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Comforted
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I'm lying breathless on my bed, my right forearm flung over my eyes as I try to regain my breath. I feel her lips on my body as she makes her way back up to me. She nuzzles my neck as my breathing begins to even out, her fingers dancing along my flesh. My whole body is still on fire from her magical touch and kisses. I don't ever remember having any lovers in the past who've made my body react they way she does. A simple whisper in my ear is enough to ignite flames inside me. Although I love feeling her breath against my skin, it sometimes gets annoying when she does it at the most inconvenient times, like when I'm leaving the courtroom and she's walking me out. But the most maddening thing about it is that she knows just how crazy she makes me and she'll have a smug smile on her face when she knows she's got me squirming. It's not unlike the look she's wearing right now.

I tell her to wipe the smirk off her face and without missing a beat, she challenges me to wipe it off for her. And so I do just that as I capture her lips with mine and I roll her onto her back. I kiss her thoroughly and then make my way down her body, taking my time to enjoy every curve along the way. I've memorized her body, yet never fail to find a new sensitive spot every time we're together. Tonight, it's the area right above her left hip bone. I drive her to the brink of exasperation with my teasing and finally give in to her wants, satisfying both of us, her physically and myself emotionally, as she cries out my name. I'm quite proud of myself when I see that the smug look on her face has since been replaced with one of tranquil contentment. It's my turn to smugly watch her as she regains her breath. I prop myself up on an elbow, my head resting in my hand. I study her face and I can't deny the feeling in my chest as I take in her beauty. Her luscious lips, her perfectly straight nose, her amazingly soft skin and her gorgeous eyes. Her eyes have haunted my dreams and conscious moments ever since the day we met. With one look of those eyes, she can always turn my knees to jelly. Every time we're together, a sense of awe overwhelms me.

It's been a month since she's given me a key to her place. Shortly after, I returned the favor and we've been spending most of our nights together, alternating between her place and mine, depending on who got home first. Ever since we traded keys, spending time together no longer has to be preceded by either one or both of us having had a bad day. We are finding our way to each other, not just to commiserate, but lately, to just see each other and spend time together. Yet we still haven't talked about what exactly it is we're doing, aside from the obvious. The logical lawyer in me needs clear lines and definitions of our situation. My musings must have shown on my face because she turns to look at me and her smile fades. She cups my face with one hand, her thumb brushing over my brow and asks me what's wrong.

I inexplicably find myself tongue tied as I scramble to find words to explain to her what I'm thinking. I can shrug it off, lie and tell her everything is fine, or I can just be honest and speak my mind. The last time I shied away from talking openly with her, we were both miserable because of my assumptions.

"We've been doing this for what, three months now?" I ask her quietly and she nods. I pause and then jump in with both feet. "So...What is...this?" I ask and hold my breath.

She contemplates my question which makes me nervous, and when I'm nervous around her, I start rambling.

I voice my puzzlement if we're friends, more than friends, friends with benefits, or something else altogether. She sees that I'm rambling and smiles.

She says my full name, a serious but gentle look in her eyes, and asks, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

I grin, relief flooding over me. "Yes," I tell her.

She pulls me to her and although one question has been answered about our relationship, it only serves to raise more, the first and foremost in my mind is, 'will we tell our family and friends?'. I push them aside for the time being. We've just tackled defining the state of "us". I just want to enjoy this first step before we start taking on the world.

It's been a few weeks since our post-coital discussion about the status of our relationship and we've slowly been dancing around the topic of disclosing to our family and friends. Even though we both agree we don't want to sneak around forever, we're still unsure of how we will tell our families and friends of our involvement, never mind how we will handle their reactions. We agree that we won't go forward with anything until we're both comfortable with telling people.

Then my mother started calling me. It started with a call every few days. Now it's almost daily. My poor assistant took no less than three messages from her yesterday. I know what the calls are about and I just don't want to deal with it.

