22. Seb

22

Seb

Barbados. Flying for two days each way to spend three days with Marcus was a whirlwind of me geeking out over the local wildlife interspersed with hours spent taking each other apart.

The Seychelles. Caught in a hurricane, we watched from our hotel room as the wind whipped palm fronds into dizzying spirals and I fretted about how I was getting home. In the end, canceled flights meant I was two days late and had to go straight from the airport to deliver a bleary-eyed guest lecture on conservation genetics, operating on nothing but airport coffee and sheer willpower.

Rome. Marcus was on location, and I flew in to spend an intense forty-eight hours where I never left his hotel. The Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, Vatican City, none of those tourist attractions had any allure when I had Marcus Johnson in bed with me.

I arrived home to discover we’d lost one of our newly released juveniles to a feral cat with a taste for endangered species and a blatant disregard for the team of volunteers who had spent countless hours hand-rearing the chick.

Between meeting up in exotic locations around the world, Marcus and I message every day, sharing snapshots of our lives. But it never feels like enough. I miss him constantly with an ache that hurts.

Today, I’m at the hide at Mangawhai Beach.

I’ve finished my post-doc project but luckily I got a job as an assistant professor at the university, which allows me to continue my work with fairy terns. Currently, I’m hunched over my weathered notebook as I track feeding patterns.

The parent birds have been making regular trips to the estuary, returning with small fish clutched in their beaks. Each successful feed gets a tick, each missed attempt a cross—creating a pattern that might help us understand why some chicks thrive while others struggle.

When my phone beeps with a message, it’s a selfie from Marcus on the set of the remake of The Three Musketeers. He’s in full period costume, looking dramatically into the distance while eating a burrito.

I can’t help smiling.

“You look happy,” Dot says. She’s the volunteer on duty today, and it’s quite nice having someone fuss around after me,

“I just got a message from my boyfriend,” I reply. I still feel almost lightheaded at the concept I can call Marcus Johnson my boyfriend.

Dot’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, I didn’t realize you have a boyfriend. What’s his name?”

“Uh…I’d actually prefer not to share that. We’re kind of on the down-low.”

I don’t feel comfortable sharing his name because he’s my sister’s best friend. And I’m ultra-paranoid that because New Zealand is so small, if I say his name, it will get back to her that I’m dating someone called Marcus. She’ll realize I’m in a relationship with her best friend and a tornado hitting a feather pillow factory will have nothing on her reaction.

Dot’s eyebrows fly up. “Is he in the wardrobe?”

“The wardrobe?” It takes me a second to realize what she’s referring to. “Oh, you mean the closet. No, he’s not in the closet. We’re just on the down-low at the moment for various reasons,” I say.

After Iceland, when we made it official, Marcus suggested we tell Saskia and my parents about our relationship, but I instantly recoiled from the idea.

I don’t know why the idea of Saskia knowing makes me so uneasy.

I love my big sister, but I guess I don’t trust she’ll react in a way that puts my interests first.

And my relationship with Marcus, even after a year, still feels…fragile.

We never talk about the future. We never talk about where our relationship is headed.

I told him I don’t need promises. And I don’t. It’s enough to have what we have now, to have the privilege of being the one to touch Marcus, to be the one he talks to every day.

Saskia wading in with her big-sister routine is the last thing I need.

I hate making Marcus lie by omission. There have been times when I’ve been with him and Saskia has called, and he’s had to tell white lies to hide my presence. And I know that makes him feel shit. It makes me feel shit too.

But at the moment, that option definitely feels like the lesser of two evils.

“Well, I hope you can eventually tell us all about him,” Dot says kindly. Oh god, the sympathetic look she’s giving me makes me realize she thinks I’m making this up, that my boyfriend is imaginary.

“I hope so too,” I say.

Christmas Day underscores the difficulty of being apart from Marcus. Because of the time zone differences, when I wake up on Christmas morning, it’s only partway through Christmas Eve for him.

Nevertheless, Marcus enthusiastically participates in Christmas morning phone sex.

