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Hey honey, let’s celebrate tonight, read the text that had arrived on Cecil’s phone that morning. A moment later, another text had come in, this one displaying only a url. Cecil had gone to the link, but it had merely shown him an article about some judge he’d never heard of talking about something that Cecil hadn’t bothered to read because court cases were always so boring. Probably the Faceless Old Woman messing with Carlos’ phone again. Sometimes Cecil wished the Sheriff’s Secret Police would just figure out a way to arrest her already.
Cecil went through his day, looking forward to celebrating with Carlos that night, wondering what, exactly, they would be celebrating, and, when he began straying into the realm of daydreams, imagining precisely what Carlos would be wearing.
When Cecil got home, Carlos’ car was already in the driveway. That was unusual; since arriving back from the otherworldly desert, Carlos had stayed late at the lab most nights, trying to make up for the time he’d lost and catch up on all the exciting scientific developments his team had recorded in his absence. Cecil did his best not to mind, and Carlos had been so sweet and made such an effort to be available that it was easy to forgive him. Still, arriving home to find Carlos already there and, presumably, ready to celebrate for some unspecified reason was the most pleasant and reassuring kind of surprise.
Opening the door, Cecil was surrounded by the smell of spices. He inhaled deeply, smiling at the thought of a home-cooked meal from his Carlos. The living room table was already set with candles and wine glasses, just like Carlos used to do when they’d have romantic evenings at home before his yearlong desert sabbatical. “Hey babe! Welcome home,” Carlos called from out of view.
Cecil closed the door and opened his mouth to ask what Carlos had been cooking, but he only got as far as “What” before Carlos stepped out of the kitchen, and Cecil’s train of thought was derailed by the notion that he really hadn’t put enough effort into imagining the clothes Carlos might greet him in.
Carlos was wearing a labcoat Cecil had never seen before. It was red at the shoulders, but the red blended into orange, which blended into yellow, which blended into green at Carlos’ waist, below which was blue, which in turn blended into purple at the bottom hem. “Carlos,” said Cecil, trying to figure out how to articulate his reaction, “Why are you cosplaying as Hiram McDaniels?”
“Huh?” Said Carlos, following Cecil’s gaze down his own body. “Oh, you mean this?” He spun in place, holding a spatula in one hand while his rainbow-colored labcoat flared out around him. “It’s been sitting at the bottom of my labcoat box for ages, and I figured, if there ever was a day to wear it, it’d be today, right?”
Cecil had learned as a child that when people expect you to agree with something, it’s typically best to do so. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, Moving forward to hug Carlos and give him a kiss hello. Carlos reciprocated, though he only hugged Cecil with one arm, keeping the spatula away from his boyfriend’s clothing. “Anyway,” Cecil murmured, “What are we celebrating?” Carlos pulled back, looking surprised.
“You didn’t read that article I sent you?”
“I’m sorry Carlos, it was just something about, like, a judge? I couldn’t get into it. Why, was it important?” Whatever that link was about, it couldn’t have been all that interesting, so Cecil let his attention wander from the conversation. He looked over Carlos’ shoulder to the kitchen, trying to glimpse a sight of whatever awaited him for dinner.
Carlos, meanwhile, looked dumbfounded. “Cecil,” he said in a disbelieving tone of voice. When that failed to draw Cecil’s attention, he repeated it, more forcefully. “Cecil!”
At that, Cecil looked back at his boyfriend, questioning.
“You didn’t hear the news,” Carlos said.
Cecil raised an eyebrow. “Carlos. I am the news.”
Carlos had started shaking his head as Cecil was still talking. “I don’t mean local news, Cecil. This is big.”
“Excuse me? Carlos, I hardly think my listeners the Community Calendar and my still-rekindling friendship with Mayor Dana to be small stories. I didn’t realize how little respect you have for the job I-”
“I’m sorry, Cecil, I didn’t mean it that way,” Carlos interrupted. “Of course, your job is very important. The citizens of Night Vale need you. I’ve seen how necessary it is for you to tell them about municipally mandated holidays or unscheduled foodborne curses. You report Night Vale’s news, and you do a great job of it. But, Cecil, there’s a whole world outside of Night Vale, and on some days things happen in other places that change lives everywhere. Today is one of those days.”
“Okay,” sighed Cecil, “So what happened?”
Carlos set down his spatula and clasped his hands together, taking the pose he usually did when he got to explain something he was excited about. “The Supreme Court announced their decision. Gay marriage is now legal everywhere in the entire United States!”
At the end of his statement, Carlos took on that squeaky quality it sometimes did when something made him particularly happy. Cecil, though, could only offer a befuddled smile. “I’m confused,” he said. “Ghost marriage was legalized years ago, and it’s not like we really even know any ghosts. I didn’t even realize you were such an advocate for ghost rights.”
“Not ghost marriage, Cecil. Gay marriage. Like, you and me. We’re gay. And now it’s legal for us to get married, anywhere in the country.”
Cecil pondered what Carlos was saying for a moment. He’d never really considered the idea of being legally prohibited from marriage; the hardest part of obtaining a marriage license in Night Vale was typically making sure that everyone involved passed the inspection of their soft meat crowns. The only reason he could think of that Carlos would be so obsessed with the idea of being allowed to get married all of a sudden was… “Oh,” he said, filled with a happy optimism. “Carlos, are… are you trying to propose to me?”