I have been summoned by my father to his office for lunch. It's not like I never meet up with my father. It's just rare that he *tells* me to join him for lunch. Usually it's my mother who does the summoning. When his assistant shows me into his office, he's unpacking containers of Chinese takeout onto a round meeting table. We're left alone and I shed my coat, joining him at the table. We dish up and sit down to eat, across from each other. I tell him that this kind of food will kill him. He smiles and tells me not to tell my mother.

He asks me about my work. I ask him about his. He tells me about their upcoming vacation to Europe. I can't remember the last time I took a vacation. He tells me he worries that I work too much. I tell him that I'm doing fine. Life's been getting better the last few months now that I have someone in it. This last part I don't tell him. He tells me that my mother worries about me too.

"Speaking of your mother, she tells me you've been avoiding her calls," he says.

I try hard not to roll my eyes. I know he's merely the messenger when it comes to my mother, but I can't deny that what he says is true. I have been avoiding her calls because she's been badgering me to set me up on blind dates. Apparently she has a knack for finding a new 'New York City's most eligible bachelor' every week for me to meet. He wonders why I won't even try and reminds me that life is not all about work, that he's been in my shoes before, living the solitary life. But eventually, he learned that there was nothing better than to come home to a loving family, especially after a long and difficult day at work, knowing that there was someone to talk to if he needed. He proceeds to tell me about a junior partner at his firm who looks to have a very promising career.

My apetite is gone as my frustration builds. I put my chopsticks down. I'm tired of their assumptions about my life. I ask him if it ever occurred to them that maybe I already had someone in my life. He looks surprised and relieved at the same time. He says that they didn't know. Of course they don't know because they never ask. They never ask me about my personal life. They just assume that because I haven't brought anyone home that I'm hopelessly single and celibate and that I need for them to pick out a mate for me.

He takes the cue and asks if I have someone in my life. I pause, weighing my options. I exhale and answer in the affirmative.

He asks if it's serious. I tell him that I hope so.

A glimmer of excitement is in his eyes. "Tell me about him! What's his name? What does he do? Where's he from?" he bombards me with questions.

I pause again. If ever there was a perfect time, this was it.

"It's not a him," I say quietly. My father looks confused. "I'm...I have a girlfriend. Her name is Olivia."

I can tell that a multitude of thoughts are running through his mind as he processes what I've just told him. His face grows stern, with a hint of disappointment. He resorts to my full first name and asks me if I realize what a scandal such as this would do to my career, to our family.

Scandal? I'm not having an illicit affair. She's not my mistress. She's someone for whom I care deeply.

He shakes his head as though he hasn't heard a word I've said. He tells me that my mother cannot know of this. In fact, no one should know about this. "Have your fling. Get it out of your system, and we won't speak of this again," he tells me as though I'm going through a phase and need to sow my wild oats before settling down into a life expected of me.

I hold back the angry tears. I won't give him the satisfaction. I won't argue. I won't throw a tantrum. I get up and take my coat off the coat hanger. I shrug it on and open his office door. Before I leave, I turn back to him.

"This isn't a fling. I love her," I tell him. "If you can't understand that, then I guess we don't have anything more to say to each other."

This is the first time I've ever told either of my parents that I'm in love with someone. It doesn't go exactly as I had pictured or hoped.

I close the door behind me, my heart breaking.

The rest of the day goes by in a haze as my mind keeps replaying my conversation with my father over and over again.

I'm angry, sad and disappointed. I had hoped that between my parents, if anyone would be accepting of my relationship with her, it would be him. I sip on the whiskey while sitting on my couch, trying not to think too much about what had transpired, for I know that the more I think about it, the more I'll simply break down and cry.

My phone buzzes with a text message from her. I tell her that I'm home already home. She says that if I'm up for it, she'll bring over some take out. I agree, hoping that her presence will help me to momentarily forget that there is now a rift between me and my father.