Playing with Marcus over video call is one of my favorite pastimes, yet today, it leaves me feeling slightly empty.

Seeing him sprawled across his bed, chest heaving, his perfect features softened by post-orgasmic bliss, gives me an overwhelming craving to be with him.

“Wish I could touch you right now,” I say.

Shit. I don’t normally say this kind of thing to Marcus. Why remind him of the logistic challenges our relationship faces? Why dwell on the things you can’t change?

“Hopefully, I’ll manage to come home next Christmas,” he replies.

“Yeah.” I glance at the clock. “Bugger. I’ve got to get going, or I’ll be late.”

“You going to your parents’ place?”

I’m already scrambling to get out of bed. “Yes.”

With Saskia and I living in Auckland, my parents made the decision to relocate from Dunedin six months ago. Now, it feels like every conversation I have with my mother, she’s moaning about the traffic or humidity.

“What are you planning for tomorrow?” I ask.

“Jake is having a party at his house, so I’m going to go to that.”

I try to keep my expression neutral. “Oh. Right.”

I don’t particularly like Marcus’s agent. Every time Marcus mentions him, it feels like it’s in the context of Jake trying to control Marcus in some way.

But Marcus credits Jake for building his career, and I can’t deny Marcus’s success—headlining a summer superhero franchise that broke box office records, becoming the face of Gucci, and being shortlisted for the People Sexiest Man Alive title—which, honestly, feels like old news to me.

But sometimes I worry about the cost of it all to Marcus. How exhausted he sometimes seems. He hides it under his carefree cocky persona, but I’ve learned Marcus has this inexplicable drive in his career. He’s never satisfied with his achievements. He’s always pushing himself to do better.

Even after a year, I’m still learning how to be the best boyfriend I can be. How to support Marcus toward his career goals while still ensuring he looks after himself.

“I really better get going,” I say, although I can hear the reluctance in my voice. I’m sure Marcus can too.

“Merry Christmas, Seb,” he says quietly.

“Merry Christmas, Seb.” My mother’s bright voice echoes Marcus an hour later as I step into the hallway of their new villa.

My father comes into the hallway with a large smile. It only dims marginally when he realizes it’s me rather than Saskia, which I take as a win.

Their living room looks like a Christmas shop exploded. The tree drips with ornaments ranging from antique glass balls to the macaroni frames Saskia and I made in primary school. Every surface is draped in tinsel, and the air is thick with the scents of cinnamon and pine, courtesy of a small army of scented candles.

Mum has clearly gone all out this year, perhaps overcompensating for the fact this is our first family Christmas not in our childhood home.

For a second, I imagine what it would be like to be here with Marcus as my boyfriend. Spending the day with him and my family, all the people who mean the most to me, together.

What’s with me today? Is it because it’s Christmas? Is that what has me wishing for unobtainable things?

I’ve barely arranged my gifts under the tree when the doorbell chimes again, heralding the arrival of Saskia and Tom.

From my parents’ reactions, you’d think the three wise men had just turned up.

Saskia and Tom are swept into the house in a flurry of hugs, kisses, and exclamations about how fabulous they look.

My sister gives me a large hug, while Tom offers me a handshake.

“Merry Christmas, Seb.”

“You too.”

I like Tom, but he’s an extension of Saskia, so somehow, it feels like he’s just another thing that draws my parents’ attention away from me.

The conversation immediately starts ping-ponging between Saskia’s latest legal victory and Tom’s golf handicap.

I quietly help myself to some of the eggnog my mother has made.

As is our family tradition, we exchange gifts before we sit down for Christmas lunch.

I hand Saskia a carefully wrapped package.

Her eyes light up as she tears into it to reveal a vintage Titanic movie poster.

“Oh my god, Seb. This is awesome,” she says.

Tom’s forehead wrinkles as he looks at the poster.

“Saskia used to force me to watch Titanic over and over again,” I explain to him.

