with that.”

“Sure it doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t,” he insisted. He sounded annoyed.

Blanca removed the pot of stew from the stove and placed it atop a corkboard on the counter. She dried her hands on a dishtowel and then set them on her hips. Her eyes scanned Cayetano up and down, and when her eyes fixated on his own, she proceeded to destroy him. “Look at you. Did you really think moving back in here would make you un-gay? Did you really think that wearing Tristan or A.J’s clothes would matter?”

Cayetano blushed. He’d hoped none would notice his wardrobe change. In place of fitted jeans, he wore loose, grey business slacks. In place of a tight t-shirt one size too small, he wore a white V-neck with a black sports jacket thrown over. All day, the Montoya’s had hosted meetings in the name of the family business. Cayetano had wanted to fit in. Now he only felt shame.

“I know papi and A.J. are giving you a hard time about it,” she continued. “But no one can change who you are, not even yourself. If you’re questioning whether or not you really are gay, then fine! Do it! But if there’s not even a doubt in your mind that you are, and you’re just looking to win everyone’s approval because you rather they be happy than you, yourself, be happy…” She stopped, shaking her head. “Look, you’re older than me by a few months, but if there’s one thing I can tell you, it’s this. When you start living for other people, when all you ever do centers around making other people happy, sooner or later, you’re just going to end up at a dead-end, miserable as f*ck.”

Cayetano winched. He stared down at his water and frowned. Setting it down, he took off his sports jacket, as the warmth in the kitchen was becoming overbearing, and draped it over the back of a chair. “It’s hard. I felt so lonely after I came out to everyone. I wanted to just be accepted.” He took up the wooden spoon Blanca had earlier discarded and started to stir the yellow rice. “I couldn’t bear it anymore. I thought if I came home, Dad would like me again.”

"Well, does he?"

"He does. He even went through with an idea I had for the shipments to Paris. And he let me sit in on all the meetings today."

"So he's happy. So what?" She nudged him aside so she could open the oven and take out the pork. "Are you happy?"

He was chewing on his bottom lip now. "Yes," he lied softly.

"Something smells good in here!" A.J. barged through the kitchen doors, grinning. "Blanca, I keep telling you. You need to open up your own restaurant. Straight out the house at first. Then, as the business starts to grow, we can buy some property and build you a real nice place."

"I never said I wanted to run a restaurant, Alejandro," Blanca said, rolling her eyes.

A.J. waved her off. "Ah, you don't know what you want." He glanced at Cayetano, then. At first, he seemed as calm as August skies. But when he saw the wooden spoon in his brother's hand, and his proximity to the kitchen stove, A.J. panicked. He strode over to the younger, snatched the utensil from him, and tossed it aside. "Don't worry about the cooking, Cayetano. Blanca's got everything under control."

Then he draped an arm over Cayetano's shoulders and started to lead him back into the living room. The younger glanced toward Blanca just in time to see her mouth: 'I told you so'.