Hopelessly Devoted(3)

We hadn’t been apart since, so when Paul said he was taking Dave to a shelter, to abandon him, I was furious.

I slammed the cutlery on the counter, making Paul jump and turn from the end of the kitchen where he’d been pacing. Metal against granite can be quite loud if you put enough force behind it. “We will do no such thing! If you want him gone, then you’ll have to say goodbye to me too.”

Would I have actually chosen Dave over Paul? I don’t know, but at that moment I had one foot out the door, ready to leave. I knew what it felt like to be unwanted and unloved, and I wasn’t going to abandon the one creature that didn’t care if I was gay and loved me regardless, unconditionally. Like parents are supposed to love their children.

Paul’s eyes went wide at my words, and his broad shoulders slumped a little. “Babe?”

“If you want him gone, then I’m going with him.”

“You’re serious?” he whispered.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I said with much more conviction than I felt. When it came down to it, if Paul pushed to get rid of Dave, then I’d have to leave too. I wouldn’t be able to stay with him knowing he threw my cat out. My chest constricted at the thought.

I turned away from Paul, not wanting to see the indecision in his eyes, grabbed my plate of Chinese, and sat on the sofa with as much indifference as I could muster. I tried to concentrate on what I was eating, but I was all too aware of Paul still standing silently at the end of the counter, his jaw probably flapping in the breeze. I flicked the TV on and pretended to watch the news. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dave sitting at the top of the stairs, watching us. He had probably heard everything we said and was waiting to see if he still had a home or not.

After a long few minutes Paul sat next to me, resting his dinner on his knees as he pushed a piece of broccoli around his plate. Our legs brushed together, and I moved away slightly, putting some distance between us.

“How was your day?” he urged, not looking at me. Sadness and confusion colored his tone. When I didn’t answer, he asked, “You would leave me?”

I sighed. I couldn’t back down now; I had to fight for Dave. After placing my uneaten dinner on the coffee table, I turned and faced Paul. He looked so sad it almost broke my heart, but he didn’t know how Dave and I came to be. He didn’t know that as much as I saved Dave, Dave had also saved me.

I took Paul’s plate from his hands, placing it on the table next to mine, then threaded our fingers together. “Let me tell you a story....”

It was the following morning as I was talking to the concierge of our building—yes, I now lived in a building that had one of those, and honestly, it took some getting used to whenever Raoul said, “Good morning, Mr. Jennings. Your car is waiting,”—that he suggested one of those self-closing door thingies.

That afternoon Paul had one installed on the closet door, and he and Dave became best friends—much to my chagrin. Dave was my cat, after all, but you wouldn’t know it. If Paul and I were both in the kitchen, Dave would give me that look of disdain only cats can give, then turn and stick his ass up at me before rubbing himself against Paul’s legs. The traitorous bastard.



THE WEEK after the Dave Debacle, I stood at the bathroom sink trying to make my hair stay down when Paul came up behind me and kissed the back of my neck.

“Why don’t you come with me to my stylist? Pierre will cut your hair so it sits right and doesn’t resemble Harry Potter, The Early Years.”

“Your stylist is named Pierre?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?”

“I suppose he charges, what, two hundred dollars for a shampoo and trim?”

Paul pressed his lips together tightly, not answering.

“My barber, Eric, charges twenty.”

“I know. I can tell.” Paul smirked.

I huffed. “And there is nothing wrong with Potter. He’s kinda hot.” I waggled my eyebrows at Paul in the mirror, my hair misbehaving just as much as the character it resembled.

His eyes went wide. “You have a crush on a twelve-year-old boy? That’s just sick.”

Abandoning my hair, I turned to face him. He gathered me in his arms before placing a chaste kiss on my lips.

“No, you idiot,” I said, slapping his arm. “Daniel Radcliffe. Have you seen him lately? He’s buff.”

“Yes, I’ve seen him. But he’s not nearly as hot as Jason Jennings-Connor.”

“‘Jennings-Connor’? You want to hyphenate our names?” I thought we were talking about my hair, and I wasn’t sure how the conversation got turned around so quickly.

“I don’t know. I thought I’d throw it out there and see if it’d stick.” Paul eyed me cautiously. “Do you like it?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it. Can I have some time to digest?”

“Sure, babe. Take all the time you need. In the meantime, I’ll make an appointment with Pierre for both of us.”

Back to the hair. “It’s just hair. It doesn’t matter as long as it doesn’t get in my eyes and bother me. It will just grow back to the same sticky-up mess anyway and I don’t see the point of spending that much money on it.”

“You won’t be spending money on it. I will.”