“Hey, I was educating you on a cinematic masterpiece,” Saskia retorts.

“Oh yes, being able to recite ‘My Heart Will Go On’ word for word has been so helpful in my life so far.”

“You’re welcome,” she says with a grin. “Remember how you used to cry every single time Jack died?”

“I did not cry. I had something in my eye.”

“Every time we watched it?”

“If you want to talk about tear production, remember how much you cried when Rose threw the necklace into the ocean?”

“That was different! It was a waste of a perfectly good piece of jewelry.”

I laugh, and Saskia grins as she reaches for the next gift, a beautifully wrapped present from my parents. She unwraps it to reveal a royal-blue sweater.

She holds it up.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, thank you.”

“I thought it was a good style, and the knit is stretchy,” Mum says.

Saskia raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Are you trying to imply I’m putting on weight?”

“I’m just saying you never know what the next year might bring. Maybe by next Christmas, we’ll have the pitter-patter of little feet around,” Mum says.

I know my parents are driving Saskia mad by dropping hints that a big part of the reason they moved to Auckland is so they can help out with potential grandchildren.

They’ve never said that to me, which offends me slightly on behalf of all gay men. We can build families too.

“I’m not sure if the math checks out,” I can’t help pointing out. “Unless Saskia is already pregnant, the oldest her child could be next Christmas is three months. I don’t think even Saskia and Tom would have such a precocious child to be walking at three months old.

“Oh, for god’s sake, I’m not pregnant,” Saskia snaps. “Nor am I planning to be in the near future.”

My parents’ eyebrows fly up at her tone.

Dad suddenly becomes very interested in arranging and rearranging the presents under the tree, while Mum’s smile freezes in place like she’s posing for an uncomfortable family photo.

Mum is on tenterhooks around Saskia for the rest of the present opening.

I’m hoping that the deliciousness of the Christmas feast Mum has prepared will give us something to do besides tiptoeing around each other, but I’m not sure even Mum’s signature pavlova can sweeten this particular family moment.

“I love your earrings, darling. Are they new?” Mum asks as we settle at the table.

Saskia’s hand flies up to her ear. “Yes, they’re new. Marcus sent them to me for Christmas.”

“Oh, that’s so lovely. How’s he doing at the moment?” My mother’s attempt to move the conversation past the awkwardness has my gut clenching.

Saskia brightens.

“He’s continuing to live the dream. He’s just signed on to do a movie with Universal. And get this—he’s going to be on the cover of Vanity Fair next month. I’m so proud of him.”

The eggnog turns sour in my stomach.

It feels wrong to act like a benign spectator while Saskia talks about Marcus.

Actually, Saskia, he found the Vanity Fair interviewer to be quite condescending, so he’s nervous about what the article will say.

How do I know? Because I spoke to him this morning. Right before we had spectacular phone sex because that is something you’ll never be able to do with him.

Shit. The competitiveness rising inside me is unfamiliar.

But Marcus is mine. He belongs to me.

“Has he got a boyfriend at the moment?” Mum asks.

I pour myself a glass of wine, wishing it was something stronger.

“Nah, he’s just focusing on his career at the moment. He used to have all these great stories about the guys he was seeing, but the last year or so, he hasn’t really been dating.”

“He must get lonely.”

Saskia shrugs. “Marcus is weird. He goes through periods where it seems like he’s not even interested in guys. He was like that when we were in the States, you know. That trip where he got discovered? He was a monk on that trip. Guys were constantly propositioning him, and he turned them all down.”

I almost choke on my mouthful of wine.

Marcus didn’t hook up with anyone on his trip with Saskia?

My mind spins. I’d assumed he spent that entire trip hooking up, that it was part of the reason he didn’t contact me after he decided to stay in the US.

“Maybe he doesn’t actually tell you about his conquests because he wants to keep it private.” Tom’s tone is benign, but it feels like there is an undercurrent to his words.

Saskia turns to her husband, her eyes narrowing. “Marcus is my best friend. He tells me everything.”

