It Had to Be You by Georgia Clark (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

longer the relationship was kept secret, the worse it’d be if Layla ever found out.

44

Gorman raised his wineglass and gave Liv a meaningful smile. “To second chances.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Liv replied. “It was one date.” But her eyes were sparkly, and there was a funny little smile at the corner of her mouth. Gorman knew not to push it.

They relaxed into folding chairs to soak up the last of the sun, taking advantage of the fact that it was just the two of them. Henry wasn’t a huge fan of the brownstone’s backyard, which the Goldenhorns had let go to shit over the past few years. But as long as the wine was flowing and the chair was comfortable, Gorman didn’t mind. Outdoor spaces were rare in New York. They must be enjoyed.

Liv popped a potato chip in her mouth. “How’s life as the next Arthur Miller?”

“Fabulous,” Gorman purred, regaling her with tales of rehearsals and rewrites. “And you’ll love the lead actor. He’s absolutely adorable.”

“Gilbert,” Liv recalled.

“Yes, that’s right. Have I mentioned him?”

Liv hooked an eyebrow. “Once or twice.”

Gilbert was turning out to be not a bad actor. Not a great one, per se, but not bad. The sandy-haired boy in the cute round glasses and Fire Island tan had thrown himself into rehearsals with the committed, hungry enthusiasm of youth. Gilbert wanted to understand the role of Egor Snail, which meant he wanted to understand Gorman. This had entailed several long boozy evenings at various drinking establishments where Gilbert listened, rapt, to Gorman wax lyrical about growing up in a time that predated Grindr and PrEP and Neil Patrick Harris. Occasionally Gilbert would offer a comment that was a little tactless (“I honestly can’t imagine what’s harder: growing up without marriage rights or TikTok”) but overall, it was flattering. Fun. And yes, a little flirty. Which was all quite yummy. Henry was mortgage payments and meal planning. Gilbert was tell me more about Stonewall in the nineties, then heading off there to dance all night.

When was the last time Henry danced all night?

“So,” Liv asked. “Are you boffing?”

Gorman choked on a potato chip. “Boffing! Good grief, Goldenhorn.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Gorman brushed a few chip bits from his shirtfront. “Does the pope shit in the woods?”

Liv chuckled. Her gaze wandered over the weeds that’d taken the flower beds hostage. “I never really got how all that worked. An open relationship.”

Gorman shrugged. “It’s sex. That you’re open about.”

“But don’t you get jealous? Of Henry sleeping with other people?”

Gorman twirled his wrist airily. “That’s straight-people stuff. We don’t really think that way. Besides,” he added, “Henry hasn’t slept with someone else in”—he frowned, doing some calculations—“gosh, it must be at least three years. Maybe four?”

“And you?”

“Less.”

“So really, you’re in an open relationship.”

“Oh, darling,” Gorman sighed. “Don’t bore me with your bourgeois values.”

Liv took a sip of wine. She was wearing blush, Gorman noted, and were those new earrings? Second chances, indeed.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married?” Liv asked.

“Christ, you sound like Henry.”

“Henry’s brought it up?”

Gorman’s lower back pinched. He shifted in his chair. “Henry wants to get married.”

“What? When?”

“Yesterday would’ve been preferable.”

Liv bolted forward. “Gor! That’s wonderful! Congratul—”

“Deactivate, darling. I don’t know if all that’s for me. I don’t know if I’m marriage material.”

“Why not?”

“It just feels so… final. Committing to one thing. One person. One life.”

“You’d still be able to sleep with other people, according to your rules.”

“Henry wants a closed marriage. But it’s not just about the sex, believe it or not.” Gorman squinted, mopping his forehead with his kerchief. He’d never worn sunscreen when he was younger, and now, he regretted it. Far too many wrinkles. “There’s a certain freedom in being unmarried, isn’t there? Married is… married. When we couldn’t get married, I felt like, Fine, who cares? All these institutions we were excluded from: the military, marriage, government, boardrooms: I saw them all as capitalist hetero nonsense. They didn’t want me, I didn’t want them. Now the world’s changed, but I don’t know if I have. I just want that… freedom. To live life on my terms.”

Liv pffted.

“What?” Gorman was offended. “That’s what I think.”

“Apart from the fact you’re pissing on the institution I gave up a lot for—and that my business, and a lot of yours, is built on believing in—it sounds like what you actually want to do is run away with Gilbert after he falls in love with you. Which is more juvenile than the boy in question.”

“Witch.” Gorman snatched the wine and refilled his glass. All right, yes: perhaps Gilbert was playing a part in his thinking. Perhaps he had indulged in a few fantasies of dating a much younger man: spontaneous weekends in Paris and Rome. Lounging by a pool as blue as a Hockney. He didn’t want to lose himself. Cut ties with the young man who’d screwed in club bathrooms and the piers along the Hudson River. The young man who’d once taken the stage of the Pyramid Club in drag as Miss Demeanor, and had everyone singing along to “I Will Survive.”

He recalled a moment in last week’s rehearsals. The scene where Egor comes out to his mother.

Egor: I’m not going to end up like you, Mother! Bitter and angry and dead on the inside.

Mother: And how exactly do you think you’ll avoid that, Egor? We all become our mothers, eventually.

Egor: I’m going to suck the marrow out of life, Mother. I’m going to suck it!

Gorman originally imagined this as darkly humorous, even campy. But Gilbert played it in a way that was surprisingly powerful: a threat. Gorman didn’t laugh. He got chills.

Egor was right.

“Life is for the living, Liv.”

His best friend burst out laughing. “Darling, I love you. But here’s three things I’m pretty sure are true. One: a cute twentysomething is not going to run away to a Greek island with you. Two: everyone creates their own version of a marriage. If freedom is important to you, invent a marriage