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“So you’re gonna marry her.” said J.J. without a trace of emotion in his voice.
On the contrary Block, who was sitting - well more like shifting nervously on his chair - was desperate. One hand constantly in his black curly hair, his blushed cheeks face and watery eyes just like if he was the one being left out. “What did you expect from me, Jay?”
Right. What was Jay expecting? That was America, land of the fee and heterosexual. People like him were destined to jail, they were dangerous. Love: what a weapon!
“Besides” Block sniffed with his nose and tried to gain at least some composure. “I am not really breaking up with you.” A watery and unsure version of his smile appeared on his lips. Lips that Jay knew by heart for all the time he had kissed them.
“What do you mean?” Jay wasn't really that naive. He knew what his boyfriend meant. He just wanted him to be explicit: damn, he deserved at least some dignity.
Block bit his lower lip. “Well we could... you know. See each other.”
Oh, he knew. He had to be the silent love: the love everyone knew but no one talked about. The fake Sunday meeting. The room rented for a work issue. The dinner offered to an old friend from school. The don't wait for me, I'm coming home late tonight.
Did he want to be that kind of love? Jay didn't know. He kept looking at his tea, then his sight went out of the window. He could feel Block’s eyes fixed on him.
Truth was he did not want to. But Block was right: what was he expecting? To walk hand in hand with him? To get married? Nothing of those things were going to happen neither soon nor ever but, in the end, he did had a choice.
“But Block.” He said turning to him looking in his big eyes. “I am breaking up with you.”
One thing that had made all of his boyfriends go nuts was that he always seemed not to care. His face was a blank page: it never reflected his heart. Many times people told him he had a cold heart. And, no doubt, this was also the case.
Block’s eyes widened and his mouth trembled a little while. He wasn't expecting that. After once or twice that he had tried to speak, his jaw clenched and he got up leaving two dollars on the table.
Jay had already seen that move. He knew what was coming. That didn't make it any easier.
“Right. Cause you are a monster, Jay. I should have known better.” Then Block’s hands hit the table and he left.
Jay remained alone, once more. The white curtains showed an angry boy walking towards his car. Jay wondered if he was crying. He wanted to cry: he wanted it so much but he simply couldn't. Besides, he had done nothing wrong. Was it wrong to expect a partner to stay? Not that he had ever considered Block to be the one to do so nor even hoped he could be.
His heart was crying in frustration. Jay could feel it bloated and beating faster than usual but that wasn't about Block. He hoped he could be like Block: take a girl, deceive her into thinking you love her, marry her and have some kids and love them too without any kind of regrets. He could not pretend. Oh god on high, what would have been of himself? Not a wedding contracted to save appearance. Not that, no sir.
He got up, took Block’s two dollars and paid their coffees. The maid asked no question. He barely thanked her and walked away.
When he closed his wallet, by the way, something fell. He bent over to take it. They were some old photos made in a photo booth in Brooklyn. Block and he were smiling.
And, just that once, something cracked in him. He cried and laughed and he put the pics back in his pocket, under which his heart seemed to enlighten more and more with every tear falling on his cheek. As he walked to his car he knew that, even if Block and he had not endured, those pics would have. They were there to say they had loved each other. And wasn't it all that mattered?
Maybe America was right. Maybe they were dangerous and love was truly a weapon.