Page 176 of Pretty ’n Peak

He felt like his life was splintering in two.

Tomorrow night was his show at the gallery, and dozens of friends were flocking out to support him. Even Jamie, Sebastian, and Neil were driving down from Mt. Hood.

But his family had no idea.

He hated it.

Austin never pushed him. He was always supportive, never trying to compete with Mateo’s family or encourage him to come out sooner. If anything, he was more concerned about Mateo being safe, and feeling like he had options.

But every time Mateo went home, the guilt set in.

Austin was his dirty little secret. And as much as Austin said he didn’t feel that way, and the circumstances were completely different, that wasn’t quite true.

Somewhere, deep inside, a little fear lurked that if Mateo didn’t come out, Daddy would leave him. It wasn’t quite rational, but it wasn’t crazy either. He knew there was a time limit, even if it might be years away.

The worst part was knowing that it wore on Austin in little ways.

Austin was a thousand times happier than he’d been when Teo met him. Working at Cuffd had him humming when he came home, full of funny anecdotes about his colleagues or praise for their collaboration and decisions. He was still more of a homebody than a partier, but they went out together and saw friends.

Austin smiled often, laughed easily. He still saw his therapist, though, and Mateo knew that at least part of their conversations were about dating someone who was in the closet.

It was a burden for both of them.

Mateo climbed into his truck, eager to leave it all behind.

He’d come to value the forty-minute drive in each direction. He needed it to make the mental switch. Sometimes he called Austin while he was driving, but mostly he listened to music. When he sang along, he could be seductive, sad, or fun-loving and free.

Today, he was listening to old love songs, sung over the waterfall notes of Spanish guitar. Every artist sang of sacrificing everything, pouring their whole heart out into their love, all for the joy of the other’s presence.

He felt it all keenly.

This was what he needed to come back to who he was.

To be Teo.

He was still singing when he pulled up into the tiny loading zone behind the gallery.

“Teo!” Richard was shifting crates around when he pulled up. “I didn’t know you could sing. Your man is inside.”

“Thanks.” He greeted Richard with a hug. “What can I do to help?”

“I’ll show you when I get inside. Just a minute.”

Teo wandered in, still awed that the whole gallery was dedicated to his work. Bright colors covered every surface—rich purples and brilliant oranges, deep reds and vibrant blues. He painted, mostly, himself. Playful in a Mexican peasant dress. Leaking tears as he put on lipstick in front of a mirror. On his knees, face lifted in adoration for a man who was only represented by a swirl of color. A skeleton, grinning in a field of purple flowers. Two mirrored images on the same canvas, where he hefted heavy boards in his work clothes on one side and carried a vase of flowers in a flowing red dress on the other.

A few of the works were about community and activism. The joy of kinky folks coming together at the club. A faceless priest blessing a crowd of queer people expressing their identities and love. A painting inspired by a photo of the first lesbian couple married in Oregon in 2014, amid cheers at the courthouse, and another of the very block the gallery stood on, when Burnside Triangle was known as Vaseline Alley in the sixties, an enclave of LGBTQ bars and businesses. He wanted to reclaim his queer history and paint the future.

Teo was emotionally naked in this room.

And it felt empowering.

“Hey Daddy,” he said softly, flowing into his arms.

“Hey, babe. Richard was just telling me how much he loves your new pieces.” Daddy kissed him on the forehead. “And I’m proud of you, too.”

“Did you look at any of them yet?”

“So far, I’ve just been the manual labor. I’ll look at everything tomorrow while you’re holding court.”