We pull into the Pacific Bluffs house a while later. Gabe's new car is in the drive. We enter the house and my jaw drops. Gabe is in the kitchen bopping around with his hips as he stares into the open fridge to "Say Liza," the Liza-with-a-Z song that he wasn't familiar with back when Elisabeth "mistook" him for a gay man.

"It's Liza with a Z not Lisa with an S, 'cause Lisa with an S goes…" he turns around with a bottle of water and is shocked he's no longer singing alone. "... sss, not — shit, man! Oh, hey bros, whadaya know?!" He closes the fridge with his thrusting hip and sets his water on the counter. "That song is catchy, huh? It's pretty catchy, right?"

Zach looks at his best friend like he's lost his everloving mind and I burst out laughing. Thank goodness for Gabe who can make you forget a truly harrowing day with inappropriate humor and good cheer.

"What are you singing, dude?" Zach asks. I have never seen him rocking such a skeptical look on his face before.

"Come on bro, if you're gonna be part of the pink Gucci suit mafia with my brother, you gotta pay your respects to Liza." Gabe says, clapping his hands in front of his chest in a prayer pose as he rolls his eyes like this is a fact everyone should be aware of. I hesitate to remind him that several weeks ago, he himself was among the unindoctrinated. "Dude, you gotta get him trained up right," he informs me, patting my back. The image of the consummate surfer dude straight guy schooling me on gay culture has be laughing so hard I can barely breathe.

"Clearly Elisabeth has been an excellent influence on you," I choke out. Zach starts to understand and decides to join in.

"I've been exploring Cher quite a bit lately, and then I think we'll tackle Barbra Streisand next before taking on Liza," he elaborates, stroking his chin like he's truly trying to remember some gay course curriculum he's been assigned. Did I say I didn't like that my boyfriend and brother were best friends? Strike that — this is awesome! "Student has a lot to learn, but Master is a wise and gifted teacher."

"Dude, too far!" Gabe chokes. "I don't wanna know about your weird sex stuff B and D student/master dynamic!" Now Zach is laughing as hysterically as I am. Checkmate! He grabs his water. "I gotta bounce. Off to meet up with Elisabeth," he nods farewell and claps Zach on the back.

"With an S!" I chime in.

"No doubt. Peace out Princess Big Brother, Princess Bestie," he offers with a hang loose gesture before heading out the door. With his exit, the boisterous energy leaves as well and it's just me and Zach again in the calm quiet aftermath of hurricane Gabe.

My brother's positive spirit seems to have lifted some of the weight of the day off of Zach's shoulders. Zach makes a couple sandwiches and I find the walkie-talkie as I had promised Cody, before grabbing a couple beers. We head to the terrace. I gravitate toward the double chaise lounge where I first showed Zach I was interested in him. We both crawl on it and recline as we slowly eat to the distant sound of the shore. The calm is a stark contrast to the day's busy activities.

Zach takes a long sip of beer. "Do you think I should know more about stuff like Liza and whatever it was Gabe was singing?" he earnestly wonders.

"I think you are fine babe. A lot of references like that you will pick up over time, or if you are interested you can explore the vast and beautiful tapestry that is gay culture, but I don't think you need to be anything other than who you are or be into anything other than what you are already into." He thinks on this for a bit as we finish our meal.

"Okay. I am currently into being the President of Team Shaun right now, but if there are things I don't understand, I will check in with you, okay? I don't wanna embarrass you." Oh, babe. You could never.

"You are… not an embarrassment, Zach. You are… so much to me: my mirror, my conscience, my pride, my inspiration, my muse, my fantasy and desire, my soul's mate. I love you more than I can express, and I am literally someone who professionally expresses things in words. It's… disconcerting to me that I don't have words to accurately describe my love. The English language will need new letters so that new words can be created to pay homage to how I truly feel about you."

I can see that he's struggling with how to react to my very raw and real proclamation. The part of him that doubts himself (and that is, unfortunately, a much bigger part of his personality than I would like it to be) wants to tell me to 'shut up,' but the graceful earnest artist in him that can and does grapple with these sorts of higher-level concepts wins out.

"Thanks." His eyes well up with tears. "That is… gorgeous. You are gorgeous to me. I feel the same, sweetheart." He extends his arm behind me and pulls me closer. We cuddle like that for a long time before he continues. "Today was… I mean, it was exhausting." He slips his free hand under my shirt and starts his doodling. "Packing and saying 'bye' to the people at the diner. Seeing Tori was good and I am glad the air is cleared with her and she doesn't hate you or me, but I was worried about that, of course. And my dad. I didn't know how he'd react. And ultimately, he was cool, or as cool as he's ever gonna be about anything." He leans into my neck and starts kissing it. "And now Gabe is like, Mister Gay-Straight Alliance," he begins, and I chime in.

"Makes sense, that. I mean, Gabriel Stuart Andrews' initials are GSA. It was bound to happen at some point," I kid and am rewarded with a small chuckle from my very introspective love.

"Yeah I guess," he rolls his eyes. "I just hope that he can be an ally without feeling he needs to sing? He's awful." My inner catty drama queen cheers as Zach's inner catty drama queen makes an appearance, and I know he doesn't need to worry about fitting into the queer community. He'll be just fine.

"About that, fair warning, I am not much better at singing," I advise.

"Yeah but you have a great ass." I can't argue with that. I lean in to kiss him. Our kiss deepens and I start pulling at his shirt wanting to feel him. He gently stops me. "Wait, hold up. I wanted to say something before we do anything else." I pause my activity, worried that maybe I was picking up sexy signals when he was wanting to take it easy tonight.

"Okay, of course."

"I wanna thank you again, for like, trying to make today easier. Telling me it was okay to play roommates for my dad. But, so you know, I uh… couldn't do that to you. I already hurt you enough by acting like I wasn't ready for this," he says, placing his hand on my chest, then clapping his own chest. "For good. And I said horrible shit and told you to not get 'faggy' or emotional on me, when I was the one who was being emotional." I shudder as I remember that time in the front seat of his car, and how hollow and sick I felt. I fill my brain with all the good memories to block out the bad one.

"It's okay, babe."

"It's not, but I wanted to make some of that up. I wanted to like, show, not tell you how you are important to me and that I want this," he pats his chest and then mine, again. "For good. So I did that — am doing that and will continue doing it — so that you can see with my actions and not just my words, that I want this. I want us." Now my eyes are welling up.

"Thank you," I choke out, wholeheartedly convinced that Zach feels just as strongly about me as I do about him, about us.

"So, now that I have told you that, how about you return to showing me how you feel about it?" he grins wickedly, and I can see myself being driven crazy by this man and driving him crazy in turn, for good.

We fumble around for a bit, throwing a shirt here, some pants there, till we are naked, enjoying the cool ocean breeze and each other's warmth on our skin in the dark. Laughing and kissing, wrestling and sucking, biting and blowing, coming together. This time with Zach feels a holy communion and when I cry out his name, it's like a prayer. In the afterglow, I find myself thanking Sylvia for her amazing son. And thanking my muse along with any other lucky stars or deities that may be watching down, that our red threads returned us to each other not once, but twice.