When she arrives, she takes in the sight of the whiskey bottle on the coffee table and she knows that something's wrong. The food is forgotten on the kitchen table and she comes over to me on the couch. I don't want to burden her with issues I have with my family, but this time, it involves her so I can't dismiss it. I tell her about my conversation with my father and she's clearly surprised that I had decided to come out to him, but quickly, her surprise is eclipsed by her empathy. I tell her about how he dismissed our relationship and how I had proclaimed my love for her, but I stop short of relaying the final words I had told him.

"You told him that?" she asks, a raw tenderness in her voice.

I nod and try to muster up a smile. "I just told him the truth," I tell her. "I love you."

She kisses me in return and pulls me close, whispering the same three words back to me. I hold her close, hoping that that will be enough to get us through a clearly rocky path ahead in our lives.

Three weeks have gone by and I have not heard a word from my father. I have no intention of calling him, begging for his understanding or acceptance, and knowing how I get my stubbornness from him, I have no expectations of him calling to apologize. My mother continued to call but in the last week, she too has gone radio silent. I tell myself to stick to my guns and not cave.

My phone rings and I see my father's number. I ignore the call and it goes to my voicemail. I'm still too angry to talk to him. If anything, he's probably calling to ask me if I've come to my senses yet. I toss my cell phone into a drawer and close it, hoping to take my mind off of the whole thing.

After work, I head over to her place and we have a quiet evening in. We haven't talked about my father again since the night I told her about it, nor have we revisited the topic of coming out. To be brutally honest, one rejection was enough. I'm not ready for more from our friends and other family members. I just want to cocoon myself in her apartment, in her arms and know that I'm with someone who loves me and accepts me, and leave all the negativity of the real world out there, away from us.

I wake up to the ringing of my cell phone. It's close to midnight. I see that it's my mother calling. Something inside me tells me to answer it so I do.

"Your father had a heart attack," my mother's shaking voice comes through the line.

I'm lying on the bed, still numb from all that's happened. The past few days have been a blur. The hospital, the doctors, the wake and finally the funeral. I've been operating on auto-pilot, making phone calls and arrangements, greeting visitors at my parent s home and then at the funeral home. I haven't been alone since the phone call from my mother until now, after everyone's paid their respects and gone back to their own lives. I've left my mom with my aunt and finally have some time to myself. Ironic though that when I finally have some time alone, I find myself at her apartment, on her bed, even though she's not home yet. Her scent on the pillows and covers soothe me and the ache inside my chest.

I hear her open the apartment door and soon she's on the bed behind me, her arms wrapped tightly around me. Ever since the news of my father's heart attack, one nagging thought has constantly been in the back of my mind. I finally tell her of the last words I had spoken to my father, words spoken in anger. The guilt overwhelms me and I half expect her to tell me that I shouldn't feel guilty. But instead, she simply acknowledges my feelings and tells me that it's okay to feel what I do.

I recall that my father had called me the day before and she asks what he had to say. I tell her that I have no idea as I had left his call to my voicemail. She gently suggests that I might want to listen to the voicemail sometime. Feeling safe in her arms, I turn on my phone.

"Alex, it's Dad," my father's voice comes through the speakerphone and I bite down on my bottom lip. "Listen, your mother and I have been talking and we were hoping we could get together with you this weekend for lunch or dinner perhaps...and...maybe if she's willing, we could...we could meet your Olivia as well. Anyway, give me a call. I love you, kiddo."

I grip the phone and hold it to my chest as a piercing pain emanates from within and I cry for the first time since the dreadful call from my mother. The dam breaks and I don't try to hold it in. The sobs wrack through my body and I vaguely register that she's turned me to face her while her arms are tight around me and her hand is running soothingly up and down my back. She lets me cry it all out, tears of guilt, regret, loss and love, until I fall asleep in her arms.

It's been three months since my father passed away and each day, the guilt that I've been holding on to has slowly receded. Even though my mother has met Olivia, things aren't completely smooth sailing. My conversations with my mother are still somewhat awkward at times as she's trying to understand and accept our relationship. But I do give her credit for trying. I know that it will take patience and time from both of us.

