Monday morning came bright and early, like it always does after a good weekend. Chuck stretched, caught John up in a deep kiss, and then jumped out of bed. He had to hurry. He showered and got dressed. As he came out of the bedroom, he smelled the wonderful scent of fresh coffee. He followed his nose to the kitchen to find John, dressed only in loose gym shorts, pouring coffee. "Here's yours, mine's coming," John said as he handed a steaming mug to Chuck, "I'll have toast and eggs in just a second. Sit down and relax." Chuck started to protest, but John hushed him quickly. "You need to eat something, and this will only take a sec." Chuck sat down at the kitchen table, already set for two.
John had already started something on the stove. As Chuck watched, John bustled efficiently between stove and toaster. As if by magic, a plate appeared before Chuck. "Two eggs, poached on toast with home-made hollandaise. I think you'll like mine better than McDonald's."
Chuck leered, "I already like yours better than anyone else's." He set to with gusto, a blissful smile crossing his face as he bit into the eggs and hollandaise. "God, this is good. I've never tasted anything like this before."
John brought his own plate to the table and sat with Chuck, enjoying Chuck's very evident pleasure at breakfast. "I'm glad you like it. I think everyone should start the day well." Chuck quickly finished, polishing his plate with his toast. He sat back, full, "That was great! Thank you. But, I've got to go. I need to get back home, change, and then get to class, and ..."
"Shhh. It's OK. I know. Go, go, go. I'll talk to you later."
They kissed at the door, a long, lingering kiss, and then Chuck dashed out the door to his car, and drove off.
John watched him go, and then went back in. His fingers grazed his lips as he replayed that last kiss. His thoughts went over the last day with amazement. He went back to the kitchen, cleaned up and poured himself one more cup of coffee. Then he went into the family room and sat down. He drank slowly, gazing out the window at the backyard. The big Maine Coon Cat suddenly appeared and demanded attention. He stroked Joe, the cat, carefully, letting his fingers play behind the ears and gently down the back, rubbing the tummy as the cat rolled over, enjoying the attention. John let his mind drift. He didn't understand what was happening. He'd always been in such control over his life, and now he felt swept away by this', whatever this' was. He really, really enjoyed being with Chuck. The sex had been great, breaking a long fast he'd not intentionally embarked upon. That was good. But, he was pretty closeted. How was he going to deal with all `this'? How was he going to deal with his parish, with his bishop, with his family?
"Hey, quiet down, John. You're getting ahead of yourself. Sure this was great, but before you begin getting all worked up, see if it's got a future." Sometimes he talked aloud to himself; he was used to being alone. "OK, cat, time to get going."
John got up, put his cup away in the kitchen and went back to the bedroom. He quickly showered and dressed, ready for a day at the office. His wardrobe choices were limited, which black shirt, which black pants, but he did have a choice of crosses he could wear. He put his cell phone in his pocket, grabbed his briefcase and went out to his own car.
The day dragged on, all the usual things -- mail, phone calls, check in with the secretary, begin to work on next week's sermon and bulletin, double-check the music, etc. Yet he found himself smiling at odd moments, remembering. He was in a good mood, not as tired as he usually was on a Monday, and everyone noticed. His secretary smiled back at him, wondering why he was in such a good mood. He went out to lunch, as usual, with one of his friends, another cleric.
They arrived at the restaurant together. It was a quiet little hole-in-the-wall, comfortable with excellent food. They sat at one of the little tables on the outdoor front patio, watching the people hurry back and forth to all their terribly important appointments. They ordered soups and salads, a light lunch for both of them. Idly they chatted, waiting for the soup to arrive, sipping a good white wine. His friend leaned forward, "You're in a remarkably good mood today. If I didn't know better, I'd say you got laid." John blushed and looked down. "Oh my God, you did! OK, tell, tell."
"Jeff, you can't tell anyone."
"Honey, who am I going to tell? I'm as closeted as you are. You know you can trust me. So, who is he?"
John still hesitated, then he leaned forward and began to tell Jeff about his weekend, keeping Chuck's identity confidential, but telling him about how wonderful it had been. "I don't know, Jeff, what do I do now? I really like him, but he's a parishioner, and I'm in the closet, and ..." John trailed off, looking confused. The waiter arrived with their soups and salads, carefully placing them on the table, arranging fresh bread and butter, crackers, and then stepping back.
"Will there be anything else, gentlemen?"
"No, thank you." The waiter left them alone. They began to sip the soup, each lost in his own thoughts. After the first few spoonfuls, Jeff leaned back, took some bread and began to butter it. Then he looked up. "John, first, I'm really pleased for you. You've got it bad, and that's just delightful. I know how lonely you've been, and if this guy can fill that void, then more power to you. Second, he's a brand new parishioner, so I don't think there's an ethical conflict of interest. You know that you can't be his priest, but he can come to see me when he needs one. So that issue can be kept clean. Third, this is the 21st century and we're Episcopalians. Sure, some of us are still pretty uptight about gays, but others are not. You know that the bishop is a good guy. I don't think he'll have too much of a problem with this. And the parish -- well, some will and some won't, and that's the truth of it. Fourth, don't create problems before their time. Just see where this is going. Maybe it's just a fling -- though, knowing you, I kind of doubt that. And maybe it's the real thing. If so, I couldn't be happier for you. Just go slow, John. Don't rush things. Let it develop naturally."
John looked up at him, his spoon hovering over the plate. His eyes were watering, surprising himself. And he realized just how much he had needed to hear those words from his friend. Maybe, just maybe, it would work out.