I stared at myself in the mirror (never helpful). And then I left the party. I was sober, I had driven, my hands floated, separate from the rest, odd little aliens on the wheel. I shat it out, now I’d leave, just float above.
When home, I put on a Leonard Cohen record (not helpful) and smoked up the chimney (properly harmful). Why when hurting do we want to perpetuate the pain? Self-punishment?
Managing to hydrate at least, I went to the kitchen for water. My phone dinged—an email from Kate.
Wow, thank you for such a romantic goodbye.
I chuckled. A smile stayed on my face longer than was appropriate. I clicked Reply.
It was too painful to say goodbye.
Head on the pillow, I thought of him going home to her. I thought of her waiting for him.
Above all, I want to stop missing you.
I eventually fell asleep.
Kate and I kept talking. I was starting to sense our flirtation was not just a half-truth, for both of us. We spoke of getting together for a walk or maybe a dinner around our birthdays? We were Pisces buds.
It was a couple weeks later, on Valentine’s Day, that I came out as gay. I barely told anyone I was about to make that speech. I just wanted it to be mine, for myself, tired of gossip and speculation. The response was significant, it went “viral,” as the kids say.
Kate emailed.
Wait. You’re gay?!
Me.
Yeah, so make your move.
The day after I came out as gay, I flew to Montreal for brief reshoots on X-Men: Days of Future Past.
“You seem so different,” a producer remarked.
It was true, I had left a bag of bricks behind. More in my body, head high. Affable, less troubled, a break from the furrowed brow. I was on my way.
On my flight back to Los Angeles a few days later, I settled into my seat as a priest and his curate walked past, their seats were behind me. The curate recognized me, he was very kind and complimentary. I wasn’t expecting that.
I fell asleep on and off, read a script. A couple hours into the flight I felt a tap on my left shoulder. It was the priest and the curate, they passed me a piece of folded loose-leaf paper. A note. I smiled pleasantly and turned around to read it.
I unfolded it, expecting a kind message from an LGBTQ+ supporting, progressive religious leader.
No dice.
It began with him acknowledging that his companion knew who I was, but he did not.
I took the liberty of googling you. (Uh-oh)
He went on to say that what I am wasn’t real. A belief and just that.
Your soul is struggling. You need the arms of the Heavenly Father around you. (Ew)
And I kid you not.
Signed,
Your Heavenly Daddy.
There were a couple hours left on the flight. I was not sure what to do. Do I say something? Do I write a note back? I figured, what was the point? Truly. A quick convo is not going to change that priest’s mind, and giving any of it the time of day would let the toxins sink in. So, I refolded the note, stuck it in my pocket, and went back to my business. The plane landed. Welcome home.
A month or so later, Kate invited me to a BBQ at her and Max’s house at the top of a Silver Lake peak. Max had said yes to being in Into the Forest, I was excited to see him and celebrate, he’d be playing my love interest. Their place felt like a home. Cozy, nicely designed, personal. The living room had the kind of couch you want to disappear into. It was white, and I had no idea how they managed to keep it pristine. I get stains over everything. The kitchen was small, seemingly unchanged since the house was built in the 1930s. The sink, the backsplash, all perfect. Out a door from the kitchen was a sprawling, steep backyard. A deck off the living room, a firepit down below, and an area for her two Boston terriers.
We hugged, a long one. Introductions took place, I knew almost no one at the party. Kate and Max barbecued veggie burgers and regular burgers. Kate and I sat next to each other on the steps that connected the house to the firepit.
We sat close, flirting. Max stood nearby, not giving it a second look. Magnetic and immediate, a feeling better left without words.
A couple days later we finally hung out one-on-one. I drove to her house to go for a walk. We climbed in her SUV with her dogs in the back and headed down to the Silver Lake Reservoir. It was the same. Smiles you try to hide. Avoiding the eyes.
We pulled into her garage, and she turned off the car. Sitting in silence for a few beats, a telepathic touch.