“What?” Said Carlos. “No!” As Carlos kept saying “No no no no,” Cecil deflated, the optimism of a moment before draining out of him. Evidently, Carlos could tell that Cecil was disappointed, because his face fell. “Oh god, I’m sorry Cecil, I don’t mean that I don’t… I don’t know what I don’t mean, I just know I love you and I want to be with you and make you happy but I wasn’t planning on proposing tonight and this conversation is a disaster and it’s all my fault.”
Carlos turned around, going back to the kitchen and turning off the oven. “Dinner’s ready,” he said, “If you still want it.”
Eager as he was to figure out what foods Carlos had made for the two of them, Cecil knew that he had to resolve this emotional tension first or it would come back to bit him in the ass. Possibly literally, depending on how solid a form the tension decided to take. He walked up to Carlos, who was still facing the opposite direction, and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on the scientist’s red-hued shoulder. Along the way he caught an enticing glimpse of rice in a pot on the stove, but he resolved to ignore that for now.
“I love you,” said Cecil. “I’m sorry I put you on the spot. I don’t need any more commitment out of you than you feel comfortable giving me.”
For a long moment Carlos didn’t say anything, but he leaned back into Cecil’s embrace and covered Cecil’s hands with one of his own. “I made vegan enchiladas,” he said, just a hint of pride and self-satisfaction in his voice. Cecil loved Carlos’ vegan enchiladas, and Carlos knew it.
Cecil hummed his appreciation. “Mmm. Why don’t you take a seat and let me serve us? It’s only fair, after you worked so hard getting all of this ready.”
“Thank you, Cecil.” Carlos turned around and pecked Cecil on the cheek before flowing out of the kitchen in a trail of colors. Cecil set to work, moving food from pots to plates and regretting the mess he made of it. Somehow Carlos was able to divide each plate into neat thirds, with rice on one portion, refried beans on another, and his trademark enchiladas taking up the rest. Cecil, though, consistently got every portion of the meal mixed in with every other portion, regardless of how careful he tried to be.
Presentation, thought Cecil, is entirely irrelevant to the enjoyment of food. No matter what Earl says.
Carlos didn’t comment on the sorry state of the plate Cecil set before him, either because the presentation really didn’t matter to him or because he was too polite to say anything. They chatted while they ate, discussing minor things that had happened to them during the day. Eventually Carlos brought up the Supreme Court thing again. Cecil nodded absently while Carlos mentioned selfies taken by newlyweds and buildings that were lit up in the same colors that adorned his labcoat. It was hard to hear all this talk about marriage and not want to steer the conversation toward their own potential future marriage, but Cecil didn’t let on his discomfort. Even if he didn’t understand why Carlos was so excited about other people being allowed to get married, he appreciated that it seemed very important to Carlos.
They finished eating, and a lull occurred in the conversation. Carlos tilted his wine glass, examining the liquid as it flowed from one side of the glass to the other. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Of course. That’s part of being a scientist,” added Cecil.
Carlos blinked, and took a breath, before he started up again. “Specifically, I’ve been thinking about what you said. About me proposing.” He set down the wine glass and took another breath. “And I’ve realized that, though I don’t have any doubts about the future of our relationship, I don’t feel ready to propose to you. And not just because I haven’t prepared anything or bought a ring. I don’t think I’m emotionally ready yet, to take that step.”
While Carlos spoke, he kept his eyes on the wine glass, so he didn’t see Cecil nodding, or the pain that Cecil was trying to fight out of his expression.
“However,” said Carlos, “I think that, if you were to propose, I might be ready to say yes.”
Now Carlos did look at Cecil, so he caught the full expression of surprise at what he’d just said. When Cecil didn’t say anything for a minute, Carlos went on.
“I don’t want to put you under pressure to ask the question any more than I want to be under that pressure, but I figured… well, if you really want to get married… you could always ask me.”
“Oh Carlos,” Cecil moaned, pressing a hand to his eyes. “I’ve been so foolish. Of course, it’s unreasonable to put that pressure on you.” When he removed his hand, he was relieved to see Carlos smirking at him.
With a shrug, Carlos said, “Like I said, no pressure. If you ever feel ready, though… I’m open to being asked.”
Cecil chuckled. “Carlos, I was ready to ask you to marry me the day I met you. But it was clear you didn’t feel the same way… or at least, not with the same immediacy, so I just left the ball in your court, so to speak. I waited for you to ask me out, I waited for you to suggest we move in together… I never wanted to take one of those steps too soon. I didn’t want to run the risk of asking before you were prepared to say yes. And it was so much easier, to let you take the initiative, because I could never be one hundred percent certain of what you wanted.”
Carlos nodded the whole time Cecil was speaking. He understood Cecil’s hesitance to take the lead, and even appreciated it… there’d definitely been times during their relationship that Carlos had needed that space, needed the chance to acclimate, to delay the next step until he was comfortable taking it. “Okay. I have a suggestion. If either one of us gets to the point where we’re comfortable asking the other one to take that plunge, even if we think the answer for the time being will be no, we ask. No waiting for the other person, and no resentments, are allowed.” He held out a hand to Cecil. “Deal?”
Cecil took Carlos’ hand and lifted it to his mouth, brushing his lips against Carlos’ knuckles in the ancient tradition of sealing pacts. “Deal.”