Olivia has told me that she's ready to start telling our friends and my extended family whenever I'm ready. She knows that after what happened with my father, despite his change of mind before he died, coming out is difficult for me. I'm terrified of living through another rejection, especially from people we care about and love. We maintain our professional facade in front of everyone and we're good at it because her partner keeps harassing her to bring her new 'boyfriend' over for dinner. We've laughed it off, but we both know that eventually, we will have to tell him. He's the closest thing to family that she has and I know she wants to tell him sooner rather than have him hear about us through the grapevine, but she's waiting for me to be okay with it. Even though I know he's practically like a brother to her, I also know that his devout Catholic upbringing will conflict with what we want to tell him. I can only hope that his love for her will be on our side. I had hoped that about my own father but that hadn't gone so well, so I'm a little trigger shy.

I finally make it out of my office and I know that by now, she should be home. I send her a text to see where she is and if she wants me to pick up some dinner. She writes back that she's at her place, going over a case with her partner and that she'll call me when they're finished working. I hop into a cab, contemplating what to have for dinner when my mother calls. Ever since my father died, she calls me once a day, just to say hi. Our relationship has changed, in a more positive way, and I don't mind the daily calls, even if there are awkward pauses of silence every so often. We talk more and she's more interested in my life than she was before and I appreciate that.

I ask her something that's been plaguing my mind for the past few months. "What made you and Dad change your minds and ask to meet Olivia?" I ask her.

"Your father told me that you were in love with her," she answers. "It was the first time we had ever heard you say that about anyone. He realized how important she was to you and ultimately...we love you and we want you to be happy."

I smile and tears threaten to spill. "Thank you, Mom," I tell her and feel a new sense of confidence about the rocky path ahead of us.

I balance the paper bag filled with Thai takeout on my hip while I dig in my satchel for the key. I manage to open the locks on the door and when I push the door open, I'm looking down the barrels of two Glocks. I grip the bag with both hands and close my eyes, hoping that by the time I open them, the guns will have been put back into their holsters. I exhale and open my eyes. The guns are put away.

"Alex!" Elliot says. "We thought someone was trying to break in."

I apologize for giving them a scare. She looks as surprised as he does and asks me what I'm doing here and I hold up the bag in my hands, informing them that I've picked up some takeout - for three.

It takes a moment but then the whole picture in front of him begins to sink in.

"You opened the door," he states and turns to his partner. "She opened the door."

We both nod. He sees the keys in my hand and turns back to her. "She has a key," he tells her.

She nods. "She has a key," she confirms.

The poor man looks confused as ever. "I don't get it," he says out loud, looking at neither of us in particular.

She leads him back into the living room while I put the food on the kitchen table and then join her on the couch.

She tells him that we've been seeing each other and he still looks shocked, but eventually he speaks and asks us what my mother had also asked us the first time we had dinner together with her. "So you're gay?" he asks, no sarcasm, anger or malice in his voice. Just a straight up question.

"If that s what helps to paint the picture," she says, "then yeah, I guess so."

He's quiet and obviously thinking hard about something. After a moment, I ask him if he's okay.

He answers honestly that he doesn't know and that this is quite unexpected. He's quiet again for another brief moment and then asks her, "Are you happy?"

She smiles and nods. His eyes turn to me and I nod as well.

"It's going to take some getting used to," he admits and we nod our understanding. He says he needs to go and gets up. My heart sinks at the thought that she may lose her best friend over our relationship.

He grabs his jacket and shrugs it on at the door. Before he leaves, he turns back to her with a stern look on his face. "You better not start cheering for the DA's team at the softball tournament this year," he warns her and then gives her a smile. He pulls her into a hug and whispers something in her ear that makes her smile. Her smile makes me smile and I'm comforted with the knowledge that everything will be alright.

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End of Chapter

End of Story
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