“We should get dinner soon,” Kate said.
I paused.
“I don’t think we should go to dinner,” I replied. Which was my way of saying I think we should go to dinner.
Another pause. Car airtight.
“I can ask Max, talk to him about it, I really don’t think he would have a problem.”
My chin moved to my chest as I attempted to hide a smile. I was not expecting to hear this, but it was all I wanted to hear. An unmistakable feeling, electric and warm. I yearned to be near her.
“Well, if Max is fine with it, then fuck yeah,” I said.
He was. Totally fine with it, supportive of Kate exploring her connection with me.
So, we planned a date for the following week, a dinner in West Hollywood.
Kate came to my house first. When I opened the door, she had that look, that smile, a glare that is simultaneously sweet and assertive. Our lips met for the first time, a shiver, my knees were ready to snap, our tongues spiraled as we swayed toward the couch.
Kate pulled away.
“Not yet, let’s go have dinner first,” she said.
We headed up Laurel, over Mulholland, down toward West Hollywood. The Uber took a right at the corner where Ryan’s poster had stared at me for the first time. Having been distracted during Kate’s initial arrival, I could fully see her now, streetlights shining in. The yellows and reds, a glow around her, incandescent. Her dirty-blond hair sparkled subtly in the passing beams. Her tight black pants squeezed her thighs, I avoided looking down. She wore a gray T with a button-down open under a black jacket.
If you had seen us, you would have thought it just a regular date. How we touched, how we stared, how we laughed too much. Salads and french fries and tequila and wine. She had such presence, assertive posture, just a wink made the room disappear.
That night the paparazzi took photos of us while we were getting in an Uber to return to my place. It was as if I were in another dimension, all the anxiety of being “caught” was no longer. When we got back, we immediately went to my bedroom. Kate lay on her back, removing her clothes, while I stood at the base of the bed removing mine. I moved to crawl on top of her. Our mouths fused, our bodies meeting for the first time. Kissing her neck, I placed my hand on her inner thigh, slowly moving my fingers up.
It was a successful first date. So they continued.
We’d hang with mutual friends or go to a party, and people assumed we were together. There was no shame or hiding, just unabashed attraction. I knew quickly it wasn’t just lust, chemicals bouncing around, there was deep care. Still is. We love each other.
After our first couple of dates, I knew I was falling. I could not stop thinking about her. The flash of a memory that catches, making you laugh out of nowhere in your car on the way to a meeting. Starting and stopping texts. Preoccupied by a word choice for seventy-two hours. That person who comes to mind.
An earthquake skyrocketed me out of bed one morning, not long after our first date. My heart leaped from my body. My brain told me to go stand in a doorframe, so I did, which it turns out you are not supposed to do. Nonetheless, I waited for the shaking to subside and breathed a sigh of relief. Now I know what to do, here is what the CDC says, so we are all on the same page:
If you are able, seek shelter under a sturdy table or desk. Stay away from outer walls, windows, fireplaces, and hanging objects. If you are unable to move from a bed or chair, protect yourself from falling objects by covering up with blankets and pillows.
When everything calmed, pulse returning to a steady beat, I picked up my phone. My first instinct was to text Kate, to see if she was okay, which caught me off guard. It felt a little much, this was all brand-new, and I reminded myself of the boyfriend and my responsibility to not be an asshole. Ready to put some coffee on, I set down my cell and walked to the kitchen. PING! I turned back to look, it was Kate, she was making sure I was okay. I stared at the text, out came my unprompted, soft chuckle again. Fuck.
There is a moment I will never forget, where it sunk in, when it went somewhere else. Spike Jonze invited us to a double birthday party. Held in an old school, it was Spike’s friend’s fiftieth and his pal’s daughter’s sixteenth. The main level had an auditorium, which was for the adults. A live band played, people danced and drank. Those brown-and-beige school colors gave the night a timeless sheen.