Shit. Somehow, in the awkwardness, my eyes meet my father’s across the table. I can see in the small quirk of his eyebrows he’s remembering walking in on Marcus and me in Fiji.

I drop my gaze.

“I’m sure he does, honey. You and Marcus have always been close,” Mum soothes.

“Maybe too close,” Tom mutters.

Another awkward silence descends over the room.

“Right. Does anyone want some turkey?” Mum asks brightly.

But it appears the day hasn’t finished delivering its quota of awkwardness.

During dessert, Saskia starts telling me about the brother of her colleague, who she apparently thinks is perfect for me.

“I don’t want to date. I’m just focusing on my research,” I mutter.

“You can’t bury yourself in research forever.” She bites her lip, her forehead creasing. “I worry about you being lonely. Don’t you want someone to come home to?”

Yes, I want someone to come home to. But that’s not an option, and talking to Marcus is almost as good.

“Trista’s already shown him your picture, and he thinks you’re cute,” Saskia continues. “Just give him a chance, Seb. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Maybe you should let Seb control his own life?” Help comes from the most unlikely source: Tom.

But from the way he’s looking at Saskia, I’m not sure if helping me is his primary motivation.

Saskia goes quiet, and my father launches into a golf story to break the tension.

It’s almost a relief when lunch ends and I can retreat to the back deck. I sit, staring up at the Pohutukawa tree overhanging the deck. It’s covered with crimson flowers, fitting with its reputation as New Zealand’s Christmas tree.

I snap a picture of it and send it to Marcus, accompanied by a message.

Did you know some Pohutukawa trees can live for hundreds of years?

When my father comes onto the deck to clean the BBQ, I stuff my phone back into my pocket and stand to help him.

“Job going well?” he asks.

“Yep. It’s fine.”

I scrub at a particularly stubborn grease spot, the rhythmic motion oddly soothing.

“Did you see the cricket match against Australia?” he asks.

“No. I didn’t watch it.”

Silence settles between us as we clean.

I hear the sound of the door to the deck opening, and Saskia comes out, chatting into her phone with a large smile.

She heads over to us.

“Say hi to Seb and Dad,” she orders, flashing the screen in my face.

My stomach clenches. It’s Marcus.

He’s sitting on his outside couch by his pool. The one time I visited him in LA, we had incredible sex on that couch, ending in a tangled, sweaty mess of limbs and sun-warmed cushions, the LA heat making everything feel languid and dreamlike.

“Hi, everyone,” Marcus says.

“Uh…hi,” I manage.

Saskia smirks as she pulls her phone away from me.

“You’ve got to help me persuade Seb to go out with my colleague’s little brother. He’s an optometrist, and I think he’d be perfect for Seb.”

“Well, you would get free optometry care, which would be a perk,” Marcus says.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“I’m not sure if I plan on dating someone just to reduce my optometry bill,” I say, trying to match his light tone.

“At least he’ll always see eye to eye with you,” Marcus says.

Saskia laughs. “He does sound fairly spec-tacular, doesn’t he?”

Marcus’s low chuckle comes out of the phone and hollows my stomach. I’m so used to that chuckle now that part of me believes it belongs to me.

“Anyway, come and say hi to Mum and see the remnants of the amazing pavlova we just had for dessert.” Saskia heads back inside, leaving my father and me alone together.

For a minute the only sound is the scraping as Dad methodically cleans each grate.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “Have you had any contact with Marcus since Fiji?”

My cheeks heat.

“Um…yeah. We’re in touch,” I mutter.

Dad just shakes his head. Then we go back to cleaning the BBQ in silence.

Why don’t I want Saskia to know Marcus and I are in a relationship?

Because I know that somehow, Saskia will force him to choose between us.

And I’m worried Marcus will choose Saskia. I’m worried he’ll be like my parents. My gorgeous, charming sister has always been the brighter star, outshining everyone around her.

Even after all this time messaging constantly, spending time together whenever we can, I can’t make myself believe Marcus would choose me.